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freesia-writes · 6 months ago

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Ch 26: Confrontation

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.2k

Song: “Already Gone” by Sleeping At Last (Cover)

The afternoon was beginning to lose its battle against evening as Hunter wove his way through the trees, his gut protesting each step along the familiar path. His mind was racing so quickly that he was utterly lost in it all, instead trying to simply focus on where he was going rather than what he would do when we got there. He pushed up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, then pulled them back down, then tugged at the waistband of his brown pants. As the sound of the sea grew louder, he emerged from the densely wooded forest into the meadows that sloped toward the cliffs above the ocean. The rickety white fence greeted him with its crooked posts grinning in a cruel smile, and he pulled the gate open with more force than he intended, stalking toward the cottage and trudging right up to the front door.

He knocked, three hard blows that sounded as angry as he felt.

No response.

He listened intently for any trace of motion or sound within.

Nothing.

He turned abruptly and walked around the side of the house, scanning the backyard and garden until his eyes settled on her form, bent over some vegetable plants as she pulled weeds without a care in the world.

Without a care in the world.

Hunter took a deep breath, setting his jaw with deliberation to avoid letting his emotions get the best of him. Strategy, he reminded himself. Everything came down to strategy. There was no point in abandoning reason, no matter how relentlessly the pain churned his stomach. He approached slowly, making a point to step on some dry twigs to announce his presence. Lyra stood up, shifting the basket on her arm as she glanced around the yard. Her brown hair was in a loose braid, her soft form covered by a rather shapeless cream-colored dress with a long brown cardigan on top.

Then she saw him.

The basket almost slipped from her elbow, but she caught it with a white-knuckled grip as she stared at him, mouth falling open slightly as a myriad of emotions flashed across her face. Hunter was surprised to see how they mimicked his own, and the sheer amount of thoughts and feelings attacking all at once created a sudden wave of nausea. He came within a few paces of her and stopped, keeping a healthy distance between them as his hands fidgeted at his side before he stopped them with tightly-crossed arms.

“What are you doing here?” he growled, a million critical thoughts besieging him immediately at his question.

“I live here,” Lyra pointed out, eyebrows drawing together. “But you’ve got a lot of nerve just tromping right into my backyard… after what you did.” Her anger felt brittle, a thin veil over the sadness that threatened to spill out along with the tears in her eyes.

“What I did?” Hunter echoed, dropping his arms to his side as he stared at her in disbelief. “What I did?! That’s rich. Why didn’t you just turn me in from the start? Why drag me to some other planet? Why just me, and not all of us?” The questions were flowing freely now, and his frustration at his own lack of control made it all feel that much worse. “You call it in and then disappear, like a coward… Couldn’t stand to watch the consequences of your own actions?”

“What?” came her dumbfounded retort, and the shock in her eyes gave him pause before the dragon in his chest rose again.

“Now you’re going to play dumb?” he challenged, relishing her flicker of hurt before charging onward. “Came back to finish the job and you’re still pretending like you don’t know what’s going on?”

“Hunter, you left me!” she exclaimed, eyes glistening. “I cared for you, let you in… And you turned around and sold me out without even knowing all the facts!”

“Sold you out…”

“Were you just waiting all along until you could get both of us? How long did you know?”

“About what?” he challenged, anger and hurt battling for center stage as he stared at her beneath hard brows.

“Never mind. I can’t believe you’re turning this around on me,” Lyra said, voice cracking with emotion. She turned away, shoulders hunched in despair as she quickly wiped her eyes.

“Are they coming here next?” Hunter continued, taking a step closer.

“Who?” she asked, whirling back to face him.

“Whoever you thought you could make a quick buck from,” he muttered, fighting back the lump rising in his throat, furious at its mere existence. “Is that why you came back? The Empire isn’t very forgiving when you don’t deliver. Must have been a real bummer that I got away, eh?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, face contorted with despair. “I came back to the hotel to find it swarming with Imperials. They were looking for us. They knew I was there. Breslin, too. I heard one of them say ‘they’ll be back, he said so.’ What does that sound like to you?”

He took a breath, mouth open and mind racing, but the words didn’t come, so he snapped his jaw shut, pressing his lips together in a thin line as he stared at her. The complete impassivity on his face hurt her more than his sharp words ever could, and Lyra turned away again, throwing her basket on the ground nearby. Hunter’s brows furrowed more deeply, and he rubbed his face with a hand before starting again.

“You’re a traitor to the Republic,” he said quietly, every word laced with vitriol. “It’s not my fault they found you – you probably gave yourself away trying to turn me in.”

“Turn you in for what?!” she yelled, kicking the basket before whirling back to face him.

“Why are you still pretending to be innocent? That you don’t know?” Hunter said, voice rising to match hers. All sense of strategy had flown out the window, and he found himself wanting to hurt her, to exact revenge for every single moment she’d tricked him into thinking he could be happy. “That we’re clones, wanted by the Empire, harboring fugitives, on the run?” Each inflection was a verbal stab, but instead of any kind of dark revelation at being exposed, Lyra’s expression grew increasingly shocked with each admission.

“Clones…?” she repeated, face scrunched in disbelief. Her befuddlement seemed so authentic that Hunter was beginning to feel as though he were the crazy one. But what other explanation was there? He continued to glare, emanating rage and indignation as he watched her like a hawk, scrambling to make sense of the conflicting information from her words and the events that had transpired.

“Why else would the Empire have called an entire squadron on our hotel room, right after you conveniently disappeared? After you…” his voice broke, and he swallowed hard. “After you kissed me on the forehead and said you were sorry. Sorry for what?” The pain was threatening to overtake the anger, but he clenched his fists at his sides.

“Sorry for keeping things from you,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks now. Her resolve was melting by the second, chipping away at his own fortified defenses. “About my past… About Breslin… The truth about all that had happened. I thought I could leave it behind.”

Hunter took a deep breath, glowering at her as though it could drive the answers out into the open. It didn’t. The two of them stood in the garden, each one rooted in angry confusion and insulting misunderstanding. Lyra was slowly wilting, unable to look at him. When the discomfort grew to an unbearable pressure, she began to speak, exhaling her story in miserable resignation.

“I thought I was working for a simple political office on Coruscant. But I found out they were doing some weird experiments. Totally unethical and downright cruel… something about cloning or DNA stripping… I tried to expose it; I gathered some evidence and took it above my boss’s head. I thought I was doing the right thing… But I went to the wrong people. They were in on it too.”

She stopped, grief overtaking her for a moment as she sniffed, looking to the sky and willing the tears to stop. Hunter waited, motionless.

“So they threw me in prison to make sure I wouldn’t talk anymore, spun some story about how I was a traitor, and the Republic became the Empire overnight. I’d given Breslin the evidence and made escape plans for her with a friend before they took me away. I was in jail for weeks, and I started to see how other inmates would just vanish without a trial or anything… So when some shady pirate dressed as a guard came by and offered me a chance to get out and disappear, I took it.”

Now it was she who paused for a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes again, still unable to meet his gaze.

“I tried to find Breslin, but her transport had been attacked. Our friend was killed, and I had no idea where she ended up. The pirate conned me out of almost everything I had, talked me into some ‘deluxe package’ to keep me safe. Turns out it was a load of Bantha fodder – a pile of cheap weapons and explosives. What was I supposed to do with that? But he found a safe place for me to live, and I was able to get some long-range communications equipment so I could keep looking for her.”

“What, so you could get the evidence back?”

“No,” Lyra said, finally looking up at him in offense. “Because Breslin is my daughter.”

Hunter stared wordlessly.

“I had her when I was young and dumb. We almost grew up together. Then all of this happened. I felt horrible for dragging her into it. I never should have given it to her. I put her in danger too. And then I lost her… for years,” her voice cracked, and she clamped her mouth shut, turning away as her shoulders shook with irrepressible grief. “I would change a million things about it if I could. So many stupid decisions. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Seconds ticked by.

“Apparently, Breslin settled down on Keytoll,” Lyra continued, lifting her chin to the horizon. “She changed her name to Neon, shaved her head… Made some friends, got a good job in data encryption. When she dug into the evidence I’d given her, she realized it was nothing she wanted to be caught up in, so she hid it and moved on. Claimed that her hobby was playing around with radios, technology, and communicators while she tried to reach me. But we hadn’t had time to set up any kind of code or whatnot. She was the smart one who broadcast a message with some childhood memories disguised as an audioholo that I picked up. Anyway… I found her… I thought we could come back here and be safe… just live simple lives without the constant fear of looking over our shoulders…”

Hunter hated how much that same yearning resonated deeply with him.

“I don’t know how they found us, if it wasn’t you,” she said softly, turning back to face him with a scrutinizing expression. “We hid on Keytoll for the last few months, came up with a plan. Well, Breslin did. She had some contact that turned out to be the same pirate who helped me escape from prison. He had quite a... bold... personality. Tried to con us again, but she was smart enough to catch it. So with his help, we faked our deaths, published it to the right sources… Then I came back here in the hopes of moving on once and for all.”

“And Breslin?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“More secrets?” His eyes narrowed.

“Why would I tell you?” Lyra retorted, her anger returning.

He remained silent, the deep hurt of betrayal and loss of trust muddied by the utter confusion and sheer overload of information.

“Besides,” she continued, advancing on him now. “What’s all this about you? You’re a clone? A fugitive?”

Hunter shifted on his feet, furious at himself for having revealed his hand in a moment of recklessness. He still wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. It sounded like a plausible story, but he’d been so shamefully fooled by her entire facade that it could be yet another cover-up, a ploy to let his guard down again for whatever else she needed. Perhaps she wanted to protect her own place of safety by taking him elsewhere for capture. He shook his head, rattling the thoughts out of the way, and met her gaze. Two pairs of brown eyes locked in hurt and outrage.

“There’s all kinds of stories out there. Same as you… Lies of the Empire to get rid of any opposition.”

“Oh, now you’re gonna be vague?”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other.

Lyra looked down at her basket, its contents strewn across the ground, then wrapped her arms around herself as though barely holding it together. She glanced back up to him with a single, profound look.

“Take care, Hunter.”

And with that, she turned toward the house, picking her way through the garden beds with slow, defeated steps. Hunter’s eyes darted back and forth across the ground in front of him, lips twitching, then he crossed his arms again.

“Just giving up and running away?” he called after her, despising every word as it came out.

Lyra stopped, head hanging low, and he watched her shoulders slump beneath the weight of his cruel accusation. She began to turn, but hesitated, tightened her arms around herself, and continued into the house, disappearing inside without a backward glance.

Song: A Great Big World & Christina Aguilera – Say Something Lyrics | Genius Lyrics

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acapelladitty · 1 year ago

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Genuine question, how do you feel about the controversial opinions surrounding noncon/rape fantasies? Do you think it's not really a problem at all since you've written a fic on that?

Ooh! A very interesting question! Thank you for asking as I do have a lot of thoughts on the subject.

Noncon/Rape fantasies are often shown to be among the most common 'taboo' kinks that people don't often discuss and the interest in them is very present across people of all genders. It's a trope that's existed for a long time, from a knight capturing some poor maiden to monsters stealing away people to hold captive, and no matter how people try to dress it up - folk have always liked to be "forced" to do things.

Rape is an abhorrent thing. A tool of monsters and cowards who seek to hold power over someone for their own cruel gratification. No one is disputing that as no one ever could. Rapists deserve hell and that's that on that. No discussion needed. People who have experienced such a terrible thing are allowed to have their own opinions on the subject and I would never take those away from them. I understand fully.

With that in mind, there are elements of being found just SO utterly irresistible that someone cannot HELP but want you so much that they're willing to take you no matter what. There's an element of fantasy there which can be comforting and very empowering for some people and they revel in it.

