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keresnotceres · 10 months

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Good, Good, Great

Ghost x Fem!Reader (And they were roommates)!

[nsfw] cw(s): Jealousy, alcohol consumption, references to smoking, strip club, rdr calls ghost ‘big boy’ several times, suggestive content, non-explicit sex (it’s mentioned), rdr is highkey a brat lol, mention of dumbification.

PART TWO

3.4k words I don’t understand how UK currency works so i guessed, ALSO! Reader is kind of a slut!! Because we don’t get enough readers that have BEEN AROUND TOWN (iykwim) and I am hellbent on fixing that :) ALSO ALSO this kinda sucks and it’s prolly OOC but I spent like four days on it so here u go <33

You’re not dating — but he’s not keen on sharing. He sees you serving another table drinks, scantily dressed, hips swaying with every step, and can’t help but watch with a glare as some other man sets a 20 between your tits.

How Laswell convinced both herself and Price that a strip club was the best place to meet and discuss information on a new mission was beyond Ghost. It wasn’t until two blocks away from the venue did he begin to recognize the surroundings, the streets, and damn it, even the people.

He forwent the skull mask and the skull-patterned balaclava for a plain black surgical mask that left him feeling bare and exposed. Only a thin piece of fabric was between him and his anonymity; two strings that held together the Ghost façade from falling into Simon.

He’d be damned if he told the others that he recognized the club — that he frequented it. Not for a certain stripper, no, not for the girls performing at all. He knew every staff member from the amount of times he’d come to pick you up after your serving shift.

You always smelled like alcohol and someone’s blueberry vape, sometimes weed; you claimed that just came with the job. He’d respond asking if he smelled like gunpowder and metal, if that was the case. He remembered how you shook your head.

“You smell like cigarettes and aftershave.”

He grimaces as they approach the shining lights of the club. Myth is a looming building; five floors, only two used for actual club affairs. The other three were offices or something equally as boring; even if you would prattle on about your outlandish suspicions of a mafia being run up there.

The first floor had the basics; a main stage that was across from the full bar, a plethora of sleek tables and uncomfortable leather chairs filling the space between the two attractions. On the far wall, a few booths with itchy velour couches separated by fake bushes. Doors sat on either side of the four booths, both led to some sort of VIP room that Ghost had never stepped foot in.

The second floor overlooked the stage section of the first, only the dancers could see the people decorating the steel railings. It was usually reserved for the rich people, the important men who had had wives and didn’t want to be seen in the public eye, the men who were desperate enough to pay extra to pretend they could get some, and the people staff liked. Ghost happens to fit into the latter category.

There was a second stage on the upper floor, it wasn’t often dancers were up there performing, they were usually lounging around with someone they knew would paid them well. The was a second, smaller bar which served the singular purpose of storing new bottles, which caused you to complain about having to go up and down the stairs every time you had to get another round for a table.

His constant presence had led to him “befriending” the bartenders (if getting a free drink counted as being friends) and getting half-hired as security (he was roughly the same size as the men they already had for the job), even the hostesses knew to assign him to your section each time he walked in.

It baffled him, to say the least. Even after he was gone for 11 months the one time, (what a god awful time that was), the Myth staff knew who he was.

Ghost didn’t even register Price trying to tell him to stop as he walked to the shiny glass doors of Myth. The thing that dragged him out of an absentminded state was Soap’s obnoxiously loud laughter, Ghost stopped dead in his tracks and spun around to face the rest of the task force.

“Yae walkin’ right in like ye own the place, eh, Lt?” He had a conniving grin on his face. “Didnae take you for that kinda guy.” Gaz looked like he was trying to picture Ghost in a club, Price only looked at him with mild amusement on his face.

Ghost glares at Soap, embarrassed. “I’m going where we were told to go.”

“Wasting no time, either.” Gaz manages to crack a smile from Price with his chide.

“Are we going in, or not?” Ghost’s eyebrows raise in questioning, his patience already running thin. He looked over his shoulder at the bouncer, who he wishes he didn’t recognize as Paul.

Gaz had already fished his ID out of his pockets, the graying white background of the Royal Air Force card reflecting the sign lights. Soap wasn’t far behind him, most people who see someone with a mohawk assume it’s a teenager who lost a bet. Anyone could look at the Captain and know he’s over the age of 18, no college student could rival the man’s facial hair.

And Ghost? All he had to do was look Paul in the eyes and he was let though without even a second glance. It was no different than if he were just coming in to pick you up, although it was considerably earlier than your usual 2 AM clock outs. Ghost forgot the club was even open at 5 PM.

He got an odd look from Soap at the lack of identification, but odd looks from Soap were a daily occurance.

The club looked the exact same as when he’d left 4 months ago, the same blue-purple lighting, same ugly silver bead curtains hanging over the walls, and the same Thursday night bartender. His name was something along the lines of Tony (Tim?); Ghost hadn’t particularly cared about him, he’s never at the club on Thursdays anyway. Your shifts are normally on the weekends, only the occasional Thursday if there was an event.

The hostess seems to be familiar, too. She’s either Camille or Angelica; he could never really remember who was who. The two have the same bleach blonde, blue eyes, and freckles; they’re practically the same person to Ghost. He really only pays attention to you when he’s at Myth.

The hostess stares at Ghost for a second, as if trying to recognize him. Before she could try to speak, Price cut in.

“We’re meeting someone here. Blonde hair, a little older.” His eyes scan the half-empty floor of the room. “She might be upstairs?”

The hostess perks up at the mention of a woman. “Right. Follow me, please.”

The blonde led the group of them upstairs, two of the 20 tables had people at them. Only one of them had a Laswell-looking woman at them. The other was a group of seven men; each in a suit, and each with a glass in their hand.

Once the hostess set a few menus on the table, she spoke a final time. “Your server will be right over.”

Ghost let the others sit down before him, eyes lingering on the group of men across from them before they slid over to Laswell. She looked as comfortable as any other person in a strip club by choice, lounging back in her chair with a cocktail in her hand.

“You look disgruntled,” she notes, eyes resting on Ghost.

“You had us meet in a strip club,” Ghost mutters. “This isn’t my usual scene.” It was quite the lie, really. He’s spent more time here than any other pub in the Manchester area at this point.

“It’s close to home.” She takes a sip of her drink, completely at peace. “And it’s unsuspecting. Who comes into a strip club to talk about top secret information?”

Ghost looks at her, unamused. “Us.”

Laswell ignores the distaste in his voice. “You don’t have to worry about that group,” her head tilts in the direction of the rowdy group of men. “They’re all drunk or too focused on the girls to even bother listening to us.”

The distant sound of heels against the floor catches his attention, his eyes fly towards the staircase. And there you are, flouncing up the stairs with three glasses in one hand and a bottle of Blue Label in the other.

You make your way to the group of men, a customer service smile plastered on your face. Ghost can’t hear your words, but he watches you set the bottle down in front of the most important-looking man, along with two of the glasses you were carrying.

He watches as your shoulders bounce when you laugh at something he says, though it looks like the fakest giggle you can muster.

He watches as the man takes a 20 pound note from his pocket and tucks it right between your tits. On instinct, Ghost’s hands tighten into fists and he glares. It’s a sharp glare, one he’d give to some idiot recruit that tried being cocky. You gasp, then smile brightly at the man, he can tell you’re saying thank you profusely from the way your mouth is moving.

You step away from the man and Ghost’s eyes fly from him to you, and his glare drops into a normal enough look, but his fists are still tight; his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands.

Ghost’s eyes roam your body, how the little black skirt you’re wearing rode up just enough that it would be considered a tease, how the black shirt you’re wearing is just a little too tight around your tits, and the 20 pound note that was stuck right between the two of them. He had to consciously unclench his fist before anyone would notice.

Then you come prancing over, hips swaying almost hypnotically as you walk, a glass of bourbon nestled in your hand.

You smile sweetly as you bend down in front of him, showing off both your tits and the note right between them, and set his glass on the table.

“I believe that’s for you, big boy.” Fuck, he missed hearing your voice, the nickname flies over his head through his stupor. Even if it was the faux, sultry version of it you used for work. “Can I get the rest of you anything? A beer? Whiskey?”

It was almost impossible for Ghost to tear his eyes away from you, rather, that damn note between your breasts. He wanted to pluck it out and throw it right back at the other man, replace it with something bigger, better.

When he notices Gaz’s disturbed stare, his eyes avert from you.

Gaz’s eyes trail from his to yours, “I’ll take a Manhattan.”

You smile at him, “of course, is Sazerzac okay?” Gaz nods shortly, glancing away from you to avoid Ghost’s stare. “Anyone else?” You pivot towards Price, shifting your weight from one leg to the other.

Price angles his head to meet your gaze, squinting through the LEDs of the club. “Gin and tonic,” his eyes don’t leave yours, “Hendrick’s.” An offhand comment from Soap entertains the liquor’s Scottish origins.

You nod along with his words, then tilt your head towards Soap. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’ll have a Coke.”

“I hope you mean the soda,” you muse. You didn’t get any reaction out of the group, not a single smile — how disappointing. “We have the cherry kind, if you’re into that.”

Soap shakes his head, a small frown on his face. “Just normal Coke’ll do.”

You hum absentmindedly, “alright.” Your eyes flicker to Ghost, the smile on your face contorts into a little mischievous one. “Are you going to be wanting the bottle, Simon?”

You really are a vixen, aren’t you? Through grit teeth, Ghost spits out, “no.”

“Alright, then. I’ll be back with those drinks, boys.” A single wink, and you were off. Low heels clacking against the tile floor, hips swaying side to side. Ghost was all too aware of every detail of your retreating body, from the way your hair bounced with each step you took, how the skirt you wore rode up just slightly enough to make his grip on his bourbon tighten.

Ghost fights the urge to get up, grab you by the waist, and pull you onto him. Both his experiences and his logical reasoning say it’s a terrible idea, yet the idea of reminding you who you ultimately belong to is so enticing he could be drooling.

He’s seen you cockdumb; it almost always comes after you pull a stunt like this. Of course, he knows you do it just for the sake of getting him bothered and getting fucked stupid. But he also likes the idea that you do it just for him. You put on a little show.

He finally put it together years ago. Back when you would bring over some pathetic-looking hookup just to see his reaction. When you’d fake moan loud enough for the whole damn neighborhood to hear, then look at him the next morning through your eyelashes all innocent.

At some point, the hookups ended, and you began flirting with customers right in front of him. Just like you had done a moment before.

When your head disappears from view, Soap is the first to attack him vocally, almost gawking after you. “You’re on a first name basis with the bottle girls at a strip club?” He looks incredulously at Ghost, almost jealous.

“Is that why you were in such a hurry to get inside? You knew this was where your flings worked?”

Soap leans in closer, “how often do you come here, LT?” It was question after question from the Scotsman, and despite his inclination towards him, Ghost was getting slowly more fed up.

Ghost set his glass down, “I’m going to the bathroom.” He put his hands to his knees and stood up from the plush seat, eyes scanning the other group one more time before he left his teammates at the table.

It doesn’t take long for him to find you, leaning up against the doorframe to the server’s closet while you wait for another cocktail server to put in a ticket, twiddling your coworker’s Elfbar in your hands until she reaches behind her for the vape.

You hand it off to her and turn to face Ghost, a catty smile adorning your lips. “How can I help you, sir?” Ghost stops a few inches before you and a hand darts towards your cleavage. He tugs the 20 pound note from between your tits, your hands following his to grab for it.

You give Ghost several noises of grievances as he holds the note away from you, a look of slight disgust evident in the ways his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed.

By the time you gave up trying to reach the banknote, he’d begun digging in his back pocket. “I’d like my tip back, asshole.”

Ghost says nothing in return, no noise or gesture to acknowledge he had heard you. Instead, he tugs a 20 and a 50 pound note from his pocket and tuck the two bills into the space between your breasts. The money from the other man was crumpled and shoved back into his pocket.

You don’t stop him, you’re a bit too turned on to even think of stepping away from him.

“There,” he mutters. “your tip.” He steps back from you, like he was going to leave and go back to his table. You, however, were having none of that.

“Hold on.” Your hand twitches, stopping before it could shoot out to grab his wrist (but you’re smarter than that, you know him). “You didn’t call or anything.”

Ghost frowns under the mask. “I’m not home.” It was a clipped reply, not one you wanted.

“What?” You match his frown, annoyed.

“I’m here for work. You saw the others,” his hand gestures vaguely to the upstairs, “they’re my coworkers.”

You raise an eyebrow, “you work with someone who has a mohawk?” Disappointment flickers in Ghost’s eyes, if it was from your question or just the thought of Soap’s haircut, you didn’t know. The poor man isn't even there to defend himself.

“Is it that hard to believe?” Ghost knows that, yes, it is hard to believe that he worked with a Scotsman with a terrible haircut while continuing to be the infamous Lieutenant ‘Ghost.’

The look on your face screams ‘yes.’

Ghost relents, “listen.” His voice has a certain sadness in it that makes you calm down a bit. Truthfully, you’re pretty damn pissed at him for just showing up out of the blue from God-knows-where, but your expression softens after a few seconds.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Riley.” Your coworker nudges your shoulder to let you know it was your turn to use the kiosk. “Go back to your friends,” you wave your hand in a dismissive fashion. “I’m working.”

Ghost doesn’t budge, even after you’ve ducked between the bead curtains that dangle at the top half of the doorway. You pop back out of the doorway, an unsurprised look on your face.

“Don’t flirt with him.”

Your eyebrows fly up, an incredulous tone flooding your voice. “What?”

“Don’t flirt with him,” Ghost repeats, his eyes boring into yours.

You set a hand on your hip, annoyed. “I’m making money.” The look in his eyes doesn’t change, he’s utterly serious about some random man you’re flirting with for extra cash. A thought crosses your mind, and your annoyance melts into mischief.

“You’re jealous over him?” The way his eyes widen a bit is enough to tell you that, yeah, he is. “Really, big boy?”

And fuck, if you didn’t have him wrapped around your finger by the way you walked, you had him now. All it took was one stupid nickname and Ghost is crumbling into Simon.

“Not jealous,” is his defense. You just soak it in with a grin on your face. You step towards him a little, shoulders forward and leaning down ever so slightly so that your cleavage is a little more obvious, so that the money he stuck between your tits is poking right out at him.

“You sure?” You look up at him, still grinning like your coworker once had when she got a free vape from a customer. “Seems like you’re a bit jealous.”

All he can do is stare down at you, clenching his jaw shut lest he say something he really shouldn’t. But God, does he wish he could.

Really, if it weren’t only 5 PM, he would’ve let you get to him. Let you drag him into an empty VIP room and fuck your words right out of you, leaving you a whimpering, babbling mess. But Ghost — Simon — knows better than to incapacitate you when you’re working.

All he’s left to do is watch as you give him little smirks from across the room, as you adjust your clothes to be just a bit more revealing, as you get close enough that he can smell the remnants of your perfume when you ask him aimless questions. And that’s just what he’ll do once you prance off to get his teammates drinks.

You pat him on his covered cheek patronizingly before you slink away, outstretching your hands for the three drinks cluttered at one side behind the bar. You pass him by, drinks in hand.

“If anything,” you look up to his eyes as you pass him, “it’s the guys you’re with you should be jealous of. You know I like older guys.” That’s enough for Simon to be reclaimed by Ghost.

He follows after you, glowering at your back. You don’t have to look back at him to know he’s scowling at you, but it brings you a slight bit of satisfaction.

“C’mon, big boy,” you hum, “I’ll get you another drink if you tell me his name.” You look back at him once you reach the staircase and climb a few steps ahead of him.

Ghost stares into your eyes like a dead man, you almost think you’ve gone a bit too far. “No.”

You give him an exaggerated pout and turn back to the front to see where you’re going. “If you aren’t jealous, you shouldn’t have a problem with it.”

“No,” he huffs, irritation growing steadily. “Ask again and I’ll have your head.”

