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lazarettta · 4 years ago

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Misthios II

Characters (Mother Miranda, Reader, Lady Alcina)

Word count (3.1k)

Rating (M)

Warning (little NSFW, language)

Did you really think that Miranda was going to let you leave so easily? Again?

Anything italicized is a flashback...this is part two to Misthios

Your time with the Vikings was fun but all good things had to come to an end. Over the years, you hadn't been too keen on letting too many people in on your secret. Your friends and makeshift family were getting older and you weren't. You were still fit for battle and as young and strong as you were twelve years ago. You knew that you'd overstayed your welcome but you weren't ready to leave until there were too many comments about you not aging a day. It had taken you a week to get your steed ready for long travel and to make sure that you had everything necessary, including the coin to purchase more supplies should you need it.

You weren't above doing odd jobs during your travels if needed. The viking children ran alongside you and your stallion as you both trotted out of the village until you were on an open road. You saluted them before taking off into a run following the lead of your war horse, allowing her to dictate your travels until she decided that she needed a break.

You had all of the time and opportunity in the land.

You traveled like that for a few days until you were coming upon a village but the path was winding and would take some time but you had plenty of daylight and were in no rush. Everything was peaceful until you came across an overturned wagon and nearly trampled over a body laying face down into the soft ground. The dark puddle around him did not indicate that the man would be rising soon.

You were quick to draw your bow and arrow, a good distance from the fight and you had an advantage in case any of them came for you. There was a black flag on the ground near the wagon but it held an insignia that you didn't recognize but you knew royalty when you saw it. The soldiers had the upper hand but there were a few of them dead as well. On the other side, you saw one of the bandits jump on the back of a horse to leave.

Without much of a thought, you raised your weapon of choice and not a second later, you felt the smooth wood of the arrow slip between your calloused fingers and you watched proudly as it found a home in the base of the man's spine, effectively halting his escape but leaving him alive for the time being but he was not without suffering.

It was at that same moment the last bandit was struck down. The remaining soldiers turned to you with their swords raised but before anything else could happen, a sharp and clear but decidedly feminine voice stopped the misunderstanding before it could happen.

A woman with light-colored long hair stepped from behind a large oak tree with two foot soldiers in tow. She didn't seem to care about the ends of her dress being sullied by the mud and blood on the trail as she made her way towards you. You climbed down from your horse when she was closer, not surprised that you were taller than she was but she wasn't that much shorter than you really.

Most other women you met that were your height or taller were fellow warriors. Her eyes were what really startled you, they were so clear they were almost white. They did not have a clear color to them, not one that you could see.

“You are a very long way from home, Viking.”

“Yes, in search of a new one.” you glanced over her shoulder briefly to the soldiers dealing with the one who tried to escape, his agonized yelling startling a nest of crows nearby.

“You don't seem like the type to miss a killing shot.”

Your gaze fell back to her unwavering one and you fought the urge to fidget under her stare even though you were the one towering over her. Her posture was none threatening and her smile had a teasing tilt to it, but her eyes...they pierced your soul, pinned you. You were unsure if you wanted to run from them or figure out how deep they went.

“I figured your King and Queen would want one alive to question.”

“The King has been dead for a long time now.” The woman tilted her head back slightly as if looking at you in a new light and you straightened your back and pushed your shoulders subconsciously and the corners of her pale lips curled a little more. “Have dinner with me tonight, viking, as a token of my gratitude. Those bandits have been quite a torn in my side for a very long time now. Thanks to you, maybe now I will find their leader.”

The physical ache you felt when waking up was around your throat, well your whole neck. Your skin had long since healed over but it took the aches and bruises a while longer to go away. You don't know how long you've been unconscious but even without opening your eyes you knew that you were no longer outside on the side of a mountain which meant that she didn't kill you. But she still hurt you. You didn't know if she showed restraint because you both knew that killing you would be pointless and temporary or she truly didn't want to see you harm even if she was upset with you. You knew that it was the former.

Upset being the understatement.

You opened one eye then the other, wherever she put you it was warm if not a little moldy and it was definitely dark, you weren't quite sure if the torch on the other side of your cage helped any. Maybe it wasn't meant for you to use to see but to ensure that you wouldn't go completely insane in total darkness. It made more sense, you wouldn't want your prisoner to look around either lest they find something to use to escape.

