#and its canonically because hes a mercenary | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Note

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment.

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze.

König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others.

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!”

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect.

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up.

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child.

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru.

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes.

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest.

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!”

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away.

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!” König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture.

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you, König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you.

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt.

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny.

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone.

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge.

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.”

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction.

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl.

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance.

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.”

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!”

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience.

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done.

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling.

Evolve, or die.

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later.

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.”

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants.

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA.

The Lieutenant is one of them.

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead.

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t.

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact.

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself.

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins.

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was.

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding.

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed.

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes.

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide.

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady.

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire.

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock.

Your finger slams into the trigger.

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself.

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König.

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary.

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt.

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch.

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later.

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure.

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König.

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone.

Anyone but you, that is.

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter.

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced.

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down.

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm.

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?”

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment.

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour.

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you.

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence.

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up.

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh.

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest.

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.”

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given.

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly.

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.”

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?”

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?”

He freezes, muscles going taunt.

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?”

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away.

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate.

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit.

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over.

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side.

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air.

König kneeled to you and bared himself.

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this.

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood.

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug.

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning.

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he.

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame.

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears.

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him.

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat.

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English.

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril.

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust.

You find none.

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening.

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words.

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize.

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized.

For you to come back to him. His partner.

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths.

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

NEW TAGLIST SIGN-UP: Here

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n

8K notes · View notes

bi-writes · 1 month

Text

you get into big trouble, and you must pay the price. but bunnies should be terrified, and you are not.

mercenary!ghost x fem!reader (part 3/?)

notes about reader: she's curvy !!!! and she knows it.

cw: this is not a healthy relationship (you're both fucking insane), mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mean!ghost, toxic!ghost, possessive + protective!ghost, kissing through the mask, mentions/depictions of violence + gore, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than ghost, can be easily manhandled by him), ghost is bIG, mentions of ghost's canon trauma, mw3 spoilers, fem!receiving touching + a little oral (18+), unprotected piv

his phone pings. he turns it over, narrowing his eyes at the text on the screen.

🐰: made some cookies. come over?

he runs his tongue over his teeth, clicking it lowly before leaning back in his chair. his ass hurts; he's been sitting here for hours, watching a dark window do nothing for hours.

💀: Working.

🐰: i have a surprise for you !!!

💀: Later.

for a moment, he thinks he should be nicer. give his puppy a bone. tell her he misses the taste of her pretty pussy, that he can still smell her on the mask he hasn't washed. and this is true, he knows it; he aches to go back to where she lives. he wants to see her again. put his dirty, gloved fingers into her mouth and watch her cry, soak her soft panties again, steal them, watch her cry harder when he finally gives her what she wants.

the most horrifying part is that he wants it. he wants to feel the warmth of her body. he wants to see her wide hips stutter, her pretty thighs open. he thinks about bending her over and kneeling down behind her, spreading the meat of her ass so he can watch her come undone against the velvet cushions of her couch.

you're so fucking pretty. and you're everywhere. when he grips the metal of his rifle, he thinks about how hard he was when he ate your cunt--fucking solid, balls so heavy and tight that he thinks he came for a full minute when he finally touched himself that night. when the sight of that rifle finds its target, he thinks about the way your pupils dilated when you came, the way your eyes rolled back into your head and the little sounds you made when he drank up the essence of you. when he swings his knife and plunges it into a soft neck, he thinks about your smile, the teeth you bared, the ones he wants to slide his tongue over when he kisses you again.

he had kissed you. kissed someone. the thought alone would normally make him vomit. to think of another person seeing his face, it bothered him, would usually make him feel sick--disgusted. his face wasn't meant for anyone to see, not even just half of it, and yet--he let you touch him.

and it didn't burn.

he remembers when he had taken a hand once for it. feeling someone's touch on his face, feeling scarred all over again by it, and taking flesh as their penance.

it was only fair.

there is something wrong with him. he should've killed you for it. your hand on his jaw, your lips on his, he should've killed you for touching him--and yet here he is, in another lonely room, staring at his target, thinking about how he can get your hands on him again. how he might coax you into kissing him just one more time.

he doesn't want to make it a habit. but he does want it to happen again. and it is enough that he knows he shouldn't see you again, but he will, because he's selfish. because he's hungry. because there is place inside of him, one that he thought was hollow and untreatable, that is just that much satiated whenever he is with you.

when he closes his eyes, he sees what haunts him. it isn't the memories of torture. he doesn't feel the wood of a coffin he once laid in. he doesn't feel the sting of pain when they carved layers into his face, he doesn't feel the holes they left along his chest when they rooted out pieces of him. he doesn't feel what he felt when they popped his fingernails off one by one.

no, he feels the ghost of someone's touch. he feels the rough callouses of skilled hands. he thinks of the bruised knuckles that used to scrape over the ridges of his uneven skin, and he thinks of the eyes that used to look at him as if he wasn't this mangled, forgotten thing.

he thinks of those eyes, and how blue they used to be. he thinks of what they looked like with that brightness in them, how they used to move, so fluid and easy. and he thinks of what they looked like with nothing in them. he thinks of them when they reflected nothing but the dull light over his head, and he thinks of the scream he let out when he was alone, when he still had his blood on his gloves.

ghost never begs. he doesn't beg, he never has, but he thinks he did that night. he thinks he begged, to who, to no one maybe, but he begged anyway, but it doesn't matter.

no one answered, and he knows there is a place inside of him so fucking hollow, that nothing will fill it again. a hole that only seems to be dug deeper and deeper with each thing he loses.

he never looked back when he left. he didn't say a word. he didn't even take his belongings, he just left. and the only thing he still carries with him from his past life is how good he is at killing and the extra dog tags that hang around his neck.

ghost isn't real. there is nothing about him that is redeemable, nothing about him that is good enough to love, and that is why he just doesn't care. and when he stopped caring, the nightmares went away. when he stopped wondering where they were, what they were seeing, if they would be disappointed in him, he no longer saw their faces in his dreams, watching them fade to black as the soft images turned into violent ones.

when he stopped being human, they left him, and he is so grateful for it. and that is why you were going to be a problem.

because he wants. he desires. he tastes, and he hungers, and you are sweet, and he wants to have you, and it isn't right. he knows this. he knows what it is he needs to do, but he won't do it--and there is a voice in his head that begs, from a far away place, for him to let you go.

but while he might not be human any longer, he is still a man, and men are weak.

as a man, he cannot close his eyes and forget your pretty face. he cannot stop thinking about your warm thighs, the softness of you, the unscarred skin that you wear. you wear your body as it is yours, and not like it holds you back, not like his does. your belly is full, and your heart is good, and you are warm. you aren't made of something else, you are real, and his blood runs so cold, he can't help but itch to feel you again.

there is something about you that makes that place inside of him feel like it isn't there, even for just a moment. and those moments remind him of someone else, of something else, something he once had that made him sick to think about having again.

the last time he had this, it killed him. the last time he found himself here, he didn't realize it had happened until it was too late--he was buried, deep, and there was no escaping a shallow grave this time because he thinks he loved the one that put him there. the last time he thought this way, he felt not himself, not enough, but it had been everything his life had been without, so he stayed, and he let it happen, and he didn't push him away, and now look at me--look at what I've done, look at what I've become--

men are weak. and men are lonely. and it was only a matter of time before ghost found himself there again, on his knees for something else. something soft and sweet and real, something that loves unconditionally and begs for attention and is never satiated until he looks at them and gives them what they need.

he doesn't know what he will become after you. he doesn't know what it will make of him. he knows you will go before him--he knows you will die before he does, because he isn't capable of dying, and even though he knows this as a fact, he wants to die again. but he won't try, because it won't work, even if he takes the blade strapped to his side and shoves it right through his heart.

he doesn't have one. he doesn't know what such a wound would even do. and he doesn't wish to see what color his blood will run if he does it, anyways.

you don't like the distance he keeps you at. it isn't fair. you do everything he asks--you go where he goes, you let him come and go whenever he wants, you spread your legs for him and let him have his fill, and you don't complain when he leaves even though your mouth waters thinking about getting your mouth on him and hearing him bask in his own pleasure for even a moment.

he gives and he takes, but he lets you do neither, and you want more. you know he isn't capable of more, you know he doesn't want more, but you want it, and he needs it. he needs you, despite what he says, despite how he acts, and you will give him what he needs.

you see it in his eyes. the things that aren't there, the things you think he once had but doesn't have anymore. sometimes he talks like you aren't there, and he mentions someone else.

another person. someone he used to know. someone he used to love, you think, but he isn't capable of love anymore, so you often wonder what they did to him to make him this way.

aloof. detached. so entirely fucked, he cannot make connections or hold the ones he has or let himself have what he needs. they have done something to him, and he wears the aftermath of it so clearly.

"he woulda liked you," he says sometimes.

"woulda loved the taste of y'r cunt," he murmurs once.

but they are gone. and you are not. and you know that there is something here. otherwise, he would never come back. he would not want to see you again. maybe he would have even killed you, but he hasn't, and he eats pussy like he loves you, so you decide you won't leave him alone. you won't let him go. this isn't fair, and you will get what it is you want--and give him what it is he needs.

you see him in the pub that you met in. he sits at the far corner of the bar, tucked in the dark against the wall, and he swirls a glass of bourbon in front of him. he wears a rain jacket over his dark hoodie, and you light up when you catch sight of him.

you wear something nice for him. a short skirt, a cotton shirt tucked into it, a cropped jacket over top, and your boots make you feel tall, but you know it won't matter--you'll never be taller or bigger than that large, hulking man you have your eyes fixated on.

but when he sees you, he doesn't react the way you expect. he doesn't sit up, doesn't get off his seat to come get you, he doesn't move at all. his eyes run over you, and then they move back down to his drink.

like he doesn't know what you taste like between your legs. like he doesn't know you at all.

your smile fades. you clutch your purse now in clammy hands, and you walk shakily to the bar and sit, swallowing hard as you try and hold in the shaky breath in your throat. your chest hurts a little; your heart has fallen into your stomach, and you shift on the bar stool, fidgety and uncertain.

you had been so happy to see him. you had been so excited to come here. you hadn't seen him in weeks--but the sparse texts he had sent you were enough to keep you hanging onto your phone whenever it made a sound, as if one of those notifications might be him, throwing you just enough attention to keep you on your toes, desperate.

your lip trembles a little as the bartender comes to take your order. you ask for a shot and a chaser, and you tell him to make it a double. you want to be drunk, and you want to be drunk quickly.

you tip the drink back, swallowing it down. it burns, holds a fire in your chest, and you chase it with a seltzer, swallowing down the contents of both until you slam the can back on the counter, hiccuping.

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and when you realize ghost is still not looking at you, you're drunk enough to test his limits.

there's a group of boys down on the other side of the counter. they're playing darts, and they're drinking, and you slip off the barstool with a little step before making your way over cautiously. you pull your shirt down, show off the swell of your tits, and you ask them if they'll teach you to throw darts.

they practically cheer with delight. you hear one of them drool over your ass in that skirt, you hear another whine about looking down your shirt and at the peek of the lace bra you wear, and you shiver when you realize all you ever wanted was attention.

someone to tell you that you're pretty. that you make them hungry. but it isn't all you want, and they can't give you what you want.

they won't die for you. they won't live for you. and certainly, you know, they won't kill for you. but there's a man on the other side of the room that you want doing those things for you, that has the fucking balls to do those things for you, that possesses no good bone in his body that would do those things easily for you.

you see him in your dreams, breaking necks and popping kneecaps and slicing soft skin just to please you, and it makes you ache inside. you know what he does. he's never lied to you, but he doesn't always tell you the whole truth, but you fill in the blanks of the spaces he leaves behind, and you know what it is he does.

there's blood on his boots and money in his pocket, and you should be so afraid, but you never could be. not with the way he touches you. not with the way he talks to you. not with the way he puts his tongue inside of you and holds your thighs apart, and not with the way he grunts when he disappears into your bathroom to fuck himself to the image of you on your couch, half-naked as you wait for a fucking that never comes.

why won't he touch me? why won't he fuck me? why doesn't he rip the rest of my clothes off and have his way with me? he doesn't seem like the kind of man to ask for permission, but he eats me, and then he leaves me, and i can't take it anymore, please, please, please--

you're dizzy. the room spins, and the boys laugh, and your darts are hitting the wall now, clattering to the floor as they all boo and snicker at the way you're stumbling in your heels.

they're too close. you can smell the vodka and beer too much, and it's too warm because they're too close to you. someone's hand is on your thigh, another holds you upright with a grabby grip on your back, and there's someone else playing with your hair. they hum and they talk, and when they say they want to take you home, all you can do is hiccup and smile.

but as soon as you turn and leave, there's a large shadow waiting outside the door, leaning against the wall. you giggle knowingly, because you knew he would be here, and when the boys notice him, they try to take you in the other direction.

"if y'blokes knew wot was good for ya, y'd let 'er go and be on y'r way." he isn't in a good mood. he clicks his teeth as he comes off the wall, stepping under the streetlight. it makes the shadows of his hoodie darker, but his eyes are clearer now, bright under the mask as he breathes hard. he's angry, and he doesn't seem like his patience will linger tonight.