Also, due to societal pressure and certain cultural norms, it's not been acceptable for certain people to not only want to fuck, but to fuck freely and nasty! Rape takes that shame away because of COURSE you don't WANT to do that nasty thing (oral sex, anal sex, kink play etc) but what CHOICE do you have when this big, strong person is forcing you to do it! It takes the pressure and shame off the individual and allows them to explore kinks and sexual acts which they may not have the confidence to.

It's something which requires lots of trust and discussion with things such as safe words and limits being put into place in a way which both parties are comfortable with. And I do say both parties because there is a LOT of responsibility on the part of the rapist/aggressor to ensure that they meet the needs of their partner/'victim' while also taking stock of their own needs and comforts.

I think, regardless of anyone's opinion, rape and non-con fantasies are always going to exist and if people choose to explore them in a safe, sane and consensual way then that's their business. Actual rapists can die tho.

#thoughts #tw noncon #twrape

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thelampisaflashlight · 2 years ago

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Talk

[Mist, Alpha, and Omega have a conversation. It does not go well.] Below the cut.

“Permit me to speak freely, Nymphaea... but that hybrid is making you soft.” Alpha huffs, “Is it because he reminds you of that brat you left behind-”

“It’s because he IS the brat I left behind.” Mist hisses, clenching her fists at her sides, “He’s...”

Alpha’s eyes widen, and then he laughs.

A cruel, harsh bark of a laugh.

“No shit?” he scoffs, “The little piss stain you used to coddle, the one you talked about as if he were your own kit... he managed to survive down there without his protector?”

“Shut up.”

“No, but really? Really~?” Alpha goads, circling Mist predatorially, “How do you think he fared in the pit after you left him?”

“Alpha, I swear-”

“What? Oh. Ohh~ I see.”

Mist swings at him.

“In the pit, you could play big sister and feel better about your own situation because he had it worse... or did you prefer to play the part of Mommy, hn~?” Alpha catches her wrist before she can strike him, “Now that he’s topside and has more friends, you can’t control him as easily, is that it? He doesn’t need you, he thinks he does, but you know the truth.”

“That you need him now more than he needs you.”

Mist slams her heel into Alpha’s thigh and pulls her arm out of his grasp.

“Like it’s any different with you and Ifrit!” Mist bites out.

Alpha laughs again, this time sounding genuinely pleased.

“Ifrit isn’t going to replace me some day.” he snorts, “That ship has sailed. He doesn’t want the position, they’ll have to summon someone else... waste church resources, again, on a useless piece of trash that can’t possibly compare to my skills.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” a low voice drawls.

Omega looms in the doorway, glancing between the two squabbling ghouls.

“Your replacement is already here.” he says, staring down at Alpha, who shrinks back instinctively with a low growl.

“There’s not another fire ghoul in the abbey’s walls aside from Ifrit, and that whelp already declined the contract.” he furrows his brow, realizing, “You cannot be serious.”

“I am.”

Mist shivers.

“No! No, no!” she shrieks, grabbing Omega’s sleeve, “He’s not- He is MY successor!”

“Not anymore.” Omega replies coolly, “They don’t have the resources to summon a new fire ghoul, not with so many eyes on us now...”

He steps towards Alpha.

“It’s true, we can’t waste resources again, but...” he leans in closer, his breath hot on the ghoul’s ear, “...We can do with throwing away some trash.”

“You-”

Omega stands to his full height.

“Like it or not, we’re all being replaced one way or another.” he sighs, “Ifrit is smart to leave now while he has the opportunity to bargain for his freedom here on the surface... and I’ll be leaving soon as well. I’ve already made the arrangements with the church...”

“You’re just going to leave?” Mist gapes, “We’re a pack, a family-”

“That’s why I’m leaving...” Omega smiles somberly, “I can’t watch us fall apart like this... It’s time for a new generation to take the reigns, and... I can already feel a disquiet among the clergy. Wheels are being set in motion, and I have decided I no longer wish to be apart of it.”

“You’re a coward.” Alpha growls.

“Maybe so.”

“But better to run with my tail tucked between my legs and be known as a coward, then be a dead fool.”

#Lamp writes #nameless ghouls #mist ghoulette #alpha ghoul #omega ghoul #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band fanfic

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stackslip · 2 years ago

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🔥 12, 18, 20 for csm

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

OH BOY LMAO ok it's complicated but. i think yuko was a crucial character not only for for asa but for our understanding of the themes of part 2 as a whole, and the only people who pay attention to her either meme her as the riddler or see her as a Soft Lesbian instead of like. how interesting she is. she immediately clings to asa because she too has been neglected and bullied and is deeply lonely! she's built on action where asa remains stuck in her head and in her thoughts, the moment she's given a motivation (a new friend) she decides that she's going to fix their problems and that solution involves 1) making a contract 2) killing their bullies. that's how desperate her situation is, that's how bad it's gotten for her--willing to give whatever she could and give up aspects of her humanity in the name of making the world a tiny bit safer for herself and her friend.

and her admiration for chainsaw man as a character is so so interesting--chainsaw man is no longer pochita nor even denji, chainsaw man is a fucking cartoon figure and political symbol who represents everyone's hopes and fears. so it's telling that to asa, chainsaw man is a figure of justice, someone who should be working to make a better world in which neither she nor asa are outcasts and hurt freely without adults interfering except to train them into future employees and fodder in the war against devils. and the reality is that nobody is coming to save her! the reality is that chainsaw man is not any of these things and is Just A Guy. the reality is that the world is, currently, really that cruel. she's basically taken the first steps that i think will guide asa in the future--i truly believe that asa is going to want to end the world out of sheer disgust and pain at everything she's gone through, just as a yuko saw herself as just for wanting to wipe out the school and the uncaring structures that let her family die and then let her be tormented with no care for her life or wellbeing. idk if yuko's fate will be revealed to her at that point but it might contribute to that. anyhow yuko makes me so fucking sad man, i wish people would understand her more than as a cute friend for asa

18. it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on…

POCHIDEN IS REAL WAKE UP PEOPLE. POCHITA IS IN LOVE WITH DENJI. POCHITA IS A TERRIFYING WORLD ENDING ABOMINATION AND A SAD DOG DEVIL WHO JUST WANTED TO BE HUGGED AND ENDED UP HURTING PEOPLE ACCIDENTALLY, AND DENJI GAVE HIM EVERYTHING HER HAD. POCHITA LITERALLY WENT BACK TO HIS ORIGINAL HATED FORM AND DESPERATELY TRIED TO SAVE DENJI BECAUSE DENJI IS THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS TO HIM. POCHITA IS SO IN LOVE WITH DENJI THAT HIS IDEAL PLACE AT ALL TIMES IS LITERALLY ACTING AS DENJI'S HEART AND BEING CONSTANTLY HELD INSIDE DENJI'S INSIDES. ACCEPT POCHIDEN YOU COWARDS.

20. part of canon you found tedious or boring

the boob arc has its reasons to exist and i'm not against them but people who want to drop csm for that reason are perfectly justified because every time i reread part 1 the boob arc feels a little longer and more awkward and cringey to me. sorry. its conclusion (the makima scene) is spectacular though

#eli talks #csm #csm musings

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anankelotus · 2 years ago

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"I- no!! Hoshido is fine... the descendents of those you gave your blood to are fine. You have nothing to worry about sister... but all of the war and strife that came after you and our siblings departed for a different plane... it can surely only be called my fault... because I am but a fool who does not do what is best... out of her selfish desires to remain by someone's side..." Anankos cannot hold back the tears as her sister gently shakes her, and she cannot hide them either. She cries as freely as she always has, tears bubbling like tide pools in the evening sands of a windy beach.

"I'm sorry sister... even if your land did not fall... my foolish actions would still ripple to it... and hurt it's people, even if I had never wanted such a thing to happen..." She would never want anyone to get hurt, but the Dragon always did have different ideas, especially so deep into its insanity.

"But King Anankos was... quite cruel... in a way that I could never be... a way that only ended up causing people pain... and even if it is not truly my fault... it is because I am a coward who cannot leave behind the love of humanity... so I cannot help but be sorry..."

I never did. So much for Dragon of Wisdom- Asami had not heard of anything quite so foolish. At least Anankos understood it was as well, though who knew what good it would do now. Though… she seemed quite sane- perhaps it was possible to recover from degeneration, then. She isn’t quite sure if she would want to call this ‘recovering’, by any means, more perhaps that it is one less extreme consequence. A shattered dragonstone, confined to a human form, and lacking the power that separated a First Dragon from their descendants…

It is her brother’s next words that bring alarm, fast and sharp, causing her to grab the other’s shoulders suddenly, her eyes wide. “Fell apart? What do you mean? The people or the countries? And what of my land? Does Hoshido still stand- does its royal family? What did you do?”

She shook Anankos’ shoulders, an incredibly lenient action, by her standards. Any threat to her land was once dealt with swiftly and immediately, to prevent future harm. After all, she had crafted that country so painstakingly, blessing its land with fertile ground and plenty. She had fought to claim it- then fought to keep it. If Anankos had ruined it, destroyed it, while she was not present- why, was that not an act of war?

#ic posts #ic: i wish i could stay with you and protect you forever #threading: kill me again and again for all eternity. i only want for you to believe me #thread: the dawn dragon #supports: you need to know what it feels like to be loved #support: eos asami/dawn dragon #support tag: pending #eosasami

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imtryingmybeskar · 2 years ago

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Pedrotober is now Pedrovember but I've still got a few fics to share. Day 26 was Oberyn.

Oberyn x OFC (no descriptors other than having eyelashes and hair). Word count: 954. Mentions of arranged marriage, mainly this is just fluff 💜 Canon divergent and set before he meets Ellaria.

Sunlight streamed in ribbons through the stained glass of the temple, painting the floor a patchwork of colours. Oberyn subtly shifted his weight from one foot to another, the new leather boots not as comfortable as the ones he preferred to wear day to day. He picked listlessly at an imaginary bit of thread on the sleeve of his opulent marriage robes - the shining golden sun of Dorne pierced with a crimson spear a fitting analogy for how he was feeling.

Outwardly he was as calm and unruffled as ever. Inwardly he was incandescent, raging at the injustice of what his brother was about to inflict upon him. The only sign that anything was bothering him was the knitting of his black brows at the crease in the centre of his forehead, and since he had his back to the assembled congregation the only person who could see that was the Septon.

That a Septon had been invited to perform this ceremony was an insult in itself, he mused blackly. He was not religious himself and he knew not and cared less about those inclinations in his future wife. But his brother had insisted. Had said that this wedding needed to appear as legitimate and binding as possible to all of Westeros. His actual words to Oberyn had been "You have four bastard children. I couldn't care less how many more you father but you MUST produce at least one legitimate heir."

He could feel the sullen, petulant anger rising like bile in him at the recollection, showing itself in the pout of his lips and the set of his shoulders in this restrictive tunic of woven gold that his brother had picked out. Doran had organised everything, had chosen everything. Oberyn had insisted that he wanted no part of the wedding, not even choosing his bride. Spiteful, yes. But it had given him a savage sense of pride that he would not be contributing to his own gilded cage.

Speaking of...

He could the soft scrape of shoes and the rustle of fine silk behind him as she slowly approached where he stood. Oberyn trusted that his brother would attempt to make a...pleasing match for him, after all they loved each other despite their differences. But he also knew that Doran would ultimately act in the best interests of Dorne, and if that meant marrying him off to some hideously dull yet obscenely rich dowager he would do just that with no hesitation.

What if she was a coward?

What if she was cruel?