You moved so that your back was against the stone wall, mildly surprised to find that it was a little damp. Your neck was still covered in dried blood but you didn't bother trying to scrape it off, knowing from experience that it wasn't the most pleasant feeling and one you chose not to deal with at the moment though you did pick away the random straws of hay from your skin as you'd been laying on it.

If you had to guess then you were in a basement, whether it was hers or not—you couldn't just sit there. Your backpack was long gone, you didn't have to look around your little cage to know that much. You checked for your gun not surprised to find that it was gone...she even took the damn holster.

You checked for your knife on your waist...gone. You checked the one that was hidden in your boots, or was supposed to be but it was gone too. Even after all this time, she knew you all too well. But even without weapons, a small cage like this wouldn't be enough to keep you. You just needed a plan but you had no idea where the hell you were. You reached up to feel your neck where you remembered her nails digging painfully into your flesh...

Gold plated armor, soft leathers and the finest silk that currency could purchase found themselves haphazardly tossed about all over the floor of the room. They reflected nicely against the small flames of the candles around the room.

The room was temporary, a small stop during your travels across the sea—this was merely a supply stop, but with the weather so severe, the waves were slaves to Poseidon's wrath. The ship was safer docked but she wouldn’t spend another night on board if she didn’t have to.

And didn’t, neither of you did. You were her personal champion—you went where she went. She pointed, and you left a path of bloody boot prints. Her wish was your command.

She laid bare before you, it wasn’t a sight that many were blessed with and no matter what sin you’ve committed at this woman’s whim (hell, even your own), you always thanked the Gods for giving you sight.

The fireplace is the only thing lighting up the entire room behind you both, you could feel the heat of it drying up your sweat but not all of it. You were straddling her, knees on either side of her waist—one hand on her waist and the other by her head, fingers interlaced with the hand that wasn’t reaching back clutching you tight, nails digging into your skin but that slight pain only fueled you.

Her light hair was out of its strict confines and complicated royal hairstyle, now splayed across her blemish free back and the pillows.

This was your reward; having her. You did exactly as she asked, you brought her the heads of those who crossed her and bathed in their blood and in the blood of their loved ones. You left no stone unturned simply because it was her wish.

And in return…you got her, however you wanted. But even trapped underneath you—she was never not in command. You placed your other hand next to her head as well, feeling her cool breath ghosting over your fingers turn sharp and unsteady when your hips snapped forward without warning. Her fingers tightening around yours. She tried to push back against you to take back some control but you met her attempt with untamed energy. Miranda's breathy chuckle tapered off into a mix of a growl and a moan when you did it again and again…

Shaking your head, you let it fall back on the hard wall behind you with your eyes closed. You've longed since buried those memories but they were fresh, as if they were made yesterday. The ache in your heart felt fresh too.

Then you felt it. No you felt her. Her presence was so strong, nearly suffocating and that feeling of dread was crawling up your spine again and you suppressed a strong shudder. You reluctantly opened your eyes, knowing that those eyes you fell so hard for would be looking back at you—the same eyes that tore to shreds. Even after all this fucking time...

You exhaled slowly and heavy, content to just stare at your boots, “I didn't expect to find you here of all places...”

“Would you have come if you'd known that I would be here?”

You looked up and saw that her startling bright eyes were staring back at you, still just as clear as the day you first met, “Why am I in this cage and not dead in a ditch? Besides the fucking obvious.”

She didn't say anything to you for a moment, simply standing there staring at you—drinking you in, it made your skin crawl, both good and bad. If she was bothered about you blatantly ignoring her question, it didn't show—or at least that damn mask she was wearing hid it away from you. All those emotions you'd long since buried and thought you dealt with came bubbling back to the surface like bile in the back of your throat but you kept a tight rein on it. Your explosive temper never dulled over time but you got better at containing it.

But no matter how good you were with restraining yourself, Miranda always knew. You could see it in her eyes. You hated her for it.

“I felt you the moment you arrived.” she said instead after long minutes of unblinking silence, she edged closer to your cell, unconcerned with the fact that you could lunge forward at any point and grab her. “I'm relieved to find you're still alive...and in good health?”

“Either kill me and ditch me somewhere, or just let me go, Miranda. I'm not doing this with you.”