You quicken your pace on the last few steps, skirt bouncing from the motion; Ghost doesn’t bother to look away. He follows you back to the table where Laswell and the others are chatting quietly.

You lean down to set the drinks on the table, and Ghost takes his chance. His hands hover around your hips, bulge brushing against your ass as he moves behind you to sit down in his seat.

“Sorry,” he muses in the most unapologetic tone you’ve ever heard from him. It’s Simon’s eyes that look into yours, like a challenge. A really, really horny challenge. “Had to get past you.”

#cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley fanfic #fem reader #simon riley mw2 #simon riley x female reader #cod fic #mw2 fic #mw2 x you #mw2 smut #mw2 x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut

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b1rds3ye · 8 months

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hi!! this is my first time doing a request so idk if I'm doing this right haha but uh, I was wondering if you could do like. yknow the masked one you made for the 141 (I can't remember the name rn💔)? I thought of like, a sequel idea. like, what if during combat an enemy manages to take reader's mask, and so reader panics and like, rips the enemies throat out with their teeth (or if that's too violent, just goes basically rabid on them lmao) and how they would react?? if this is too violent or specific dw you don't have to!! anyways, I love your content it's totally awesome ur writing is amazing! have a good day!!

YES I LOVE THE BADASSERY AND THE UNHINGEDNESS!! If I'm your first request I'm so flattered anon pls do feel free to drop by again <333 Also just going to do general rabidness because ngl the throat thing sounds like an infection speedrun and we want our masked reader to stay nice and healthy <333

Word Count: 1.2 (it got a little long WHOOPS)

Warning: Canon typical violence, reader does get a lil sadistic and unhinged <333

Beyond Task Force 141 and Laswell, many - if not all - allied soldiers wondered about what lay under your mask. Obscuring even the eyes, your visage was more unreadable than Ghost's. Larger than life, a soldier among men.

There was a running joke that there was just nothing under your mask, perhaps an eldritch horror of sorts. You let the new recruits entertain the thought, it kept morale up as they conjured more myths of you. They said that no one has seen you without your mask. They were partially right.

It simply was that no one lived to tell the tale.

You were never one for close combat, but fighting terrorists was never smooth sailing. The chaos of battle had all of the 141 separated against the tight streets of Las Almas. How uncanny that you could not see your allies but hear their gunfire. Running out of ammo, you couldn't lament at your misfortune as a shoulder pummeling into your chest, sending you to the ground and the air out of your lungs. Head bashing against the floor you groaned as you furiously clawed up to whatever heavy weight was crushing your body. You were starting to make up the figure of a man hovering over you through the blurry haze of a concussion that filled your sight. The distant static of Price's voice through the radio, probably asking where the hell were you but you had more pressing issues at hand.

Through your struggle and flailing limbs you managed to wring the enemy's pistol off of them with a painful twist of their wrist. And they retaliated tenfold, a large sweaty hand reaching down and pressing your head back against the ground. Your adrenaline makes you writhe further, he was going to suffocate you, or worse, poison you with how fucking awful his hand smelt as the stink of burning gunpowder replaced any of your oxygen. But no, he committed a far worse crime.

A singular pull and the grating tear of fabric as your mask is pulled off of your face.

A heavy moment where your enemy looks down at you and his gaze is not like before. It's clear, it's deep. It is not looking at your facade but at you and you are no longer a soldier. You are merely a human, so fragile, so weak. One that is on the verge of death in a foreign land surrounded by bodies of fallen comrades and enemies alike. One whose mythos is all but lost at the victorious and leering smirk of an enemy as they take in your face.

That simply won't do.

Pulling your knee up to create space between you and the man, you pull out your tactical knife from your waist and drive it into his torso. His smile falls only to land at settle on yours below him, just like his blood that trickles as forbidden crimson down your hands and seeps into your uniform. It's disgustingly warm. He grows heavier as he loses all control over his body and you heave to throw his figure off to the side. You stab him once again for good measure. And then again. And again. Quick, short jabs down with a sharpened blade that cuts through uniform, flesh and bone alike. You did not count how many times you drove your blade down, numbers were too complex when your mind was running faster than any comprehensible speed. There was only one goal. To make sure no one knows what happened.

A harsh grip on the shoulder yanks you back up and you swipe with your armed limb to cut your new assailant's neck but they were onto you. Catching your arm, they pull it up as they hold onto your shoulder once again with a tightening grip that digs into your uniform. But they do nothing more, no matter how much you thrash and kick.

"Wake up, Sergeant," your opponent seethes and that voice makes you still, a buoy that floats across through your rage. Deep and grounding and your captain's.

You nearly stumble back but Price catches you before you crumple to the ground in exhaustion. The adrenaline was escaping your body leaving you with barely the energy to stay upright. Your head lolls back for a second before you bring it to the side to look at your direct superior, the remnants of a concussion making your vision blurry.

"You broken?" he asks.

"Negative, sir,” you respond immediately but he looks a little doubtful, a singular eyebrow raised as he inspects you. Not your body, but your face. The dilated pupils and the taut muscles told more than any wound.

"Can't say the same about your wee friend over there," Soap whistles as he tilts his head to behind you. “Christ, you did a number on him.”

You dare turn to look over your shoulder but Ghost already situated himself in front of the body. But between his feet you could already make out the indistinguishable mass of tattered fabric and discoloured flesh. Fresh blood filled the rivets between the cobblestones, the remnants of the body inching its way closer to you-

"Was it the mask?" Simon brings your attention back to him. You nod dumbly. He only dips his head in what you can only describe as understanding as he folds his arms, fortifying his stance in front of the mess you made. You weren’t going to see your handiwork, he was too kind to ever let you.

John drops his hands down to his sides as Gaz approaches you with your mask.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," Kyle offers you a sympathetic smile.

"Learnt that the first day I saw 'em on duty," Johnny retorts and you instinctively smile as you take your mask from Kyle. The hardened plaster of your mask had cracked, the fabric that hugged your neck had become torn but it'll do for the remainder of the mission. Slipping the mask back on, Simon offers a nod of approval while Johnny tugged at the fabric for a few finishing touches.

Ultimately the mission was successful. The task force returns to base and although none of the boys mentioned the carnage you left, there are still whispers of it on base. You had hurried to debrief and get your mask fixed but it seemed some privates caught sight of you and that was enough to spark rumours. Your mask had gotten so fractured that a shard was left back in the streets of Las Almas and revealed one of your eyes to the rest of the world. Such a small organ but so vivid. The privates saw, and more was added to the myth that was you. There was now no question about what was under the mask. No lovecraftian horror or empty space, no monster beyond comprehension. No, what was under your mask was terrifyingly human.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

#cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x you #task force 141 x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #anon mail ❤️#/*avery checks the mailbox*/#/*avery actually writes*/#/*cod x masked reader*/

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earthtooz · 2 years

Text

𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘼𝙉 𝘼𝙍𝙂𝙐𝙈𝙀𝙉𝙏...

in which: you sleep on the couch after an argument !

ft: gojo, geto, choso, itadori, megumi

warnings: food in geto’s, (minimal) angst to fluff, hurt/comfort

a/n: this is my coping mechanism. i’m sorry if any characters are ooc / NOT EDITED

˚ ༘彡 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢: arguments with gojo are so very draining. he's uncooperative and it's like talking to a wall that isn't afraid to insult you and aggravate you further. you bail out without communicating what you were trying to say, tired with the white-haired sorcerer's behaviour. you fall asleep that evening on the couch with a scratchy throat, swollen eyes and a singular blanket that only just barely covers your whole body. regardless, you managed to fall asleep somehow, dreading the morning to come.

...only to question why there was an overgrown grandpa dangling off the couch- oh, that's your overgrown grandpa. gojo's arm is wrapped tightly around you, his head buried into your chest. it seems like gojo was the only thing preventing you from falling off the couch in your sleep.

but his harsh words from last night still float around in your mind; so with a shove, you roughly push your boyfriend off the bed, unimpressed. he wakes up with a grunt, probably because of how cold your floor is.

gojo notices your pointed stare and wants to start whining.

"why are you here, satoru?"

"i couldn't sleep without you cause i missed you... a lot."

you see the yearning and tiredness in his eyes and it’s enough for you to cave. although, he had yet to offer an apology, but it's nothing a 'little' scolding can't solve.

˚ ༘彡 𝗚𝗘𝗧𝗢: geto is mature, so arguments with him don’t occur often, nor are they a pain in the ass. in fact, geto’s always willing to apologise and talk it out, never hesitating to put his pride aside. that’s exactly what happens. after a (somewhat) peaceful night on the couch, you’re awoken by the feeling of someone shaking you.

opening one eye, you notice the tall, overpowering figure of your partner bent down to be eye-level with you. he has a gentle smile on his pretty, flawless face. a hand reaches up to tuck the strands of hair away from your face, but lingers at your cheek, holding it gently.

“good morning,” he greets.

there’s the sound of sizzling in the background, “mornin’. are you making breakfast?”

“yeah. it’s an english breakfast kind of morning. that okay?”

“perfectly fine. i’ll make your tea.”

you get out from under the blankets with the help of geto, who you collapse onto while stretching the sleep out of your limbs.

the rest of the morning is spent in silence. you hand geto his mug whilst nursing your own, bumping your hips with his as he cooked breakfast, your smiles widening with every little moment of intimacy shared. this is the best way to re-discuss whatever you both were trying to say last night, except calmer, and over a nice, filling plate of breakfast that was made with the ingredient of the love you share.

˚ ༘彡 𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗢: arguments with choso are the worst :( nor do they happen very often. neither of you let your pride get in the way of proper communication, but on the rare instance it does, you're storming out the room and choso misses you immediately. he's sitting on the edge of your shared bed pouting, head in hands, missing your presence.

then his inner-self slaps him with the 'y/n could be cold! there aren't many blankets in the living room!', so he scrambles to get blankets upon blankets for you.

choso discovers that you're fast asleep in the living room so he takes his time laying the blankets over your figure, tucking them snugly around you, fluffing the pillows as best as possible, ensuring your comfort. he doesn't like that you're separated from him, but he understands that you need space and the last thing choso wants is to bother you.

so, he reluctantly bids goodnight with a gentle kiss to the forehead, but just as the cursed spirit was about to walk off, he feels your hand reach out to grab his wrist, effectively stopping choso in his tracks.

"i'm sorry," you whispered.

"it's okay," he bends down to your level, hands smoothing down your hair, "wanna come back to bed?"

a small nod from you was all he needed.

˚ ༘彡 𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗗𝗢𝗥𝗜: arguments with itadori are... one-sided? almost? yuji is trying to understand, he really is, but it's been a really long day and he just wants to rest; something you eventually come to understand midway into a 'discussion' that's starting to become a little too heated.

so, to calm down, you decide to talk about it later, telling your lover that you'll be on the couch.

"wait, what do you mean you'll be on the couch?"

"it means i'll be... on the couch?"

"wait but why don't you wanna sleep beside me? i'm sorry for disturbing you, let me take the couch instead!"

"yuji, no, it's fine-"

"the couch is so uncomfortable, i can't put you through that!"

meeting his eyes, you're immensely touched by his devotion and selflessness, even when you were giving him such a hard time before. you feel terrible for jumping on him when he obviously needed to sleep, so you give in.

placing a fleeting kiss on the back of his hand, you pull him towards the comfort of your bed, "c'mon yuji, let's go to bed, you must be tired."

˚ ༘彡 𝗠𝗘𝗚𝗨𝗠𝗜: it hurts to say this, but arguments with megumi are… intense and they leave a mark, scarring if not cared for properly. but that said, he’s always careful with you afterwards, never failing to slip a delicate 'sorry' past his lips and spending time with you in reassurance that what he said in the heat of the moment was not what he meant at all.

regardless, you always back out the argument first by claiming a spot in the living room couch. it's an unspoken sign to let megumi know you've had enough for the night.

but a grumpy, dark-haired, ten shadows user isn’t too far behind you, watching apprehensively and disapprovingly as you set up for a night on the couch- away from him.

at this point, you already know what to expect, so the little ‘tsk’ megumi mutters isn’t surprising. the way he stalks over to you isn’t surprising and the way he picks you up and carries you back to the bedroom isn’t surprising either.

“i don’t wanna talk to you,” you half-heartedly murmur, refusing to make eye contact despite clinging to him tightly.

megumi sighs, “yeah, yeah, cry about it.”

the little chuckle that slips past your lips can’t be helped as your lover gently places you on your side of the bed, not leaving without placing a gentle kiss to your temple.

there’s still a lot to talk about, but as of right now, you’re content.

hey hey hey! hope you enjoyed! pls consider reblogging <3 i spend a lot of time making fics i hope ppl will enjoy so if you’re looking for a button to press, choose the ‘follow’ or the ‘reblog’ button!

cya!

- earth

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circe69 · 1 year

Text

Sleep On the Floor

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN! reader

summary: reader and Ghost's safehouse has only 1 bed. reader also wears glasses/contact. just know you're pretty much blind and it makes things hilarious.

genre: fluffy, enemies to lovers

warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, I think that's it.

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You were huffing, walking back to the safe house. Blood was dripping down both sides of your temple and at some point, your nose was bleeding profusely. Your legs felt like jelly, and all you wanted to do was go to bed.

This was one of the hardest missions you had been on in a while. The number of people you killed were too many to count, as well as the number of injuries you had collected over the course of what felt like years, when in reality, it was only a few days.

Keeping close behind you was one of the most insufferable and loud men you had ever come across. Everyone called him Ghost, however, you preferred to never even address him. He was your one and only partner for this mission, and boy, was it as awful as you thought it would be. Sure, he was extremely attractive and was amazing at everything he did, but that made him so much more annoying to you.

“Are you hurt?” He yelled in his raspy, all too British voice.

Why does he care? That pig.

You don’t answer as you unlock the door to the safe house, well, as you try. Your fingers were shaking, and you felt like a total moron after trying to just put the key into the lock. You were starting to be noticeably frustrated when all of the sudden, Ghost’s large arms wrap around your torso, one resting on your shivering waist, the other your hand. He bends down and whispers in your ear,

“I said, are you hurt?” His voice sends shivers down your spine, and as much as you hated to admit, you loved his voice. He slowly unlocked the door with ease and kicked the door open with his giant, muddy combat boots. You didn’t move, you just stared at the open door entry and whispered, “No. Just a little bloody but nothing a shower won’t fix.” You turned around to look at him, his hand shifting away from your waist, and you almost grabbed his hand to keep it there.

What am I thinking? I need sleep.

“I’m fine.” You repeated quietly. He just huffed in response, and pushed you backwards into the house by the shoulders.

He started walking towards the kitchen, but you grabbed one of his arms reluctantly.

“What about you? Did you get injured?” You said, staring into his cold eyes. You didn’t know why you even cared, but the thought of your only partner on this mission getting hurt made you uneasy.

He didn’t answer for a long time, just stared at you, his breathing heavy and you could see his chest rising and falling through the thick layers of this camouflage armor.

“No. Just tired.” He gruffly responded. You nodded, and went to go see the bedrooms.

Or should I say, room. Singular. The safe house only had one bed, and as soon as you saw it you gasped so loud, Ghost came running down the hall, expecting to find a dead body.

“What? What is it?” He turned the corner into the room where you were to find that there was only one queen bed. The two of you just stood there staring at it. “This is ridiculous! Why would they only have one bed in this huge house?”,you yelled. Opening your mouth again, you whispered angrily, “I’ll sleep on the floor. There's enough blankets in this house to make a whole separate bed.” Ghost started to counter you but you interrupted, “Don’t argue, I'm gonna go take a shower. You can take one in the guest bathroom.”

You started to walk into the bathroom when he briskly walked in front of it, blocking you.

“Your back is going to hurt and I don’t want to have to hear you complain any more than I already do. I’ll sleep on the floor.” You tried to push past him, but his hands alone were stronger than your whole body, there was no point. He put his large hands on your shoulders and massaged them a little, leaving you surprised as he walked out of the bedroom, taking a towel with him.