What if she was a Lannister?!

No. No he couldn't think like that. He couldn't assume the worst. He could find beauty in almost anyone, and there was no reason to think his brother would deliberately make this harder for him. But Oberyn couldn't stop the nagging worries swirling around his mind, and he knew it was because he deeply begrudged losing his liberation in this way. Because surely he would not be so fortunate as to have a wife that would understand his desire to love freely, much less some of his other...preferences.

He felt her presence next to him as she arrived at the foot of the dias where he awaited his life sentence. He turned his head away, studiously not looking at her, childish though it was. He focused instead on breathing exercises, maintaining his calm exterior, controlling what he could of the situation. He barely heard the ceremony, nor the joyful songs that punctuated it so intense was his focus on just getting through the nightmare. And when the time came for them to face each other, to speak their vows, he turned to his left with military precision and...hesitated.

She was still facing forward, her head turned from him in a mirror image of how he had been standing. Her dress was in the style favoured by the ladies of the North, but the fabrics used to make her gown were clearly Dornish and more suited for the heat. The pale cream of it was subtly woven through with golden thread to create stylised suns all over, making her glimmer and sparkle with only the smallest movements. A full veil covered her face and hair, and even if she had been facing him, Oberyn would have been none the wiser as to what lay beneath.

She turned to her right slowly, gracefully and he could see her reluctance for this rigmarole too - in how her head was bowed, in the weight of a future she had not chosen lying heavy upon her shoulders. She didn't want to be here any more than he did and that realisation softened his heart.

He noticed how she exhaled deeply, trying to release her fears much as he had. He noticed how she twisted the lace of her veil between her fingers before lifting it over her head with shaking hands. He noticed that she had long, dark eyelashes and that her eyes were still downcast. It was with the utmost gentleness that he reached out for her, his long fingers slipping under her chin to raise it softly to him, and when her eyes finally met his it felt as if the breath had been stolen from his body.

They looked at each other, the Prince and his betrothed. They stared. They gazed. In fact, they looked so long that the congregation began to shuffle their feet and the children present began to giggle and the Septon cleared his throat pointedly, yet still they went on looking. And after a lifetime and a second had passed by, when he felt as if he could breathe again, Oberyn smiled and took her hand in his.

@thisshipwillsail316 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @elegantduckturtle @dihra-vesa @midwesternwitchery @just-here-for-the-moment @eri16 @readsalot73 @littlemisspascal @princessxkenobi @harriedandharassed @pagannightwitch @tentacruels @kirsteng42 @shirks-all-responsibilities

#prince oberyn #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x ofc #prince oberyn x ofc #game of thrones fic #gane of thrones fanfic #got fanfiction

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mitsuyaya · 3 years ago

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an act of cowardice (out of the abyss) || ran haitani x gn! reader

☆༉ contains: 820 words. angst with a happy ending, profanity, kind of hurt comfort, friends to lovers kind of

☆༉ excerpt: You need the confirmation, something that you can hold, something that can make you feel grounded– the word you needed wasn't that, it wasn't enough to pull you from the abyss you fell into.

☆༉ end note: I know the conversations are gross I hate it too (is this based on the same experience? yes minus the ending sksk)

sfw masterlist | drabbles/timestamps masterlist

“Why can't you understand!” “Then help me understand!”

Tears fall freely from your face, the weight of the words you utter resonates – it feels hot, throat flaring both from the intensity of your emotion and the volume of your voice.

This stupid friendly date shouldn't have lead to this, the blooming field of flowers shouldn't have been turned into a battlefield but the desire, the need to know what this… all of this was, is unbearable.

“This, you… you always made me assume things. You said you like me, that you only want me and no other. Make me feel things, treat me as if I'm someone special to you- you… you always fucking lead me on then make me imagine scenarios in my head but never- you fuck, what are we?” The words that you tried to hold back, the thoughts that plagued your head every night– flew past your mouth the second you lost all rationality. the stinging ache could've been obscured, could've been masked but the reality was catching up to you, making you realize the grave you buried yourself into. “You… me, what the fuck is this Ran, please tell me” The desperateness in your voice made his defensive stance crumble.

It wasn't his goal to make you feel like this was all worthless, that despite how awfully hard it is for him to show you he likes you, that he doesn't regret anything, in your eyes, it seems like you're second guessing if he's genuine or not. “I've always thought about how pathetic I look, that in this whatever relationship we had– I'm at a disadvantage. I always tell you how I feel, I've always been honest with my feelings. But you, I never know what's going inside your head, I'll always think every night if- if you.. do you really like me, if you actually meant every word you say” You hugged your sides, plopping into the floor, trying to make yourself look small, to shield you from the pain. Ran stood still, even as he sees your state, even as your every word made him chest pang.

If he could, he'd run up to you- tell you what he needed to say but the words wouldn't come out because in truth, this was all his fault. —but that doesn't mean he'll let this on, that he'll let you face this cruel situation he put you into. “I'm sorry y/n, it's all my fault. I'm a coward I couldn't- I can't tell you how I feel and, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I made you feel like this” he wasn't touching you nor sitting beside you to pat your back like he would always do– but he's in front of you, careful as to not push you away. (He doesn't want to be a coward anymore.) “Look at me, I'll tell you what are we” you're scared—that wasn't the term, perhaps terrified... terrified, that the answer to the question you've always asked is now coming to light.

But that fear was easily replaced when you slowly lifted your head, violet eyes meeting yours.

“You're captivating, funny, the most perfect person I have ever met in this world.” You could feel the genuinity in his words, but it still wasn't enough. You need the confirmation, something that you can hold, something that can make you feel grounded — the word you needed wasn't that, it wasn't enough to pull you from the abyss you fell into. “I'm a coward for not making it clear, to make you feel like this. I'm an idiot” a pause, stray tear fell from his usually calm demeanor.

“I love you, more than I can imagine. I couldn't say that because well, I'm a coward. I always assumed that when I finally found the perfect time I would tell you but guess that perfect timing is always pushed back” he smiled at you, unlike any other, the smile wasn't hidden with something- this time it's out of love, out of the caged feelings, out of the abyss.

“Are you telling the truth?” you sniffled. “yes, I'm telling the truth.” “You're definitely a coward. Just because you told me that doesn't mean I forgive you now, okay.” “I know, I'll make it up to you” Your hands immediately wrapped around his waist, burying your tear stricken face into the crook of his neck. It's warm, refreshing – just like how it is after a storm.

Ran hugged you back, humming when he heard your hiccups, this feels nice, it's like a change of scenery. “I'm sorry again for being an idiot.” He kissed your crown, basking in the silence as the both of you lingered in each other's warmth.

Putting away the weapons, all those years you both thread on the thin string – were now done, it all ended. “I love you, y/n”

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blzzrdstryr · 4 years ago

Text

Misery

Sadistic!Yandere!Diluc x Fatui Harbinger!GN!reader

Wordcount: 6748

CW: torture, sex, foul language, isolation, sensory deprivation, extremely unhealthy relationships, dubcon, mindbreak, violence

Diluc isn’t a cruel person. Not necessarily. He punishes you only when you are difficult and for the last few weeks you tried to stay on your best behavior. Ragnvindr is nice to you, benevolent even, willing to look past your former affiliations and shower you with love. At times his affections seem suffocating and irking, blood red eyes following your every movement and him absorbing your every word as if it is a holy scripture, but you remind yourself that his love is the best thing that happened to you in your whole life.

Truly, Diluc is so kind to take you in and help you fix the errors of your old ways, even when you were snarling and spitting insults in his face, too stubborn to see how wrong your old life was. You were ignorant and ungrateful back then, seeing nothing but a Harbinger title and service to Tsaritsa. You forced Diluc to lock you up to make you realize that you didn't need your title or your vision or your archon. He is there for you and it's all that matters, you can rely on him for everything and he is happy to provide, persistent in his care for you and even now he is patient with your… deficiencies, waiting when you stop staring into the distance with vacant eyes.

You stand in front of an open but barred window, a typically Mondstadtian landscape revealed to you - bright green grass and patches of dandelions and windwheel asters growing in small groups with tall trees of the same shade finishing the picture. A gentle breeze flows through the opening, playing with your hair and caressing your skin, yet you imagine another type of wind - stronger and colder, relentless and carrying small snowflakes on the way. You close the eyes and see another image - tall, leafless trees covered by multiple layers of snow and the white ground between them. Snow shines and glitters under the pale winter sun, and you feel alive and bitter at the same time.

You know the place, having been there once, but your memory now is too blurry and fuzzy. All of the events prior to Diluc fixing you up are too foggy to make out the finer details and it somehow makes you feel sad, when you should be grateful instead. Tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t make them stop, rapidly going from silent crying to full on hysterics.

You hear Diluc asking what’s wrong with a concern in his voice, his hands slightly shaking your crying form. You can’t answer him, wailing even louder and stronger, hiding your face in both hands, ashamed from the sudden outburst and overwhelmed from unreasoned sorrow and heartache. Only when Ragnvindr painfully squeezes both of your shoulders and demands to know what is wrong with you in that tone that makes you shiver and gasp, do you stop, looking at him with wide scared eyes, hands that were used to cover your face, are now up in the air in a semi defensive stance.

He seems uncomfortable by your reaction, a slight frown appearing on his face, scarlet brows knit together and corners of mouth turned downward. “I am sorry”, you say, voice small and pleading, eyes casted aside not meeting his out of embarrassment. Why did you start to act so childish out of the blue?

“There’s nothing to apologize”, Diluc takes off the glove, using an uncovered hand to wipe away the tear tracks from your cheeks. There’s no irritation in his voice, just concern, so you risk a glance at him, as he continues: “You are just making me worry”

“I am sorry” you repeat, feeling a prick to your heart, as you process his words - Ragnvindr is so good to you, providing with everything you could ever ask of, and here you are, making him concerned and anxious over some silly daydreams. “It’s really nothing, I just need to be more attentive, that’s it”

You noticed that it’s harder for you to stay in the moment as you start to frequently space out, mind too occupied by the memories of days long past - playing with peers, entering Fatui, receiving a delusion. It’s a futile thing, but images still consume all of your attention and focus, keeping you from sleeping and eating.

“[First], I...” he starts, but then trails off, huffing to mask his hesitancy. Instead of talking he takes your face in one hand and leans in, his lips meeting yours. It's a slow and gentle kiss at first, but just like all other things with Diluc it quickly escalates into something more: his hands now take you by your waist and tug you closer to him, making you press with your entire chest against him, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue freely exploring the confines of your mouth as you moan into his from pleasure and such close proximity.

When you two part, Diluc leaves you flushed and dizzy, with heart quickly pounding against the ribcage. You feel a fire of arousal igniting inside of you, it travels from your chest to belly and soon spreads to the rest of the body. Your cheeks heat up as you stand up on tiptoes to whisper “Can we do it right now?” in Diluc’s ear, voice full of both shame and anticipation.

“Of course, my dear”, there are hints of a smile in his tone and he effortlessly lifts you up and heads for the bedroom and as he carries you you can’t help but zone out again, the memories of past days flashing in your mind.

***

Your first meeting happens during one winter night, as you receive the order to deal with him day prior, at a Harbinger meeting in the Zapolyarny palace. Eleven of you stay kneeling in the main hall, awaiting for Her Majesty to come in as Scaramouche and Tartaglia start to bicker as usual.

“I bet it’s about that mysterious person who’s destroying one stronghold after the other” Childe starts, voice full of bravado and smugness, fake smile blooming on his face: “Fortunately, Tsaritsa has me to take on whatever this stranger is”.

“I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you, Tartaglia”, Scaramouche remarks, almost spitting out the last word.