“I cannot and will not do either, (Y/n).” she responded coolly after another minute of silence, keeping your gaze now that you've given it to her, “I just got you back, I'm not going to let you leave me so soon. Not again.”

“You didn't really give me a choice the first time!” you snapped back despite what you told yourself earlier about keeping calm and breathing, but seeing Miranda now—even more beautiful than she was before? It was too much at once. “You made that decision for both of us.” you said, much more quieter but she was close enough to have heard you perfectly fine and you were finally able to look away from those burning eyes.

“You're different.”

“The world is different.”

“Time has made you soft.”

You scoffed, “Would you like to borrow some of it? I mean...what the fuck is this? Where am I?” She regarded you calmly as if she was assessing you, but her eyes were roaming too much to be a simple assessment and you just laughed, sharp and unforgiving, you couldn't help yourself, “Do you feel guilty? Did you ever?”

“I don't have time to feel guilty!” she answered a little too quickly and you saw how her shoulders shifted slightly beneath those feathers, always a tell sign of hers that you never failed to notice and honestly you were surprised that you still even remembered her tales. She was so obviously different, you both were but this dance? While off tune and tense, was still your dance.

“Right, I see.” you tried to ignore it, you really did, but a little piece of your heart fell away at her admission because there was still a small part of you that still longed for closure.

“(Y/n)...”

“Do you even remember what you're supposed to even feel guilty for?”

“Stop it! You're not being fair!” she growled at you, pressing closer against the bars—if she pushed anymore she'd probably break the damn things, or materialize right through them but that didn't stop you from scrambling to your feet to meet her head on, refusing to let her have the full advantage.

“Neither were you! I...” you stopped abruptly, literally choking on your words and you forced yourself to close your mouth and Miranda watched every single emotion drain from your face as if you had flipped a switch and her hands balled into even tighter fists at her sides, unsure what to say and you had nothing left to say.

You two stood staring at each other, once again. Eyes locked but not a word more was said. She reached up, one hand wrapping around an old iron bar, her engraved golden nails clinking softly against the metal.

“Mother Miranda.” a firm but sinewy voice echoed around you both, calling for your attention and it was feminine but you couldn't see who it belonged to. She was just out of range of the cell entrance and you'd have to move closer to Miranda to see who it belonged to—and that wasn't something you were interested in doing, “I apologize for the interruption...but we have a problem.”

“What.” Miranda hissed, her voice no longer soft and velvet—the only way you could describe it was deity like. Stronger, harsher and it would've been scarier if you didn't know the woman behind the mask.

“That fool Heisenberg let that man thing escape the forest and he's now roaming in the village.”

“I see.” Miranda's eyes fell to you again, radiating more power than they did earlier. You'd been so busy arguing with her, you hadn't heard the other woman approach and you wondered how much of that she actually overheard, “When you are ready to talk, I will be waiting for you, my little warrior.”

“Stop calling me that!” you spat, glaring at her irritatingly, “I'm not your anything...perhaps your enemy. You'd do better by just letting me leave, Miranda because you and I both know that killing me isn't an option.”

“And I already told you. I'm not letting you leave me, not again.” she was suddenly right in front of you, inside of the iron cage and you had no fucking idea how she did that but she was too close but the stone wall behind you didn't give away, no matter how hard you pressed. Her eyes were softer now, and you actually had to crane your neck a bit to see them, even at an even six feet, “Learn the truth then you decide if you wish to leave or to stay.”

“The truth?” you scoffed, well aware that you two still weren't alone, “The truth has long since past to be of any interest to me.” you lied straight through your teeth all the while looking into her eyes, you saw a speck of emotion but it was hard to tell when they were so alive, “I don't care about your truth anymore, Miranda.”

“You may not...but I do. Did our love mean nothing to you?” you both ignored the startled noise behind you, “All those late nights and early mornings? I think about them often when this life permits me to...I...do have regrets, (Y/n)...and wishes, most never granted.” she admitted, quietly—her deity voice gone for the moment, “One of my biggest regrets and my biggest wish was you, (Y/n).”

You didn't know how to unpack that in this moment because Miranda suddenly had both her hands on the wall, trapping you as she leaned closer—you knew what she was doing, hell she even knew what she was fucking doing? Was it working? Like the fool you were—it was.

“Allow me time to settle this issue and then we will talk, (Y/n).”