"oi, mate, relax," one of them laughs, and you giggle again when you see ghost tilt his head to the side. fuck, he's deadly, and you're wet. you squeeze your legs together looking at him, and you want him to put one big hand on your waist and tilt your head back--you want him to push his mask up and kiss you, all sloppy and soft like he did all those weeks ago. you want him to put his hands up your skirt and fuck you with his fingers right in the street, the same hands he squeezed the life out of someone with, the same hands he was going to kill these boys with.

ghost steps closer, and he goes for the nearest. brings a hand up, smacking one big hand against their cheek until their head hit the side of the building, and he crumpled to the floor in a pool of his own blood.

they scatter like bugs. stumbling drunk over their feet, tripping, and they disappear into the dark as ghost tilts his head to the other side now, looking at you.

you smile. giddy, hitting your toes together, and when you step to the side, you don't notice you've stepped in that man's blood.

"y'think this is fuckin' funny, eh? hangin' about with lot like that, y'think it's fuckin' funny?" he spits, and you put your hands behind your back, biting your lip.

"you...you ignored me," you hiccup. "why did you ignore me?"

"that wot this is about?" ghost snarls. "me not givin' you a proper look?"

you bite your lip harder, nearly drawing blood.

"i missed you," you whisper, your lip trembling slightly. "m-missed you so much..."

"fuck off with that," he mutters, but you step closer anyways. when he doesn't step back, you step forward again, until you're flush against his chest, tilting your head back to look up at him. you go languid when his arm falls, slipping up the back of your skirt just like you imagined. he squeezes the flesh of your ass before he leans down, and you whine when he presses the front of his mask against your lips. you kiss, your soft mouth kissing him through the fabric.

"is he dead?" you ask when he pulls away. ghost says nothing at first, just smooths his hand over the lace of your panties. he grunts when he slides his fingers between the seam, satisfied when he hears the squelch of your wet pussy as he pets you there. you squirm a little.

"dunno," ghost murmurs, and you get wetter you think, at how nonchalant he behaves as he touches you shamelessly where anyone might see. "fuck, bunny, y'r soakin' my fuckin' gloves."

"why don't you like me?" you whimper. you reach up and put both hands on his chest, and you dig your nails there, but you meet resistance. the muscle and fat there barely give way, and he hums when you drag your nails down, anchoring yourself to him. when you meet his eyes, they are dull, and you know he doesn't care. "i-i like you...i-i like you so much..." he huffs in annoyance, but you keep going, "you like someone else," you whisper. "there's someone else..."

someone else. as if there is some kind of competition, and maybe there is, but it isn't what you think. there is someone in his head, someone that screams for him to leave, someone that begs him--simon, please, yer goin' to hurt 'er, please, she's so pretty, please--but it isn't because he loves someone else, it's because he did love someone else, and he doesn't think there's room for more.

but he also cannot explain what swelled in his chest when he watched you with those boys. the searing heat of emotion that bubbled in his throat, and how the only relief he feels is the satisfaction that the boy at your feet bleeds because he put his hands on you, that is good, make them suffer, touching what fuckin' belongs to me.

there's a breaking point. it's the law of physics. something as rigid as ghost could only bend so far back before it reaches the elastic limit, and then it is deformed, and then it snaps, and then it is two pieces instead of one that cannot be put back together--and he feels it. he knows this is it. the fine line between what was and what is, this is it, it's too late--shut the fuck up, johnny, it's too late, i have her, she's mine, get out of my head, get out of my fucking head, i'm going to have her, have her, have her sweet fucking cunt--

you are bliss. you are the air that allows him to breathe. you are the threads in the fabric, the water in the soil, the heat that warms the house and breaks the soul and drives the machine.

you are in his bed, on your back, and when he slides your skirt off, there it is. the soft place between your pretty thighs, glistening and so wet, puckering and pulsing as you spread your knees for him and slip your shirt off.

he doesn't remember taking his mask off. he doesn't know where it went, but it is gone, and your lips are on his, and your tits are bouncing as he grinds his cock into your soft, squishy folds. the tip catches sometimes, and it makes you cry, and you whine when he breaks the kiss to lick your tears and taste the salt of your pleasure. the tears are heady and desperate, and he knows this flavor, and he wants more of it.

he commits this to memory. when he sits up and feeds you his cock, he memorizes the way you moan. the twitch of your pussy, the leaking of your wetness, the way you clench and tighten and grip so he cannot do anything but force himself deeper inside of you.

what is it that he loves? what is it that he loves so much that he cannot look you right in the eyes? whose body did he have underneath him all that time ago that steals him away so much he cannot fuck you the way you deserve? the way you need, the way he wants?

you reach up and grip his dog tags. they jangle against his chest as he grips your hips and fucks you, and you use them to anchor yourself, tugging on the metal necklace as you focus on the way he thrusts. powerful, smooth, with ease--he's so big, but he fills you so well, and you can't help but wonder if he's losing himself because it's so familiar. to be inside. to be gripped and squeezed and milked for all that you are, the brute of a man so misunderstood that fucks like a goddamn pornstar.

he's so good at this. when he finds the gooey spot in your cunt, he knows how to get you there. hitting it just enough to bring you to the edge, and then slowing down to savor the wet mess your cunt has become, and then doing it again. he listens to the cries you make, the crescendo of moans that you sob out that come back down when he goes softer. he thinks about this, and he makes music out of you. the pretty bunny, so fucking dumb inside, but the thing he cannot be without.

when he fucks you, he sees in blue, and he knows this isn't a coincidence. the blue in your eyes, it doens't lie--he knows what this feeling is, and he prays to no one that he can fuck this feeling right out of himself.

you come so messy. you soak his thighs, creaming on his cock as you beg him to fill you, and he cages you between his arms as he fucks harder, faster, losing momentum as he nears the same glorious high. he's been so good, but this he cannot help--not the way this feels, so familiar, so easy, so freeing.

there are no thoughts when he is inside of you, and this is bliss.

he kisses you when he comes. cups both puffy cheeks of yours as he spurts hot cum inside of you, sliding his big hands down to grip your thighs as he nestles his hips against yours. you reach down with two hands and squeeze his lower back, keeping him inside. this feeling, the feeling of being so full and warm and enjoyed, it isn't natural to you, and it isn't one you feel often, and you chase after it. you lick into his mouth and whine, and he hushes you.

"easy, rabbit," he pants, licking over your jaw, and you close your eyes. if he is predator and you are prey, then so be it. you want him to have his fill--you want him to trap you, steal you away, tuck you into this den he keeps and never let you leave.

you don't mind the blood on his boots, stained on his clothes, under his fingernails. in fact, you think about it often. you think about taking a rag and cleaning the leather of his shoes. you think about teaching him the cold water and peroxide trick to getting the blood out of fabric. you think about taking the gloves off, letting his fingers wander into the warmth of your mouth so you can suck his skin clean, all while your eyes never left his.

you think about the thing that you are. the bunny you are, the prey you've manifested yourself into, and you think about the thing that he is. you think about the dark, dense places that must exist inside of his head, and you think about how you can't see them in his eyes.

you think about being the bunny in a cage and how he holds the key. and you wonder if you would even leave if he ever let you go.

ghost loves someone else. you don't know who they are or where they've gone, but he loves someone else. but that's okay. that's temporary. that's just for now. they didn't love him enough to stay.

they didn't love him enough not to die. you don't intend to die. you're going to carve him up, right along the scars that he wears, and you're going to slip inside of him and live there forever, nestled between the organs and the black of his blood and the heart you know he doesn't have.

ghost is a thing. but he's still a man.

and men are fucking weak.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!simon

540 notes · View notes

astrabear · 5 months

Text

This is not to yuck anyone's yum, I don't have a problem with other people doing this, but I personally don't care for Joe and Nicky (in canon-compliant fic, obviously it's different in AUs) thinking of each other as their husband.

I just don't think that Joe's throbbing forehead vein was because "boyfriend" was simply not a serious enough label. The issue is that none of the relationship terms used by mortal people with their short lives can possibly describe a relationship that's approaching its 1000th birthday. If that mercenary had said, "what is he, your husband?" Joe would not have been like "yeah, actually, he is."

I've had conversations about this before, and I know that for some other queer fans being able to refer to them as husbands is deeply meaningful in a way that it just isn't to me. I'm glad they get to have that.

I also think of my stepfather's last time in the hospital. There was that whiteboard in his room where the staff recorded all the information that needed to be readily available. There was a section for emergency contact and they of course wrote my mother's name and number and labeled her "wife." And my stepfather made them add "friend, lover, partner." Now of course you could say, "well, 'wife' should encompass all those things," but it was important to him. Big "she's not my wife, she's all and she's more" energy. And he wasn't even a tenth as old as Joe!

I tend to avoid relationship words in my own fic and just stick with names. I've used "love of his life" once or twice, which is nicely canonical and also wonderfully sappy. If I had to be more concise I'd probably go with "beloved." "Husband" feels cold and empty and shallow. What are they to each other? They are Joe and Nicky. There are no words for it.

#the old guard #kaysanova #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #this entire post is just an excuse to share that story about my stepfather #I mean the rest of it is all true but that's the most important bit #because it's real

171 notes · View notes

auroravictorium · 1 year

Text

high infidelity (pt. 1) (k.b.)

do i really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?

Summary: pekka gives up on trying to get information from reader and decides to wait for kaz's arrival instead. reader endures a bad injury, and the crows arrive to help. reader finally gets her revenge.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship)

Word Count: ~4.3k

Warnings: LOTS of blood and violence (stabbing, vague description of gutting someone), minor self harm (reader holds a piece of porcelain tight enough to cut her fingers), death of non-canon character(s), use of guns, shooting, lots of pain, mentions of illness/infection

Genre: angst and action

Author's Note: if you didn't read the warnings, PLEASE go back and look at them! this is a lot more violent than previous parts. also! this is from reader's pov! you can find kaz's pov here! sorry for the wait! i hope you all enjoy :))

part two

It was raining.

The pooling of water in the corner of your cell was the only indication you had of the weather outside. Seeing the filthy puddle forming made your already dry mouth seem borderline painful. You hadn't dared to touch the dirty bucket of water in the corner, surviving only off the broth and the small bowl of water your captors occasionally provided. At this point, you were willing to take the chance of drinking the rainwater leaking into your cell.

You ran your thumb along the edge of the porcelain shard you sharpened upon your return to your cell however long ago. The threat of piercing skin was a nice distraction from the aching of your throat, the white-hot pain in your chest, and the beginnings of a fever you were trying desperately to ignore. The gash on the back of your head hadn't started to heal; instead, it had gotten worse.

If you threatened to cut your finger enough times, you could ignore the reality of your situation settling over you. If they don't kill me, my injuries will. Internal bleeding, infection, starvation, dehydration.

However you considered it, you didn't have much time.

You didn't want to consider the possibility of Kaz not coming to get you. He had to be looking for you. He'd worked too hard to keep you out of the Dime Lions' hands to give up when mercenaries did their work for them.

But he had to know that Pekka planned to kill him if he came to get you. Kaz wasn't a fool.

Would he leave you here to die or come to get you and risk death himself?

The porcelain shard broke the skin of your thumb. Blood beaded at the wound and seeped down the ceramic, staining it a deep, lethal red. You almost didn't feel your finger throbbing, and it took a few moments to register in your mind that you should drop the makeshift blade. You should stuff it beneath your shoddy pallet and try to sleep until the mercenaries dragged you back upstairs. You shouldn't add to the injuries on and beneath your skin.

You did none of those things. Kaz will come for me. You curled your fingers around the shard, slicing the skin of your other fingers, and let your eyes slip shut.

He will.

As drowsiness wrapped you in its cool embrace, you realized you weren't sure if you believed it anymore. Not because Kaz would abandon you, but because you knew you were running on time that wasn't your own. You were at the mercy of the mercenaries, Pekka Rollins, Kaz's ability to get to you. You were at the mercy of exhaustion and the infection taking root in your blood.

If Kaz made it to you, would he find you alive or dead? Would he bring you back to Ketterdam to heal or to be buried?

Nine months ago, you'd faced death at the hands of a rogue Dime Lion on a job. As you'd felt those ice-cold shackles on your limbs, you'd thought of Kaz's smile. At the time, you'd never seen it; you'd convinced yourself you never would, but it was a thought you suddenly refused to accept as death came for you. Your defiance brought you back to life and to Kaz, stubborn, foolish Kaz, who decided to wait until your near death before confessing he cared.

Now, having seen that smile, having felt his hands in yours, having born dozens of wounds for the chance to get back to him, would you accept death as it stalked closer? Would you let it pull you into its embrace, lead you to the Saints as it had millions of others? Would it take you this time?

Unconsciousness claimed you before you could answer any of your questions, sinking its talons into you and jerking you beneath the cold waves.

When you woke up, you saw the sky. Your eyes were so bleary, weighed down in a way they hadn't been when you fell asleep, that you thought you were imagining it. But no, it was there just beyond a grimy window and far from your reach. It was grey and dreary, and the air smelled faintly of rain, untouched by the mildew and rot of your cell.

Your cheeks felt hot, yet you shivered as you glanced around at your surroundings. You were in the main room of the warehouse now, surrounded by rusty machinery, empty burlap bags, and other miscellaneous garbage from the building's production days. The mercenaries were nowhere to be found, nor was your porcelain shard. But you weren't alone; Pekka sat in a chair before you, his legs propped on a crumbling metal table. He spun a revolver in his hand and added a bullet each time he finished a rotation.