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

As you exited the bathroom, your hair washed and clothed in fresh pajamas, you were shocked to see that the lights were already turned off, and it was extremely hard for you to see. Plus, you didn’t have your glasses on so you were a walking hazard. You tried to take as small steps as you could, but all the sudden you stepped on something hard and alive.

Ghost growled and sat up as you tripped over him. You started laughing, “Ghost, I’m sorry, I honestly thought you were kidding about the whole floor thing.” You crawled on your hands and knees, feeling your way around until your hands landed on his thigh. He exhaled loudly and abruptly grabbed you by the hips and turned you over on your back, so he was hovering over you. Breathing heavily, he whispered, “Watch where your hands are going.” You started giggling again, in total shock that he was caging you in with his bare torso and biceps, the only thing on his body being that stupid balaclava and grey sweatpants.

“I don’t have my glasses on, I can’t see! I swear.”

He sighed and dug his face into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around your midsection. Your hands traveled up and down his spine, as if you had always done this around him. It felt so natural, for both of you.

So, there you were, laying tangled up in each other on a makeshift bed on the floor, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

#ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley x reader #modern warfare #ghost imagine #circe69scribbles

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catscidr · 4 months

Note

YANDERE DOTTORE X READER JAHEKWHZBAKNA

happy to see most dottore enjoyers sharing the same braincell. even happier to provide that good good dottore content (〃ﾉωﾉ) answering two asks in the same post bc it would be too repetitive if i made them separate agshfjns- next post will feature either childe or al haitham (depending on which one i finish first) (giving everyone a break from dottore for a hot sec) ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: yandere dottore (obvs), not quite proofread, dottore is named zandik in the mini-fic includes: gn!reader, dottore, his clones are kinda there, pierro and the tsaritsa are also mentionned. a handful of headcanons + a mini-fic wc: 1,8k

-ˋˏ Despite what most people might think, Dottore isn’t a sadistic man. He only hurts people if it’s necessary- if it helps with his research- and even then, it’s not like he enjoys inflicting pain, he enjoys the knowledge he gathers as a result of such experiments

-ˋˏ ...That doesn't apply with you though. He likes to see you squirm, to do things that make you react, whether positively or negatively. He’s that desperate and needy

-ˋˏ He’s a man that doesn’t go out much because of his work. So how could you blame him for wanting your attention?

-ˋˏ I think he’d be the type of yandere to just be incredibly obsessed with you. Always having someone checking in on you (his segments, of course) to report back to him so he knows what you’re doing at all times, probably the type to have an entire folder with your personal information in it as if you were one of his test subjects

-ˋˏ Not to mention he would be extremely manipulative, too. Dottore is the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing; a handsome face with dubious intentions.

-ˋˏ He wants to have your attention 24/7, to never have you take your eyes off of him, but he can’t do that if he stays holed up in his lab. Unfortunately for him he's very clingy

-ˋˏ But Dottore is a patient man (he was able to create an artificial God y’know- that kind of thing doesn’t happen overnight), so he takes his time with you- getting to know you, having his segments stalk you (he’s not the one doing it, so it’s fine, right?)

-ˋˏ You’re just like a frog in a pot boiling water. If you put it in the pot immediately, it’ll jump out as soon as it makes contact with the hot water; but if you put it in room temperature water and boil it slowly…

-ˋˏ The Harbinger knows your “relationship” isn’t an experiment, but at the same time it’s hard to say that he isn’t studying you. Having a mask that obscures his wandering eyes is definitely an advantage

-ˋˏ It doesn’t matter who you are, he would bend his schedule just for you. He’s that thoughtful! Since he’s practically his own boss (aside from various deadlines and meetings) he can do whatever he wants. Who’s going to tell him off? Pierro and the Tsaritsa don’t care how he achieves results as long as he gets results. So, expect to “accidentally” run into him more times than a regular person would

-ˋˏ You’re a fatui agent? Suddenly one of his experiments requires him to watch how soldiers (you) fight and train. You’re just a normal civilian? He’ll figure out where you work and find excuses to come see you just to chat

-ˋˏ It’s even better if you work a customer service job. You work at a cute coffee shop? What a coincidence, he loves coffee! Now he’s a regular and you know his order by heart. (I like to think he actually hates coffee but powers through the bitter taste and energetic aftermath just because it gives him an excuse to bond with you)

-ˋˏ You work at a grocery store? That’s perfect, he’ll start doing his groceries at your store from now on (you don’t point out how every week his groceries- without fail- consist of mozzarella sticks, a whole rotisserie chicken, cheap red wine, a pack of cigarettes and a singular loaf of whole wheat bread.)

-ˋˏ If you’re not in the fatui, chances are you don’t know who he is (he doesn’t go out much, after all) so it’s easier for him to play up the “good guy” role (wolf in sheep’s clothing from before nudgenudge). He’s a very smooth talker

-ˋˏ Of course, you’ve heard rumors about “the Doctor”, one of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers, a feared man all across Teyvat. So it’s a good thing that your new friend’s name is Zandik and he’s just a normal surgeon that works in a private hospital! Nothing suspicious, 'course not

-ˋˏ Both of you engage in small talk whenever you cross paths. He’ll ask questions about you (even though he already knows the answer to them), all so that you can feel seen and heard- who cares about him, about what he does? This is about you. He wants you to tell him everything

-ˋˏ The kind of person to use the excuse that he had a Ph.D. for a lot of things. You whine that your shoulders have been sore for longer than usual? He’ll get up from his seat and get behind you, sliding a hand just under the collar of your shirt to press and prod at your muscles to check if there’s anything wrong (good thing you can’t see his expression from behind you), saying he "knows best" whenever the (your) human body is brought up

-ˋˏ His patience isn’t endless, however. If he sees that this isn’t going anywhere, that you seem to be keeping him at arm’s length despite your “connection”, he’ll just take things into his own hands. And even though he doesn’t really get off from causing pain, he’s not afraid to make you squirm either

It wasn’t unusual for you to grab a bite to eat with the Doctor occasionally. Working at a local coffee shop had its perks; one of them being how you could make drinks for free and eat snacks at a discounted price. Though you never needed to worry about money since your friend would always tip you handsomely, basically paying you for the snacks you brought to the table.

Closing shop was easy enough when you had someone to keep you company while you swept the floor and wiped counters clean. He sat at one of the booths, cup of coffee in hand (you started making it decaf when you noticed his nose scrunch one time when he drank his usual order), watching you work idly.

“Rough day?” you ask with a gentle smile, looking over where Zandik sat. Being quite some distance away from him you couldn’t catch the twitch of the corner of his lips as he sighed, bringing one hand up to rub his face beneath his pointy mask.

“You could say that” he grumbles, laying his arms on the table, holding his cup of coffee with both hands. The man tilts his head to the side, focusing on you rather than his pesky thoughts. You put the broom away and saunter over to his booth, sitting across from him with a plate of various pastries in hand.

“What’s on your mind? Maybe I could give some advice and help! Or you’ll feel better if you just... talk about it,” you chuckle softly, taking a sip of your own drink. Zandik’s gaze never leaves your form, his gaze burning the sight of your lips into his mind.

If he told you even a smidge of what he was thinking you would, without fail, run and never look back. Even the tamest of things he’s thought about you would drive you away. From him fantasizing about how your skin would taste, to how your heart would look like in a jar on his desk when he worked... he shudders, swallowing down the urge to do something impulsive. Zandik takes a slow sip of his coffee, eyes flickering from your lips to your wide, innocent eyes.

“Thank you for offering,” he begins slowly, “but that’s alright. I wouldn’t want you to worry about it,” he says smoothly, losing the tension in his shoulders to seem more approachable. With the first two buttons of his shirt undone, hair lightly tousled, and overcoat thrown over the back of the booth chair, he looked nothing like the deadly Harbinger he was. Looked like an overworked businessman at most.

You puff your cheeks, disappointed that he wouldn’t open up to you. You’ve been doing it this whole time, and yet he won’t talk about what was bothering him to you? It made your heart flutter- he was so considerate- but at the same time you couldn’t shake the idea that maybe he was hiding something. Inhaling slowly, you calm your nerves, deciding that today would be the day you confront him. After all, a good friendship is built on trust, and you can’t stay good friends with someone that hides things from you.

Oh, how naïve you are.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” you say gently, placing one hand on his. The feel of his rough hand beneath yours made you shudder, almost instinctively- are surgeons’ hands supposed to be this rugged?

“I want to be there for you in the same way you’ve been here for me...” you add, voice trailing off as your cheeks flush in embarrassment. “I think you’re nice to be around. Don’t I owe you for the number of times I’ve complained about customers to you?” you say, chuckling lightly at the memory.

Zandik doesn’t react, not at first. His eyes fix your face with an underlying threat, gaze hidden by his mask. Although you can’t see his eyes, a shudder runs up your spine at the feeling of being watched so intently. Where have you felt this before...

“You’re right,” he responds quietly, voice hoarse. “You owe me.”

His words caught you off guard. Owe him? That was a joke! You were trying to lighten his spirits, to take his mind off whatever was troubling him for even just a second. How come you felt your nerves screaming at you to get up?

His free hand covers the hand you had laid on his, the grip on your skin becoming firmer the longer you two sat there. Your heart rammed against your ribcage, ears ringing from the sudden wave of adrenaline washing over you.

“You said you wanted to help me, right?” Zandik says in a sickly-sweet tone, leaning forward to stare at you, gaze unrelenting behind his mask. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you nod dumbly, staring back at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He grins in response.

Did he always have teeth this sharp?

“Then you won’t make my life harder than it already is by resisting, right?” he adds. You could hear how heavy his breathing had become in just a few seconds, how his hands had a death grip on your own. His cup of coffee was long forgotten; how could he possibly focus on something as useless as that when you were giving yourself to him?

The snow pelleted the windows harshly, essentially trapping you inside the coffee shop with him. Even the weather outside couldn’t compare to how cold your blood ran in the face of the Doctor; maybe if you had listened to your gut earlier you wouldn’t currently be skewered in the jaws of the shark that had been circling you for months.

#୧ ‧₊˚orderup!#dottore x reader #dottore x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #dottore x gn reader #zandik x reader #zandik x you #yandere dottore #yandere dottore x reader #dottore headcanons

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au-wannabe-the-very-best · 7 months

Text

It's kind of interesting how like. SUPER close we all just automatically assume Ingo and Emmet are. Not just as brothers, I just mean like they're full on Dependent on each other in a lot of our minds. Like, share the same house, the same job, the same bedroom, etc, I just see them as being SUPREMELY codependent on each other sometimes in my mind and it completely escapes me how unnatural that is.

I think it is just fitting, somehow. Like, Ingo is vocally expressive while Emmet is physically expressive, in the anime Emmet is in his element on the computers while Ingo is directing the workers, Ingo thinks of the future while Emmet thinks of the now, they're very different but SPECIFICALLY different in the ways that compliment each other. In a "I'll cover your weaknesses, you'll cover mine," kind of way. I just tend to think that those two almost operate like a singular machine, made with two parts, with a big fat Do Not Separate sign on it.

And I actually like it this way specifically because I like exploring just how far they fall apart the minute they're forcefully separated. The idea that they specifically built their entire lives with the idea that their brother will ALWAYS be right there by their side, in every single aspect, only to have that brutally ripped away. It's just interesting.

I like thinking about how they crumble due to that codependence. Ingo was the one with the license, but now Ingo isn't here to drive Emmet to the station. Ingo isn't here to cook breakfast, or to eat the second portion of food Emmet automatically makes for dinner. Ingo isn't standing beside Emmet to hand him the toothpaste when it's time to brush their teeth.

They're unknowingly, unhealthily codependent. And it's only unhealthy because they never stopped to consider what would happen to the other in the case of an emergency. They just assumed that the other person would always be there. For every decision, plan, and action.

I want to see Emmet falling apart because of the little things. Over the things that was supposed to be Ingo's job at home. Emmet has to water Ingo's plants, feed both of their Pokémon, make all meals in the house, do dishes every day, call a cab or friend to get to work before he can even get his license, which he needs to get now because he can't fucking drive, be more involved in directing the depot agents at the station, do both his and Ingo's paperwork, and a plethora of other things that are just piling up. It's too much. Emmet is going to crash.

Meanwhile, Ingo in Hisui keeps automatically handing things to empty air, somehow expecting it to be caught by an imaginary person. Ingo keeps forgetting to do certain chores because he keeps expecting someone else to do them, like his laundry, or making a grocery list, or harvesting the garden berries. Ingo forgets to make dinner for himself often. Ingo doesn't have his memory, but he's so used to living his life with another that he keeps failing at normal adult things because he never had to do it alone before.

#Submas #Subway Boss Ingo #Subway Boss Emmet #Ingo #Emmet #Unknowingly Unhealthily Codependent #I just think the angst potential is fun. :)#As well as exploring how the two eventually learn how to become independent

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wordstome · 5 months

Note

i’m here to encourage you to please elaborate on singledad!könig

also, do any of their kids have any scuffles with each other? how do the parents and children deal with it?

This ask was sent 10 minutes after the dream daddy post went up. Anon, I adore you.

I was going to put single dad König in this same post, but then it started to go on and on, and I want to take my time with the second half of your ask as well, so all my König thoughts will go in a separate post. Thank you for enabling me :3

(also this is the post I lost 3 paragraphs worth of writing on. It was literally all of Price and Ghost's sections, so forgive me if they're not up to par).

Price: With three kids, there are bound to be spats. Brianna taking something of Alice's without asking, Clara ruining one of the older girls' possessions, etc. etc. People see Price with all girls and remark how peaceful his house must be, but Price (and anybody who has a sister) knows that is NOT true. The Price home is chaos interrupted by periods of peace. Luckily, their dad is a literal military captain, so he's able to whip them into shape. All manner of crying, yelling, and shrieking can be silenced with one singular "GIRLS!" from the man himself. Then after that comes the soothing and the stern talking-tos.

Ghost: I think Simon was great with kids pre-Roba, he had Tommy and then his nephew Joseph. But post-Roba and his work in the special forces, he's much more rough around the edges. Like I said in the main post, Caden is a pretty quiet kid, so I can't see him starting or getting into any trouble. But he is still a 10 year old, so I can see him throwing a fit when he's frustrated or uncomfortable. If this happens in public, Simon will pull him aside and talk to him quite sternly, especially if Caden is making a ruckus as an emotional outlet. In private, he gives Caden space to let it all out, and then talks to him afterwards. However, if Caden can articulate what's upsetting him, he's very gentle and understanding. One way or another, I can see Simon getting help with his PTSD, so he uses a lot of techniques that his therapist taught him with Caden.

Soap: I imagine Elodie as about 6-7 years older than Thomas, who is a literal baby, so I can't see that they get into any fights. Mostly Elodie getting cranky about Thomas getting all the attention, at which point Johnny has to reassure his daughter and give her some love as well. When they're older, Elodie is a classic older sister who fucks with her little brother. She's never truly malicious, but there are definitely times when Johnny's standing in front of them sighing and pinching his nose because Elodie's played a nasty prank on her brother. Johnny's a very picks-his-misbehaving-kid-up-like-a-doll-and-gives-them-a-noogie kind of parent. He's never raised his voice at his kids, but instead has an "if what I think is happening is happening, it better not be" tone that instantly strikes fear into his kids' hearts. I can hear it in my head. I know you guys can hear it in your head too. 'Nuff said.

Gaz: It's hard to say what it's like when Kyle's kids fight: I can see Violet being the sort of girl who is quite close with her younger brother, so I can't really imagine a lot of scenarios in which they would fight. But Elliott is a younger brother and Violet is a growing teenage girl, so there have probably been a few times when Violet got mad at Elliott and screamed at him or said something that she regretted. Kyle and Emily will both scold the kids when they step out of line, and they both do their part when it comes to discipline. Kyle in particular is a very "I'm not mad at you, I'm just disappointed" sort of parent. He expects a lot of Violet, but sometimes that pressure can get to her.