“Why shouldn’t I? I am the youngest here, yet I am also the strongest. Why are you so upset? Feeling envious of my power?” Childe retorts, voice still sounding too cheery to be natural.

“If there was anything to envy. You may be the best at fighting among us, but it’s the only thing you are good at”.

“Huh, it seems I was wrong. Maybe little Scaramouche wants to be as tall as me and that’s why he spits out his funny silly slander”.

It must have struck the nerve, as Scaramouche snaps back with an angry tirade, from which their exchange escalates into a heated battle of barely hidden insults. You, just as the rest of other Harbingers listen to their conversation, half amused and half irritated, lifting the brows at the creative mockings.

“Silence”, domineering and overpowering voice says and you still yourself, eyes casted downwards, as Childe and Scaramouche stop their exchange at the same moment. Footsteps echo throughout the hall, as a feminine figure takes its place on a high throne in the middle of the hall. Tsaritsa has arrived.

“As I can see my children already know about the perpetrator attacking my servants” archon starts, divine power and absolute authority evident in each syllable. You feel how the deity’s eyes look at all of you, despite still keeping head bowed and stance obedient.

“Innamorati”, you hear your title and lift up your gaze, ready to take whatever order the Goddess has for you.

“I entrust you with this task, don’t disappoint me”.

***

Diluc is not a coward and he never was one, but now he can’t help but feel a pang of fear, looking at your approaching form.

“Let’s test our delusions, shall we?”, you almost purr, voice soft, silken smooth and full of unspoken threat. It sends shivers down his spine, yet he still equips this cursed thing and braces himself for the upcoming battle.

There’s a stillness in your moves, a confidence that whatever Diluc has in his arsenal, you can endure and answer with something deadly in return. This dangerous calm both disturbs and excites young Ragnvindr.

He lashes out on you with a stream of accursed chains, filling the air with the sickly sweet scent of mist grass. You easily side step his attack, letting out a cheerless laugh and then come back with a cold gust, frost air currents easily cutting through his skin.

He barely dodges the attack, slowly registering the pain from injury. It’s a shallow cut and a testament to your strength, Diluc thinks, as he touches the scrape, marvelling at your speed. In the end, Diluc can’t stand against you - you’re stronger, have more experience and infinitely faster than him, bringing down one overwhelming attack after the other, a catalyst shining and glowing as you do so.

He jumps and ducks and runs, avoiding one hit after the other, yet there's only so much his body can do. Soon his limbs grow heavier and his breathing labored, Diluc slows down and that's when your attack finally strikes him. It pierces his body, pools of blood quickly forming under him.

Diluc falls down, his battered body no longer able to stand. Memories and regrets alike flood his mind, reminding him of deeds he wishes he did and deeds he wishes he didn’t. He remembers his childhood - all daydreams and high hopes, the world around him bright and friendly. He remembers his father's dying face and Kaeya’s guilt-ridden expression. He remembers overwhelming helplessness and grief transforming into righteous anger and hate.

It all seems so pointless now - leaving the Mondstadt, breaking all bonds with Kaeya or spending years in a mindless massacre, satiating his thirst for revenge by destroying one Fatui stronghold after the other, with no regard for his body or spirit. What was the point of it all, if he's still there, lying and bleeding to death, as you look down on him?

He throws, what he thinks, the last glance at the world, a strange thought appearing in his mind as he looks at you: I want them. As Diluc's consciousness fades he misses a sound of an observer's footsteps.

Later, as he gets saved by the said third party’s observer, who commented and praised Diluc’s methods, he replays the encounter in his mind, getting confused at this particular thought. Why would he want you? Maybe he wants you to die or maybe he wants to see you defeated, but in no way he sees you as desirable. In the end he blames everything on his oxygen deprived brain at the time, explaining the strange attraction he felt for you at that moment.

Having a near death experience and a taste of his own dying regrets, he decides to return to Mondstadt and as he does, thoughts about you continue to pester him. They fly around and buzz, reminding Diluc of your face, eyes and voice, of your body and skills and that terrifying speed you attacked him at. He swats them away like a noisy, annoying flies, suppressing and burying feelings deep, deep down, and naming his interest in you “a desire for revenge and retribution”.

***

Your second meeting happens once the news of a sudden Stormterror attack reaches Tsaritsa’s ears - a perfect opportunity for acquiring anemo archon’s gnosis and a new step in her rebellion against Celestia. She thinks about sending La Signora at first, as your fellow Harbinger is fast and ruthless, able to complete a job no matter the cost, but soon archon changes her mind and picks you instead. For secrecy and subterfuge, she adds, don’t disappoint me.

I won't, you promise more to yourself than her, as Tsaritsa never asks but orders. With your head bowed in deep respect and the heavy gaze of the goddess on your form, you decide that you will do your best to bring cryo archon's vision into reality. You are dispatched to Mondstadt the same week, first by ship, then by carriage. Pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya quickly morph into bright Mondstadtian green, and you finally arrive.

Despite or maybe because of Mondstadt having almost nothing similar with Snezhnaya, it steals a breath from you for a moment - city stands on a lone isle in the middle of deep blue lake, tall windmills and bright red roofs seen from a distance, along with a giant statue of Barbatos blessing the city.

Acting Grandmaster Jean greets you, her stern blue eyes intently observing you, as she says standard Favonius salute and you return your own cliche lines - about Tsaritsa’s concern and a peacekeeping mission, empty phrases that don’t elaborate on what actually Fatui will do. She fails to suppress a frown upon hearing it, sensing your real intentions, but you pay it no mind - Jean has no way or reason strong enough to ban you from Mondstadt without causing a diplomatic conflict.

You turn on the heels after brief negotiations, heading for the Goth Grand Hotel, mind already full of plans and schemes of obtaining the Gnosis. Before you departed, Tsaritsa shared a very interesting fact to you - throughout the centuries Barbatos used only one mortal form, disguising himself as a young cheerful bard named Venti. You dispatch a couple of agents and cicin mage to look for a person fitting the description, and then turn your attention to the rest of the fatuis.

You scold Anastasia for unprofessional rudeness towards Jean. “We need to maintain a benevolent image”, you say to her, right before demoting her and temporarily sending her off to Dragonspine as a punishment. Under your rule fatuis cease sneering and belittling Mondstadt in public, lessening no doubt growing ire of locals.

All goes well, until several events happen. Stormterror attacks the city and some blonde foreigner fights off the dragon, wielding mind blowingly strong anemo powers and riding the wind, like a flying bird. Then your agents finally find a bard, reporting that “Venti" prefers to spend a considerable amount of both time and mora in two local taverns - Angel’s Share and Cat’s tail.

You don civilian clothing, heading for the former tavern and send off a couple of other disguised agents to the latter one. Now, stripped of your mask and harbinger attire, citizens stop gawking and staring at you, their eyes passing your form, as you make your way as an ordinary passerby.

No one pays you attention, as you enter the tavern, save for the strange six fingered bard at the entrance. He tries to sell you his performance, but you wave him off, heading for the bar. And here you see him again - you recognize the unknown attacker, his bright red hair and eyes betraying him the same second. Your faces mirror in recognition as a tense silence settles between you.

“So what is Fatui doing in this tavern?”he asks loudly and half of the customers stop drinking and stare at you. You sigh “enjoying” the atmosphere he created, and utter a premade excuse: “Mondstadt is known for its wine industry and the best wines are sold by Dawn Winery. It would be a shame if I left the city without tasting its finest drinks first”.

You glance at the red gem on his collar, an obvious heirloom of a famous clan: “Didn’t know that Ragnvindr heir would spend his days working as a bartender. You must be Diluc, then. Am I right?". He doesn't dignify you with an answer, preferring to wipe the glasses and serve other customers, his eyes still observing you from time to time.

You quit the tavern early, as “Venti”, as it turns out, leaves the same second he hears about your presence. You order agents to spy on him, waiting for the right opportunity to strike, that you don't get a chance to act on.

You get attacked by Diluc on your way to the Windrise tree, where according to your intel, Barbatos decided to go. He slowly pulls out his claymore and you notice a difference between old and current him.

He is calm this time, his movements lacking fervent hatred and anger that was present during your first battle. He must have gotten stronger then, if he feels so confident, entering a battle with you. Or grown foolish, your mind supplies.

You start to fight, exchanging one blow for another, as he surprises you - there's no barbed chains rushing into your direction, only an orange light fire surrounding the claymore. A pyro vision dangles on his waist, glowing and shining as he activates it's powers. You masterfully dodge his hits, shooting combined anemo and cryo attacks from the catalyst.

Suddenly you step on a burning grass, and hiss and close your eyes from the sudden pain. Diluc uses this time to disarm you, his heavy claymore crushing a delicate catalyst into small pieces. It happens so fast, that you are left speechless at the sudden turn of the battle tides.

With no weapon left, all you can do is dodge and run - you almost reach the city again. it’s walls become visible as you do your best to push your body beyond limits, fatigue weighing down on every muscle. Diluc sends a phoenix - a damn phoenix! - on your way. Fire licks your skin and scorches ends of your hair, but you manage to dodge it too - if only by a small chance - and fall to the ground, mind drifting off to the unconscious world.

***

You come up to your senses slowly and gradually; first there are sensations - a rough rope around your wrists, wet, yet rugged stone walls, then the smells, tastes and sounds - stale, musty air, a coppery blood on your tongue and a shift of a fabric, and then the images at last - dark basement and a bright red blotch, that after a time becomes a head.

There’s a man sitting beside you, Diluc Ragnvindr, your memory supplies. You feel calm and confused for a moment until you remember the fight you both had. Seems, he finally overpowered you.

“You are awake” he says, voice grim and quiet.

“It seems I am. Let me guess, you dragged me here because you want to know what this big bad harbinger plans to do?”. Control your breathing, don’t let him hear the tremble of your voice, don’t let him see the fear in your eyes.

He looks at you with an unreadable gaze and you hold his stare, looking absolutely untroubled in return, a knowing and somewhat self-confident smirk playing in your lips. No matter his status in Mondstadt, Diluc kidnapped you, one of the fatui Harbingers and a close associate of Tsaritsa. His action, no doubt, will force Fatui to severe action, an action that neither his nation nor his people will be able to withstand.

“Think bigger”, he finally says: “I don’t care what you planned to do. I already have you here, weak and helpless. No, what I want is intel on what your goddess and organization are after”.

“Oh, mister Diluc, you want to play a big game? It’s dangerous in case you didn’t know. Maybe after I tell you all of our wicked plans, you will wish you had never asked” you purr, sensing how it grates his nerves, despite him keeping his face and stance impassive.

“How so?”

“Tsaritsa is the greatest of all seven, her vision is absolute. Even if you learn of her plans I doubt you will be able to stop any of them”.

“I asked what the plans were, not what you think of cryo archon”. Diluc’s voice becomes a tone louder, the already present frown on his face subtly deepening.

“Then I am afraid you won’t get any from me”.

He suddenly gets closer to you, his hand yanking you by your head. You hiss, trying to free the bound hands, as he drags you to a nearby barrel with water by hair and then he dips you in it. You instinctively jerk in his hold, a cold water seeping in your nose and mouth as he holds you underwater. Ten second passes, twenty, thirty, you jerk again, your head throbbing and aching from the lack of air, he pulls you upwards.

You nearly black out from the abrupt change, gulping down in the air and coughing out water. He repeats his question and you deny him again. He dips you more, each time becoming a bit longer than the last, only to repeat his query. You lose how many times he lowered you into liquid, absolutely wet and shivering now, when he finally stops and ties you up to the same place you woke up to.