He'd cleaned the blood from his face and beard and changed his clothes since you'd seen him last. He looked as he had the day he first arrived, an unknown amount of time ago. Clean. Composed. Disgustingly powerful.

You jerked your hands against your bindings as if you had the strength to pull them free or break them against the wooden support beam you were tethered to. "Either pull the trigger or leave me be," you said. Your voice was unexpectedly hoarse, and you flinched at the sound. Each word sent scraping pain down your throat, and every breath coming out of your lungs felt too warm, too final.

Pekka smiled pleasantly and slid another bullet into the chamber. "These bullets aren't for you, lass. My men have seen your crew in the city, coming to make their rescue. I reckon an hour until they find you, maybe less if the boy knows where to look."

"I'll make sure your next of kin is aware they can expect to find your body in the canal in a few weeks," you snapped, forcing as much venom into your words as you could, which wasn't much in your state. You leaned your forehead against the wooden beam and shuddered, squeezing your eyes shut. It was too warm in here. You were so cold.

The news of the Crows being nearby should have perked you up and motivated you to keep fighting until they arrived. Instead, you could barely bring yourself to offer a scathing remark in acknowledgment. Even your worry for Kaz was dimmed by your worsening fever and overwhelming fatigue, not to mention the pain coursing through you as you shifted your weight from one leg to another.

The sound of boots echoed against the stone floor and off the walls, and you slowly opened your eyes to see who it was. All three mercenaries were prowling over, armed to the teeth and looking no less than bloodthirsty. The Crows had to be getting close to the warehouse, wherever it was; otherwise, the mercenaries wouldn't be leering at you like they had a few final sick bits of torture they wanted to inflict.

The one you hadn't seen since the coach ride, whom you half-heartedly decided to name Number Three, stepped forward and pulled a knife from the sheathe at his thigh. His free hand was bandaged, the result of your bite as he attempted to drug you in the coach, and you would've been smug about it if the world wasn't starting to wobble around you. Number Three cocked his head, and his brown eyes roamed you up and down, taking in the sallowness of your skin and the injuries scattered over you like a gruesome painting of red, blue, and purple. "Not much bite left, huh, sweetheart?"

You didn't bother responding, resting your head against the support beam and letting out a slow breath. Your heart thundered in your chest, making your head throb painfully; it took everything in you to not panic. Being outnumbered hadn't bothered you before, but it felt more threatening now that you knew Kaz and some, if not all, of the Crows were close to rescuing you. You were so close to freedom.

Hold on a little longer.

"Someone not feeling well?" Sergei drawled. He prowled closer, and the tip of a blade traced over your hollow cheek. It slid down your jaw, a terrifying caress as it traveled down your throat, shoulder, and bicep until it stopped at your forearm. You stiffened, turning your face away and trying to shift around the support beam to get away. But a body stood behind you, and Fjerdan Asshole clamped his fingers onto your shoulders to keep you in place.

You gritted your teeth and jerked your shoulders, but the grip only tightened. "Now, now," Fjerdan Asshole chastised. "Hold still." His fingertips pressed painfully into your flesh, and you fought to keep from groaning through your teeth.

Breathe.

Sergei slowly slid your shirt sleeve up, revealing the dark ink of the Dregs tattoo on your skin, and you held back as he lifted his knife. He pressed the tip of it against the crow's head, nipping the skin, and your breathing sped up as blood slowly trickled down your arm.

He leaned in until his mouth was against your ear. You trembled and turned your head away, but you refrained from cracking your skull into his nose. It was too risky in your condition, and the pulsing of the gash in the back of your head told you that you needed to stay still. The world was still tipping from one side to the other, in time with the throbbing of your wounds.

"Tell me," Sergei hissed, "has the pain been worth it, knowing that we're going to kill him the moment he steps through that door?" In one swift movement, he sliced the sleeve of your shirt right off, leaving a thin cut around your bicep where he'd removed it. "Knowing that it was for nothing? That you marked yourself with a symbol that will mean nothing the moment Ketterdam hears he's dead?"

He twirled the blade across his fist, his eyes darkening with a rage that made you feel sick. If your stomach weren't empty, you would have vomited onto the floor as you realized what he had planned. The knife. The utter hatred for the symbol on your arm. The slicing of your sleeve from the rest of your shirt like a surgeon performing a routine exam.

His words were deliberately spoken as if you'd live to see a Ketterdam without Kaz Brekker in it, where your only reminders of him would be your memories and your tattoo. This man intended to tarnish the first with pain and ruin the second with blood, and the rest of your captors intended to watch.

The orchestrator of it all smiled, a disturbing glee filling Pekka's eyes as he watched the realization cross your face.

You jerked your arm in his grip as your shoulders and breathing trembled with panic. It rattled your lungs, irritated your broken ribcage, filled your mouth with a coppery, bitter taste. "Get your hands off me," you snapped, twisting your arm to hide your tattoo. But there was nowhere you could go, absolutely nothing you could do to prevent this, and Sergei only readjusted his hold. Firmer this time, making the skin whiten beneath his filthy fingers. It would bruise, and your ruined tattoo wouldn't be the only reminder of what he'd done.

"I'm going to do you a favor," Sergei whispered like he had a secret to share. He brought the knife's tip to the top of your tattoo again, near the crook of your elbow. Your pulse thrummed beneath the touch of the metal, and you had to look away from the sight of his thumb tenderly stroking the inner skin of your elbow. Nausea rose in your throat, bile seeping onto your tongue as someone other than Kaz touched you with such gentleness. "Wipe the slate clean. If you're still, maybe you won't have a scar."

Tears brimmed in your eyes, and you couldn't bring yourself to stop them. There was nothing to be done, nothing to stop this. No breathing to exhale the impending pain, no controlling the sudden spinning of the room. You squeezed your eyes shut and sagged against the post as a quiet sob slipped past your lips.

No mourners. No funerals.

It was the only thing you could think, echoing through your mind in Kaz's voice. A quiet rasp shared in the dark of his room before you left, however long ago. The most he could offer right then, but more than enough for you.

You clung to what little comfort the memory provided and focused on every detail you could remember. Kaz's eyes. The concerned purse of his lips. His dark hair, ruffled from running his fingers through it too many times. Dust motes spinning lazily through the air, caught in the faint moonlight streaming through his window. How he looked as if he wanted to say so much more.

The comfort was temporary, beaten back as the blade pierced your skin. It was the worst pain you'd felt since you'd been taken, a hot flash of agony reverberating bone-deep. Your arm was on fire, liquid flame dripping down your skin as Sergei drove the knife deeper and slowly carved it downward.

You screamed. The sound tore at your raspy throat and echoed around the warehouse loud enough to make Pekka, Number Three, and Fjerdan Asshole flinch. Sergei remained unaffected, continuing his morbid surgery with a nauseating glimmer of amusement in his eyes. You tried to pull your arm from Sergei's grip, but his hand was an immovable vice around your arm that locked it in place as he slashed your Dregs tattoo in half.

Torn, jagged edges of skin, seeping blood. It was all you could see through your tears as you sobbed, turning your face into the wooden support beam to hide the damage from your view. The world started to tilt and spin faster as blood rushed from the wound and dripped onto the floor, splattering your boots and turning the stone red.

Sergei released you, but you couldn't let your arm drop to your side as you wished. With your wrists bound around the pole, you were forced to see your arm utterly ruined before you. It was the worst kind of torture, seeing blood where ink once was, how quickly a mark you fought to earn could be destroyed.

You heard footsteps moving away from you, and the hands resting on your shoulders disappeared. Wooden chairs scraped against the stone floor as the mercenaries started to settle around the table Pekka sat at, murmuring and snickering amongst themselves.

Metal thumped against stone, and the sound was followed by the rattling of chains.

The mercenaries went silent, and their chairs shifted once more. Safeties clicked on guns, and you heard metal hissing against leather as daggers were drawn. "Grab her," Pekka hissed. "It's Brekker's crew."

Nobody got the chance to lay hands on you before the doors to the warehouse slammed open, and four figures came rushing inside. Two tall ones, two shorter ones; a glittering crow on a cane, shimmering blades, spinning pistols, and sparkling coat buttons. Kaz, your friends, your Crows. Even through nauseating dizziness, you would know them anywhere.

Before you could call for any of them, the room exploded into chaos as Kaz threw a phosphorous bomb down and filled the air with smoke.

Chairs moved, and weapons clashed, filling the air with noise that rang in your ears and made you want to take cover. Pistols fired, and someone groaned. A body hit the floor next to you, and you flinched away from the face of Number Three staring up at you, a bullethole clean through his forehead.

To get out of the line of fire, you carefully maneuvered around the support beam, using what little leeway you had. You ducked as something flew right past where you stood moments ago: barely recognizable, charred chunks of chair legs.

You let out a shaky tremble and tried to get closer to the floor, unable to do much more than wait until someone cut your bindings. Until then... Despite the searing pain in your arms, you slowly started to scrape the rope against the wooden surface of the support beam, hoping a stray thread would catch in the rotten, splintering surface. Please please please. This isn't their fight alone.

Through the white haze of the room, Sergei noticed your attempted evasion and snarled. He broke from fighting with Inej, blocking a slash of her blade with one of his own before crossing to you. He cut through your bindings, jerked you to your feet, then held his bloody blade to your throat.

You cried out as he hauled you back, stumbling and nearly tipping over as the world did flips and your legs went out from under you. Black spots danced across your vision, and bile rose in your throat. You lifted your uninjured arm to get a grip on his wrist so you could push out of his hold, but he pressed the blade to the underside of your chin just hard enough to nip the skin. "You move, and I slash your pretty neck," Sergei growled in your ear. "Now, we're going to walk toward the back, and you aren't going to fight me."

Sergei started to walk backward, keeping his dagger positioned at your throat and ignoring how it shallowly cut your skin when you stumbled. As you got further from the clearing smoke and saw your friends locked in combat with Fjerdan Asshole, you felt the fading sparks of your energy flare back up again.

They smoldered until they sparked, sparked until they set alight, heated until they burned hot enough to burn away your pain and your exhaustion and your memories of the past days. You forgot about your fever and the wound in your arm rapidly losing blood. All you saw was the leader of the mercenaries swinging his fists at Jesper and batting Inej away like a fly, and Pekka landing a strike on Kaz's face hard enough to break the skin.

All you felt was rage for what they'd done to you and what they planned to do to your friends.

Bracing your hand against Sergei's arm, you bashed your head back against his chin and pushed away the weapon in his hand at the same time. Pain shot through your skull and right down your spine, threatening to send you sprawling to the floor. But you managed to stay upright and turned on your heel, swinging your left fist toward Sergei's face. His head cracked to the side, and bone crunched beneath your knuckles. His knife clattered to the ground as he grunted and stumbled back from the force of your punch.

You dove for the knife, landing badly on your injured arm with a loud cry, and narrowly managed to wrap your fingers around the blade's handle before Sergei shoved you onto your back. He pinned you to the floor with his weight and tried to wrestle the dagger from your grip, his fingers clamping around yours with bruising force. You panted and struggled, anything to keep him from establishing a hold on the weapon you'd managed to grab. The first one you'd had access to since yours were taken.

You'd die before you gave it up and let yourself be unarmed again.

Sergei suddenly froze above you, halting his attack as his face turned bright red. His chest was still, frozen on an exhale of breath, and he clutched his throat with his blood-stained hands. You watched in bewilderment as his eyes rolled back in his head, and his lips turned blue. Blood bubbled at the corners, starting to slide down.

You gasped for air, glancing over Sergei's shoulder to find the source of his agony. Nina stood there, her hands outstretched as she squeezed his heart and lungs. More blood seeped from his lips as her grip tightened on his organs, her fingers curling toward her palms. Her lips were pursed in determination, and her blue eyes were dark with fury. They flicked to yours, and she nodded.

Now.

You didn't need convincing. You drove the dagger into Sergei's chest as hard as you could with one arm's waning strength. Blood poured onto your hand as you pushed it up to the hilt beneath his ribcage, soaking into your remaining sleeve and sticking it to your skin. Sergei's mouth fell open as if he might scream, but no sound came out. Red drops fell from his lips onto your face and neck, and you wanted to gag as you twisted the blade to force it as deep as it could possibly go.

Sergei teetered before slumping to the ground, writhing and trying to pull the dagger from his chest. His frantic movements slowed until his arms fell to his sides, and he seemed to realize he was beyond saving.

It should have been enough. Seeing death approach in his eyes should have satisfied the hungry wrath burning in your chest, roaring in your ears. Instead, you pushed yourself into a kneel at his side. The ground was slick with blood as it pooled around him and dripped from your arm, and the world wobbled around you as you wrapped your fingers around the dagger's reddened hilt.

You ripped the weapon from his chest, making him scream in agony. A sick, twisted part of you relished in the sound. Good. I hope he hurts.

"Was it worth it?" you hissed, turning his words back on him as you positioned the blade above his navel. "Drugging me, breaking me, trying to kill me, only for you to die by my hand?" You dug the weapon in, piercing his flesh with slow precision. "By your own weapon?" You leaned in until your faces were inches apart, letting him see the wrath in your eyes. How unapologetic you were for what you planned to do.

He was alive enough to finally look afraid of you.

"I'll make sure there's enough left of you to be buried," you breathed. "Maybe if you grovel, the Saints will ensure you spend eternity in fewer pieces."