You could see the uncertainty in her eyes, and you almost told her to go fuck herself...it was on the tip of your tongue but your heart was still as stupid as it was thousands of years ago. You kept your lips firmly pressed together, but nodded curtly almost reluctantly. She didn't smile, not really, but that familiar curve of her lips made you tense a little. You were a fucking idiot, and you knew it.

“Lady Dimitrescu will house you. I will send for you when I am ready.” she lingered for a second longer, seeming to want to say more. Suddenly she pushed herself away from you and walking out of your cell with ease, pushing the heavy door out of her way leaving you bewildered.

Had it been unlocked this whole time? She hadn't even bothered to retrain you, but she knew you wouldn't make a move because now she had now something to keep you behaved long enough and you agreed to it.

Ayyye Alcinnaaaa! Idk who's playing but Donna's house scary as shit. Y'all fuck with this story?

#resident evil 8 #mother miranda x reader #alcina x reader #mother miranda #lady alcina x reader #resident evil #resident evil village #lady alcina #lady dimitrescu #dis tew much #assassin's creed odyssey #I'm simpin hard af over here

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capsironunderoos · 4 years ago

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December

DINCEMBER - December 2 - December (Ariana Grande Version)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) X Female!Reader

Summary: A little thievery, a little marketplace, a little mysterious allusions to past lives, and a little green baby.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: None that I can think of! (Possibly my writing because this one is... something else)

Author’s Note: Ah okay so I know this is a day or so late, but I still wanted to keep up with @dindjarindiaries Dincember! This prompt was December by Ariana Grande and I can’t lie I’d never heard the song before! It’s really good though (and I definitely added it to my “baking Christmas cookies with matthew gray gubler” playlist). I was inspired by the lines “I’m just tryna keep my baby warm through the wintertime” and “whatever is on your list I’ll do it,” but probably not in the way you’d expect... Anyways! I hope you guys enjoy this one, I have a love hate relationship with how it turned out... Also, I do make some allusions to the readers past, but you can fill those in however you like! Was she an Imperial spy? A Rebel spy? Maybe she flew alongside Luke Skywalker, or learned how to beat Lando at sabacc! Who knows! That’s completely up to you. Anywho, this was a really long author’s note sheesh... Enjoy!

Here’s the previous prompt:

DINCEMBER - November 30 - Snow

And the link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

It’s almost cold today, you find yourself thinking as a slight breeze picks up the fabric sitting on your sale table.

You’re carefully folding your newest line of fabrics onto the table before you, making sure they’re arranged in a way that will draw people in, and will get you enough credits to at least try out the new caf they’re selling at the cantina.

You smile at the thought and smooth out a wrinkle in the bright red fabric before turning to look around you.

The marketplace seems almost empty. Normally you have to elbow a few Jawa to get through the crowd and set up your table, but today was unnaturally easy.

It’s almost unsettling how quiet the town is, normally on market days patrons all the way from Mos Eisley find their way to the multi-colored booths. Your booth tends to be pretty popular, as it’s rare to find a seamstress on a dust ball like Tatooine.

It doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes either, and that you know how to work an unsuspecting husband into buying something new for his wife, or a new mother into buying a cloth sling to carry her crying baby in.

It also doesn’t hurt that there don’t seem to be enough rumors about you.

Some point and whisper as they walk by, saying you once sewed the robes worn by Jedi and Sith alike. Others stare in the cantina as they place bets on which royal you sewed for and if you ever got to live on a core planet.

Of course none of them are true, and most of them were started by you to thrum up good business.

What can you say? The caf at the cantina is really good.

It’s been a few minutes now, well past the opening hour of the market, and the number of booths is still few and far between.

You hum in disappointment, accepting that you won’t be making many, if any sales today. You begin to sit down on the stool you bring along for days like this when you see a scrap of your best-selling silver cloth suspiciously fly off of the table.

It takes a second, but you note that there’s no wind blowing, so there’s no way it was carried off by a sudden strong breeze.

You grab the small stun gun you keep tucked away in your belt, slowly moving around the table, already knowing you’re about to have another run in with a Jawa.

Your footsteps are measured, and if anyone were to pay enough attention, they’d notice that a seamstress wouldn’t know how to move the way you are.

As you creep around the table, you notice that another scrap of fabric, this time green, is swept away as if by an invisible being.