“We will continue tomorrow, I have business to attend to. I suggest you use this time to rethink whether you want to tell me Tsaritsa’s plans or not, as I can get much worse” He heads for the exit from the basement, as you greedily inhale the air.

“Wait”, you say, still breathing heavily: “Aren’t you afraid of the punishment? You kidnapped me, a harbinger, and then proceeded to torture me. Tsaritsa will have your head for this slight against her.”

“Tsaritsa won’t find out. Your Harbingers won’t find out. No one will find out if there’s no evidence”. He steps closer to you, his voice becoming firmer with each word.

“And how do you think you will manage to hide the evidence? You left the knights years ago, you are nothing but a businessman at this point. I doubt they will cover up for you”.

“How did..”

“Oh, Diluc, people talk and I am very, very nosy. That girl, Donna, she told so much to my subordinates about you ”, you mock her, imitating her high breathy manner: “Oh Diluc, he was the youngest captain, but then he left. I wonder why he left? Maybe the knights wronged him!”

“Honestly, with the amount of ire you subject poor knights to, only a deaf and a blind won’t know about how much you despise Favonius Order'', you continue, anger and hatred seeping into your voice.

“I still have connections”, he says absolutely nonchalantly.

“Oh, do you bribe them, then? You criticize the knights for being corrupt, yet you are willing to ask them to hide my abduction? It’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it?”

Diluc doesn’t answer this time, finally stepping out of the room and locking the door. You sit alone in a dimly lit room, water still all over you and heart quickly beating in your chest, trying to calm down. Later, when your heartbeat stops booming in your own ears, you pray to Tsaritsa, asking Goddess to grant you strength and endurance.

***

You manage to doze off once your clothes are almost dry. The dreams you see are vague and murky, dripping with a sense of unease and anxiety, you see dark silhouettes that morph into looming shadows that later transform into phantasmagorical monsters. It must be why you wake up the same second door opens with Diluc entering the room.

He looks grimmer now, more determined. You brace yourself for his hands tugging at your hair again and lungs burning from lack of oxygen, but none of it comes. He uses a dagger to slice your clothes off, careful not to damage skin underneath. Out of pure nerves you quip some stupid joke about dining first, but he pays you no mind, his hands soon touching your bare legs and looks at them with a filthy stare, his red eyes consuming revealed flesh.

You still under his stare, heart pounding as you try to distract yourself from the thoughts of what he might do to you right now. Almost a minute passes, when he finally stops staring at your legs and begins to move his arms, caressing your inner side of the thigh instead.

You shift from the discomfort, alarmed when his palms start to heat up. He wants to burn me, you think and barely stop yourself from screaming by biting your lip. A disgusting smell of burnt flesh fills up your nose as tears start to travel down your face. He removes the hand, revealing two angry red imprints with a collection of small blisters already forming. Diluc, again, asks the same question, and just like the last time you refuse to answer.

He does upkeep his threat of becoming much worse, with his hands burning your naked body - he targets sensitive spots or joints,so everytime you shift or move they throb and burn, disturbed at the smallest of motions.

“You're not the one to think about the consequences, are you?”, you ask when he finishes, voice quiet and raspy from screaming.

"No one will find you".

"I am one of the Tsaritsa's most trusted servants, of course they will find me", you pretend you don't hear desperation in your own voice.

"Time will show", Diluc says philosophically, looking as gentlemanly as possible despite him torturing you seconds ago.

"Yes, it will", you agree with him, picturing the bastard's face once he gets thrown in prison.

He leaves the room and you allow yourself to slump, careful not to move burned areas too much, and then he returns again, this time with food and medicine. He works fast at bandaging and disinfecting the burns, seems he is as intent at patching you up, as he is at tearing you apart. As he swathes another burn, you look at the brought food.

It’s unlikely he would drug it to make you tell the truth, given that he already tortures you and he doesn’t seem to be a type to play mind games. It still could be laced with poison though, not lethal one, that would be counterproductive, but the one that can cause pain and tremors all over your body. You’ve seen such substance at work once, when Il Dottore decided to show you the fruits of his experiments - victims were thrashing and shaking on the floor once a five minute mark had been passed, by the twentieth they already admitted to all crimes, regardless of how innocent they were.

It might be even a new torture method, devised by Diluc, just to strip you from the short respite when you are not in pain. He finally looks up to you, finishing the bandage, noticing the stare you look at the food with. "It's not poisoned" he guesses your thoughts, taking a small bite and a sip to prove his words. A minute passes, then the second and the third ones, nothing happens with him, no blushing or paling skin, no wide blown or pinprick pupils, nothing. It still could be a slow acting poison, but you doubt it - they're usually harder to cure, Diluc wouldn't willingly consume it given the long list of aftereffects that remain even after antidote was administered.

Thankfully, he doesn’t stay to feed you, leaving you with food alone. It’s a potato hash browns, absolutely unseasoned and cold. You almost swallow them whole from hunger, realizing how starved you are once the smell of food reaches you. After a day(?) of fasting, satiation hits you full force, drowsiness pulling at every muscle. The tableware he brought is metallic and easily bends, so you can't smash it and use sharp pieces, nor are there any utensils to weaponize. You lay down on the side, as something falls on you. It's a stone.

Your hands take it, feeling its shape - mostly smooth with one angular protrusion. It's not sharp or pointed enough for you to cut through the bindings, but with enough time and effort it can break the rope with friction alone. You begin to work, grating the rope again and again, fighting off the sleepiness.

***

Diluc nods to Adelinde, as he returns from Mondstadt after signing the contract with winesellers from Inazuma. She understands this wordless gesture, starting to talk: “The.. guest you brought has eaten, last time I checked they still were awake. I did my best to be quiet, master Diluc”.

He dismisses her, thanking for her observations and decides to go down himself. A strange sort of fascination fills him, as he turns the key in the lock, that also prompts a burning shame that he grew accustomed to in the last few days.

It’s an awful thing, to find pleasure in another’s suffering - a trait of a heartless monster, as his father once said, but despite the chagrin he still can’t help but feel a quickening of the pulse as a pained whimper escapes your lips. It’s addicting honestly, to have you of all people, naked and trembling and helpless at his total control, when you were so close to ending his life just a couple of months ago. He supposes it's a type of karmic punishment to you, a fatui harbinger, no doubt a killer and horrible person - you deserve it, he tells to himself - you deserve it for being a fatui.

Moreover, you are not only a terrible, terrible person that deserves much more gruesome torture that he allows, you are also a source of priceless information - how many lives will be saved and avenged if you just tell him what fatuis plan to do. You are a harbinger, you are bound to know something, unlike most of the fatui.

Diluc carefully glances at you as he enters - you are still sitting in the same spot he left you in, head slumped low and shoulders relaxed. It seems you are asleep. He still makes his way to you, steps slow and quiet. Your hands are bound with rope and Diluc knows how much the rough fiber pulls and chafes at skin, grating it to the blood and ropeburns - he needs to use this short respite to quickly disinfect and bandage you again.

Diluc crouches down, as you twitch and then something aims for his head, he flinches a second too slow to dodge. You nearly manage to hit him right in the temple. His head almost splits in half from the burst of pain, vision blurry and disoriented.

You quickly stand, enduring the pain from the burns and make your way to the room. Diluc runs after you, panic and anger distorting his face in equal manner - he can’t let anyone see you like that! - but you manage to lock him in using his own keys. He kicks and thrashes the door, angry at himself for not carrying claymore with him, as something loudly collides with the wall at the other side. He hears a short surprised yelp and whimper - your whimper and the too familiar footsteps descending down the stairs- Adelinde.

“Master Diluc? Is everything okay?”, the headmaid unlocks the room, concern in her voice:”I saw.. the guest running out of the basement, so I pushed them back before other maids could see”

“Everything is fine, check on the Harbinger, I still need intel”.

Turns out, you blacked out upon the impact, a small trail of blood making its way down the head. Diluc is still angry at you, head throbbing and hurting, his hands itching to hit and burn you, but he can’t allow himself to lose control: you are hurt and he doesn’t want to kill you.

In the end, it’s all predictable, Diluc muses, you are an animal first and human second, your allegiance testament to that. He was too soft, too forgiving on you and you decided to twist his kindness like a blade in the back. His head still hurts, but he finally calms, reasoning your attack as an outlash of a mindless beast.

He carries your limp body in hands, finally taking out of the basement and takes you to one of the guest rooms at the second floor of the winery - it’s a risky move, but you injured your head and in Diluc’s experiences such traumas almost always carry a great risk - maybe you will even forget who you are and there’ll be no one for Diluc to interrogate to.

Placing your body on the bed he clasps a cuff around each of your limbs and gags and blindfolds you. After a second, he asks Adelinde for cotton and stuffs your ears full of it.

Human mind stripped of all stimuli is such a dangerous thing, tearing itself apart.

***

You wake up to darkness and silence, head slightly pulsing from pain. You lie on some sort of very soft bed, silk smooth sheets consuming and hugging most of your body as you wiggle your limbs, tugging at the cuffs.

A small wave of panic washes over you, as you remain absolutely blind and deaf to the world, but you try to remain calm, unsure if Diluc is standing near or not. The bindings on your hands are made of iron now, so you soon stop, knowing it's a futile thing. The only thing you can do is wait.

You don't know how much time passes between you regaining consciousness and the air shifting around you. Having been stripped of both sight and hearing, your other senses became a bit sharper, mind focusing on them to compensate. It's a subtle change of pressure but you still feel it, it's enough for you to guess where this person stands. Suddenly hands grope at you, touching and probing the place near burns. You would scream if it wasn’t for the gag, from pain and violation alone. It's a smaller palms, judging by sensations, they change the bandages. After whoever that was finishes patching you they leave you alone, their departure evoking both relief and sadness - they were a source of stimulations, stimulations that your mind desperately needs.

You start to tug at the bindings again - this time to procure pain, just to feel something again. You are bored, you are in pain and you are scared - not the best combination. Soon, you decide to distract yourself from ever increasing boredom with memories. Images of your past life flash and change before you - here’s you playing catch and hide and seek, here’s you receiving a vision, here’s you entering fatui and climbing through the ranks, here's you receiving delusion from Tsaritsa’s own hands and here's you battling Diluc for the first time.

I should have killed him, you think, I should have spent less time talking and more time fighting, the bastard wouldn't live to see another day and I wouldn't be here.

A strange feeling of panic settles in your bones, as you try to occupy yourself, it's subtle but never ending, slowly growing with each second. You try to daydream but you can’t, not when you are cuffed and your body burns. You try to reminisce again, but you can do only so much, memories becoming dull and repetitive. Soon, the subtle panic becomes not so subtle and you realize you are gasping and thrashing, limbs achings as you rub them against the rough shackles.

You must have blacked out or drifted to sleep, because the next time you wake up you feel a bit different - a little cleaner and more sated - they tend to me, when I am unconscious you realize. Diluc wants to limit all interactions I have.

You don't know how much time you spend there in the end, but it has a profound effect on you - at first the concept of sharing fatui plans with your captor seems nonsensical and traitorous, but after a couple of days-weeks(?) of being chained to one place with limited movement and perception, it stops looking like such a bad idea to you.

Time distorts around you, you can't tell how long you were lying there, seconds turning into minutes and minutes into hours and hours into near eternities. At one point you started to cry again, scared and panicked and then you proceeded to scream.

***

Diluc comes to you again, taking out the cotton and blindfold from your person. Your eyes hurt and your head starts to ache again from the rush of noises, and you blink a couple of times to see the man before you. A strange mix of emotions washes over you - you hate Diluc, you truly despise him with every fibre of your being, yet now Diluc is the only person you have, the only person you see. It’s so confusing and overwhelming that you start to cry, unable to process any of the feelings.