Sergei's eyes drifted shut. It was possible he didn't hear your words. Perhaps death had already claimed him, but you didn't care. You couldn't as rage flooded every nerve in your body. At that moment, you knew nothing else, even as black dots danced across your vision and you swayed unsteadily.

Your hand trembled as you twisted the knife in his abdomen, burying it further before shoving it upward with the rest of your strength. Blood slickened your palms and pooled around your knees. Distantly, you could see how much damage you'd done, how he was cut clean open from his navel to his sternum. You didn't want to look any harder than that.

The rushing in your ears slowly died out, leaving you in a heavy, numb silence as Sergei died before you. The fighting had stopped sometime during your moment of fury, and the air reeked of sweat and the metallic tang of blood. It was you and Kaz and the Crows, surrounded by the culmination of every decision you'd made up to this point, from leaving your family to whispering 'I love you' in a city full of vengeance. You never imagined your life and hands would be tainted by blood and death.

You'd always imagined the world spinning slowly, twirling gracefully on its axis. It was colorful and bright, carefree and uncomplicated. Clean, untouched, magical.

The world was not so.

You collapsed onto the stone ground between one blink and the next. The room spun too fast around you, so blurry and dizzying that you squeezed your eyes shut. Hands, so many hands, found your body, pressed against your wounds.

Gentle fingers pressed to your forehead, and you felt your pulse begin to slow. Sleep started to tug on you, pulling you under.

Tears slipped down the corners of your eyes, hot against your clammy skin. "No," you whispered, trying to turn away from the probing fingers. But your muscles couldn't or wouldn't cooperate. "No more. Please." You'd slept enough. You didn't want to sleep anymore.

You forced your eyes open, trying to focus on the blurry shapes moving above you. Four faces, your friends. One was closer than the rest, pale and streaked with blood. Kaz was hunched over you, examining your wounds.

"Nina, her arm," Kaz said. His raspy voice was familiar and comforting, like cocoa on a bitterly cold day, but panic lay beneath the words and froze you to the bone. You'd never heard fear in that voice before. "Jesper, the coach. Take Inej. Go."

A flurry of activity happened around you; two sets of footsteps disappeared as quickly as they arrived, and gentle fingers started to work on your arm and the back of your head. Gloved hands wiped away at the blood they could find, then one found your hand and gently squeezed as your eyes fluttered shut.

Sleep overtook you as your resistance failed, eased by Kaz's careful touch. It tethered you to earth, a silent promise that he wouldn't let you drift away. He was gloved and dark and the subject of every faded dream that danced through your mind as you slipped into unconsciousness.

You trusted him to pull you out of the fog when it was time.

kaz pov (part 2) here!

TAGLIST: @tonberry-yoda, @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r, @futurecorps3, @statsvitenskap, @sapphiccloud, @casualladyinternet, @d34drapunzel, @noctemys, @whitejxsmine, @so6, @franzelt, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @marlene-the-witch, @thestudiouswanderer, @lyjen, @rideacowb0y, @weasleybuns, @dal-light, @mariatpwk, @dreammgc, @elysian-chaos, @breadbrobin, @poppyflower-22, @halfofagayallofaqueer, @battleraven, @amarokofficial, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @poppyflower-22, @madnessinwrighting, @ponyboys-sunsets, @circus-of-thoughts, @empresspenguin18, @mediocrestuff, @stonksman8, @alanis-altair, @thefandomplace, @alohastitch0626, @the-royal-paintbrush, @just-here-for-ff, @whos6claire, @jodiereedus22, @be-lla-vie, @despoinapav05, @arianyo, @willowpains, @geekmom3, @dark-academia-slut, @aeslenya, @directioner5life, @notjustsomeblonde, @osteopsycho, @travelingmypassion, @tiana76, @angelhxneyy, @princessatoru, @despoinapav05, @writingatdusk

563 notes · View notes

sheafrotherdon · 8 months

Text

"What is he, your boyfriend?"

When I first watched The Old Guard I noticed that Joe and Nicky looked for each other on the kill floor, fought in sync, curled up asleep together, met in the Crusades. But I rewrote all of it because I was so unused to movies having canonically queer couples. I anticipated that they were "just friends" to such a degree that I missed that they slept in Goussainville beneath a giant banner of a sacred heart. I missed that when Nicky said "the love of my life" he meant it. I rewrote every look and touch until an armed mercenary tried to mock Joe and Joe shot back: "He's not my boyfriend. This man is more to me than you can dream." And my whole world tilted on its axis.

#joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #tog #i love them so much

218 notes · View notes

quite-right-too · 7 months

Text

Do you know what kills me about The Runaway Bride?

The fact that Donna's appearance in the TARDIS happens literally minutes after the Doctor just said his final goodbye. Just imagine it from his perspective.

The woman you love so much that you subconsciously changed your entire anatomy to be perfect for her; all of the characteristics of the ideal partner integrated into you because it's Rose and why wouldn't you want to give the best. You barely get a couple minutes to say goodbye to her, now locked in a parallel universe that you know cannot safely be opened enough to bring her home. You don't even have enough time to say I love you before the breach closes. You're crying and you're grieving, but only for a couple minutes. Just enough time to move the TARDIS into the Time Vortex. Suddenly, this loud ginger woman in a wedding dress impossibly appears in your console room. You just lost your best friend, your partner, your everything. And now you have to get back into action to save humanity again without getting the time to really handle this loss.

Don't even think I forgot the dialogue and even the scenes where we actively see him upset while thinking of Rose. Everything reminds him of her and it's like the universe is trying to rub it into his face.

(Donna grabs a blouse that is hanging over the railing.) DONNA: I knew it, acting all innocent. I'm not the first, am I? How many women have you abducted? DOCTOR: That's my friend's. DONNA: Where is she, then? Popped out for a space walk? DOCTOR: She's gone. DONNA: Gone where? DOCTOR: I lost her. DONNA: Well, you can hurry up and lose me! How do you mean, lost? (The Doctor takes the blouse from Donna and throws it through a doorway.) DOCTOR: Right, Chiswick.

DOCTOR: Trust me. DONNA: Is that what you said to her? Your friend? The one you lost? Did she trust you? DOCTOR: Yes, she did. And she is not dead. She is so alive. Now, jump!

DOCTOR: I spent Christmas Day just over there, the Powell Estate, with this family. My friend, she had this family. Well, they were my-. Still, gone now. DONNA: Your friend, who was she? DOCTOR: Question is, what do camouflaged robot mercenaries want with you? And how did you get inside the TARDIS?

What about when Love Don't Roam is being sung by the singer at the reception, and all the Doctor can do is reminisce sadly about him and Rose. Also, Love Don't Roam was written specifically about TenRose canonically so...

DOCTOR: I'll sort it out, Donna. Whatever's been done to you, I'll reverse it. I am not about to lose someone else.

Or how he decides he's gonna kill a bunch of children because he's hurt and not thinking clearly. He needed Donna to snap him out of it. DOCTOR: My home planet is far away and long since gone. But its name lives on. Gallifrey. EMPRESS: They murdered the Racnoss! DOCTOR: I warned you. You did this. EMPRESS: No! No! Don't! No! EMPRESS: No! No! My children! No! My children! My children! DONNA: Doctor! You can stop now! EMPRESS: My children! DOCTOR: Come on. Time I got you out.

DONNA: That friend of yours. What was her name? DOCTOR: Her name was Rose.

And let's not forget that in Turn Left, Donna's alternate universe that Rose finds her in shows what would have happened without Donna there. The Doctor actually kills himself because he couldn't stand to be without Rose. HARRIS: The Doctor is dead. Must have happened too fast for him to regenerate. Escort the ambulance back to UNIT base. (Donna walks on. A blonde woman runs towards her. She speaks as if her top lip is glued to her teeth.) ROSE: What happened? What did they find? I'm sorry, did they find someone? DONNA: I don't know. A bloke called the Doctor, or something. ROSE: Well, where is he? DONNA: They took him away. He's dead. I'm sorry, did you know him? I mean, they didn't say his name. Could be any doctor. ROSE: I came so far. DONNA: It, it could be anyone. ROSE: What's your name? DONNA: Donna. And you? ROSE: Oh, I was just passing by. I shouldn't even be here. This is wrong. It's wrong. This is so wrong.

Just him mourning breaks my heart every time.

#my post #doctor who #tenth doctor #rose tyler #donna noble #the runaway bride #tenrose #ten x rose

191 notes · View notes

gold-rhine · 11 months

Text

Inazuma Rewrite Act Two

Please read part one before reading this. It will make no sense otherwise.

In part one I did setup for the vision hunt conflict, changed Raiden’s motivations, added Rebellion \ Resistance interaction and Teppei setup, added setups to the arcs to Ayaka and Yoimiya. And more!

In this installment:

Let’s Make Player Give A Fuck About Rebellion and Teppei

Kokomi Is Not An Idiot

Delusions Are Not The Aging Beach

Ayaka’s Arc Pay-off

and more!

All disclaimers from part one also apply, I’m not gonna copy paste them.

Raiden Shogun First Duel

I think we can keep the duel itself mostly unchanged. The cutscenes are pretty good and very cinematic, I don’t see reason to fix things which are not broke when there are already so many broken things

so, Traveler comes to Thoma’s rescue, gets taken to raiden’s plane of euthemia

also mb let’s cut i hate all minorities dialogue and instead like. open disobedience of the traveler to raiden shogun is i think enough to be used as a cause for the duel

The dialogue with raiden changes, we add banter with Traveler where traveler is like but you were pro-change before! and like cites some Transience things we talked about in the part 1.

Raiden gets mad in response, yells “Don’t you dare to mention her against me!” and that’s when she throws Traveler out of euthemia and prepares the boob nuke

yeah, it’s foreshadowing of Makoto reveal

then the cutscene is the same, Thoma chucks a spear in her face and escapes with the traveler

thoma goes into hiding, traveler goes to join rebellion. bc they’re already in contact with gorou, we skip meandering around and go straight to the goal

First battle

and we arrive directly to the battlefield

there are several problems with rebellion pacing and kokomi characterization, which i elaborated on before. Like, Kokomi in canon only has one battle, which she wins because she hired mercenaries with fatui money. which like! invalidates this whole thing and makes her naive enough to be duped by the bad guys. So we need a battle win which is decidedly due to Kokomi’s genius.

so like in canon, Kujou Sara demands rebellion give her the traveler. Teppei, whos also there, is like no, fuck off! he’s embarrassed to speak out of the order but determined.

Gorou of course gives a speech about not giving up comrades, the fight starts, we have cool battle animation blah blah, and then suddenly!! Kujou Sara has reinforcements coming from behind some cliffs, oh no!! Teppei yells there’s too much of them! We will be overrun! Close up of Gorou’s snarling face, eyes darting, ready to call retreat, close up of victoriously looking Sara, Tenryou reinforcements are running to the battle...

The water bubbles start rising up and Kokomi appears. She smiles at Gorou reassuringly and does some cool water animation. The hidden spring\waterfall bursts up with water and crushes into the reinforcements, washing them away. Rebellion rejoices, Kujou Sara curses and calls retreat.

i’ve seen people demand kokomi to have like a cool battle transforming into a dragon or smth bc of her origins and draconae constellation, but like this is missing the narrative pacing. the vishap origins only make sense after enkanomya where we learn about watatsumi history AND on the subversion of “oh its pink pastel kokomi who is smart and sweet :3”. Like we need to know her like that first, and THEN the dragon reveal will be cool and interesting.

Rebellion and Teppei overall setup

so, the Rebellion act wanted to accomplish too many things and didn’t structure them efficiently:

make you feel comradery with rebellion

make you like teppei

make you feel like a leader of your own squad, but like you EARNEd it, bc at first soldiers are distrustful and make you prove yourself

establish delusions and that delusions are bad bc teppei died, which is sad bc p.2

in canon it’s like - have one scene with teppei, do some useless fetch errands for rebels, have another scene with teppei, be assigned swordfish captain and have two quick scenes with two dudes you will not remember

so obviously no one gives a fuck with this kind of pacing

instead, we will combine all of this and more importantly, give it narrative throughline so it doesn’t feel so disconnected and erratic

traveler is already known to Gorou through resistance meet up, he vouches for them, and Kokomi immediately names Traveler as captain of swordfish 2

Teppei is here and he excitedly volunteers to join that squad too

Gorou is like hey its a high risk squad that’s deployed on front lines, and you don’t have combat experience like, at all

Paimon and Traveler step up to be like yeah its fine, we’ll look after him, teppei is like omg thanks you guys :3

turns out he has problems fitting in with the rebels. they are all great ppl, sure, but they are warriors bonded in fights for years and most of them are from watatsumi.

and he’s like a merchant or a clerk from narukami island. he feels like an outsider and a burden

but now the Traveler is here! they are already buddies from that resistance meet up and Traveler is an outsider too. They can stick together!

Swordfish II

So you go to meet up with your swordfish squad. You are greeted by a buff butch woman who is v no-nonsense and skeptical about your ability to be leader and another woman who is more friendly, but still kinda keeps distance and is snarky

their code names are Xena and Gabrielle for no reason other that we need buff female models like blacksmihs, hoyo. The point is that we need some memorable NPCs to represent swordfish, bc these two dudes that give you shit in canon for 3 second? I couldn’t remember them if my life depended on it

anyway, you learn that the previous captain just died and everyone loved and was very loyal to them, and now they are hostile to anyone who tries to take command.