König: This man is overwhelmingly soft for his daughter. The calmest, most gentle giant. I think out of all the dads he's most susceptible to spoiling her, which obviously could become a problem. He's incredibly lucky though, because Ava is an angel. She is spoiled, being an only child on her daddy's colonel salary, but she gives more "kind rich girl" vibes than "inconsiderate little brat". I'm going to elaborate more on this in the upcoming König post, but he's got this deep sadness to him because he lost his wife. Ava is a pretty perceptive child, so she doesn't act out unless she's having a really hard time, in which case König is nothing but soothing and reassuring.

Horangi: If Ryujin (Hong-jin's daughter) has beef with you, he's kicking your ass right alongside her. When she was young, she was fully capable of both starting and finishing fights, and Hong-jin was an incorrigible enabler who was more likely to double over laughing than scold his daughter. Her mother usually had to be the disciplinarian. Hong-jin and Ryujin have a complicated relationship, but in adulthood, they're pretty even keel, and have grown even closer since the death of Ryujin's mom.

Keegan: Jason and Cecelia have been through a lot together, so they don't really fight. When they do though, it's nasty, and Keegan serves as more of a go-between than a disciplinarian role. Both of them will seek advice from him, but he understands that they know each other better than he does. Not for lack of trying, of course, but it's inevitable with older adoptions. His role comes from having more life experience, and he's got a kind of impenetrable chill that makes everybody a lot calmer.

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nameless-ken · 2 months

Text

Silent Confessions, Loud Masks - Billy Hargrove x Reader Series

I'm so excited about my brand new series! Not going to lie this first chapter was difficult for me to write. I have a serious battle with the dreaded delete button!

Anyways, hope you all enjoy this first chapter. It truly means a lot to me how excited you have been for this series <3 Comment below to be added to the taglist.

(Please reblog!!!)

Happy reading!

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: mostly angst with some slight rude remarks/bullying

Introduction to the series here!

Masterlist

(had this song in my head while writing this chapter)

In the tumultuous whirlwind of your teenage existence, embarking on your final year of high school, you've recently become aware of a singular truth: put full trust into the future that stretches far beyond the grasp of your present moment. Amidst the unexpected certainties that await, there's one you never anticipated – Billy Hargrove.

Billy reigns as the new king of Hawkins High, his “coronation” following the departure of Steve "The Hair" Harrington. He embodies the archetype of a manic attention-seeker, parading through the halls with a rotating carousel of girls, each week presenting a fresh face to the crowded hallways. It's a spectacle that leaves you utterly perplexed, unable to fathom the allure that draws countless girls into his orbit, only to be summarily discarded days later.

Thankfully, you've managed to maintain a safe distance from Billy and his band of lunatics, skillfully navigating the school corridors to avoid any unwanted encounters. While you share a few classes with his entourage, you've strategically positioned yourself in the front row, creating a buffer zone that shields you from their antics.

However, fate has a penchant for upheaval, as evidenced by your first detention – a consequence of arriving late to homeroom on three separate occasions. As you begrudgingly endure the mind-numbing 30-minute sentence after school, Robin, your loquacious best friend, offers her trademark blend of sympathy and sarcasm.

“They seriously gave you a detention for that? Couldn’t you pull the ‘I’m a straight A student who has never gotten in trouble before, please help dear little me this one time’ on them?”

“Sadly no. I definitely tried to get out of it but they’ve been cracking down on a bunch of seniors for a couple weeks now.”

“I'll wait up for you after band practice.” Robin slams her locker shut.

“Thanks. See you later.” You turn to go down the opposite hallway than her.

“Have fun troublemaker.” Robin pokes fun at your new “status” and you give her the finger back jokingly before you both wave and disappear down your own paths.

With a sigh, you resign yourself to the monotony of detention, selecting a seat near the window to alleviate the stifling atmosphere of confinement. The rules plastered on the board, NO FOOD. NO TALKING. STAY IN YOUR SEAT, serve as a constant reminder of the school’s misguided attempts at discipline.

You roll your eyes at the obnoxious nature of this situation. Why do schools think detention is ever going to work? You are put in a room for a certain amount of time with other delinquents. If anything you’re setting up a scenario for more trouble to happen.

You pull out the current book you're reading, ignoring all the rest of the students who walk in.

“Alright, welcome to detention. I have quite a lot of work to finish so I will be checking in periodically. When it’s your time to leave per your detention slip, come see me in my classroom and I’ll sign you out. Please respect the rules.” Mr. Thomson, the junior science teacher turned detention overseer, delivers a perfunctory address before retreating to his sanctuary, leaving the delinquent assembly to their own devices.

Amidst the murmurs of discontent, Billy's name resonates like a discordant note, signaling the unwelcome intrusion of Hawkins High's reigning sovereign.

“Are we gonna flake out again Billy?” It didn’t even cross your mind about the possibility of being stuck in the same room as him.

“Can’t. I’ve skipped so many that they want to try and expel me.”

“That'd be hardcore to see.”

“Not to my dad it wouldn’t. Besides, it's not that bad. We have quite the sight sitting up there in the left corner today.”

As Billy and his cohorts encroach upon your solitude, you bury your nose in your book in a feeble attempt to shield yourself from their presence.

“Let’s have some fun.” You turn another page as footsteps echo towards you, stopping in front of your occupance. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

You don’t give him the time of day in reality but in your head, you’re fighting with the embarrassment and attention he’s solely giving you right now. Billy's charisma knows no bounds, his toothy grin and smug demeanor penetrate your defenses with effortless ease.

“I’m Billy but you may already know that. What’s your name, little mouse?” Billy rests his hands face down on your desk, leaning in so his face is parallel with yours.

“Such a quiet thing.” Ignoring his advances proves to be an exercise in futility as Billy's persistent pestering chips away at your resolve, culminating in a daring theft of your cherished book. Yet, you refuse to grant him the satisfaction of a response, maintaining a stoic facade despite the numerous emotions raging beneath the surface.

“It’s always the quiet ones you have to look out for.” His friend to the right chimes in.

“There’s some ways I can think of to change that.” You look up, narrow eyes meeting Billy’s. He sends you a wink with his usual smirk resting on his face.

“Not going to say anything?” You can feel your heart racing, hating the way he’s making you feel, more annoying that he’s causing any kind of reaction from you.

The sudden arrival of Mr. Thomson offers a reprieve from Billy's relentless pursuit.

“Y/N, you’re free to go.” He grants you an opportunity to escape the confines of Billy's gaze. As you hastily gather your belongings and make your exit, Billy's parting words linger in the air as he whispers close to your ear, “See you around little mouse.”

Feeling like you could breathe again, you're greeted by a note from Robin stuck to your locker.

I got called into work :( Call me later - Robin

You groan inwardly, the frustration of detention compounded by the looming task of finding a new ride home. Billy and his entourage have succeeded in tainting what was already shaping up to be a less-than-ideal day. You trudge outside, seeking solace in the cool breeze that sweeps through the schoolyard.

The pleasant Indiana weather offers a small comfort, prompting you to forgo the immediate need for a ride and opt instead for a beautiful stroll to clear your mind. As you walk, you reach into your bag and retrieve your trusty cassette player, the familiar weight of it grounding you in the midst of chaos running through your mind. You mentally curse Billy for crowding every corner of your mind.

With a deft motion, you slipbthe cassette into the player, the soft click of the mechanism soothing in its familiarity. The strains of your favorite mix fill the air, providing a welcome distraction from the events of the day.

Lost in the music, you barely notice the passing cars, each one a blur against the backdrop of your thoughts. That is, until a certain familiar shade of blue catches your eye, the sudden halt of the vehicle drawing your attention like a magnet.

You turn, locking eyes with Billy as he idles beside you, his presence an unwelcome intrusion on your solitary walk. His voice cuts through the quiet, laced with an air of amusement that irritates your nerves.

“Didn’t think we’d meet again this soon little mouse.” he remarks, his smirk evident even from the confines of his car.

You pause your tape, the rhythmic pulse of the music abruptly silenced as you face him, a mix of irritation and annoyance evident in your expression.

"What do you want, Billy?" you questione, the weariness of the day showing in your voice.

He chuckles, the sound grating on your nerves as he leanes casually against the driver's side door, his gaze fixed on you with an unsettling intensity.

"She speaks!" he exclaims, his laughter ringing out in the quiet of the street. "Need a ride somewhere?"

You bristle at the suggestion, your resolve hardening as you met his gaze with a steely glare.

"Not from you," you retort, tone firm and uncompromising.

“Oh come on, I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.” You rolle your eyes at his innuendo, a flush rising in your cheeks as you resist the urge to give in to his persistent advances.

"I don’t need your help, Billy.”

He relents, his expression shifting to one of mock innocence as he reaches over to open the passenger door, a silent invitation hanging in the air between you.

"Come on, little mouse," he urges, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Just this one time."

You hesitate, torn between pride and practicality, before ultimately capitulating to the inevitable. You step into the car, the door closing with a soft click behind you as you buckle yourself in.

"No speeding," you warn, your voice firm as Billy complies with a laugh, the car pulling away from the curb at a reasonable pace.

As you settle into the seat, a strange sense of calm washes over you, the tension of the day slowly dissipating in the confines of the car. Despite your reservations, there was an undeniable comfort in Billy's presence, a realization that both puzzles and unnerves you in equal measure.

“So are you going to tell me where you live or am I bringing you back to my house?”

“I live near Curly. By that trailer park.”

“Thought you lived more in the pristine area of the Wheelers and Harringtons.”

“Well you thought wrong.”

As Billy maneuveres through the streets, you couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort mixed with a strange intrigue. You steal glances at him, his confident demeanor and reckless charm contrasting sharply with your own cautious nature.

"Why'd you get detention anyway?" Billy's question broke the silence, his eyes briefly leaving the road to meet yours.

"Too many tardies to homeroom," you reply, keeping your answers short.

"That's it? Seems a bit harsh," he remarks, his tone genuinely curious.

You shrug, not wanting to delve into the details of your run-in with authority.

As the familiar landmarks of Hawkins pass by in a blur, you couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead, the uncertainty of the future looming large on the horizon. You couldn’t help but think if this would be the last time Billy would go out of his way to acknowledge you.

Navigating the familiar streets of Hawkins alongside Billy, you're acutely aware of the palpable tension that simmers between you, a potent cocktail of unease but also lingering with intrigue. Though you strive to maintain a facade of indifference, the magnetic pull of Billy's presence proves undeniable, stirring emotions you've long sought to suppress.

You’re thankful the remainder of the drive passes by in a relative quiet, punctuated only by the loud rock n roll blasting from the radio. When you finally reach your destination, you find yourself hesitating before getting out of the car.

"Thanks for the ride," you say, surprising yourself with the sincerity in your voice.

Billy grins, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Anytime, little mouse."

With that, you step out onto the sidewalk, watching as Billy drives off into the distance. As you make your way towards your house, you couldn't shake the feeling that this chance encounter with Billy Hargrove was just the beginning of something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Little did you know, the lines between your world and the world of Hawkins' resident bad boy were about to blur in ways you never imagined possible.

The following day, you find yourself once again navigating the familiar halls of Hawkins High, the events of the previous day still fresh in your mind. As you settle into your seat in English class, you can’t seem to shake the lingering sense of unease that accompanies your newfound proximity to Billy Hargrove.

It’s the most infuriating feeling and you hate yourself for allowing him to overtake your waking thoughts all throughout your night and morning.

The classroom buzzes with the usual chatter of students, the mundane rhythm of academic life marching on despite the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. As the bell rang, signaling the start of class, Ms. Paterson enters the room with her characteristic air of authority, a stack of papers in hand.

"Good morning, class," she greets as she makes her way to the front of the room. "Today, we'll be embarking on a new project that will count towards a significant portion of your grade for this year."

A collective groan echoes through the room at the mention of yet another assignment, but Ms. Paterson pays it no mind.

"As part of this project, you'll be working in pairs to research and present on a book report of your choosing," she announces, her gaze sweeping over the room as she distributed the assignment sheets. "I'll be assigning partners randomly, so I expect everyone to work together cooperatively."

Everyone exchanges a wary glance around the classroom, the prospect of being paired with someone like Billy Hargrove looming ominously in the air. As Ms, Paterson began calling out pairs, you held your breath, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

"Y/N, you'll be paired with... Billy Hargrove.”

You felt a sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach as Billy's name reverberated through the classroom, the weight of his presence suddenly suffocating in its proximity. You glance in his direction, meeting his gaze with a mixture of apprehension and resignation.

Billy, for his part, seemingly unfazed by the news, his trademark smirk firmly in place as he turned to face you with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of class, you found yourself hesitating by your desk, unsure of how to broach the subject of the upcoming project with your enigmatic partner.

Billy saunters over to your desk with his characteristic swagger, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"Well, looks like we're partners, little mouse" he remarks, his tone laced with amusement as he leans against the edge of your desk.

You fight to suppress the urge to roll your eyes at his cavalier attitude, instead meeting his gaze with a steely determination of your own.

"Yeah, looks like it," you reply as you gather your belongings.

Billy's smirk widens at your response, his gaze lingers on you with a mixture of curiosity and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

"So, partner," he begins falling into step beside you as you both maneuver out of the classroom. "Where do you wanna meet up?"

You pause, considering your options carefully before responding. The thought of inviting Billy into your home sent a shiver of apprehension down your spine, but meeting up at his place didn't seem much better.

"How about we meet at the library?" you suggest, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself. "It's neutral ground, and we'll have access to all the resources we need."

Billy raises an eyebrow at your suggestion, his smirk morphing into a grin of approval.

"Works for me," he nonchalantly responds. His tone surprises you at how agreeable it is and non combative about trying to get you into his bedroom.

"4 pm. Don’t be late. I will not be waiting on you." You demand.

“See you then, little mouse.” He winks, walking in the opposite direction. You groan internally at the use of that nickname he’s decided to give you. This is going to be a long year.

As you and Robin sat on the bleachers in the gym during lunchtime, the rhythmic thud of basketballs hitting the court filled the air, punctuated by the occasional cheer from the squad as they practice their routines. Your eyes involuntarily flicker towards the court, where Billy’s shirtless form glistens with sweat under the fluorescent lights of the gym, his green gym shorts leaving little to the imagination as he moves with fluid grace among his teammates.

Robin's incredulous tone breaks through your reverie, snapping you back to reality.

"Wait, you got paired up with Billy for a project?" Robin exclaims, her disbelief palpable as she tore her gaze away from the court to focus on you.

You couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction, the absurdity of the situation not lost on either of you.

"Yeah, tell me about it," you respond, taking a bite of your sandwich as you try to mask the unease that churns in your stomach. "I have no idea how I'm going to survive working with him for the rest of the year."

Caught in a moment of distraction, your eyes lock with Billy's across the expanse of the gym. Time comes to a stand still leaving only the two of you in a silent battle of uncertainty. For a fleeting moment, you found yourself captivated by the intensity of his gaze, the depths of his eyes holding a tantalizing promise of something unknown. It was a gaze that spoke volumes, conveying a myriad of emotions that stirs something deep and unexpected within you.

As if sensing the weight of your scrutiny, Billy's lips quirk into a knowing smirk, his eyes dancing with mischief as he holds your gaze with unwavering confidence. Before you could fully process the significance of the moment, the spell breaks as Billy turns his attention back to the game, seamlessly blending into the rhythm of the practice session as if the moment didn’t just happen.

You tear your gaze away, a flush of embarrassment coloring your cheeks as you focus once more on your conversation with Robin. But despite your best efforts to dismiss the encounter, the feeling of Billy's piercing gaze lingers in the back of your mind, a silent reminder of the unexpected allure of the boy who has unwittingly become a sudden constant in your life now.

Robin offers words of encouragement, her unwavering support a welcome balm to your frazzled nerves.