Diluc looks as prim and proper as ever, as he shushes your crying and promises to let you go if only you will tell Tsaritsa’s plans. You almost believe him, Fatui secrets dancing at the tip of his mouth, yet you hold on to the pieces of your loyalty, slowly shaking your head. He asks you again, doubt and concern in his voice. It will be better if you tell me, he says, his hand still stroking you, don’t you want to walk and see again?.

His hand stops stroking you, face turning back to stone when you refuse him for the second time. He fixes blindfold and cotton again and part of you is howling - it’s scary, so scary to be left alone with nothing but your thoughts.

This time you start to break far faster, having tasted freedom for a mere second. You break down and tell Diluc everything you know next time he visits. His hand on you feels like salvation and punishment at the same time. At the end of your confession you are too empty, all of your secrets laid before him, no place for sadness or grief left inside of you. You feel whatever was inside of you was scorched off by Diluc and it left you thoroughly burnt. Dead. Made of ash.

“My name is [First]”, you wail and howl, shoulders slightly shaking as you do. You want so much to have some human contact, to hear someone call your name for once.

It’s cathartic in a way, to tell all the secrets your mind has been bustling with ever since becoming a harbinger. He doesn’t flinch or frown when you tell what exactly you witnessed or did, intently listening to each word.

He keeps his promise and uncuffs you from the bed, but you are still not allowed to leave the room, which doesn’t really disappoint you. There are books and a small barred window that opens a view to the wineyard, a feast for the starving mind. You spend at least an hour standing at the window at first, amazed that you can see people working.

He gifts you clothes and other books, assigns a housemaid to look after you, the same one that pushed you down the stairs when you were running away, she doesn’t speak to you, preferring to avoid your gaze.

Sometimes you do feel sad - you betrayed Tsaritsa, you betrayed your homeland, you lost both vision and delusion - but you quickly shove it down, unable to process feelings properly. You know you are defeated, having seen similar behavior from fatui prisoners, and Diluc knows it too, a malice and triumph and satisfaction burning on his eyes, despite the impassive face.

He sees you as a trophy, a reminder of how he reduced the great fatui harbinger to your current condition. He orders you around and punishes when you disobey, calls it reeducation, calls it teaching you how to be a decent person, calls it a punishment for your sins. A part of you wants to retort and point out his own failings, but you stop yourself at the root, unwilling to be stripped from the world again. You comply, you suppress, you break little by little. It all pleases him.

You learn to love what hurt you the most out of pure fear.

***

“First?”, it’s Diluc, shaking you slightly by the shoulders. You snap back to reality, seeing that he already carried you to bed and undressed you.

“I am here, you can continue” you whisper as he leans down to pepper your chest and collarbone with kisses, and then hiss as he bites you.

“Mhm, that’s good,” he says, warm hands traveling down to your thighs, caressing the inner side: “Could you spread them a bit?”

You obey, equally parts scared and excited.

Truly, Diluc is the best thing that happened in your life.

Note: All fatui harbinger names are taken from commedia dell'arte. Innamorati are a couple of lovers, madly in love with each other and with the idea of being in love. I thought it would be ironic.

#yandere diluc ragnvindr x reader #yandere diluc x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #Yandere genshin #Yandere diluc #yandere x reader #yandere #I am lowkey dissapointed in myself #Both reader and diluc are bad people #My sleep meds stopped working:(((#my writing

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dragynfirearc · 2 years ago

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a pang of guilt stabs at heart, because she was right. he should have spoken up for her and explained to her mother that the marriage to aegon would be a farce. he, however, had been a coward and truly believed that nothing he said could have swayed their mother's decision anyway. their stubborn streak did not come from their father's side. " i.. " nothing could be said to make this better. she was a bird trapped in her cage now. with each passing day, he can see her wither away. all that could be provided were moments of hope that things could get better. though, perhaps that was cruel because things would not change, no matter how hard either of them tried.

" there is nothing i could have said. if i was able to break you free of your prison, i would.. "

if his sister told him that she wanted to leave, with or without her children, he would make it possible. even go against their mother. the two of them could run away to a faraway place and start a new life together. he's certainly spent nights imagining it. however, their family legacy and past would always follow them. no matter how far they fled.

love..

she couldn't say it, and perhaps there was a selfish part of him that was grateful for that. a sigh falls from his lips, " he does not deserve what he has freely been given. i should have i should have let him disappear as he wanted to. could you ever forgive me for failing you? "

"Then maybe you should have said something....."

The damage is already done, now it's no one's fault, but your own. It's your own for staying, it's your own for not running away to start a new life away from the drama. It's your own for not getting out while you could while no one was looking. And now, now with kids you are in it for life.....least until death. Tied to a man you couldn't see or love in the way everyone had wanted you to, so desperately. You couldn't help it, the second he would lay a hand on you, even a single digit and before you'd know your body's tensing up and going into overdrive, but it would be, so much more around Aegon you felt as if you were suffocating. He'll be the death of you if you aren't careful.

Perhaps they all will in some form or fashion? Destroy what's left that's good and pure seems to be the motto among, so many houses. The innocents always suffered in the end, and weren't you one of those innocents?. Another who was born to suffer and will die suffering?.

"Aegon is the King....I lo....lo......lo.....lo....his will WILL be done."

You can't say it, you can't let those words roll gently off your tongue as if some inner force controlled you, because to love that man for you meant you were okay with him falling apart, and you were anything, but okay. It stabs you like a knife to twist your insides, and fills your chest with a silent cry of despair. You'd never be okay.

#dragondrcams #interactions: aemond targaryen.#offline: queued.

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dekuskacchan · 4 years ago

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Tell Me I’m Dreaming

Rating: T

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of injuries and hospitals, Bakugou Katsuki needs a hug

Summary: Katsuki wakes up in the hospital after the war to find that Deku is still unconscious.

A/N: Hello! SO chapter 298 is out now and it left me Feeling Some Things. i hope you like!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28970094

Sequel

Pain.

It was the last thing Katsuki remembered before he’d blacked out. He was bleeding, dying, fighting with all his might, and then, as the adrenaline wore off, there was nothing but unbearable pain.

And Deku.

Deku.

Katsuki cracked his eyes open with a groan, taking in his surroundings. Instead of lying on rough, dirty terrain, he was now in a bed, his torn costume replaced by a scratchy, blue gown. An oxygen mask covered his face.

“Shit!” Katsuki hissed at the ache in his side as he lurched forward, ripping off the mask.

“He’s awake!!”

An entourage of classmates was there to greet him, shouting in excitement that he was okay, but Katsuki only had one thought on his mind.

Where was Deku?

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

“ARE YOU TRYING TO DIE?!" The little purple runt was gripping Katsuki by the back of his gown, trying to hold him back as he ran through the hospital.

“Midoriya hasn’t shown any signs of waking up,” they’d said.

“Shut the fuck up! You’re gonna kill me even harder by yanking me,” Katsuki snarled, shrugging off the leech as he marched on.

Deku was the only one who wasn't awake.

Katsuki was littered with wounds, but the sickening anguish he felt upon hearing those words was unlike anything he’d ever felt.

"He’s dead meat if he thinks he can die on me" Katsuki growled as he approached Deku's door, wrenching it open.

Katsuki stopped short, staring in disbelief at the sight before him.

Deku had experienced his fair share of injuries, but Katsuki had never seen him look anything like this.

He was lying supine, body heavily bandaged, with all four of limbs fully casted. His legs were in traction, and braces fit snugly on his shoulders. His breathing was so shallow that Katsuki could barely fucking tell he was even breathing at all. A monitor beeped quietly, tracking the slow, even rhythm of his heart.

Katsuki gritted his teeth, anxiety bubbling in his chest.

“Young Bakugou,” a soft, broken whisper startled Katsuki.

He was so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed All Might sitting at Deku's side. He looked like shit, skin pale as a ghost, eyes more sunken than usual.

Good.

“How-” Katsuki swallowed, “how is he?.”

“He’s…stable,“

“Don’t fucking sugarcoat it,”

All Might sighed and nodded.

“All four of his limbs were shattered, and he has some broken ribs. He’s been comatose for two days,” his voice was grave, “the doctors have no idea when he’ll wake.”

The words felt like daggers, twisting in Katsuki’s chest, gouging out his already bleeding heart and ripping the air from his lungs.

No, no no no, this isn’t real. How is this fucking real?

“--stopped the internal bleeding,” distantly, Katsuki heard All Might speaking, but he wasn’t paying attention.

A coma. He’s in a fucking coma.

Images flashed through his mind. Deku, destroying his body with each desperate punch. Deku’s shocked cry when Katsuki launched himself into All for One’s tendrils to protect him. Deku’s mangled body falling to the ground beside him. Deku, Deku, Deku, Deku was fucking dying-

“--know this is hard for you too, young Bakugou,” All Might was still rambling, and a molten rage rippled through Katsuki’s body.

How is he so fucking calm?

“You...fucking asshole,” Katsuki growled, eyes narrowing, “you FUCKING ASSHOLE.”

All Might’s mouth fell open in alarm as Katsuki all but sprinted across the room, grabbing him by the collar.

“You- this is your fault, Katsuki seethed, “you lied to us, you hid information, you- you could have-”

“I know,” All Might nodded somberly.

“HAAH?!” Katsuki shouted.

“I know,” All Might’s voice was firm now as he looked Katsuki in the eyes, “I should have been more open with both of you. If I had, maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Katsuki was trembling in fury, blind to all but the overwhelming grief he felt, and suddenly his fist was colliding with All Might’s jaw. He reeled back with a groan as a searing blast of pain surged through his injured shoulder and abdomen.

All Might grunted and rubbed his face, but he seemed unsurprised. Like he fucking knew he had this coming. It pissed Katsuki off even more.

“Alright, I deserved that,” he grunted, eyes widening in concern when Katsuki doubled over in pain, “but, young Bakugou, you need to rest-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki spat, “Deku almost fucking died.”

Logically, Katsuki knew that All Might was just as helpless here as he was, and he was suffering too, but for some reason that was making Katsuki even angrier. Angry at All Might and his fucking secrets, angry at Deku, at Shigaraki, everyone in this fucking hospital, at himself-

“So did you,”

Katsuki flinched at the memory, balling his hands into fists.

“That’s- that’s fucking irrelevant.”

“No, it’s not. If it weren’t for your quick thinking, young Midoriya might not be here right now. You’re right to be angry. But please, be angry at me, not-”

“I am angry at you!” Katsuki roared.

“You’re angry at yourself too. You shouldn’t be,”

Katsuki sank to his knees in defeat. White-hot bile rose in his throat, choking him as he tried to speak.

All Might gently rested a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

“Please, rest. You’re going to cause yourself further harm.”

“He...what if he- he can’t-” Katsuki stuttered, pressing the heels of his palms into his bloodshot eyes to prevent tears from falling.

“He won’t,” All Might tried to comfort him, but Katsuki could tell he was scared too, “this is an excellent hospital, the doctor’s are doing everything they can.”

“Well they’re not fucking doing enough,” Katsuki snapped.

“I’m worried, too. But we can’t lose hope, young Bakugou.”

Katsuki felt All Might kneel beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he was on the verge of tears, too.

“Fuck you. You should be,” Katsuki grumbled, but it lacked the venom he’d intended.

A sudden knock startled both of them. Katsuki raised his eyes to see Present Mic’s head peeking through the cracked door. He looked like shit, too.

“Aizawa wants to talk to you,” Mic murmured, “and you should be in bed, Bakugou.”

“Tch. You should go to hell,” Katsuki growled.