So we do couple of battle to prove we’re strong blah blah, teppei is useless during a fight and Xena makes fun of him for this, and he’s super embarrassed

after that we walk around with teppei. Swordfishes camp is kinda shabby, they just took a bad hit. So we help the wounded, repair some tents, etc, but most important, Teppei uses expertise he’s got from his civilian job to solve problems

like he knows how to make a great painkiller potion bc he used to sell them. Or he gets an idea to use empty bags from used supplies to cover holes in tents, etc.

Point is, he contributes.

After all this, Xena and Gabrielle are walking around, and Gabrielle is like wow captain, did you do all these improvements, and Traveler is like yeah, but it was all Teppei’s solutions, and Xena doesn’t say anything, but you can see she’s surprised and appreciative that you’re not only strong in combat, but care for the squad

she nods over the campfire at teppei like “i guess you’re not so useless after all, narukami nerd”

he protests, everyone laughs, its Bonding Time

Kokomi is not an idiot\ Fatui

We’re summoned to go see Kokomi. She’s in deep thought. Rebellion is in dire situation, supplies are running out, she’s sure they will not be able to win another open confrontation, even with her strategic tricks

But there is a new development - she’s being offered a huge anonymous donation. With that money, she could hire mercs to help. But to accept money without knowing the source is too risky, it could be a trap or setup

so she asks us to investigate these mysterious benefactors. bc also there are some vague rumors about some way to get boost to power going around and thats very sus too

bc like no, I cannot get over supposed genius Kokomi just taking fatui’s help blindly and letting them spread delusions around

so we go to the quest to investigate clues, with the swordfishes, its our first srs mission as the captain.

its couple of fights, blah blah. we find some clues and then its the Leader Decision time.

like there are two camps and we need to strike both at the same time, or the other one will destroy evidence and run, but we don’t have enough manpower. traveler is like can take one camp by myself, and Xena at first is skeptical, but we’ve proven ourselves yesterday so she’s like okay I trust you, boss

everything goes well, both camps are taken and we find evidence that these donations are in fact, from fatui! and they are trying to spread delusions, which are bad and can kill you!

Delusions

I’m not a fan of Delusions working like the aging beach from that movie Old. Like first of all, if that’s how it worked, Childe should at this point look like this

and Diluc. And Signora. Like I get that these are like low quality delusions, so effect is worse, but you can’t be like wow Teppei turned 90 in 2 days and Diluc stayed babyfaced after 4 years.

second, how is that no one noticed Teppei aging 20 years after each fight. Like it had to happen in front of other soldiers.

And like, why change the mechanics at all?? You use delusion, you get burst of power and take huge hit to the health, that’s it. Low quality delusions take more out of your health, so people using them die faster. They don’t need to age faster at the same time.So that’s mechanics I’m using here.

Anyway, while swordfishes discuss delusions finding (and Xena loudly condemns them), camera shows Teppei being quiet, kinda sus and looking away

Kokomi Mini-Arc\ Swordfish Bonding

we go back and report to kokomi. She’s distraught. The battle is so soon and she doesn’t know what to do!

from pure strategic, emotionless perspective to win the battle she needs to take fatui’s money and close her eyes at some soldiers using delusions. She can trade their lives for the voctory

But as a Watatsumi leader who cares about her people she cannot do that!

Traveler comforts her, but leaves without any obvious decision made and with a heavy heart.

the night before battle, we gather at campfire with the swordfishes

everyone is kinda doom and gloom bc it’s obvious Rebellion doesn’t stand a chance

Traveler stands up and makes a motivational speech about fighting together, about how they’ve faced seemingly impossible odds before and prevailed, bc everyone worked together, like with Ossail fight

Xena suddenly stands up to support us, she’s like yeah, I didn’t believe in you before, but now I see you’re worth it, Captain!

everyone cheers, Xena punches Teppei into shoulder and he almost falls over like “Even this narukami nerd is not as bad as I thought haha!”

Final Rebellion Battle

So, cinematic cutscene. Sara on one side with obviously more soldiers. Kokomi and Gorou with rebellion on the other side. Traveler is with the Swordfishes and Teppei. Kokomi and Sara shjare some snappy banter.

mb there’s a duel, but only if combat designers can figure out way to make it cool. Traveler whacking NPC in a row who can do nothing back with a sword 5 times in a row like in canon is fucking boring. Mb incorporate like challenge with Inazuma mechanics like the thunder zoomies or smth.

the battle begins. Rebellions fights fiercely, close ups of our swordfishes.

Teppei is fighting Surprisingly Good For Him. Xena comments on this and he beams up

but the difference in numbers is too much. Rebellions starts being overwhelmed, and then!

Suddenly Beidou and the mercs join the battle! Kazuha is here too. Traveler looks worriedly at Kokomi, does this mean that she’s accepted Fatui’s bloody money??

But Kokomi smiles back. No, she’s had another trump up her sleeve

trail of snowflakes runs through the ground and suddenly, Ayaka appears on the battlefield.

animation cutscene plays, Ayaka is shown in the past, after Traveler leaves, feeling restless and trapped in the estate. She’s still reeling from Yoimiya’s words and the fact that she couldn’t even help Thoma herself. She feels powerless, a pretty helpless figurehead princess that she didn’t want to be

letter from Kokomi arrives, telling about Rebellion’s dire situation and asking if Ayaka can help

Ayaka is in turmoil, she wants to help so bad, but she can’t steal money from Yashiro commission, that’d be stealing from people of Inazuma!

She glances at her dancing fan and suddenly, a solution comes to her.

Looking determined, she goes to the Kamisato estate treasury and opens the chest of her parents’ inheritance

She sells some of her family heritage jewels and silks to get the money, deciding to use the same privilege that kept her trapped to finally help people

she also officially announces that she’ll be in religious solitude meditation ritual or smth and instead sneaks off and travels to Watatsumi

she’s wearing that carnival mask that hoyo puts on models when they want to do “disguise”. Listen, if Diluc doesn’t get recognized in this gay little mask, then it can work for Ayaka too

anyway, animation ends with Ayaka springing from the ground on the battlefield and starting her burst, which transitions to her in-game burst animation

Her burst shreds through Tenryou forces.

Ayaka freeze with Kokomi and Kazuha is one of the best meta teams. Sara realizes it’s fucking JOVER for this battle and calls retreat.

Teppei death \ Delusion factory

Rebellion overjoices, Traveler and the swordfishes hug or whatever our animation department can handle in celebration, when suddenly!

Teppei falls down! Everyone gathers around and see delusion roll over from his hand!

oh no! He says he secretly picked up delusion from the fatui camp we cleared during investigation. This is why he’s fought so well today.

We tell him that he shouldn’t have done it, the fool!

He says he wanted to be useful. He just wanted to finally be one of the rebels!

Xena sits down next to him and says “You were already one of us.”

He dies holding her hand, with all comrades all around, instead of alone behind a shed like a sick housecat

Gorou and Kokomi walk up.Kokomi says that this is exactly why she refused Fatui’s help, but this happening even to one of the soldiers is a tragedy

Traveler and Swordfishes of course demand revenge. But we don’t know where the delusions are coming from! we already cleared fatui camps we knew of, we just don’t have any new leads!

Kujou Sara who watched this scene from afar suddenly speaks up

She has intel about possible location of Fatui factory, that she didn’t have time to explore. It’s on Tenryuo territory, but she’s willing to let Traveler pass. Fatui betraying and harming Inazuma people like this is unacceptable to her, even if they are enemies for now.

We’re like but can we trust her?? What if she just captures us?

Kokomi has long eye contact with Sara. It’s very Yuri.

She finally says “No, we can trust Kujou Sara’s honor”

Sara only lets Traveler pass, so we have a scene of swordfishes wishing us luck and then we leave

Delusion factory quest goes the same. It’s okay, again, not fixing what’s not broke.

We confront Scara, he rants about mortals being bubbles, blah blah

The only dialogue change is when he bullshits about like oh, these mortals are weak and useless, of course they have to pay for power, Traveler argues that Teppei was already useful, he helped with the camp in a way others couldn’t, and he didn’t have to die to prove anything or “pay” for power

Otherwise it goes the same, Traveler passes out, Yae shows up to trade the gnosis

we’re moving to the Act 3!

PART 3

#rhine talks #genshin impact #inazuma ranting

297 notes · View notes

sparklingsora · 2 months

Note

I wanna know more about Charlie, Vaggie and Angel in your swap au. I'm very interested in this

ok so, first things first, they're called the halos because they all have a connection to angels - charlie is a fallen angel, vaggie is usually seen with angelic weaponry (and is also an angel herself but shhh nobody knows that), and angel because of his name so to start off, yeah swap!charlie is a fallen angel instead of a hellborn in this au. she used to share emily's position in heaven, bringing joy to its denizens. i haven't... exactly figured out the reason behind her fall yet, maybe something to do with her finding out about the exterminations? but point is lucifer and lilith didn't stand up for her and just let her fall so she's really salty about that. in hell, she is a very popular singer-songwriter (i imagine the songs she sings are similar to 'good tonight' from the bad guys, or the shrek 2 version of 'holding out for a hero'). she's sort of like a siren, she can hypnotize people with her songs to mirror canon!vox's hypnosis ability. she's the face of the halos basically, the "main guy" of this trio. she arrived in hell soon after brimstone eden disbanded and kinda slid in as the next big musician of hell. she acts as a sort of foil to adam - whereas adam thinks he's better than all the other sinners (save for eve and vox), charlie is sorta the other extreme, where she embraced her new home and its people a little too hard, leading to her closely associating with someone like angel and basically seeing no issue with it oh also she's a total attention whore and needs people to adore her ('adore me' from black friday is a song i associate with her) as for vaggie, she's an exorcist angel sent down by lucifer to watch over charlie, bc although swap!lucifer is a giant douche, he still kinda cares about charlie?? he made vaggie after charlie fell, so charlie wouldn't recognize her. anyway vaggie is the head of SPEAR, a huge network of mercenaries and hitmen. you'd be hard pressed to find an assassin in pentagram city who's not contracted with her. although she mostly stays out of the limelight, she is the de facto leader of the halos thanks to her levelheadedness. she constantly has to rein in the impulsiveness of the other two (though she fails for the most part - charlie and vaggie still have that dynamic of "vaggie tells charlie not to do something, charlie goes and does it anyway") angel is... well, he's angel. head honcho of pride's porn industry, and the only actual overlord among the halos. got a gayass rivalry with husk. not much to say about him tbh 😭😭😭

#askbox #veeswap au #tysm for the ask!

54 notes · View notes

victimsofyaoipoll · 9 months

Text

Round 3

Propaganda Under Cut

Casca

She is part of a weird fucked up love triangle with two dudes. All three of them are honestly kind of terrible for each other but she gets shoved aside in favor of the two dudes in most fics and is not allowed to grow past the toxic relationships of her past. Also she’s a cis woman who dresses pretty masculinely (because she’s in a mercenary band) so she gets type casted as the mean lesbian friend, when she’s straight in canon

I've seen more than one Yaoi Shipper say that Casca should have died during this one big canon event as opposed to being assaulted by one of the people in the Yaoi Ship, which of course conveniently would remove her from the narrative and as an obstacle to said Yaoi Ship. Aside from that specifically, though, I think it's particularly cruel to imply that being killed is a better outcome than being a victim of SA, and is an example of the contempt fandom on the whole has for female characters who act traumatized - particularly when both male characters in the ship have similar trauma and its never implied they should have died rather than be assaulted.

She's an incredibly interesting character in her own right with really good dynamics and parallels to Griffith and Guts, and the way those three play off of each other is integral to the story, but most of what I've seen completely ignores her in favor of focusing on only Griffith and Guts

Yennefer

Constantly villainized because one way or another she gets in the way of a MLM ship (though at least one of them would probably be fine with a poly relationship). In the show version of her, her love interest bound her to him via magic, never told her until someone else brought it up despite it the bond causing them to meet over and over, her love interest didn’t understand why this upset her and brushed it off and still has never apologized for it because apparently it was the only way to save her life, she had better chemistry with Jaskier (the other half of the MLM ship) and had a semi-decent rivals to frenemies thing going on, the show took away her powers (which never happened in the books) to have her go on a pointless quest to get them back that worsened her relationship with her love interest because they had her try to kill her love interest’s adopted child (which now justifies why he doesn’t need to apologize of course), and all of that was after she’d already had an arc regarding sacrifice and how power wasn’t really what she wanted.

she's an incredibly powerful mage and drop dead gorgeous and deserved so much better!!! justice for yen

God forbid women do anything. She either gets hate or is ignored, really classic stuff. And she's Geralt's gf but you know, *gestures at geraskier*

#round 3 #poll #casca #casca berserk #berserk #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher #the witcher netflix

202 notes · View notes

piracypiranha · 2 months

Text

I feel like a problem some people have with the characterisation in spideypool fanfiction (and some canon marvel comics let's be real) is taking Wade at face value. Although he flirts with everyone and acts like a general nuisance, the important thing to understand is why he does this.

Wade Wilson is a deeply insecure character who is used to rejection because of the way he looks, his schizophrenia and because of the choices he's made as a mercenary. Therefore, his defense mechanism is to be as annoying as possible to make others reject him for something he can control.

This facade is built from his real personality: he is loud, makes non sequitur comments, and has problems respecting others' personal space. However, he is also observant, smart, strategic, and funny. The important thing is that he turns it up to eleven around new or untrusted people. This factors also make the thought boxes act up.