"Don't worry, Y/N," her voice a beacon of optimism in the darkness. "You're strong enough to handle anything that comes your way. Besides, who knows? Maybe working with Billy will be...interesting."

You couldn't suppress a snort of disbelief at her suggestion, the image of Billy's smug smirk and cocky attitude flashing through your mind.

"Yeah, interesting is one word for it," you remark dryly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Let's just hope I survive long enough to at least be there for graduation."

The town library stands as a quiet sanctuary amidst the bustling small town streets of Hawkins, its walls lined with rows upon rows of books that hold the promise of knowledge and adventure. As you step through the entrance, the familiar scent of old paper and ink washes over you, wrapping you in a comforting embrace as you sought out a secluded corner to await Billy's arrival.

Minutes tick by, each second stretching into an annoying eternity as you scan the quiet aisles for any sign of your partner. Just as you begin to resign yourself to the possibility of being stood up, a figure appears in the doorway, his presence commanding attention as he makes his way towards you with purposeful strides.

"Sorry I'm late," Billy greets, his tone apologetic as he approaches, a faint crease of worry marrying his brow. "Had to drop off my step-sister at home."

You nod understandingly, "No worries," offering him a reassuring smile as you gesture towards the table. "Let's get started."

Billy's expression softens at your words, a hint of gratitude shining in his eyes as you don’t try to pry. For a moment, the weight of his troubles seem to lift from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of camaraderie as you delve into the task at hand.

As you and Billy sift through the titles of various books, searching for the perfect one to base your project on, the atmosphere between you remains comfortably casual, the initial awkwardness of your partnership gradually melting away.

"So, any preferences on which book we should choose?" you ask, breaking the silence that has settled over the table.

"Not really," he replies with a casual shrug, his gaze flicking between the book covers with mild interest. "I'm good with whatever you want."

“Do you have a favorite book?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever really finished one before.” Billy admits.

“That’s quite sad to hear. What do you even do for fun?”

“You think this is fun? Holding old pieces of paper about fake people and worlds. Seems like a waste of time to me.”

You raise an eyebrow at Billy's dismissive remark, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Well, not everyone finds joy in reading, I suppose," you remark lightly, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted despite the underlying tension between you. "But there's something magical about getting lost in a good book, don't you think?"

Billy shrugs, his expression guarded as he leans back in his chair, his gaze fixes on the bookshelves before him.

"I guess," he replies with a noncommittal shrug, his tone tinged with a hint of defensiveness. "I've just never really seen the appeal, you know?"

You nod in understanding, sensing the reluctance in his voice as he skirts around the topic of his own interests.

"Well, what about movies or music?" you press, eager to draw him out of his shell and uncover the layers of complexity that lie beneath his tough exterior. "Surely there must be something you enjoy doing in your free time."

Billy hesitates for a moment, his features softening slightly as he considers your question.

"I don't know, I guess I like playing basketball," he admits, a faint glimmer of enthusiasm shining in his eyes. "And...uh, sometimes I'll mess around with drawing when I'm bored."

You smile at his admission, a flicker of curiosity igniting within you as you get to witness a glimpse of the person behind the tough facade.

"That's cool," you reply, genuine warmth coloring your voice as you lean in closer, the distance between you suddenly feeling much smaller. "I didn't know you drew. Maybe you could show me some another time?"

"Yeah, maybe," Billy replies, his tone gruff and defensive, a faint edge of defiance creeping back into his voice. "But don't get your hopes up. It’s not that great"

You sense the walls he's built around himself, the layers of protection he's carefully constructed to shield himself from vulnerability. But beneath the tough exterior, you know there’s something raw and real, a flicker of longing that hints at the depth of his hidden desires.

"That's okay," you reassure him with a smile, your voice gentle as you reach out to bridge the gap between you. "We all have to start somewhere, right?"

"Yeah," he murmurs softly, a rare vulnerability creeping into his voice. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

“So, what about you, little mouse? Any other hobbies besides reading old stories?” A spark of enthusiasm ignites within you, quite surprised at his continuing of the conversation.

"Yeah, actually," you begin, a smile spreading across your face as you lean forward, excitement bubbling within you. "I love photography. There's just something about capturing moments and memories with people and things I love that feels so special. I don’t know, I mostly do it for fun."

A mischievous glint sparks in Billy’s eyes as he leans in closer, his voice low and teasing. " I guess I'll have to watch out for those sneaky snapshots next time."

You can't help but roll your eyes at his playful banter, the Billy everyone around Hawkins knows showing back up.

"Please," you retort with a playful scoff, feigning indifference as you brush off his teasing with a wave of your hand. "Like you're worth wasting film on."

Billy chuckles at your response, a grin spreading across his face as he leans back in his chair, his gaze lingering on you with amusement.

"Ouch, that hurts, little mouse," he replies with mock indignation, his tone light and playful despite the underlying tension between you. "But hey, don't worry. I'll make sure to give you my best angle next time."

"Keep dreaming, Hargrove," you retort, a flicker of annoyance flashing in your eyes as you notice Billy building those tough walls back up, leaving you to the same mysteries as the rest of the town.

As the conversation fizzles out, you can't shake the feeling of disappointment lingering in the air. Despite the brief moment of connection, it seems that Billy's walls are too high to breach, leaving you with a sense of frustration at the missed opportunity for genuine connection. You can't help but wonder about the masks he wears so loudly, each one a cacophony of distractions meant to hide the vulnerability beneath. With a resigned sigh, you turn back to the task at hand, burying your disappointment as you focus on finding the perfect book not without stealing another glance at Billy as he picks up one of the books and rifles through the pages.

If these past two days have shown you anything, it’s how little time it takes for a stranger to become a big part of your life. It's unsettling how quickly he's managed to weave himself into the fabric of your daily existence with a persistence that both frustrates and intrigues you. You've always valued your privacy, cherished the solitude of your inner sanctuary, but now, in the wake of Billy's arrival, you find yourself craving his attention in a way you never thought possible.

Perhaps the greatest risk is not in letting someone new in, but in closing yourself off to the possibility of genuine connection. And even with the knowledge of Billy having a tangled labyrinth for a heart, perhaps he’s worth the risk after all.

Taglist: @msbillyhargrove @uselessbutinteresting @milestellergfs @periwinkle-quill @ghostcastaway

#billy hargrove stranger things #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagines #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove masterlist #billy hargrove #billy hargrove smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #billy hargrove x female reader #Spotify

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rubydubydoo122 · 12 days

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What would be things the batkids would have grievances with Alfred over? It's always about Bruce but the world doesn't revolve around him only, so let's look at another guardian/grandfatherly figure.

I feel like they all would be upset with Alfred for letting Bruce get away with most of the shit he does to them. Like how Alfred's supposed to be the one holding Bruce accountable, but he doesn't. And here's the list from least angry at Alfred to most angry at Alfred

Damian. I don't think Damian realizes how much of Bruce's behavior stems from Alfred being a pushover, and he worships both of them too much to actually see it.

Dick. In those early days, Alfred was the one there for him in a house that was too big, too still, and too empty. He probably started getting angry at Alfred during his early 20s, but then it was just Dick, Damian, and Alfred, and Dick kind of became Bruce, so he had times where he resented him, but he "grew out" of it

Jason. And I think he's only the tiniest bit behind Dick because he's almost pretty much in the same boat. Alfred was the only person there in a house that was too big, and when everything was too much, and compared to this Billionaire, Alfred seemed human to Jason. He probably took comfort in Alfred before he took comfort in Bruce. And then Alfred was the one who suggested Jason should quit Robin. And, maybe for a hot second there, (and I mean, a singular passing thought then never again) he blamed Alfred for his death, but Jason also has a plethora of parental issues, so he wouldn't blame Alfred. And this is assuming Jason is completely unaware of the way Alfred low key Shat on Jason's grave so that Bruce would feel less guilty, or whatever.

Then there's Cass. She's just way too good at reading people to not see the way Alfred's pushover tendencies are effecting the 'family' negatively. She wants to yell at Alfred to "Put his foot down." But she knows he won't, so she doesn't. And In a sense, she might just be the same as Alfred.

Then there's a gap, and Duke. He didn't really know Alfred for that long, if you really think about it. Maybe a year, tops? And the reason he's smack dab in the middle is because sometimes, Bruce will do something and Duke will be like "That... is kinda messed up. Who raised you?" and then he'll take it back bc he'll realize he's speaking ill of the dead.

Tim. I hate woobifying him, but Idk, Alfred was the one who gave Tim Robin. Alfred was the one who gave Damian Robin, and I feel like, Tim, Looking back would think "What the actual fuck. What I was doing as a teenager should've been Alfred's job as Bruce's Guardian" Maybe not currently, but after some time. Maybe when he's in his 20s or has his own kids or something.

Stephanie Brown. She's the Family Friend. She has a slightly outside perspective to all of this, and she's great at puzzles. She Died for Bruce's cause and that didn't stop ANYTHING. She's constantly listening to when any of the batclan members are ranting about Bruce, and his poor coping skills and realizes that it's all just a fucking cycle and it started from Alfred. Alfred was confused on the line of professional and parent and Parented Bruce by being a Butler. Which wasn't what Bruce needed at an 8/9/10 year old who just lost his parents. And that's why Bruce doesn't know how to Parent any of his children without making them some form of a hero. Because Bruce grew up with a boundary of professionalism separating him from any real parenting, and he needs that boundary while parenting his kids. Obviously Bruce has his moments, but those are probably from when he had REAL parents.

Steph tried explaining it to Duke once, and he understood PERFECTLY, but then Duke said not to repeat this to anyone else because they worship the ground Alfred walks on.

#batman #batfam #dc comics #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #duke thomas #bruce wayne #tim drake #stephanie brown #cassandra cain

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scaredpigeons · 3 months

Text

Sunrise, Crystallize I: to pray to a fallen deity.

Masterlist // Next Chapter

Zhongli x Gn!reader

SFW (there will be nsfw chapters but I will keep them separate so everyone may enjoy.)

Word count: 6.2k

You find yourself seeking solace in the prayers you speak to the god of your new home, despite the fact that he’s passed away. Despite the fact that no one answers, your loneliness seems to be lessened by the warmth of the sunrise. You gain a few new companions, and push through your awkward and nervous disposition to embark on a challenge that you may or may not have little hope of succeeding in.

CW: reader has anxiety, real deep lack of self confidence. Very socially awkward. Reader is a florist, running a greenhouse in the harbour. (Author has absolutely zero florist experience or knowledge, so many apologies.)

Authors note: this is the first chapter of many to come, as Zhongli was my first love in genshin impact. This is kind of self indulgent, because while I really enjoy badass, beautiful, desirable reader inserts who exemplify everything I want to be, part of me really fantasizes about what it might be like to have such a desirable character love me not despite of, but because of my self-perceived flaws. I also think that Zhongli is a wonderful character to explore this dynamic with, as he’s incredibly patient and thoughtful, and having lived for 6000+ years— I can really see him finding someone who is socially his opposite very charming. Anyways, please enjoy this first chapter!

———————

Watching the sun rise on Yujing Terrace had become your most beloved pastime since the death of Rex Lapis. You’d never really ventured up the steps further than Bubu pharmacy, but after everything that happened, you decided to go and pay your respects in a more private setting.

You hadn’t attended the rite of parting. It felt too strange, seeing as you weren’t from Liyue, but you’d lived in the harbor long enough to feel a little twinge of guilt afterwards.

The attack on the harbor had halted your plans, you really hadn’t wanted to venture outside when there was an ancient sea god wreaking havoc in the waters just beyond your home. But once everything was settled, and the novelty of Rex lapis’ passing finally became outshone by recent events, you decided it was time.

You’d spent all evening working in your greenhouse, realizing the night had escaped you only when your eyes barely skimmed across a clock on your way to grab fresh potting soil from your storage room. You’d figured beating the morning rush to the terrace was better for your sanity, and washed your hands before heading out.

The sun had not begun to rise, everything washed in fading starlight as you made your way up the stone stairs. You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that only the Milileth were occupying the terrace, a few standing guard here and there and a few making their rounds.

One soldier looked at you a bit warily, most likely wondering why you were here so early. But he only nodded politely when you sheepishly showed him your box of incense.

When you made it to the topmost part of the terrace, you lit a singular stick and placed it in the holder. You’d seen people immediately murmuring their prayers after lighting their incense, but you weren’t really sure what to say, so you walked around a bit before standing at the railing facing east over the harbor.

The water looked so peaceful. The sky had started brightening, the first glimmers of the rising sun peeking up from the horizon, casting early shadows along the boats and buildings.

You took a deep breath, pushing your exhale further than normal. Your chest felt strange, You’d never really prayed to anyone before.

“Um…” you fiddled with your hands on the stone railing, watching the sun rise ever so slowly. “I’m sorry I didn’t attend your rite of parting. Crowds are really not my thing.”

You felt too strange to say his name out loud, hoping that wherever the wind took your words would eventually lead to wherever he was resting. Where did gods go when they die?

“I’ve not lived in the harbor long, but I can see why you loved it. Though I have been here long enough to understand the love you must have had for your people, and the love they gave to you in return. Despite that, I feel as though we’re all going to be just fine in your absence.”

You cringed a little, wondering if your words came across too crass or irreverent.

“Ah, well, what I mean to say is you shouldn’t worry.” you chewed on your lip, watching more shadows form along the harbor as the sun grew and grew over the sea, bathing the sky in oranges and pinks.

“Oh, what else do people say when they do this…” you mumbled. “People usually ask for blessings or good fortune, don’t they? I’ve never really understood that. I won’t ask for anything… or is that rude too?” You could never remember the protocol for things like this.

“Maybe I’ll just ask for happiness. If you can send some sense of fulfillment my way, that would be nice. But don’t put yourself out or anything.”

You scoffed at yourself, rolling your eyes as you gazed out at the sea. “Or maybe I should just give my blessing to you. Does anyone do that? Ask for blessings and good fortune for you?”

You shook your head, leaning on the railing and smiling at yourself a bit. It felt like you were talking to yourself, but it wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as you thought.

“Well then, I ask that you rest in peace. You deserve it after the multiple millennia you endured. I can't imagine having to work for that long, sounds exhausting.” You yawned, stretching out your limbs.

It was strange, you felt tired— obviously. Being up all night was not exactly ideal, but standing there, watching the beautiful sun rise over your city, you couldn’t help but feel a warm wash of pure… peace. You felt good. You didn’t feel so alone.

You looked around a bit, still seeing that no one was near you, before looking up half heartedly at the sky.

“Is that you? Is that why people do this sort of thing?” You smiled as the sun finally broke its way from the water, painting the sky in all its glorious colors.

Hmm. Perhaps I should design a new sunrise themed bouquet.

You rubbed the tiredness from your eyes as you made your way back to the stairs, but as you walked through the first archway, your eyes caught sight of the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.

He was standing, holding a cup of tea while he chatted with an elderly woman at her table. The warm, early sunlight bathed him in its amber hues, making the colors of his clothing gleam, and exposing the rich warm tones of his hair.

He was exceptionally tall, that much you could tell, even from so far away. He held himself with such grace and poise that you couldn’t help but stare. He looked like royalty. He looked like he belonged on a throne, not walking amongst the common people.

His smile was small but contagious— you’d pressed a hand over your mouth to hide the fact that you were grinning as he did down at the little old lady in front of him.

The woman chuckled a bit, before turning to the small flower bed behind her, before picking one of the flowers that was growing there.

A glaze lily? They were extremely rare, you knew that for certain. They hardly grew in the wild, which is why you hadn’t bothered to grow them for your shop yet, as you harvested the majority of your seeds by yourself.

He took the delicate flower in his gloved hand, bringing it to his nose and taking what looked like a deep breath. Your heart lurched as his face became almost solemn, but he pushed a smile through and nodded to the woman, saying something you couldn’t hear.

You couldn’t help but watch as he finished his tea, his striking eyes scanning around the terrace. It was a moment too late when you realized his eyes were eventually going to fall on you. You— who was watching him like some sort of lunatic.