All Might nodded solemnly as he stood, offering a hand to Katsuki to help him up, but it was stubbornly batted away.

“At least sit in a chair, then, young Bakugou,” All Might sighed reluctantly, “I will return shortly. Please, be careful," and with that, he was gone, closing the door behind him.

Katuki shifted his gaze to Deku. He watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed quietly, listening to the steady beeping of his heartbeats on the monitor.

I might never get to tell him.

Katsuki clenched his teeth, struggling to maintain his composure as the thought reverberated through his mind.

I’ve been a fucking coward and now I might never get to tell him.

Deku had always watched Katsuki so closely. He was always watching, always reaching out to him, always had a hand open for him- but now that Katsuki was finally reaching back, Deku's hand was gone.

Suddenly, Katsuki had never felt more alone, and the dam broke.

He hunched over, slamming his fists on the ground as broken sobs wracked through him. His injured body screamed in protest, but he didn’t care. All of his wounds fucking paled in comparison to this- this was agony.

“Wake up, you asshole,” he gasped, gripping the side rails of the bed, “you can’t just fucking die on me.”

The tears were flowing freely now, blurring his vision, burning hot against his skin.

“Aren’t- aren’t you supposed to be the fucking chosen one? Don’t you want to win and save everyone? You can’t win if you’re dead,” Katsuki cried.

He was dizzy. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, nothing existed except this overbearing, unwavering hurt.

“You can’t die. Don’t fucking die on me.”

Katsuki was helpless as he spiraled, choking on tears as he pleaded for Deku to just fucking wake up already, until he was finally spent.

He was more exhausted than he’d ever been in his fucking life.

His body slumped, head dropping to the mattress and arms falling limp at his side. There was nothing he could do, and he knew it.

He had never felt so powerless. All he could do was sit here and fucking wait for Deku to wake up.

But what if he never does?

“Please wake up, Deku. I need you,” Katsuki whispered hoarsely, raising a weak hand to hold Deku’s arm.

“Just don’t fucking die.”

Katsuki wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that. He was drifting, falling, desperately clinging to Deku as his only anchor to reality, and then suddenly, the heart monitor picked up speed.

His mind raced with fear. Shit, shit shit shit where is the fucking doctor? He’s--

Deku stirred beside him, grimacing as his limbs budged, and Katsuki’s own heart skipped a beat.

“Deku?” he whispered.

There was no reply. Deku’s face slowly relaxed, his body unmoving, and Katsuki hung his head. His mind was playing cruel tricks on him now, not fair--

“Ka-"

Katsuki’s head snapped up once more, and without thinking, he reached up to cradle Deku’s face. He was searching for any tangible proof that this was real, that he wasn’t dreaming, he really just heard his voice--

Tired, green eyes cracked open to meet Katsuki’s, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Kacchan, is that you?” Deku croaked.

“Yeah, Deku, it's me.”

Deku’s eyes welled up with tears as he smiled, and Katsuki’s anxiety instantly melted away.

“Kacchan.”

A/N: WHOOPSIE aha I made pain :’)

#i love all might but he really needs to be clocked in the face #cmon man #these boys have me EMOTIONAL they love each other SO MUCH #usghbus #bnha #bnha 298 #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #bnha fic #bkdk #Bakudeku #Midoriya Izuku #bakugou katsuki #toshinori yagi #all might #birdie writes #my fic

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cloudywriter · 3 years ago

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the lost princess of terrasen

rowaelin month - september 7th

prompt: fairytale au - (an anastasia au in this case)

important: okay y’all so i went way overboard with this entire au and it got out of hand so now this might just be a full-blown thing. however, with that whole releation and me going crazy with outlining and writing i could really only have this much of the story out and ready for today but i plan on continuing it!! hopefully after rowaelin month. enjoy this little introduction :)

(cw: brief descriptions of violence)

masterlist, AO3

~~~

At freshly 18, Celaena Sardothien was free. She’d aged out of the orphanage and was finally released to go live her own life, no longer held down in the outskirts of Rifthold. Celaena didn’t want to wait a second longer, the need to leave the horrid place she’d lived the last ten years was ingrained in her bones.

The woman who ran the orphanage, Clarisse, was cruel. From a young age, she poked at Celaena, commenting constantly on her weight or how she didn’t act like a proper young lady. Her entire life up until this point was spent at the mercy of Clarisse and her stern ways. All the girls in the orphanage were treated as maids and dolls for Clarisse to manipulate. But, Celaena made it, counting down the days until her birthday.

Now, here she was, stuck out in the cold. She’d imagined her freedom to be more alluring than this instead she was shaking as she wandered through side streets that led to the heart of Rifthold. She carried with her a backpack barely full of her meager belongings and the too-thin coat on her back. Clarisse didn’t even spare her a hat to keep out the cold so she moved her hair to shield her freezing ears the best she could and waddled along the snowy pavement.

She still had her kingsflame necklace around her neck, though, and that’s all that mattered. Where she had gotten it from she hadn’t a clue. The first memory she possessed was waking up in the very orphanage that would become her prison. Clarisse explained to her that she’d hit her head and a nice man named Arobynn had brought Celaena to Clarisse to be cared for. Clarisse questioned her about her family and upbringing relentlessly but Celaena could not recall a thing. Her mind was blank. For many nights as a young girl, she’d sit upright in the creaky, lumpy bed she occupied and willed herself to remember. She’d cry and scream, banging her fists into her head in frustration when nothing ever surfaced.

The only connection she had to whatever life she lived before was her kingsflame necklace. And she’d follow that kingsflame to the ends of the continent if it meant she’d one day solve the mystery of her existence.

Which led her to the first stop on her journey of discovery, Terrasen. Once Celaena had accepted that her memories weren’t coming back and this was the life she’d have to lead she adjusted. She served Clarisse and went to the small, dilapidated school down the street with the other orphans. There she discovered her love of books and the meager library the school offered became her sanctuary. It was there while she read a book on the kingdoms on Erilea, hoping something would strike her familiar she learned that kingsflame flowers only bloomed in one place, the capital of Terrasen, Orynth.

As a child that discovery was a revelation. Terrasen. Maybe she was from Terrasen.

As Celaena walked she felt her toes growing increasingly numb, Adarlan’s winters were bitter and she was not equipped with the proper wear. Her teeth chattered but she pushed forward, she needed to get passage to Terrasen.

She drew the map out of the pocket of her coat once again and checked the status of her journey. Only a little longer until she was at Rifthold’s main dock station.

The city of Rifthold was big and Celaena felt out of her depth as groups of people swarmed the streets walking to and from their different destinations. It was overwhelming, the smells, the tall buildings, the weather, the noise, the sheer number of people, everything.

Eventually, she saw the lights of the station and she blew a sigh of relief, she hadn’t been very confident in her ability to read a map. She approached a man sitting in a booth behind a sheet of glass, smoking a cigarette.

Celaena stepped up to the counter.

“Hello, sir, I’d like to buy a ticket to Orynth,” she gave him a smirk, leaning casually on the box. She’d learned from many years of coexisting with Clarisse and a revolving door of people that to make it through life you needed a mask. Celaena had crafted her mask carefully and had perfected her act after so many years. She exuded arrogance and confidence so that another soul would never see the scared, lost little girl she truly was.

The man grunted, blowing a puff of smoke from between his cracked lips. “Do you have your papers, girl?”

Her brain stalled. Papers? She cleared her throat, “papers?”

“Yes,” his scratchy voice replied, “you need papers to cross the border.”

Celaena’s heart sank but she kept her expression neutral. “Well, I-”

“Listen, girl, I’m not going to sit here and waste your time so don’t sit here and waste mine. If you don’t have the right documents then I can’t sell you a ticket, simple as that,” he held the cigarette between his teeth.

She searched for some way to turn this situation around, chewing on her bottom lip.

From the shadows a little ways into the dark alley adjacent to the docks, she heard a hissed whisper. “You, blondie,” an old woman emerged slightly from the shadows, beckoning Celaena forward with her index finger.

Celaena looked around, the man in the booth was already back to ignoring her, his nose stuck in a newspaper so she decided to approach the woman. She didn’t have much to lose and Celaena thought if it went south she could take her.

Celaena crept closer, tightening her grip on the strap of her backpack.

“You need papers?” Her voice was hoarse as if her throat was made of sandpaper. Celaena nodded her head keeping her guard up, watching her surroundings out of her peripheral.

“I know who can get you some,” her face morphed into a slight smile that unsettled Celaena more than anything. Celaena furrowed her brows, “who?” The woman tsked at her, her hot breath forming a cloud in front of her face.

“That kind of information isn’t free, my dear.” Celaena had to resist the urge to roll her eyes, everything came with a price in this world.

Celaena reached around to the side pocket of her backpack, fishing out a few coins she had to spare. She’d saved just enough from doing odd jobs to pay her fare to Terrasen. She deposited the coins into the palm of the old woman’s hand, her knobby fingers running along their smooth edges.

“Go a few streets north and into the red brick warehouse with the large windows, you can’t miss it. Ask for a Mr. Rowan Whitethorn, he’ll get you the papers,” she instructed, hoarding the scant sum of money she was given as though they were priceless heirlooms. Celaena turned her head in the direction the woman directed as if she could spot the warehouse from here and by the time she rounded back the woman had disappeared once again.

Celaena huffed and shot another glance at the ticket man, he was still paying no attention, tapping his cigarette out with his finger. She didn’t necessarily want to go on a wild goose chase to obtain these papers but she had no other way of getting them so she breathed deeply and shoved her hands into her pockets and twisted north.

The woman was right about not being able to miss the warehouse. It was a large, old, imposing structure, clearly, it had not been in use for some time now. Celaena crept closer peering into the foggy windows as she passed the front of the building. She couldn’t see anything and was unconvinced she’d find the elusive ‘Rowan Whitethorn’ inside.

Nonetheless, she approached a rusting metal door on the side and pushed it open with her gloved hand. The door protested but it miraculously opened revealing a wide area stacked high with boxes along the walls and corners.

She ventured further into the space, dust and broken glass crunching beneath her boots. She didn’t see any signs of life besides maybe some rats. As she neared the opposite corner what could’ve been a makeshift sitting area came into view, blocked from view initially by a stack of boxes. She approached noting the circle of crates, a dusty blanket, and a few books piled on the side.

She peered at the title of the book on the top of the stack.

The Royal Family of Terrasen. Mixed emotions surged through her body.

“Who’s in here?” A male voice boomed nearly rattling the windows. Celaena shuttered, letting her bravo fill her bones as she heard a set of footsteps enter the space.

+++

Rowan Whitethorn’s life since the fall of Terrasen and the reign of the Valg had been a hell-hole, to put it bluntly. His family fell out of status, his parents were slain in the ambush on Orynth’s castle, and Rowan was left in an unfamiliar land at twelve years old.

A sect of the Whitethorn house had been visiting Terrasen’s court for the holidays when Maeve made her move against the continent. Doranelle crumpled first to her rule and Terrasen followed, the army of Valg she’d amassed was too large to stand against. Adarlan only survived because King Dorian bowed down to Maeve.

Even now at twenty-two, he has nightmares about that evening. The terror he felt as Valg poured into the ballroom and slaughtered the royals. The terror he saw in the princess of Terrasen’s eyes as she was shoved into the kitchens by her nursemaid where Rowan had happened to take shelter as well. He was scared too, running as soon as his father screamed at him to as the Valg slit his throat. He regretted it deeply, leaving like a coward when the palace was invaded. He regretted the cowering he did in the kitchens as well but when the young princess had burst in the doors, tears flowing freely down her cheeks something had come over him. He had pushed her out into the snow yelling at her to run and she did, scrambling to find her footing.

The rest was a blur, the Vlag hurried into the kitchens soon after but somehow Rowan made it out with his life. The same could not be said for many people in the castle that night.

Now, Rowan lived in Rifthold as a thief and doer of other’s dirty work. He longed for the day he could get out of this city of nightmares crawling with Valg. One day, he promised himself, one day he’d have to funds to make it back to Wendlyn and witness what had become of his home.

There was an opportunity, though, that’d heard about from whispers on the streets. Aedion Ashryver. One of the few survivors from Terrasen’s downfall. He chosen to stay in Terrasen’s territory afterward, the country had no real structured ruling now. The old King-Consort Darrow was the closest thing there was to a king but from what he’d gathered the man is old and weak, not the same after the death of his husband, King Orlon. Terrasen had virtually crumbled.

Somehow, Aedion had built up the Bane and gained standing for himself. A standing he was using to campaign to find his long-lost cousin. How Maeve hadn’t gotten wind of Aedion and his plotting and squashed him, Rowan wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, Aedion was offering a hefty reward for the return of his dear Aelin, the nation’s true queen, convinced she was still alive.

Rowan thought the operation was useless. Her body was never found, that was true, but he imagined she’d likely fled into the Oakwald forest and perished from hypothermia not long after. If he could make a pretty penny from returning the ‘princess’ to Aedion, though, he wasn’t above doing so.

All Rowan needed was a young, blonde, and blue-eyed woman he could convince to join his cause and he could coach her to be the perfect replacement for Aelin. Truthfully, he wasn’t convinced this could ever be achieved but it was something he’d contemplated.

Rowan was making his way back to the warehouse he liked to operate his more shady business out of, the biting cold seeping into his clothes. The looming, muddy red-brick building came into view and he pushed the frosted metal door open. Immediately, he was aware that someone had invaded his space.

Small footsteps had disrupted the layer of dusk along the floor. His hand flew to the dagger strapped to his chest as he prowled further inside.

“Who’s in here?” he called out, gripping the dagger tightly by its handle. Once he got far enough into the space he could see a young woman was standing near his makeshift seats.

The first thing he noticed was she was beautiful. Long, golden blonde hair flowed down her shoulders, her skin was pale and her lips had a blue tint to them. Rowan pushed aside all those unsavory thoughts, she was an intruder after all. However, he couldn’t help but study her, she was dressed far too light for the dead of winter, not even a hat on her head.

She looked right back at him, accessing him as he was her. She didn’t look scared to have been caught trespassing, no, honestly, she looked annoyed as if he was interrupting her.

“Who the hell are you?”