The boxes are hard to write. I'm not schizophrenic or an expert on the subject but my biggest recommendation is to always try write them with tact. More specifically, its important to remember the boxes are almost always present in deadpool's inner monologue but there are more of them and they are more argumentative when he is in distress.

In comic book canon, there is no consistent way the boxes have been written. However, a good rule of thumb is that the white thought boxes make up the main inner monologue, while the yellow ones disagree with it (though sometimes is the other way around with the yellow ones making up the narration and the white ones disagreeing). It's important to note that the boxes do not represent another personality. Wade does not have dissociative identity disorder.

The yellow boxes reflect Deadpool's mood. When he is calm, they make sarcastic quips or remarks about his thoughts. However, when he is angry or scared, they turn mean by poking at his insecurities and sabotaging him.

Then again I'm just some fag on the internet do whatever you want.

#deadpool #spider-man #wade wilson #spideypool #zend.txt

63 notes · View notes

cultofdixon · 1 year

Text

Please, don’t leave

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Falling in love has its moments. With you and the youngest Dixon? Neither of you knew the other’s feelings. Life started to block that out…until the outbreak shook everyone still standing. Then as the gates opened, there you stood. • ANGST/SFW • TW: Anxiety Attacks / Past Abuse / Injuries / Scars / Canon Violence / Messy confessions • Flashbacks

Requested by: @ravenrose18

Once Y/N had finished barricading the door, she dropped her pack up against it before finally relaxing after running from a few mercenaries—at least that what she thought they were, and an approaching herd. Hence the barricading of the house she’s held up in until it passes.

She tiredly threw herself onto the couch in the room she was in, finding herself staring at the ceiling for an unknown period of time. Her exhaustion was starting to get to her the longer she laid there.

“Remember runnin’ from my old man?”

“How could I forget?” Y/N laughs bringing an arm behind her head for support. “Running from your dad was easier compared to mine. He didn’t like you”

“Mm. Yeah but at least I didn’t break your cheekbone before prom night” the youngest Dixon sat himself up against the couch fiddling with what looked to be a piece of tied string but it was a friendship bracelet he refused to wear. “Yea think you’ll make it out of here?”

“I’m still looking for you aren’t I?”

“Wouldn’t have to be looking if you didn’t run away in the first place” His words hurt, even if they were hers as she slowly fades into unconsciousness. “I’m still out there, bunny”

“You’re still out there…”

The youngest Dixon, Daryl Dixon, had one best friend in the world. Y/F/N Y/L/N. As sad as it was, you shared a lot in common with the whole abusive parent(s) making your life a living hell. But you had each other. It made life worth living having someone who understand and a gateway from the harsh reality.

But one night, Y/N ran away. From all of it. Leaving Daryl alone in the world to end up helping his brother with his illegal nonsense up until the outbreak happened. When he lost him too, he thought this was it for him.

Especially when his own arrow impaled him and the blood loss was too much.

Daryl did his best to keep awake, even if the world was sort of spinning due to the blood loss. He laid back for a moment, just a moment.

“You seem to be in a bit of a pickle, baby brother” Merle laughs kneeling to his side and resting his head in his hands. “Is this for Y/N? Searching for her again like you did countless times before we got stuck with this group”

“We…weren’t stuck with this group…they’re good people”

“That’s good. You deserve good people”

Daryl turns to the opposite side of his brother finding Y/N looking at him with that beautiful smile of hers.

“I came out here…for Carol’s daughter. She’s lost…and I can’t find her”

“She’s somewhere, D” Y/N reassures, at least what he needs to hear. “You’ll find her. And me”

“Why’d you leave” Daryl sobbed laying back into the dirt. “Why’d you leave me all those years ago…”

“Oh Daryl…” Y/N frowns bringing herself close to Daryl resting her hand on his chest. “You’re only going to hear what you want to hear…which will only be a possibility”

“Please don’t die…” He sobbed and next thing he knew, he was fighting off a walker.

The hours turned into days as Y/N didn’t know she was moved from her spot. Surprised she was even found. But when a certain someone who’s known to get in and out of places without a trace comes through the neighborhood in search for items, he managed to get into the house she barricaded herself in.

Next thing Y/N knew, she was waking in an unknown location without most of her clothes and an IV in her arm. Which only made her panic and rip the thing out. Because it’s the apocalypse, she hasn’t ran into those bastards yet. But she can believe that there are some sick fucks experimenting on healthy individuals with the undead walking around.

It didn’t click to Y/N that she wasn’t wearing pants and a shirt when she ripped the IV out and sprung up out of bed because again, she thought she was being experimented on. Being a horror fanatic in the old world sucks now. So when she stumbled out of the building…or trailer she was in. The community outside in that moment stared at her in her underwear and tank top which lead to her realization and quickly stumbling back into the trailer.

“Where the fuck am I” Y/N frowns pressing her back against the door before spotting a pile of neatly folded clothes on a chair. Something better not burst out of my chest (Alien) She thought as she approaches the clothes finding a note along with the pile but she ignored it to get re-dressed. Or a fucking little reptile jumping me and eating me alive (Jurassic Park) She groans realizing her arm was bleeding from her stupidity ripping the IV out and took note that she was in the medical trailer.

Once Y/N patched her arm up, she finally read the note that instructed her to go to the only actual house in the community to talk with whoever saved her…and more.

“Ah! You’re awake” The unfamiliar man rose to his feet approaching Y/N when she entered the Barrington House. “I should probably explain how you got here”

“If I had my knife I’d threaten it on yea to tell me that information. But I honestly just wanna know where the fuck it is” Y/N frowns as the man quickly drew himself back to the couch he was sitting on and picking up her belongings handing it all to her. “Okay…maybe I won’t threaten you for how nice you’re being. But I have questions”

“Okay, I’m here to answer them”

“Your name?”

“Paul Rovia, but everyone here calls me Jesus” Jesus smiles sitting on the arm rest of the couch watching Y/N hug her backpack. “Uhm. Yours?”

“Y/N. Just Y/N…uh. How did you find me?”

“My group and I were on a run to look for medicines and frankly anything that could help us. We have a garden going on but you can’t speed the growth to those things so yknow. Scavenging. But I went to this one house that was barricaded. Only the front door was so I found my way in and saw you lying unconsciously. You looked like you were in poor condition and we have a doctor here.” Jesus explained watching her tense shoulders relax. “Yeah he’s an OBGYN but yknow you have to go through—-“

“Residency so you explore your options before picking a specialty.”

“Well we are certainly benefitting by your presence if you are also a doctor”

“I dropped out of med school, but I know enough” Y/N shrugs. “And what makes you think I want to stay here…I…I’m kind of looking for someone” she frowns realizing how impossible that’s going to become as she makes her way to sit on the single loveseat diagonal from Jesus.

Jesus noticed the change in emotion as he thought of something that could lighten her mood. “How about we make a deal? You help out with the community, and you can come on runs with me. During those moments we can look for whoever it is that you’re looking for”

“It’s gonna be hard”

“How so?”

“He knows how to be untraceable. He’s a hunter”

“Your husband?”

I wish

________

“Why are you giving me this?” Y/N laughs a bit confused and not entirely surprised that her best friend gave her a survival multi-tool with the signature piece being the knife.

“Self defense from that bastard of a father you’ve got” Daryl scoffs taking a hit from the blunt they were sharing, as he kicked his feet at the end of the dock.

“I will keep this in mind when he hits me next…but I know I can’t win those fights”

“Well yknow to run away to the lake house if yea need me” He nudges her gently, handing the blunt to her as she took the offering then a hit after.

________

“Is he alright?”

“Just adjusting to the new people. He said he needed a minute alone” Carol tells Rick as the two were watching the archer sit in the middle of the field looking up at the stars. “I’ll check on him in a bit”

“Alright…I’m gonna turn in, keep me posted” the retired sheriff squeezes her shoulder on his way into the prison leaving her to continue watching her best friend sit alone.

Daryl frowns thinking about how she could be out there…scared and alone for all he knows. His anxiety started to eat at him while he unconsciously tugs at the bracelet he was wearing.

“Merle’s gone…you can’t be gone too”

“Who can’t be gone?”

Half expecting Carol, but was met with Carl and his curious self. Daryl shook his head ignoring the young Grimes as he plopped himself down beside him.

“How’d yea go unnoticed by Carol?”

“Oh. So you know she’s stalking you?”

“Wouldn’t call it stalkin’. She’s worried about me, I know that much”

“What exactly does she have to be worried about?” Carl asks, even more curious as he sits beside Daryl at a respectable distance. Eventually looking up at the stars and finding how calm it is.

“Promise yea won’t say anything” Daryl asks listening to the quiet yes from Carl before getting into it. “I wanna leave. Not forever. But just until I find someone”

“You lost someone out there?” Carl frowns looking at his friend watching him nod. “But what’s the issue? Knowing you it wouldn’t be that hard”

“The thing is kid? I’ve been looking for years. Way before the outbreak” Daryl frowns continuing to tug at the bracelet. “So it wouldn’t be smart to just. Wander aimlessly in a walker infested world.”

“…You think that this person is looking at the same stars we are? I can find comfort in that”

“Sometimes, yer smarter than yer old man.” Daryl laughs slightly, laying back down in the grass staring up at the stars.

“How’d you get up here?”

Y/N turns to Jesus as he found her on top of the trailer she’s currently living in. She smiles with a small laugh as she returns to looking at the stars.

“I’m not revealing my secrets”

“Well guess I ain’t sharing either cuz I think I know. Given I got up here” He laughs bringing himself to sit beside her staring up at the stars. “You thinking about that special someone?”

“Yeah. Hopefully he’s looking at the same set of stars as I am”

“Cheesy. But I like it” Jesus smiles laying back to look at the stars a bit better. “You know. Ever since you came here, you’ve been a big help with thriving the community. Maybe when this other half of yours comes by, he’s willing to also help”

“Maybe” Y/N smiles continuing to look at the stars, watching Jesus point out a shooting star.

“I bet I can guess yours and this guy’s wish”

I wish to see her again

I wish to see him again

________

As Daryl drives his truck into Y/N’s neighborhood, half expecting no activity at the hour he came by in. The other half expecting Y/N to be waiting for him on the curb. But once he turned into the cul-de-sac he was met with police sirens in front of her home. He decided to pretend he was just somebody using the road to turn around in but as he got slightly closer he noticed her mother sobbing and her father yelling at the cops they were talking to.

Even if they were abusive to the only person he cared about on the planet, Daryl couldn’t help but feel for them and realize.

Y/N chose one of her nuclear options.

It didn’t take him long to get to the lake house they would sneak off to to escape the world. Given he didn’t care for traffic laws. She didn’t have a car so that couldn’t give her away, the hue of little light they’d have from lanterns wasn’t noticeable, and honestly every sign he tried to come up with that would tell him she was there—-weren’t there.

“Y/N!” Daryl yells upon entering the place as he immediately went to the living room, then the outdoor porch, and even ran to the end of the dock. Not like it wasn’t obvious when someone would be there, but he went down the mental list of where the two hang out most.

Upon re-entering, Daryl finally noticed the little light coming from a small lantern in the kitchen. He quietly approaches it and the moment felt staged. The light hit a note written to the youngest Dixon as it was accompanied with one of those string friendship bracelets that he told Y/N a number of times that he would never wear it. But he ignored that for the time being and read the note.

I’m tired, D. I couldn’t take it anymore and I had to leave.

I love you and I’m sorry

Y/N

The tears came on strong, burning his eyes, and making him want to rub at his eyes until they stopped. But they never did.

She’s gone

________

Gone forever…huh

Jesus, of course, gets himself into trouble and especially with the main group that aren’t going to trust someone easily anymore. But with the promise of going to his community, came a road block of a few of his own getting into an accident.

“If this is another trick, hear for my whistle. And then shoot him” Rick tells Maggie watching her nod before entering the building first as the rest follow.

Leaving the two alone for a moment.

“I didn’t mean to get in trouble with your leader. My community just. Our leader got stuck in a predicament. Lost some people and supplies”

Maggie frowns lowering her weapon knowing internally he wasn’t going to do anything. Expect stand there with her, waiting for her group to help with part of his.

“You look tense. More than the start of the ride over”

“My best friend was in this group. She’s one of the only good fighters we’ve got…I’m just afraid that something worse happened to her after getting out of the crash. I made a promise to her. It will eat me alive if she died and I didn’t give the one thing she wanted out of years of knowing her”

“My family knows what they are doing”

Jesus turns to Maggie with a small smile and hoping even harder that nothing happened.

His people were simply hiding away for a moment, in hopes more of their own would come and get them. Thankful for the people that Jesus ran into.

“Come on, let’s go” Daryl tells one of his people as he held his hands up to him and Glenn but didn’t budge.

“I can’t leave without my friend. She got hurt in the crash” He nervously states watching the two look at each other for a moment but they knew they weren’t leaving without all Jesus’s people.

Abraham’s mind has been in a fog for a while that when he ran down the hall to take out a walker. He was met with a woman cowering slightly with his intense presence, especially when her life was almost met with an end.

“Sorry”

“It’s cool. I’m a. Used to it by now” Y/N’s body continued to shake as she was dealing with a bit of road rash and a head lac.

“Come on!”