His eyes met yours for the briefest of moments, and even from a distance they seemed to burn in the early morning sunshine. You instantly flushed, an embarrassing noise fluttering past your lips as you turned around and hid behind the archway, hoping that it looked like you were just heading back towards the overlook.

You took several deep breaths before you dared peek around the corner again, sighing in relief as you watched the beautiful man make his way down the steps.

That was the single most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done. You thought, before shaking your head as memories of far more embarrassing events flooded your brain. Actually, never mind. That was pretty far down on the list.

You almost thought that perhaps you never wanted to see that man again, for fear of embarrassing yourself once more— but that thought was quickly swept away. It would be a shame never to see him again. He was far too pretty.

———————

it was about a month into your new habit when the elderly woman called out to you.

You were simply making your way back towards the stairs, having only ever greeted her with a polite nod or a rushed “good morning!” Here and there, so you were surprised when she called you over and invited you for tea.

You introduced yourself, and she smiled, pouring you a cup.

“Ah, you’re the young one running that new flower shop, yes?”

You nodded. “Yes ma’am. ‘New beginnings: flowers and things.’ I sell little trinkets and gifts here and there when I collect them on my travels. But mostly it's just my flowers.”

”oh, you little darling. No need to be so formal. You can call me granny if you like— or Ping. Either or.”

Normally you wouldn’t be so formal with someone you’d just met, especially an elder, but there was something about Ping that made you feel so comfortable.

“Alright, Granny.” You smiled.

“Much better. “ she said, taking her seat. “Now why don’t you tell me all about your shop. I was very surprised when I heard that someone had built a little greenhouse in the city.”

And so began your new routine of waking up early to watch the sunrise— talking to yourself under the guise of “praying to Rex Lapis”, and having your morning tea while chatting with Madame Ping.

Ping turned out to be quite the gossip, and you got most of your updates on the comings and goings of the people through her. You learned about her disciples, though you weren’t quite sure what she was a master of. She seemed very wise, having many a tale to tell and advice on things that plagued you.

One morning you brought her a speciality bouquet of Cecelia’s, one of your more popular flowers, and she gushed about how thoughtful you were.

“I hope you don’t mind, I stole one from the bouquet earlier and left it on the overlook as an offering with my incense.” You said, sipping your tea.

“Nonsense, they’re your flowers to begin with, dear. I never would have even known if you hadn’t said something.” She pulls a vase from beneath her table, and pours some water from her nearby jug inside. Ping places the flowers in the vase, fluffing up the greenery to look nice and setting it on the other end of her table.

“There, just beautiful. Thank you my dear.” She says, sitting back down.

”It's really no trouble. They’re some of my last Cecelias, my recent batch of seedlings went bad. I'll have to make a trip to Mondstadt to collect more seeds soon.” You fiddled with the sleeve of your shirt.

“If you need someone to watch over the shop for you while you’re gone, I’m well acquainted with a traveler who is just perfect for odd jobs like that when they have the time.”

“Oh,” you said, looking out at the colors fading from the sky. “That might be nice, I’ve been putting off going out because I’m not too sure who I can trust to watch the greenhouse.”

You were trying hard to hide your wavering tone, but you knew immediately Madam Ping had caught on.

“Is there something else on your mind, dear?” She said, “You know you can talk to me about anything that troubles you.”

You paused, looking around a bit before you took a deep breath. “It’s just…”

Chewing your lip, you sighed at her kindness. You knew better than to be anxious around Ping, but your embarrassment over what you had been doing the last month was eating at you.

“Is it strange that I've been… praying to Rex Lapis every morning, even though he’s no longer with us?”

“Ah,” Ping hummed, her eyes glittering with mirth. “I had been wondering what you do over there before the sun rises. When you said you left a flower as an offering, I thought perhaps you prayed to a lost loved one, but Rex Lapis?”

“I know— it's odd isn’t it? I don’t even know if gods still hear prayers when they pass but—“

“Nonsense.” She interrupted your downward spiral, her tone light to soothe you. “There are plenty of people who still pray to our fallen archon. And I can guarantee you that wherever he is resting— those prayers still make it through to him, and crystal clear at that. He may not be able to descend from the heavens as a magnificent dragon to grant the wishes of his followers anymore, but he will always bear witness to our prayers, of that you can be certain.”

“Oh,” you breathed. You weren’t sure if you believed her, but you didn’t want to seem rude. “Do you think it bothers him? To hear so many people while he is trying to rest?”

“I’m sure the requests for wealth and glory get rather tedious very quickly.” Madame Ping laughs. “But what do you pray to him for?”

You flush, running your finger along your teacup. “I don’t really ask him for anything. I just sort of… tell him about things?” You shrug, feeling rather sheepish.

Ping simply nods, encouraging you to continue.

“I wasn’t really ever certain he could even be listening. It just feels nice to get things off my chest, you know?” You took another sip of tea. “I feel sort of bad, I mainly just vent to him— it’s kind of like chatting with you, granny. Only I say things I might not be comfortable sharing with others.”

Ping hums, staring out over the harbor thoughtfully.

“I’m sure your kind of prayers are the most interesting to him. Perhaps even his favorite.” She says after a few moments.

“Really?” You scrunched up your nose a bit. “I find that sort of hard to believe.”

Ping smiled, and her eyes seemed to glitter with something unknown. She always seemed to be brimming with unobtainable knowledge, it kept you clinging to her every word in hopes of soaking it up.

“It was once said that after so many years of being a god— watching over his people and nation with the weight of thousands of years of history and bloodshed upon his shoulders — that Rex Lapis would don a disguise and wander among his people, to gain a taste of what it was like to be human.” She gathered your empty teacup, placed it on the tray with the rest of the tea set and put it aside. “I think perhaps your prayers would remind him of simpler times, of what it is like to be human.”

You let her words ruminate for a while, watching as the harbor started to wake up— typically your sign to tuck tail and run home.

Finally, you spoke.

“Do you think he enjoyed my flower offering?” You asked.

Ping smiled wide, eyeing her bouquet of Cecelias.

“I think it's a lovely gesture, but he was particularly fond of the glaze lily. Perhaps those— as opposed to the anemo archons favored flower would be more fitting.”

You cringed. You hadn’t even registered that Cecelia’s were known as Barbatos’ favorite flower. After giving yourself a mental scolding, and a reminder to brush up on your international flora guidebook, you hesitantly spoke up once more.

“I’d love to, but I harvest my own seeds, Granny. I wouldn’t even know where to look for wild glaze lilies. Aren’t they extremely rare?”

She pulled a little sack from beneath her table — she always seemed to have whatever she needed right on hand, how curious. — and gently placed it in your hands.

“These are quite old, but I have a feeling if anyone will be able to get them to sprout, it will be you, dear.”

————————————

You weren’t very hopeful.

Seeds, when preserved under the perfect conditions, can last up to ten years. But extremely rare and delicate flower seeds tucked in a sack under Madam Pings table?

You started small; putting six seeds into six little nursery pots, and diligently reading up on the proper humidity, soil, nutrients and water required for glaze lilies. Within the week, small little green shoots were poking through the soil, and you nearly jumped for joy.

The revelry was short lived when the following week you entered the nursery to find six shriveled up, sad, and very dead plants. You cussed under your breath as you stomped around your greenhouse, reading through your glaze lily guide and wondering what went wrong.

You had plenty of seeds, plenty of room for trial and error.

You just did not expect the trial and error to last several months.

It was the morning after you found your most recent batch absolutely ruined. The humidity or the hydration levels were off, they had to be. What other reason would they have turned to mush for? You’d abandoned the guidebook long ago, it was a lying liar who killed your plants before they even budded.

“It’s just so frustrating, you know?” You said, leaning against the railing of the overlook. “I feel like if I can't do this, then my entire life as a florist has been for nothing.”

There was no response, but you sort of enjoyed that. You still weren’t sure if you entirely believed Madam Ping when she said that the archon could still hear you, but you’d never stopped your ranting and rambling to him either way.

“I know, I know. I’m being dramatic.” You flicked a pebble off the railing, watching as it tumbled down into the trees below. “This started out as me just wanting to give you a proper offering, one that you’d like. But now it feels like something I’m meant to do. If I can find a way to make Glaze Lilies more prosperous in Liyue again, I feel as though that would be a much better gift in your honor— as opposed to just… sitting one on the terrace to get stolen or blown away in the wind.”

Still no answer, but once again you were enveloped by that warm and lustrous feeling of peace as the sun rose over the water. Perhaps you were becoming addicted to this feeling. You certainly would not feel as ready to get through another day without it.

You gave a deep sigh, thinking long and hard before you decided it was time to ask for help.

“Granny?” You said as you made your way to her table. “Do you know anyone who has information on how Glaze Lilies were cultivated in the past?”

——————————

You were absolutely filthy.

Your knees were coated in dirt, wet soil clinging to your arms where your gloves didn’t cover. You were nearly certain your hair was a complete disaster.

None of that mattered. Your other plants were thriving, your shop was freshly stocked with premade bouquets and trimmed flowers for custom bouquets. You just unloaded your shipment of silk ribbons and wrapping paper, and were now nearly elbow deep in buckets of potting soil for your Mourning flowers.

They required a specific blend of nutrients and earth in comparison to your other flowers, and with your newest batch almost ready to trim, you needed to get a move on with the new growth before they all sold out.

You had just finished the mixing when the bell on the front door of your shop jingled.

“Just a moment, I’ll be right with you!” You yelled out.

The greenhouse was built connected to the shop which housed your little apartment on the second floor.

Everything was relatively close, so you often worked in the greenhouse during the slow hours. And that damned bell was so loud, though you supposed it had to be, otherwise you could run the risk of people sneaking in and taking what they’d like. Now, you didn’t think that was likely to happen, but it never hurt to be cautious.

You tossed your gloves onto the nearby counter and washed your hands with the bulle fruit scented soap by the sink.

You took off your dirty apron to exchange it for the clean shop apron. It helps to look somewhat put together when greeting customers.

You wiped your damp hands along the sides of the apron as you finished tying the knot, rounding the corner into the shop.

“How can I help you today?” You said, making your way to the front counter and pausing to make sure your bags were stocked in case they were purchasing something.

“I was told by a friend that you were in need of some information on historic flora cultivation?” The mans voice was deep, with a delicious rasp about it that had you wondering exactly what kind of man had a voice so alluring.

You looked up finally, trying to peek through the shelving as he walked along, only to catch glimpses of rich, warm browns. Curse you for stocking your flower bins so damn full.

You caught sight of warm brown hair, the morning sun gleaming in the windows to catch along the amber hues scattered throughout.

Your heart lurched as he turned the corner, watching as his eyes scanned the walls lining your shop— decorated with plants and trinkets, little baubles glimmering in the sunlight.

The face of quiet admiration he gave as he looked at the flowers might’ve buckled your knees if not for the realization that this was the man you had seen Madam Ping speaking to— that day.

This was that man. The man who may or may not have haunted your dreams for weeks after you saw him. You had wanted to ask Ping who he was, but you were so incredibly embarrassed about the whole situation. Now here he was, standing in your shop as you wondered if this was insanely good luck, or insanely bad luck.

“Ah, yes. Gran— I mean, Madame Ping said you might be around today.” You introduced yourself, welcoming him to your store as you tried to keep your voice level.

“It’s a pleasure,” the man said, giving a slight bow. “My name is Zhongli, I currently work at wangsheng funeral parlor as a consultant, but in my spare time I am somewhat of a historian, among other things.”

”It's lovely to meet you, Zhongli.” You wrung your hands together, unsure whether you should look him in the eye or not. They were so startling, so liquid gold it was difficult to hold their gaze.

He simply smiled softly. “I am at your service. Would you perhaps be willing to show me what you’ve been working on?”

As his gaze traveled across you, awaiting your response, but you suddenly became very aware of your current appearance. Surely any minuscule chance you had with this man flew out the window the moment he saw your disastrous hair and dirt scuffed knees.

Not that you thought you really had a chance with him to begin with, but it doesn’t hurt to dream big, right?

“Ah, yes. Of course.” You said, gesturing towards the back entrance to the greenhouse. “Right this way.”

He followed closely as you made your way back. His eyes roamed the expanse of your greenhouse in what looked like appreciation, and he nodded encouragingly at you when you paused to watch his reaction.

“This is quite impressive.”

Feeling your face heat up, you turned to remove your shop apron and threw your dirty one back around your waist with unsteady hands.

“It’s nothing really, I just figured that I should turn my hobby into a source of income, and well…” you hoped he didn’t notice your slight cringe as you donned your gloves once again. “I have a lot of free time on my hands.”

“Such dedication is nothing to shrug off so casually.” He walked around, his eyes catching the latest batch of little failures and he stood in front of them, leaning in close as if to inspect their misery in finer detail.

“These are the lilies?” He said, eyeing the drooping sprouts.

“Yes.” You sighed, coming to stand beside him. You were anxious, sure. But your greenhouse was your safe space. You ruled this kingdom, he was just a guest here. A well dressed, knowledgeable and extremely attractive guest, but you had to convince yourself that everything was fine. If you remained calm and collected, everything would be fine.

Fake it ‘til you make it— or however the saying goes.

“They either shrivel up and dry out, or they take in too much moisture and rot. I had a guidebook, but it was about as helpful as a catalyst in a crystal mine.”

You nearly gaped at him as he let a little chuckle fall from his lips, but he cut it off with a rough clearing of his throat, continuing to look at the plants.

“Hm, well. Let us take a look at the book. I can revise any incorrect information, and we can work from there, yes?”

Nodding, you turn to dig the accursed book from its time out in the pile of shame. (A pile of useless guidebooks that carried misinformation, or were just overall genuinely bad. However terrible they may be, you’d spend decent money on them and refuse to get rid of any of your books. Hence the creation of the pile of shame.)

Handing it to him, you move to start clearing the ruined plants from their nursery pots. You tried not to watch him as he flipped through the book, only allowing yourself little glances from the corner of your eye as you cleaned up. When you were finished, you lined up fresh nursery pots and flicked at a loose thread on the bag of seeds.

“Surprisingly, there are only a few minor discrepancies in this guide. Overall, it seems to be alright, however there is one glaringly obvious detail that has been completely missed.” Zhongli spoke behind you.

“Oh?” You turned, leaning against your countertop as you waited for him to elaborate.

“In order to successfully grow Glaze Lilies, you must sing to them.”

Your brow scrunched in confusion. “Excuse me?”

The corners of his lips tilted up, and you flushed at the attitude leaking from your tone in such a casual manner. You’d only just met this man, and he was being extremely professional and kind in helping you with this matter. Where were your manners?

Zhongli however, seemed unbothered by your casual display, and simply continued on.

“I’ll make the necessary notations here, to correct the minor discrepancies, but the main focus should be — that after the first sign of sprouting — you need to sing to them at least once daily for them to continue growing properly.”

You crossed your arms and looked at him through a furrowed brow.

“You’re not just making fun of me, are you? Because if this is some kind of practical joke, I don't find it very amusing.”

Zhongli smiled warmly, closing the book and leaning quite casually against the opposite countertop, his liquid gold eyes glittering with amusement, but it didn’t seem like the kind that was at your expense.

“I can assure you, I would never jest about something so important, nor would I play any kind of practical joke at your expense. I am simply sharing in my knowledge, hoping to help you in your desires, however I can.”

You felt your heart fluttering, and you attempted to steady your breath. “Alright. I’m sorry, I just…” how could you tell him you weren’t used to people being so sincere? How could you explain that you weren’t used to such kindness without seeming pathetic?

“Please do not worry yourself,” he said, stepping closer. He gestured to the small starting pots behind you. “Shall we get started?”

—————-

“—And now he’s spent the last two weeks dropping by after the parlor closes every day and just— hangs out in the greenhouse while I work? I mean, his help with starting up the lilies was wonderful, but now it’s just about keeping the right moisture levels and singing to them every night, which I refuse to do while he’s there, because I’m not up for embarrassing myself in front of the literal most gorgeous man alive, thank you.”