~~~

let me know if y’all like it so far and would like to see more, xoxo

#rowaelin fanfic #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #aedion ashryver #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #rowaelin month #rowaelin au #rowaelin fanfiction

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

Text

Finally, You’re Back

Part 1: ‘There You Are’

Karl Heisenberg (Resident Evil 8: Village) x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Mentions of Injury and Human Experimentation, Insecurity, Swearing, Spoilers for RE8

Genre: Angst, Romance, Some Humor and Fluff too

Summary: And there they are, back in that village half a decade later to retrieve what’s theirs but unaware of what they’ll find in place of what they remember.

Requested by one Anon and the idea was modified by another Anon, so thank you both so much for sharing your creativity with me, it’s really been a huge honor to write a fic inspired by such a beautiful idea. Love you both! 💕

If again is what he hoped and prayed for, why is he damning it now Why does he resent himself for having hope When he previously wished nothing but to have it Why does their presence hurt When it used to heal him Why do they remind him of how much of a monster he is When previously they were the only one making him human Why is he worthy of their presence When he’s only become worse They upheld their promise But the person they are coming back to is no longer alive He’s taken his place and he hates himself for it He’d kill himself to get him back He’d do just about anything Just to prevent those eyes from seeing them differently Just so he can greet them with open arms and say:

“Finally, you’re back“

But as of now all he can say is:

“You’re back, but the one you’re searching for will never return“

He was made aware of their presence the day of their arrival in the village. He knew all about their venture, going around the village asking for him to be looked at with terror by the villagers they came across. He watched as all the people refused to tell them his whereabouts, claiming they didn’t know or they couldn’t tell. No matter what bribery or convincing method Y/N tried to use, the villagers refused to stand down from their determined ground.

They refused to give up though, going against his prayers that they would. They might have felt discouraged but they never, not even for a second, thought to give it up. Never did they even consider forgetting him as an option. It’s been half a decade and they still remember him, they still have the will to look for him despite all the time that has passed, despite the odds that aren’t in their favor, despite the lack of help from anyone.

They keep going, keep trying. They keep driving the sword deeper into his chest, piercing his heart.

If only they could accept me like this. If only they could look at a monster the same way they looked at that boy they met five years ago...

His mistake, although blatantly obvious even to him, is not something he’s willing to correct. He doesn’t want to give them a chance. And the answer to the question many - even he himself - would ask ‘why’, that answer he doesn’t want revealed.

Because he knows it and would do anything in his power to keep it from swimming to the surface.

The answer? - It’s because he’s afraid. Terrified really.

What of? That’s the part he’s not sure about. Is he afraid of them being scared, disgusted and repulsed by him? Or is he afraid of the complete opposite - that they won’t bat an eye at the change he’s undergone. That latter option leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth, his stomach turning. He doesn’t believe he deserves that reaction, after all he’s done, after becoming the monster he is now, he’s done his best to not even think about them - attempts that have failed miserably. Not a day has gone by that they haven’t been on his mind. He thought getting rid of the dog tag necklace - the promise - would cleanse his system of their memory that’s etched itself so deeply within his mind and soul but his hands refused to cooperate when his brain kept telling them to lift that necklace off his neck. He couldn’t do it, and he hated himself because of it for a while, but if he’s being honest he felt more relieved than anything else. He doesn’t want the only real memory, the only pleasant memory of his human days gone. He doesn’t want to wipe Y/N from his mind, they’re the only thought that still sends his heartbeat speeding in a positive way. He knows he’s a coward for what he does, hiding in the shadows and watching them waste their time with the villagers who think they are downright insane for going around looking for Karl Heisenberg whom the entire village knows as Lord Heisenberg. Not using his title each time they ask never fails to bring a smile to his face. It’s a relief that they at least have a nice picture of him that has stuck with them. And if it’s up to him, that’s the picture that will remain, they won’t see him like this, this new him won’t replace the old him in their mind. He’d do anything to make sure of it.

That being said, you can imagine the massive shock and mini heart attack he experienced one day when his motion detectors picked up on someone entering the factory in broad daylight. Rushing to the camera display, the briefest glimpse was enough to make out who this foolish person looking for their death was.

Goddammit, Y/N!

It was no longer a danger to his sanity, their presence at the factory was an even worse danger for them. His creations wouldn’t think twice about slicing their tiny frame in half with their implemented chainsaws, designed to do exactly what he’s hoping they won’t get the chance to do this time. Running to the elevator, all he can do is silently pray he reaches them before they come across one of his minions.

What he’s going to say to them? How he’s gonna greet them? He hasn’t got the slightest clue, all he knows is that he has to get to them asap.

Running out of the elevator once it settles on the ground floor, he almost crashes directly into them, eyes wide with shock as the adrenaline is still pumping throughout his body despite the immense amount of relief he feels wash over him. He doesn’t notice at first, but when he does his heart sinks: their gaze is empty and their face unreadable. He can’t bear to have them looking at him like that, it hurts more than physically hitting him. Hell, it hurts more than the experiments Miranda did to him.

“How’d you find me?“ He decides to end the silence for his sanity’s sake, his heart heavy and aching in his chest.

They shrug, “Wasn’t easy, I’ll have to admit, you’ve trained the villagers well, none of em wanted to give me even a clue.“ They give him a small smile before looking around at the factory walls and everything lining them, “And then I put it together on my own. It was a bit of a stretch...“ they trail off, their eyes scanning him from head to toe, “...but I see it was a lucky one.“

He can’t help but huff, more out of disgust for himself than anything else, “If you call this lucky you’ve gotta have a few screws loose.”

Much to his surprise, this remark earns him a genuine, wholehearted laugh from Y/N, “Oh Karl, didn’t you pick up on my loose screws back when we first met? That’s odd, people usually take one look and can already tell.”

He scoffs, letting a small smile slip onto his face before he chases it away, forcing himself to maintain the seriousness, “I can’t believe how foolish you are. Didn’t you, even for a second, think there was maybe a good reason why people didn’t want to give you my whereabouts?”

“Oh I didn’t need to think about it!“ They say, lifting a pointer finger in the air as if to emphasize their point, “They were pretty clear when they were calling you stuff like ‘monster’ and ‘cruel Lord’ or whatever.“

Heisenberg’s eyes widen in an instant, “So you knew? You knew I was...I wouldn’t be the same as you remember me?” He asks, his jaw almost reaching the floor.

They nod nonchalantly, “I mean, I was sure of that part, it’s been half a decade, after all. Of course, I didn’t expect such a drastic change but it changes nothing. The villagers made it all sound super scary and dramatic...”

Karl doesn’t get confused often. However, right now, they’ve got him completely flabbergasted. “You were told about me...about me being what I am and you still showed up and walked into this place everyone fears like you own it? Where the fuck is your self-preservation instinct?!”

With an eye-roll, Y/N pushes past him, entering the elevator and walks over to the buttons to choose a floor, “Up your ass, Heisenberg. Right next to the stick that’s got you in such a foul mood. Is this how you welcome back an old friend?” Though the words themselves were harsh, they spoke them in such a way and with a sincere look in their eyes that they had the complete opposite effect of what they’d usually have. Hell, he wants to laugh at the vocabulary on its own, it’s so refreshing to hear someone use those terms and speak so freely around him, unfazed by his powers. To be fair, they’re probably not even aware he has any.

Looking at them now, their intense gaze telling him loud and clear that they’re completely unfazed, has him going soft. They’re still his connection to the humanity he’s lost, he’s still clinging onto it thanks to them. And while he still believes he doesn’t deserve to preserve any last piece of it, he’s glad that he’s not the judge of that. The punishment is not his to decide. It’s theirs. And who knows, allowing him to keep a tiny fragment of his humanity may be the ultimate punishment but he doesn’t know it yet. Regardless, he’s happy with it as long as it means he has them by his side to carry said punishment out.

When all they get in response to their words is a laugh they too let a smile lighten up their features, “There you go, knock some humor into you.” They turn to look at the buttons briefly before locking their gaze onto him once again, “I like what you did with the place. Care to show me around?”

He shakes his head as his laughter dies down, “You won’t like it.”

Y/N rolls their eyes yet again, “Leave that up for me to decide, old man.”

A frown comes across Heisenberg’s face, “Old man? How dare you?”

The sound of their laughter almost manages to wipe the frown off his face. Almost. “Old man who can pull off even a century old dog tag necklace.” They say, sizing up the necklace resting over his chest which he automatically reaches out to touch as a result of her remark. “You can keep it, by the way. I don’t need it back. I’ll be sticking around for some time after all.”

Before he can even process what they said, they’ve pulled him into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, looking out of the open side of it to be able to see the inside of the factory as the metal box keeps climbing, carrying them with it. Their back is turned to him so he can’t see the look on their face but he can only hope it’s not one of horror or disgust. If he were to receive that look from them his heart would shatter on the spot. So he’d rather they don’t turn around - both for him not to be able to see them grimacing and so they can’t see him staring at them with that look in his eyes.

Look of adoration he’s never given anyone before nor will he ever give to anyone else. And so, all the pieces of his soul have found their proper spots.

Thanks to Y/N.

Finally, you’re back.

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