No…

“Abraham, let’s go. Carry her out if she’s in shock” Glenn chimes on his way past following the man Y/N was currently fixated on the voice. Before Abraham could grab her, she immediately ran after the first voice she heard other than the man that almost killed her.

Once Y/N stepped out of the building, looking a bit like Carrie with the amount of blood on her. Most was hers. Other was…well, they are stuck in the crashed vehicle. Jesus instantly beamed.

“Oh thank fuck you’re okay Y/N”

Y/N. Wait a fucking minute Daryl quickly whipped his head toward the woman slowly and cautiously approaching him. She hasn’t really changed…except for a few more scars and her hair being longer. She was still his Y/N.

“I thought you were dead…after the first few years, I really thought you were—-“

“Daryl…I don’t. My adrenaline is fading…so it’s kind of really hard to…believe this is…real or another hallucination” Y/N stumbled a bit and before she completely collapsed, Daryl quickly caught her picking her up bridal style and going back to the RV to let Harlan take care of her with what he has.

Daryl’s eyes haven’t left Y/N’s person the entire ride back to the Hilltop. Of course the two reunite when something bad happens to one of them. But he knew she would pull through from this, she’s a fighter.

Once the RV reached the walls of the Hilltop, the group stepped out and followed Jesus inside as Daryl followed Harlan the entire time he picked up Y/N, got her out of the RV, and started to make his way to the infirmary trailer which he informed Glenn and Maggie about on the ride over. Part of Daryl stuck with his group but his mind was elsewhere when he entered the Barrington House. Expecting Jesus to point it out, Maggie did.

“Go to her, Daryl. We’ve got this much covered” Maggie tells him as his eyes looked over to Rick watching him nod. Not that he needed permission. But it was a new community to them. He also wanted to meet this leader…that was problematic all on his own.

Right as Daryl approached the trailer door, Harlan stepped out and quickly gave the archer a smile.

“Just the man I’m looking for. At least, by patient’s request”

“She’s awake?”

“Yeah and you were the first thing she asked about. She also made me make sure she wasn’t concussed…but she is a bit. So. Don’t pinch her if she asks “are you real?” or not. She’s taken more than just a head lac and road rash” Harlan warns mainly for them to be a bit careful with a more conscious reunion.

As the doctor stepped away from the trailer letting Daryl step in and stare at Y/N like he’s seen a ghost. She had the same stare toward him before breaking the silence.

“I really thought you died. But uh. Not until after a year in the outbreak”

“…why’d yea leave?” Daryl frowns, immediately touching that topic as he leaned against the adjacent wall from her seated position on the cot.

“I mean…we are adults. I shouldn’t have to sugarcoat anything to you”

“Did your dad hurt yea badly again? Or your mom? Is that why you left”

“Yes…and no. I was…heartbroken and dealing with more than just that. That I had to leave. I know now how selfish that can be given I could’ve just gone to you and we would’ve…I don’t know”

“We would’ve found a way out together” Daryl states avoiding the distance and sitting beside Y/N feeling her hand instantly rest on his knee as the look of relief in her face washed over her. He’s real. This isn’t you saying what you want to hear.

“My dad found out that I broke up with his best friend’s son, and the reason why I did…because I obviously didn’t love him or even liked him for the matter…” Y/N frowns keeping her eyes toward the ground to avoid his. “He…pulled my arm out of my socket when I tried to run away the first time. To avoid anything further, once I got it put back in…with an injured healing arm I got the fuck out of there. Couldn’t call you because I left my phone at home. Left everything he and my mother could find me with and just. Went West until I came back in hopes to talk to you…then the outbreak happened”

Daryl felt her hand tremble slightly as she pulls away but he carefully took said hand that was once on his leg and into his hand for her to squeeze.

“What was the reason…cuz yer old man would’ve just found another suitor”

“I was in love with my best friend” Her words hit him like a truck as he squeezed her hand carefully, feeling her other rest on top of their conjoined ones. “Of course he thought I was gay and I know his homophobic ass wouldn’t like that. But I corrected him. Because I wanted my family to know who my best friend was and how important he was to me that he stole my heart instantly…I was just too afraid to say anything until now”

“why didn’t you say anything sooner…or runaway to me?”

“When you go to the lake house, and hear your best friend in the throws with another woman.” Y/N felt the tears slowly fall off her cheeks as Daryl tried his best to ignore his threatening his waterline. “You didn’t want to tell him that you left for more than just your parents. You left because…you thought you would never be good enough for him”

“You’re good enough for me, you’re more than good enough” He scoffs. “I’ve always been in love with you, I was too coward to say anythin’”

“It’s been years…and you still do?…as much as me?”

“More even” Daryl lifted his head to look her in the eye as she knew she was crying but notice the stray tears that fell here and there from his own. “I never stopped looking for you. Only times I did was when I was runnin’ from the horrors of the old and new world. But you never left my mind. All I wanted was to be with you.”

“And here we are” Y/N sobbed pressing her forehead against his, feeling the cot shift when he brought himself closer wrapping his arm around her. She eventually brought both her arms around him moving her face to the crook of his neck as Daryl caged her in his embrace keeping mind of her injuries even if she first didn’t care about them.

“Please, don’t leave me again”

“I’m stuck to you like glue, D. I’m never leaving again”

#the amount of times I deleted and re-write this one #I deserve a reward #jk jk #I’m just happy I finally got a route I liked for this #cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

360 notes · View notes

heartscrypt · 10 months

Note

For the miraculous au

would it not be silly and goofy if when not as superheros and in their like school. normal teenage life. like. yaknow. in canon. jamil has a big (in denial) crush. bc hes ladybug. idk where im going with this

i love your miraculous jamiazu au i think thats the main idea from this ask

using this ask as an excuse to pull out the love square map (i'm actually fucking crazy)

OK SOOOO. so. i was not kidding when i said the love square was different from the show. ive kind of swapped around the dynamics from the original to fit the characters better

everything under a read more so as to not intimidate anyone with how severely ill i am about them

jamil -> azul: in contrast to the mlb canon jamil will NOT have a big ginormous stalker crush on azul. in fact he does not like azul and will often clam up / go quiet around him. will excuse himself from interactions with the other and generally avoid the hell out of him because he thinks the other is so clearly hiding something and he does NOT want to get wrapped up in it

azul -> jamil: think pre-book 4 incident where azul's had an eye on jamil for a very long time. if anything he has the big ginormous stalker crush. but honestly its not full on crush territory (yet) because jamil refuses to talk to him and he hasn't interacted extensively with the other. however does think there is something going on with jamil avoiding him and relentlessly pursues him in response

scarab -> léopard: scarab just instinctively works better with léopard by his side. there's sort of an implicit trust between the both of them that the other is fully capable of whatever they set out to do which is. really nice. and they rely on each other in the heat of battle which is strange because scarab's ego means he often takes a lot of shit on himself under the idea that he's the only one who can do it. but also léopard is just an enigma to him because they'll work so well in battle but out of battle léopard's constant flirting gives scarab a headache... but it's also kind of flattering. in a way. because léopard is constantly Looking for him and shows a lot of interest in who he is as a person which doesn't happen a lot for scarab in his civilian form

léopard -> scarab: léopard is a mercenary which means that he's not partners with scarab. he just happens to "run into" the other "by coincidence" (not coincidence) and you know. he's so benevolent. why not help scarab out with the akuma. he is charmed by how much scarab is NOT like a hero. scarab thinks like a villain and is unafraid to use and manipulate others in order to accomplish his goals. but the end result is perceived as heroic of him. léopard wants him so bad for this it is fucking CRAZY he thinks scarab's capabilities and range are so attractive and will constantly make passes at him whenever they cross paths

jamil -> léopard: from jamil's experiences with léopard as scarab, jamil finds that léopard may actually be tolerable when he's not flirting constantly. jamil's still not keen on letting this guy save him from akumas (because jamil is scarab and by god if léopard ever finds out he saved scarab in civilian form he's going to be so full of himself) but he trusts léopard and is willing to let his snarkier side show, more than he usually does when he's jamil

léopard -> jamil: léopard is ecstatic at the fact that jamil is actually talking to him. yes it might take a whole other secret identity and a leather bodysuit to do so but. you know. a win is a win. uses his position as léopard to pry for more info from jamil, but it's always a push/pull back and forth where jamil seems to tolerate and even occasionally be amused by hus presence but will shut him down once he gets too close. his infatuation with the other in civilian form is fed by these small interactions he has with the other that shows there's more to jamil that meets the eye

azul -> scarab: azul is scarab's biggest supporter. naturally. praises the superhero's diligence and duty to the city loudly and vocally to anybody who will listen, and wants to get scarab involved in his future business ventures. may intentionally put himself in situations where the other will come save him so he can entrap the other into talking with him in civilian form to see if he can get any more clues into scarab's identity. also desperately tries to impress scarab when unable to transform with the skills he learned from being léopard.

scarab -> azul: scarab, drawing off his experiences as jamil, finds azul's persistence a little daunting and definitely a danger to his secret identity. however it's also odd to see a second side to azul pop out when he's trying to impress scarab. almost cute. if he didn't fail so much at it. gets scarab reconsidering his civilian form's thoughts on azul because azul somehow seems Less fake or. worse at being fake whenever jamil is scarab.

#twst #twisted wonderland #jamil viper #azul ashengrotto #jamiazu #azujami #jamil x azul #azul x jamil #ashenviper #jazul #heartscribbles #the public forum #sorry guys im like actually crazy #my friend said that léopard would trap jamil in a game of 20 questions while jamil is frantically trying to get away and transform #and i cant stop thinking about it #jamil liking azul more when he doesnt know its azul is so fucking funny to me #hes like ''ill never trust azul ashengrotto'' and then turns around to team up with literally just azul but in a leather mask and bodysuit #twst mlb au

238 notes · View notes

wtfgaylittlezooid · 2 months

Text

Ballista I love you.

And because hes my second favorite of the mercs this comes with a few headcanons:

He runs on cartoon logic. He became a mercenary because killing and violence to him is the equivalent of a really good looney tunes gag-- the more extreme the better. Yes, he knows its wrong. No, he doesn't care. He can also shapeshift just like in canon ofc, kinda like the Warden from Superjail.

And yes, he does have hammerspace.

#the sniler #ballista #eztoon #animator vs animation #ava #alan becker #anim vs #my art #doodles #gijinka

60 notes · View notes

jean0farc · 6 months

Text

#!! - 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑴𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵 — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ; ᴄᴏʀᴏɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴅᴀʏ

(Cross-posted from my AO3)

CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: smut.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Griffith X You (fem! Reader)

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘:

Having been spoiled by your father as an only child after your mother’s death, there existed you, a young, yet rebellious maiden known amongst Midland as Princess Scarlet. Being the subject of envy by commoners who wanted nothing more than to overthrow the kingdom, you were rather…..indifferent. As a princess, you exercised pride in your achievements, deeming you fit for the role of succeeding your father on the throne.

Even after your father’s death caused by poisoning, your dream to have your own kingdom never faltered in the slightest. In fact, ruling over Midland with an iron fist has been made easy and simple considering your royal blood.

Subsequently, your ambitious demeanor and philosophy attracted none other than the military genius who led a group of mercenaries known as the Band of The Hawk. Sir Griffith; a man who never fell short of what were to be defined as a noble, if it were not for his common blood.

To put it simply, Griffith never planned on building his empire overnight. Instead, he harbored ulterior motives where he would rather…..bend you, the Queen, to his liking before taking over Midland.

….And the consequences of YOU having a fragile ego never ceased to reveal itself.

𝖈𝖜: none as of now.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊:

No smut for the first chapter!

To minors: this space isn’t for you. Berserk is a warning in itself. Go away. Do not interact.

Anyways, I’m back with a new fic and it’s basically my own version while still keeping the canon verse of Berserk clear.

In this verse, expect certain things:

— Princess Charlotte does NOT exist.

— YOU are the Princess/Queen of Midland.

— The story will mainly focus on Griffith, not Guts.

Before commenting, I would like to caution you for potential rape/non-con elements (it’s Griffith we’re talking about here) to be depicted in later chapters of the story.

What I write is pure fantasy, and is mostly just me projecting on my original character (in this case, Queen Scarlet) who has a rather peculiar relationship with Griffith.

Anyways, grab some popcorn, and chill a little while we watch our original character slowly get taken advantage of by the devil himself.

The Kingdom of Midland. Such is a name given to the central region of the Physical World where nobles dominate and savages eliminate. One had the luxury of resting within the comfort of their own home while dining with only the finest cuisine made known to man. The other had to hustle and kill for the sake of money and survival…....while for potential evildoers and traitors, the sake of achieving their dream.

It was your coronation day after all, one of the most awaited events in all of Midland’s history. Following your father’s death caused by an incident of poisoning, the nobles immediately turn to you as a successor to the throne. You were a bit nervous, so to speak, but ready to accept your new role and give your speech as the newly appointed ruler of Midland.

It was already sunset, the halls decorated with red roses, bushes, and your favorite type of flower, the Amaryllis. You just loved the sight of red the way you liked your tea. Red, so to speak, was your favorite color. It just looks and feels powerful, like the way sunlight pierces its way through your eyes. You liked shoving your presence down people’s throats, to make them remember your name as you rejoiced in your own superiority as the new Queen.

Red was the visual embodiment of your dream—to rule and render yourself capable of building your own empire. Because of that, the King, your very own father, feared for your safety. And boy, was that prediction true.