Your voice carried a little louder than usual, but by now the Milileth knew your routine, and hardly even batted an eye if they heard you speaking to yourself.

The sun hadn’t started to rise yet, you’d gotten to the terrace early, early enough that the lanterns were still lit, illuminating the darkened path up those torturous stairs.

“And he’s so polite? I don’t know how to act around him, he’s always giving such genuine sounding compliments, asking me questions while I work, helping me with little things. Surely a man like that has better things to do with his time?” You huffed, that creeping sense of self loathing wrapping around your shoulders like an old blanket, scratchy and rough, but oh so familiar.

“He’s so beautiful, and intellectual. He’s literally a walking historical archive and I could honestly listen to him talk for hours— But in comparison, I’m just… I’m just a little girl who plays around with dirt and flowers. I really don’t understand why he keeps hanging around.”

You scrunched your nose as the sun started to spill those beautiful colors across the sky.

“Do you think Madame Ping asked him to keep coming around? I know she thinks I'm lonely, but I don't need her to bribe a grown man into being my friend.”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes. “No, I can't see her taking it that far. I just… I really don’t see why he would want to be around me.”

That warm feeling started to envelop you, and you took a deep breath to soak it in. “I know… I have a lot of self worth issues. It’s not like I've asked him why he’s hanging around, I just kind of… let him. Maybe I can work up the courage to ask him why he’s so interested. He probably only wants to see if I can actually manage to grow those flowers.”

You rubbed the lingering sleep from your eyes and lingered a bit longer than usual, wondering what Rex Lapis would think about Mr. Zhongli.

——————————

Around the 3 month mark, when things started looking promising, you developed another new habit.

Instead of spending a dedicated section of time at night standing awkwardly and singing to your newly budded plants, you decided it would save time and effort to just sing away while you do your evening chores in the greenhouse.

You wouldn’t go out on a limb and say that your other plants were magically affected by your singing, but like your lilies, everything in the greenhouse seemed just a bit more vibrant as you did so.

You checked the clock, chewing your lip as you scolded yourself for missing Zhongli’s presence.

About a week ago, he’d stopped by to say that he was taking a leave of absence to go on a trip with a friend of his. He’d introduced the traveler and their strange floating companion to you before they headed off.

“I’ll only be gone for a week, maybe more, but I truly look forward to seeing the progress when I return.”

You’d sort of settled into the strange routine of greeting him in the evenings, making the odd pot of tea while he spoke about anything under the sun, entertaining you while you worked. It felt strange to not have him here, but you knew you couldn’t get too attached. When the lilies bloomed, he would most certainly lose interest, and you’d have to go back to your regular routine of lonely nights.

Your heart felt a bit somber as you hauled a few buckets of mulch along, not really focusing on your surroundings, just zoning out while you sang random tunes to help your lilies grow.

You remember a song you’d heard your grandmother sing a long time ago, a distant memory, but the melody was still so vibrant in your mind.

“Eyes shining like the sunrise,

Ever deeper than the night sky,

Nature sweet, like faun and flora,

More valuable than jade or mora,

Take me me there, safe from harm,

Safe at home, in your arms.

nature's bounty he—“

Your voice caught in your throat as you turned to grab the next bucket only to find Zhongli standing silently in the doorway, eyes nearly glowing in the lantern light.

You jumped, and you were sure if you had something in your hands, it would’ve flown out of them, most likely spilling all over you— embarrassing you even further.

“Zhongli?!” You yelped, throwing a hand over your pounding heart. “I didn’t hear you come in! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

He chuckled, a warm sound you’d grown so fond of hearing. “I did not intend to startle you. Though I am surprised you did not hear me, considering how you’re always on about how loud that bell is.”

“Yes, well,” your face grew so extremely warm, you pulled off your gloves and shoved them in your apron pocket, kicking a foot on the flooring of your greenhouse. ”I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here tonight, so I suppose I let myself get too carried away.”

“I wouldn’t say you were too carried away.” His eyes were sparkling, his smile deeper than you think you’d ever seen it before.

“Wha— are you teasing me? I thought you said you wouldn’t—“ he cut off your rambling with a simple murmuring of your name, nodding to the countertop behind you.

Confused, you turned, and in the moonlight streaming in through exposed glass sat six perfect glaze lilies, fully bloomed.

You walked towards them in awe, feeling Zhongli’s presence not far behind.

“I…” you stared at them, eyes wide and mouth nearly hanging open. “I can’t believe…”

You were hopeful, of course you were. But a part of you genuinely expected to come in one day and find them dead, destroyed like the others. You had wanted this so badly, but after months of failure, you had lost your confidence. But there, sat in front of you in their little pots, sat six perfect fully grown glaze lilies.

“I did it.” You mumbled, turning around to face Zhongli. Your heart felt like it was bursting in your chest. You jumped, barely able to contain your joy as you shrieked.

“I did it!” You excitedly danced around, pumping your fists in the air and whooping, in total bliss at your accomplishment.

“You did it.” Zhongli simply said, smiling down at you.

“We did it!” You yelled, your joy uncontainable. Without thinking, you threw yourself at him, giggling as he caught you effortlessly, spinning you around as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

He smelled like amber, like the forest and the mountain air, crisp and pure and addicting. You took another deep breath before you realized what exactly you were doing.

You quickly pushed yourself away, backing up with a squeaking “sorry!” Only in your embarrassment, you completely lost your bearings, immediately tripping backwards on a stack of potting soil sacks and tumbling down.

You tried to catch yourself on the side counter, but only succeeded in grabbing hold of a stack of books you’d been meaning to relocate, the pile of shame.

Perhaps it was your karma for naming it such, perhaps it was irony, but the pile of shame merely tumbled down along with you, spilling onto your head with a terrible series of audible smacking sounds to accompany your little cries of pain.

“Oh!” In Zhongli’s defense, he really had tried to catch you, but you supposed when you pushed away, you must have shoved him a bit farther back as well, and he was merely seconds too late from grabbing your arm to steady you.

You sat in your embarrassment, letting a loose book stay where it landed, covering your face.

“Are you alright?” Zhongli said, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“Can you pretend like the last five minutes never happened?” You said, cringing beneath the pages of an extremely outdated copy of Flowers in Food: recipes for your floral tastes.

“Unfortunately, my dear,” Zhongli began removing the book from your face, peeking down at your reddened cheeks beneath the pages. “I have the pleasure of having an impeccable memory.”

“I had a feeling you’d say something like that.” You grumbled.

You began peeling books off yourself, face warm as you wondered how you were going to get out of this one.

“You did not need to apologize, though.” Zhongli said, crouching down to help you. “I am more than comfortable sharing in your excitement at such an accomplishment.”

Your heart fluttered, and your face heated for entirely different reasons. Maybe it was okay that you’d hugged him? As much as you want to think he’s always teasing you, he has never once lied about how he’s felt about anything.

“Oh.” You said, peeling away the last couple books. “Well then, I’m sorry for pushing away so abruptly, and uh… that you had to see all that.”

He smiled, shaking his head as if he was going to tell you something more, when his eyes seemed to catch something along your torso.

You looked down, and under the last book you’d pulled off your stomach sat a little glowing orb, about the size of your palm.

Its warm amber light glowed against the fabric of your shirt, and you looked just as shocked at Zhongli for a moment.

But his face steadied, and he smiled down at you. “It seems that your perseverance has been recognized in the highest regard.”

You gapped down at the geo vision sitting on your stomach.

“I… what?”

—————————

AN: what did you think? Please let me know in the comments/tags/askbox! Also feel free to send in ideas for some dynamics you’d enjoy seeing between these two, as I have a vague idea of where the story will go, but its not entirely concrete yet!

- from Pidge, with love <3

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact Zhongli #Zhongli #Zhongli x reader #zhongli x gn reader #gn reader #Zhongli fluff #genshin impact fluff #rex lapis #morax #madame ping #🌻🐉

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ataraxiaspainting · 3 days

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Can you write for black swan as a yandre?

Lovers Forever, Until The World Falls Down.

Yan Black Swan x F Reader.

Synopsis: Her tarot cards are just as well used to predict the past as they are to predict the future.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, major spoilers for Honkai: Star Rail 2.0 and 2.1 Updates, implied stalking, and mentions of violence/character deaths.

Word Count: 1.3k.

*~*~*~*

When Black Swan’s eyes first lay upon you, she has multiple impressions of you.

The Remembrance has caused her to have manifolds of judgments, some lapses and others more thorough. But never once did the Remembrance ever cause her to be so deeply enveloped in someone that she would proudly showcase what Fuli has blessed her with.

She knows what you are, all of you. Your past, present, and future… all of it is seen within the eyes of the Garden of Recollection.

It is only natural for her to want you to know her as much as she knows you. With social creatures comes the need to connect. When it comes to Black Swan, her wants and her needs are equally important, and thus she has no need to separate them.

“What brings you to me, fair maiden? What ails you?”

The only sounds that arise from you are slight grumbles, and the only fresh sights she has of you are fading tear stains on your cheeks. As a response, she repeats her words softer this time, crosses one of her legs over the other, and rests her head on one of her gloved hands.

“I want…” You start, clenching your nails into your palms so deep they almost bleed. “To know the… thing that killed my friend, Memokeeper.”

In her other hand are a few of her beloved tarot cards, tucked so lovingly between her pointer and middle fingers.

“Ah,” Black Swan lets out a sigh so gentle you do not hear it. “I presume you are speaking of Miss Robin?”

You nod, looking down at your lap as she lays out the cards in a simple, singular motion on the table.

“Who else would I be talking about?” Your tone is that of an angry hiss, but she knows it is not directed at her. For you, you two had only just met. But to her, with the powers that come with the followers of the Remembrance, it feels like she has known you your entire life.

Black Swan’s gaze is all-seeing, and nothing that is not in the dark can be unseen once she has seen it–even when she wishes it were otherwise, like that dance she had with that Galaxy Ranger.

She wishes now that perhaps she was dancing with you instead.

“Pick a card,” The Memokeeper requests, her now free hand gesturing towards the sight she had just made. “We’ll continue from there.”

“Why?”

She shakes her head slightly as she closes her eyes for a moment. From that expression on your face, she can tell that you have to stop yourself from scoffing at her. “Just trust me; I don’t mean any ill will towards you… and nor will I harbor any.”

“I’ve heard odd things like this about you, Miss Black Swan, but I didn’t think they would have been true.” She knows the comment is not an insult, but it is not a compliment either. “Do people blessed by the Remembrance always act like this? I’m… just curious is all.”

When you point to the card on the center’s right. “Are you planning to replace me already? I thought we were getting along quite well…”

She turns over the card as her palm faces you, and that causes you to loudly gasp.

“The Eternal Freeze… Jarillo-VI.”

She turns over the card on the center’s left without asking you to pick another. She stifled a chuckle.

“Cocolia Rand. A Silvermane Guard trapped in what looks to be a block of ice…”

One after the other, things are revealed. It is faster than either of you could catch your breath. It is faster than what you wanted it to go. It is not faster than the realization that hits when Black Swan connects all your memories into a perfectly completed puzzle.

“Stop it-”

“You have lost someone before, haven’t you?” She can imagine… no, presume, the suffocating atmosphere surrounding you, as you appear on the verge of gasping for air. “You couldn’t save them either… Am I right, Miss [First]?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t look angry anymore. Despite the venomous nature of her words, her tone manages to grow even gentler as she utters them.

“Despite everything you tried to do, you couldn’t save them… Who were they, if you don’t mind me asking such a thing, oh dear citizen of Belobog?”

You avert your gaze from her, once again opting not to respond. Black Swan patiently waits, arranging the cards in her hand to create a semi-circle. As a Memokeeper, she has acquired numerous lessons from the Remembrance, but the most valuable one is knowing the significance of patience.

The fingers that wrap around your own are both warm and freezing cold.

“My… partner.”

She tilts her head to the side, her lips pursing up into a kind smile. “Ah… I see… I didn’t know.” She lies. “I’m sorry for your loss. But… my apologies for saying this… if you couldn’t even save your partner from the blizzard, I believe you cannot avenge Miss Robin’s death.”

Your eyebrows simply furrow like she expected them to.

“For Peniconians, death is a grand illusion, a state of falsehood, something that is not supposed to exist within the Dreamscape… thus, something much more powerful than you or I or even the Family had to break the rules of the Harmony and become… well… Death.”

When Black Swan’s eyes look at new tears as they start to fall, she has only two impressions of you, the others fading away like an amnesiac’s memories.

“I don’t mean any harm when I tell you this. It is the truth, plain and simple.”

Her hand squeezes slightly against yours. Once again, you do not respond.

“You do not have to fight something you cannot defeat.” She scoots her chair slightly closer to your side of the table.

She is met by a few more moments of quietness before you ultimately choose to break the silence. “Her death will be in vain then. Just like theirs. I do not want to be a coward anymore.”

Another sigh escapes her lips, and once again it is not out of exhaustion but rather curiosity.

Her grin remains unwavering, just as she had taught herself to. “You were never a coward in the first place, dear.”

Black Swan continues to move her chair quietly, but not at all subtly, until your thighs touch hers.

“I really won’t be able to… at least help the Family?” You ask. “I am really not… useful?”

“You’re useful in other ways to the people you love and trust, and those who reciprocate.” Her initial judgment is that you require safeguarding from the dangers of the world. It is in your best interest, her best interest, to remain inside a safe and small space, as there is a risk of you inadvertently harming yourself while attempting to assist others.

“Am I?” You mutter, clasping your hands together. “Am I… really? People… really like me?”

She affirms with a slight movement of her head.

Black Swan's second opinion of you is that you pose too great of a risk to be released, as it would result in her being left alone without any chance of ever seeing you again.

It is selfishness that prevents her from showing the two remaining cards, both hidden elsewhere. One of which has the depiction of you dead, and the other has you smiling proudly as she watches from afar in hiding.

The Remembrance has taught Black Swan how to be many things, but it is Black Swan who has taught herself how to be selfish.

#i can fix her i swear #yandere #yandere x reader #aya abstractions #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #yandere hsr #yandere black swan #yandere black swan x reader #black swan x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #300 followers event

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thedarkdisgrace · 1 month

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The thread from twitter I did about my interpretations on Verlaine, rereading this some parts might sounds a little redundant but i think it gets the point across.

People have a lot of opinions on Verlaine but I think this one line in particular goes hard & does alot to explain his view of humanity as well as the conversation a the end of SB.

“Sometimes creating is far more sinister than killing.”

I think Verlaine views his creation as an ‘act of humanity’. But to normal people, an act of humanity means kindness, right? Showing compassion or empathy. But from Verlaine’s POV it is the *opposite* of that. Humanity is not kind nor compassionate. It’s dark, twisted, & selfish.

Humanity to Verlaine is *only* the darkest and worst parts of human nature because that’s all he ever knew. He was created with the sole purpose of being controlled & used to kill & destroy. That was his entire world until Rimbaud rescued him & gave him some control for the first time.

Verlaine despises how he was created, that he was created in the first place. In his mind, humans used their capacity to create to make something that only serves to destroy & also, cruelly, allowed that creation to suffer all alone. They let him suffer and never treated him as a human, just a tool. A weapon. So he came to resent humans & humanity itself.

To Verlaine, humanity represents everything sinister in the world. Not any of the good that, say, Chuuya sees. Rimbaud was an exception to this, however, & I believe it’s why Verlaine pushed Rimbaud away. Because his existence & treatment of Verlaine was challenging this world view. Then when Rimbaud sides against him when he wanted to take Chuuya to safety, that was the confirmation Verlaine needed that Rimbaud was just like the rest. Even if Verlaine knew deep down that wasn’t really true.

Humanity disgusts him because of the way he was created & his lack of real purpose. He couldn’t find a reason he *should* exist, given that the original purpose of his creation was sinister. Because of that I think he believes no good can come from humanity so he thinks of them as monsters.

It’s why he believes creating is more sinister than killing. Humanity created him out of selfishness & with no compassion what so ever. He resents his very existence & his loneliness. He believes someone would have to be sinister to create Verlaine as he is, completely alone, no real purpose, only to be used by others.

So he thinks of the people who made him (& by extension Chuuya) as the worst monsters, more monstrous than he could ever be. It’s this dark view of humanity that I believe leads to Verlaine to thinking of killing as a thrill to him & also a tool.

Nothing about humanity is salvageable to him, at least not until the end of SB. In his own words he’s “the soul of a man who couldn’t trust the world or its people like you do.” As he says to Chuuya at the end of the book when he comes to realize, through Chuuya, his view may be wrong/incomplete.

Verlaine was incapable of trusting that humans could be more, that they were more than their darkest parts. He wasn’t able to trust that darkness was only a singular part of humanity & that the good wasn’t only a mask they would hide their darkness with. Though some do hide behind masks of kindness, it’s not all of humanity. Genuine people do exist. Caring people do exist.

But to Verlaine, killing humans isn’t a monstrous act. It’s almost an act of mercy or even a punishment. But Verlaine is also just desperately lonely because of his loathing of humanity. How he separates himself from it. That’s why when he learns of Chuuya, someone that existed that he felt might share his pain & might actually understand his POV, all he wants to do is protect him. To bring him to his side so he doesn’t have to be so lonely anymore & he can still serve humanity the “justice” for lack of a better word he thinks they deserve through killing.

He wanted to protect Chuuya from humanity itself because to him, humanity is the villain. He believed everyone around Chuuya was only using him because to him that’s all humans do. Aside Rimbaud, who he ended up fighting, he never had anyone to show him other things humanity has to offer

To him all humans do is use & abused & are selfish & twisted. That’s why Verlaine doesn’t even think twice about killing the flags, for example. Surely they were just using Chuuya like everyone else. Humans are the monsters, not him & Chuuya, despite the purposes of their creation.

Now, in the end, Chuuya & Verlaine come to understand more of each others POVs. That’s why Verlaine taught Chuuya how to defeat him. Because even while Verlaine still doesn’t quite believe humanity has value, he sees Chuuya’s conviction in his belief that humanity *is*valuable. People can be worth it.

Chuuya knows humanity is more complex than Verlaine believes & despite the darkness that exists there *is* light too. Humans are more than their worst sides. Chuuya has always believed people were worth living for, that they were worth suffering for.

But he also knows he could have easily gone down the dark path Verlaine did. As Chuuya says “You rolled the dice and lost. It was a stroke of bad luck, and you rolled a one. But the pips came out different when I rolled. I was blessed with wonderful friends. That’s all.”

Verlaine, in the end, I believe, *wants* to believe in what Chuuya believes about the world. As Chuuya says to him:

“Besides, what you have isn’t just hatred. You don’t actually despise the world. That’s why you showed me that memory. You taught me how to defeat Guivre.”

Chuuya is his opposite essentially. Chuuya, even while suffering at the hand of the coldness and cruelty that humanity is capable of, can still see the good and light of human nature. Chuuya has always known there is more to humanity than cruelty & Verlaine never was able to see that before.

Chuuya contributes this essentially to always having friends, people he cared about around him. But Chuuya does *understand* why Verlaine is the way he is. Why Verlaine thinks the way he does & Chuuya, being who he is, essentially forgives him in the end. It’s why he’s able to have that “final” conversation with him.

Humanity, what it *means* to be human, is really the entire theme of Storm Bringer & everyone showcases us a different perspective of this. Chuuya, Adam & Verlaine (Dazai somewhat as well) as show us different aspects of humanity and ones struggles with it. Verlaine’s view is dark. It showcases the impact a *lack* of humanity being shown to others can have on us.

I am also not saying anything Verlaine did was alright or justifying what he did because of his broken view on life. What he tried to do by killing everyone Chuuya knew was wrong. But he *does care* about Chuuya. But he couldn’t express that in any healthy way. He didn’t know how, didn’t know it was wrong in the first place.

Anyway, this is just my interpretation of Verlaine as a character and everyone can have their own interpretations! These are just my thoughts. I hope they made sense, I’m not super sure I was able to articulate everything well. I think I I kinda rambled but oh well.

#bsd spoilers #bsd analysis #bsd stormbringer #paul verlaine #chuuya #bsd verlaine #chuuya nakahara #dazai #bsd #soukoku

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suashii · 14 days

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hellooo. hope your days is going lovely and that this gives you some inspo! 💕 katsuki + childhood friends and there's only one bed

hello hello~ thanks for the suggestion! very cute scenario so i hope u like the outcome! :)) writing warmups if u wanna request!

getting caught up in a mission prefectures away from home means having to spend the night in a hotel—much to bakugo’s dismay. you don’t blame him, you prefer sleeping in your own bed too, but after such a taxing fight, all you really care about is getting to relax for the rest of the night—even if that rest and relaxation is in a hotel.

you’re barely able to hold your arm up to swipe the key card that will allow you into your room. a beep sounds in the hall and you use the same hand to turn the doorknob. upon inspection, it’s a nice accommodation.

there’s just one thing…

as soon as you see the singular mattress with its headboard against the wall, you know your companion is going to have something to say about it. his heavy footsteps trail behind you and the moment you can no longer make them out, his voice fills the brief silence. “what the hell?”

you roll your eyes and drop the bag of items you picked up on the way at your feet. there should be enough in there to get you through the night and tomorrow morning before you’re able to head back home.

in all honesty, you didn’t mean to book a single bed but it’s been a long, exhausting day and you jumped at the first option presented to you by the hotel staff. she must have assumed the two of you were together—partners in more than the hero sense.

“chill out, dynamight.” your use of his hero name earns you an unimpressed look that’s makes you grin. you stretch your arms above your head and let out a satisfied groan. “it’s no big deal.”

he clicks his tongue in annoyance. “i’m not sleeping in a bed with you.”

you’d be offended if you hadn’t been subject to his snide remarks for practically all your life.

“look, if you wanna go all the way back downstairs and argue with that poor woman about room availability, be my guest.” you have no intention of doing that, choosing instead to slip off the gloves of your costume. “but i am getting ready for bed.”

he seems to think it over for a moment before begrudgingly setting his gauntlets on the desk. whether he admits it or not, you’ve always been his voice of reason.

the two of you quietly take turns using the bathroom to freshen up. you’re already comfortable on your chosen side of the mattress when bakugo emerges from the bathroom, donned in the touristy pajama pants you picked out for him.

you have the matching shirt.

he makes his way over to the bed and there’s a jesting comment on the tip of your tongue about how dramatic he was earlier, insisting he wouldn’t sleep beside you. though, it never makes it past your lips because instead of joining you, the man grabs the pillow and plops them on the floor.

you frown. “seriously dude?”

he shoots you a look that all but says: i already told you.

“just get in the bed. i don’t wanna hear you complain about how sore you are in the morning.”

your words don’t have the convincing effect you hoped they would. you try a different approach.

“i’ll stay on my side,” you tell him and hold up three fingers, “scout’s honor.”

bakugo highly doubts that you’ll stick to your word—he’s seen how you sleep on the occasion that you two share a room with two separate beds. still, the thought of waking up even more stiff and uncomfortable than he already is almost makes him shiver. and it’ll only be for a few hours.

“fine,” he agrees, bending down to pick up the pillow and replace it on the bed. he peels back the blanket and situates himself beside you, making an effort to leave as much space as possible between you and him. he turns to you. “just be sure to stay over there.”

you snort at how serious his expression is. “aw, is katsuki afraid of catching my cooties?”

he lays down so his back is facing you. with that and the darkness of the room, there’s no way you can see the rose hue blooming on his cheeks.

“shut up and go to sleep.”

#unedited so sorry for any mistakes!!#this scenario is just #so Katsuki lol #i love a childhood friend situation w him #bc then you can poke fun and talk shit with no consequence lol #big bonus is his harboring unspoken feelings hehe #bakugo x reader

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nanomooselet · 3 months

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My Brother's Keeper (VII)

Knives, despite it all, I do indeed pity you. You horrible creature. More than you might imagine anyone would dare.

I said some time ago that Knives has agency and Vash doesn't, and that the Eye of Michael's dogma demands sacrifice.

One lives. One dies.

When Knives tells Vash to leave humanity, it's at that very instant Vash realises the truth: that this isn't about the Plants versus humans. It was never about that, ever, and trying to dissuade Knives from continuing his descent by arguing from that premise isn't ever actually going to work.

It's about how discovering Tesla broke them in two. It broke reality, cracked the singular unit they once believed themselves to be in half, and sent each half down forever-separate paths in both space and time.

Vash, through Rem, decided he could face the future. Even despite this discovery, how apathetically cruel the world is to the innocent, the future is always ours to shape as long as we live to choose. Rem showed him that through acknowledging and accepting responsibility for the pain of the past, even if once ignorant or complicit, one could learn and heal, and therefore work to be free of it. Not perfect. Never perfect. But still better.

Nai only saw potential pain. The fear of facing the world where it could be inflicted, and of those who'd done so, consumed him. He would erase both by returning to the past, the innocence and ignorance of having never learned the frightening truth. He'd thus build a paradise, an Eden, where no sin was committed and no sinner would set foot. He alone, in his own singular perfection, was fit both to assume this task and the power - and thus the right - to fulfil it.

Since when have we been so different?/Who are you? We've become so different I don't think I even know you anymore.

Vash begins to cry because he sees now that Nai… Nai is gone. Maybe he ran for too long, or maybe the Nai he thought he knew never existed. It doesn't matter anymore. There's nothing of his brother left to love in this monster before him, who's done everything that he's done and isn't sorry and wants to keep doing it by seizing control over Vash's own body. (Even though they look more like each other now than they have since they were kids, which still absolutely ruins me.) Vash grieves his brother, his brother's love and their togetherness in the past, but he finally knows for sure that they're gone, and he must define his own identity, and move beyond them.

His declaration that he'll always run isn't about running from humanity, anymore than Knives is truly fighting for the freedom of the Plants.

Seriously, Knives isn't fighting for the freedom of the Plants. He thinks he is, because he thinks that justifies controlling their bodies and consuming their power and benefiting from their suffering, but he's reversed cause and effect. He acts and so they suffer, but he believes their suffering is what motivates his actions and not his fear and his greed for the power to destroy whatever he fears. It's circular, and it's entirely self-centred.

It's the logic not of a liberator but of the entire system of oppression.

Knives's paradise, the home to which he's so desperate to return, no longer exists. It never will again. Not for him or for Vash or for the Plants. Knives himself broke it. Knives himself ripped it out of the heavens and plunged it into the earth, shattering it, so he could reshape the pieces into something that he alone controlled. Knives will always assume control, and he won't stop if you give what he says he wants, because he won't admit or even try to understand that it's not the truth.

He wants to stop being scared and alone. He wants his brother to need him and never leave him. He wants his mother, but she's gone. (He killed her. Over and over and over again he kills her and she's still always gone and he hates her for always being gone. Why is she gone? Why didn't she stay? He asked. He gave her a choice.)

(Yet in Vash's memories and in the people he loves, Rem's spirit lives on, and always will. She still loves him, her perfect boy, even still protects him, just as she promised she would. Did you guys know Vash's coat is bulletproof? Did you guys realise Vash literally still walks around kicking ass in the protective embrace of his mother? I actually had to take a minute, when I figured it out. It made me tear up.)

I was rejected?

Let me back in! Take me back.

Knives wants to go home. To be a child again with Vash by his side. Innocent, together, in paradise. But once you've grown up, you can never really go home again. It's a fundamentally selfish desire to want everything to go back to being the same forever - what it means is that because it was good or kind for you specifically, everyone else has to conform whether it was good and kind to them or not. There's always danger in nostalgia even when it's not misplaced. It encourages destructive nihilism, malicious and ignorant apathy. If the best can only ever be behind us, there is no reason to try to go on.

Vash is not nostalgic. Vash will run, and run, and keep running. For a lifetime if he has to - and a Plant's lifetime is a long one. It's not that he hasn't made a choice, but that he'd already made it long ago: to be free of Knives, to live and to fight for independence from his brother's abusive care, and to find a way to unite humans and Plants, the purpose he's been eager and happy to serve since the day he found it. Rem's dream is one he longs to fulfil, and he finally knows he has the power, intelligence, resilience, strength and above all, the right to take up that task.

He's just acknowledged and accepted that it's not also his purpose to help his stupid brother, not if this is all he gets in response. Dismissed, ignored, insulted, his grief and compassion mocked; abused, put down, smothered, injured, rendered permanently disabled, scarred, violated, traumatised. Forced into the shape that Knives imagines he should be in, pieces cut away until he fits the image in his brother's head.

It's very sad that after all that Knives has done to him, Vash doesn't value his own life and wellbeing enough to care for himself as much as he cares for everyone else in the world. But it still beats Knives trying to do it for him. He's so bad at it.

In the past, on occasions such as this, when Vash demonstrated like... the capacity to sort of almost disagree, Knives would yell at him suddenly and loudly enough that Vash would freeze up in terror, and then Knives would do whatever he wanted regardless. My man isn't good at hearing the word "no". If yelling or insults failed, he'd do something physically violent. I've seen a lot of takes on how funny and/or gay it is that Vash's reaction to Wolfwood grabbing his lapels and threatening to torture him to death is... this.

But understand that when Vash suggests an alternative that doesn't involve mass murder, his brother tends not to agree to it. Or stop at threats. Vash's arguments with Knives always make Vash sound a bit pathetic and dumb because Knives doesn't actually engage Vash - he shuts him down or insults him, telling him he's too weak and stupid to even speak. He has no respect at all for Vash's opinions, abilities, or as a person - honestly, I wouldn't treat an animal this way.

When someone finally respects your beliefs and abilities after they've been coldly or violently dismissed so many times, that's… how it feels.

Knives assumed that Vash had no powers so he was weak, and then when Vash did demonstrate powers, that Vash was weak because he was frightened of them. As usual, the trauma he's inflicted maybe being the problem never entered his mind; it's always Vash's fault. When Vash finally has both power and the will to assert control of it, he finally has the capacity and strength to enforce his refusal. And that leaves Knives finally exhausted of any means to break his will.

Except one. One final choice.

Vash is right: the plan has failed and this is over. Knives can never again have the power he desires, and what's more, Vash would rather be shot at for another hundred years than be together with his brother in paradise.

In spite of everything Knives has done to destroy it, the independent identity of Vash the Stampede yet survives. And so.

One lives.

One dies.

Nai is dead.

There's no turning back.

(The stars are falling down.)

And no one ever really goes home.

If you want to tell me Stampede is a poor quality adaptation, it's not funny and it's shallow and Vash is a loser now and there's no Milly and they're just exploiting the property and if it just hadn't been called Trigun maybe... maybe...

Maybe! You're entitled to an opinion. I'm open to the discussion. I do always try to assume good faith.

However, I'm still probably not going to agree.

And I'm done. Now I need to lie down on the floor and cry over my beautiful disaster twins. Thank you very much for reading! I encourage you to be as insane in the tags as you feel moved to be, because I crave validation.

(Extreme Lesbianism for Meryl Stryfe: Coming Soon.)

(Part I)

(Part II)

(Part III)

(Part IV)

(Part V)

(Part VI)

#trigun stampede #tristampparty #millions knives #vash the stampede #trigun meta #hundreds spoons #vash is in fact perfect #hundred spoons is a yellow-bellied baby who needs his mommy #throwing a tantrum trying to blow everything up #maybe if he'd tried the ramen in july he'd be less on fire #TOO LATE NOW #loser #i cherish them both #full disclosure the shot where knives is launched through the rem-plant-thing's face is only there because it makes me giggle #on a scale of millions knives to one how graceful are you in defeat #meta: my brother's keeper

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