Not only was your safety compromised, but prior to meeting the White Hawk who was addressed as Sir Griffith, things went downhill after that encounter as a sudden number of royal guards dropped dead. Not only were you disgusted by the smell of blood that filled the hallways the week before your coronation, but the five words whispered to your ear was what sent chills across your spine. Those five words made you shiver in questionable fear despite you taking it as just an empty threat.

“You belong to me, Princess.”

And then came the surge of mysterious events such as your father’s death.

Supposedly, you were expected to be excited for such an event like the coronation ceremony as you longed all your life to become Queen, but something about the whole situation didn’t feel right. You were at a loss for words, being unable to understand why your father was poisoned in an instant and how planning the ceremony felt rushed.

You shivered at the thought of meeting the Band of the Hawk once more, immediately suspecting that one of them killed your father.

“Our beloved guests, our crowning guests, respected parents of the nobles, and that of the civilians. Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon.” announced the event speaker of the ceremony. “Once again, we have gathered here to witness the coronation ceremony of the Royal Family to be headed by Queen Scarlet and the rest of the officials appointed to serve her Majesty. Kindly rise for the ceremony proper.”

A huge audience of youngsters stood to give thanks towards your family for a job well done in leadership, singing songs of praise as time passed by. You were, of course, getting quite the goosebumps knowing your time is up as a princess. However, you can’t help but falter, thinking of your father’s untimely demise just about two weeks ago.

You were lost in thought, unable to pay attention to the songs sung in honor of you. Something was very wrong. You sweat and panted hard, not because you didn’t know what to say or do given the situation, but because you didn’t want to actually meet up with Griffith and the rest of his comrades due to some suspicions about the leader’s motives.

“Before we start, may I request everyone to observe silence as the ceremony begins to maintain its solemnity. Reserve your ‘hoorays’ for the latter part of the coronation. Thank you very much for your full cooperation.”

The rest of the coronation ceremony followed. You were nervous, biting your nails as you slowly prepared your speech in front of thousands. You knew Griffith would be watching

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Alas, it was your turn to give out a speech that serves as a public declaration of your aims, intentions, and actions to be taken to further improve the economic and sociocultural growth of Midland.

Standing up, you could feel the eyes of crowds searching you from head to toe, but none of them ever gave you the impression that someone was truly watching you.

At the exterior of the venue, there sneaked a young man with white, flowing hair and a pair of blue eyes. It was him. Griffith. He didn’t make his own presence clear before you, he covered his tracks very well. But, little did he know, you could peek at his silhouette from afar. Knowing he made his way past the guards with extreme caution showed his prowess in strategy and disarming opponents with great ease.

Yes, he just wanted to hear your speech. After all, knowing how someone would open up about a fraction of their lives would be crucial in undergoing one’s plan to achieving their dreams, yes?

This was your moment. You let out a deep breath and spoke clearly as you cleared your throat.

“Greetings, my beloved fellowmen. It’s been a pleasure having to meet with you all to this very moment.” you greeted the audience with a friendly, approachable tone. “Throughout this memorable day, I was able to discern all your prayers dedicated to me and my family, especially in honor of my father’s passing. As an inherent successor to the throne, I have maintained a significant awareness through the years that my people, spread far and wide throughout every continent and ocean in the world, were united to support me in the task to which I have now been dedicated with such solemnity.”

The muffled voice of your speech was rendered audible to Griffith from the outskirts of the palace. He was perhaps….fascinated by your rather….pushy attitude on things. It didn’t take long before he palmed the area between his hips, hiding such an unsightly appearance as he began to fantasize about you under his control. He wanted nothing more than to dissect you in every detail possible, to know your deepest fears and motives of having to rule such a flawed kingdom. But little did you know, was that he wanted this kingdom all to himself.

“The ceremonies you have seen today are ancient, but some of their origins are hidden in the mists of the past. Their spirit and meaning still rise from the flames of finiteness. Perhaps, they still shine more brightly than we’ve expected them to do so. I have pledged allegiance with all my heart that I shall lead this kingdom, uplifting it further to claiming a thousand more victories than you would ever anticipate. Throughout all my life and with all my heart I shall strive to be worthy of your trust.”

Griffith’s eyes narrowed as he hid behind the doors alongside the two guards who were apparently slain before they could even fight back.

He wanted you.

And there was nothing more satisfying than breaking one of the strongest, most powerful women who once took an interest in the art of swordsmanship. But he would rather not challenge you to a duel; not because he underestimated your capabilities, but because he saw such barbaric acts to be unbefitting of a lady with high status.

An hour later, trumpets played as the Grim Reapers of the Battlefield were to be promoted as bodyguards, yes, bodyguards, of your kingdom. The King trusted you to this group of mercenaries who promised nothing short of protecting your integrity and wellbeing as the princess. But one thing’s for sure, it’s that their leader was bound to be missing.

You stepped down from the stage to observe your audience for any problems which may arise from the White Hawk’s absence.

“Wait, where’s Griffith? But he was just here about minutes ago!” Rickert exclaimed. “He can’t just be wandering out in the open like this! Griffith! Hang in there! We’re on our way!”

“Cut the crap.” Guts said, alerting his fellow comrades. “There must be a way to proceed with the ceremony without Griffith being of any concern.”

“But Guts-”

Recognizing and appreciating your bodyguards (or perhaps, some new friends) wasn’t all that bad. Perhaps you were intimidated by some of the mercenaries, but they played an integral part of your big day.

It was only one moment within that band that spooked you, it was the White Hawk revealing himself—it was Griffith. By that moment when Griffith claimed you to be his, you began to not take those words lightly and managed to develop a slight sense of fear. What did he exactly mean by that?

You brushed off your thoughts on the matter and shook hands with nearly all the members, with Griffith being an exception (obviously). Rumor has it that he’s still hiding where the sun doesn’t shine, covering his tracks in order to reveal himself before you in the very end.

And God forbid what kind of plans he had for you that night.

#yandere griffith #x reader #griffith x reader #griffith berserk #berserk x reader #berserk griffith #griffith x you #fanfiction #griffith #berserk #berserk anime #fem reader

142 notes · View notes

reunionatdawn · 3 months

Text

My Analysis of the Best Paired Endings in 3H (Part 2: Dimitri/Byleth)

Despite the popularity of some of Dimitri's M/M ships, he seemed to be a typical heterosexual man to me. However, his straightness was actually part of what made his character so interesting, ironically. He spent his youth absorbed in masculine activities like hunting, training, and practicing with the sword.

He was willing to TRY and take Sylvain's advice to pick up girls. But he was very inexperienced with women. Chivalry definitely promotes homoromantic social bonding among men. And perhaps because of that very male-dominated culture he grew up in, he deeply yearned for a relationship with a woman.

The tagline for the game was, "Sweet memories twisted by time's cruel hand". Dimitri's feelings for his stepsister may have been only puppy love, but it was his first time emotionally connecting with a girl. It was one of his sweetest memories. That was why Edelgard's betrayal hurt him so deeply. The emotional core of AM is Byleth taking the spot in Dimitri's heart that Edelgard once held.

The developers did not want to write an entirely different script just to accommodate male Byleth. So, they just took out the Goddess Tower scene, S-Support, and paired ending. The loss of which are a huge detriment to the integrity of the story. Dimileth is just as "canon" as its counterpart Edeleth. I don't even think AM's story or Dimitri's redemption make sense unless there was a romantic connection between those two. Dimitri's Goddess Tower event even foreshadows that specific scene, proving that the moment Byleth reached out her hand was written with romantic undertones.

Byleth being female is an integral part of the story of AM. If Byleth represented the divine masculine in CF, then it follows that she represented the divine feminine in AM. She was a vessel for the soul of the goddess, but more importantly she was a human who could directly intervene in the world and support people with her own flesh and blood.

Dimileth is often criticized for being a simple "fixing the bad boy" straight girl fantasy. But it's less cliche than people give it credit for. Byleth and Dimitri are an interesting blend of masculine and feminine qualities. Byleth is a silent protagonist, but I could tell that Dimitri enjoyed her dry sarcastic sense of humor. She was not a typical healer or pegasus knight like most FE love interests, but a deadly mercenary. She was meant to be similar to Glenn, which is why Felix sees her as his rival.

She serves the role of being Dimitri's sword and shield and stood at his side and protected him during the final battle, filling the knightly role Glenn would have if he had survived (and the role Felix serves in Hopes). She was the Seiros to his Wilhelm. Dimitri is one of the very few male characters that Byleth will give her mother's ring to when she proposes. Yes, it is a woman's ring that Dimitri wears. In fact, Dimitri's whole character arc is about rediscovering and embracing the softer feminine qualities he had as a young boy.

The Professor taught Dimitri how to live. In AG, Dimitri told Shez that from the moment he was born, he never felt like his life belonged to himself. He overworked himself because it was the only way he knew how to live. After Duscur he lost everyone, including his best friend, and his life belonged to their ghosts. The only time he could imagine being happy was upon his death, having devoted his life to forming a peaceful kingdom full of joyful citizens. He yearned for someone to stand by his side and give him a reason to live for himself.

I've seen many people online criticize Dimileth because they say Dimitri already had plenty of people that he was close to in his life and his non-Byleth relationships should have played the biggest role in his redemption. But I disagree. The story made it quite clear that Dimitri's support system was totally inadequate for his emotional needs and could not have pulled him from the abyss.

He was not actually all that close to his childhood friends, even before the Tragedy of Duscur, and he did not confide in them about what he was feeling. He said Rodrigue was the only person outside the castle he was close to. Rodrigue obviously cared for him, but he had not seen Dimitri in two years prior to the academy. Dimitri and Dedue shared a very powerful bond. Losing Dedue was the cause of Dimitri’s initial descent into savagery. But Dedue still insisted on being his vassal instead of his friend and equal.

Felix was obligated to fill the role due to his bloodline, but he did not WANT to be the person Dimitri unburdened his heart to. He was constantly irritable and losing his patience in Azure Gleam. Glenn was one of the ghosts who shadowed Dimitri's every move. And Felix said that since Glenn's death, "his memory has followed me around like a shadow." He hated acting as his brother's replacement. In their AG A-Support, it seemed like he was pretending to like the idea of being the right-hand man because of how dependent Dimitri was on him. We see a direct parallel of that scene in AM where Dimitri is hallucinating in the chapel. While Felix certainly felt compassion for him, he was very eager to foist the role of confidant onto Byleth.

Without anyone to lean on, Dimitri acts pretty monstrous. For five years, he tortured and killed people brutally, as if they were not even human. He threatened to kill Randolph's friends and remove his eyeballs before killing him and we can probably assume that he actually did that sort of thing to his other victims. I related so well with Felix because I felt the exact same mix of disgust and pity towards him.

I didn't ship Dimileth because I self-inserted onto Byleth and I wanted to marry him. I just wanted Byleth to accept him. And I don't find it difficult to believe that she would. Because before she was the stand-in for the goddess, she was the Ashen Demon who cut people down with no emotion. She only began to smile when she started teaching his class. He offered his shoulder to lean on when she lost Jeralt, something the other two house leaders didn't do.

The main ideological conflict between Edelgard and Dimitri was how much they are willing to compromise and accept the unacceptable. Dimitri seemed to understand that Edelgard had legitimate issues with the Church of Seiros as well as the existing world order. But he thought that total destruction of that system would require too much sacrifice. It was an interesting moral quandary.

And honestly, there was no easy answer. In an ideal world, there would be no false religion and no such thing as nobility, period. Even most of the nobles in the cast would have been happier to just be regular people. AM certainly doesn't end in a utopia or anything (although it's less status quo than AG). It was about the characters compromising and making concessions with an inherently unjust system because perhaps taking innocent human life is wrong even if it's for a just cause.

The Crest of Blaiddyd is associated with Strength. The Strength Tarot card is the Major Arcana of inner strength. It represents mastering raw emotions in order to bring calm to yourself or a situation. Dimitri was born on the winter solstice making him a Sagittarius, which is a masculine fire sign symbolized by a centaur. The horse portion of the Sagittarius symbol is unruly, relentless, beastly, and strong. The human portion is wisdom-seeking and rational. Dimitri's character arc was about overcoming his anger and hatred and becoming the wise "Savior King" who could reach out his hand to his mortal enemy.

Byleth & Dimitri The marriage of the newly appointed Archbishop, Byleth, and Dimitri, who officially ascended to the throne of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, further delighted the people amidst the celebrations of the end of the war. Continuously seeking a better future for Fódlan, they pursued their ideals, gradually reforming the traditional political systems and the structure of the Church. They upheld their roles as leaders of the Church and the state, engaging in intense debates at times. However, when they went on long rides or hunting trips alone together, they wore not the faces of the Archbishop and the King, but those of an ordinary, loving couple.

JRPGs are known for "killing god". AM ends not with you destroying the church but becoming its leader. The people of Fódlan paid lip service to the goddess, but they actually revered Nemesis and the 10 Elites. So much so that Rhea had no choice but to refer to them as heroes and Crests as gifts from the goddess. Fódlan is a patriarchal land. Faerghus especially so.

With Fódlan unified under Faerghus, Byleth acts as the divine feminine force who will change that society from the inside out, just as she did her husband. Is rulership by a benevolent monarch and a matriarchal pope a good enough ending? Well, that's for the player to decide. But I found it to be the best ending, both for Fódlan and for Dimitri and Byleth themselves.

#fe3h #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #byleth eisner #dimileth #fe3h meta

80 notes · View notes