Your steps pick up then, and you round the table just in time to see a small creature waddling away from your booth, fabric dragging the ground as it struggles to carry a stolen bounty almost as large as the creature is.

“Hey! Not so fast, little one!” You call out, and the creature turns to look at you.

He squeaks in alarm and begins… running?

You think it’s possibly running, or trying to at least.

You note how large its clothes are, and how they seem to be tripping it up as it tries to escape.

If it hadn’t been stealing from you, you’d almost have felt bad for it.

Three more lunging steps later and you’ve managed to put your stun gun away and scoop the small being into your arms. It wails in disapproval and struggles against you in a feeble attempt to get away, but your grip is tight enough to keep it tucked into the crook of your arm.

“Now where do you think you’re going with that?” You ask as you grab the fabric from its hands.

As cute as you suddenly realize it is, it’s hard to miss how stubbornly it holds onto the fabric.

You begin to walk back to your booth, scanning the area for anyone who might be searching for it.

It’s calmed down now, and you turn to see it’s big brown eyes staring up at you.

“Oh don’t give me that look. Doesn’t matter how cute you are, you still gotta pay like everyone else.”

The little one coos in response, as if understanding and responding to your statement.

“Uh huh,” you nonchalantly agree to its babbling as you do your best to fold the fabrics back into their places with one hand, your left arm currently supporting the child in it.

“Is there someone you’re supposed to be with right now? A leash you broke off or, um, maybe a cage you got out of? Or are you somebody’s kid?” You question, and it looks up at you, blinking quietly and deciding that now it’ll be quiet.

“Well, I doubt you’re anybody’s kid, ‘cause I’ve never seen anything like you around here. But I also doubt that you’re anybody’s pet, ‘cause I know good and well no one would be able to keep you on a leash, especially not in a cage. You’re too cute for all that. Besides, I think you might be able to escape too easily anyways.”

The child laughs at that, and you find yourself smiling in response.

“Hey I’m still trying to figure out how you managed to pull that fabric off of my table. You’re not exactly the same height.” You wonder aloud, and the child moves to sit up as best it can in your arms.

You apologize to it before sitting it on the table and pulling your stool up.

It doesn’t really matter if it tries to run off, you already know you could catch the poor thing in two steps.

The creature watches you intently, tilting its head as if inspecting you, or searching you for something.

You furrow your eyebrows at its actions, leaning up to get a little bit closer to it.

You notice movement out of the corner of your eye and sit back again, watching as the little one begins to raise one of his hands.

You can feel your heart rate pick up as your mind races to put together what the child is trying to show you, but before the connection can be made a set of quick and heavy footsteps are striding up to your table.

“There you are,” you hear through the crackle of a modulator, which cues you to turn and see a Mandalorian taking long strides to your booth.

Dread instantly fills your chest, and you quickly stand up, glancing down at your stun gun sticking out of your boot and back to the Mandalorian.

Was he talking to you or the kid? Regardless of whichever one he was talking to, you have a feeling you’re both about to be in some trouble.

Last you knew you didn’t have an active bounty on your head, but that had been too many rotations ago to remember. Surely the small child beside you wouldn’t have an active bounty, it hardly knew how to speak, much less commit a serious crime against the New Republic, or the remaining Imps for that matter.

Your wandering thoughts are quickly answered as the Mandalorian scoops the little green being in its arms.

“I told you to stay put kid,” his tone is meant to come off as scolding, but you can hear the worry in his voice.

The child is grinning from ear to ear, obviously happy to see the man before you.

“You know,” you start, and the Mandalorian turns to you as if noticing you for the first time.

“I can sew you something to wear that he can ride in. Can match the color to that fancy beskar and everything.”

At the mention of his armor, you notice the Mandalorian stand a bit straighter.

“No, thank you. I hope that he wasn’t too much of a bother.”

The child laughs at the mention of himself, and you find yourself fighting a grin.

“Well, other than trying to make off with two of my best-selling fabrics,” you shrug and the Mandalorian returns his gaze to the kid, who has gone suspiciously silent.

“Did you give them back?” He chastises the child again, but before it has a chance to answer you step in.

“I got them back. He tried to make a run for it, but he’s not very fast.”

A beat of silence passes between the three of you before you continue.

“I could fix that too. Those clothes are obviously too big for him.”

The Mandalorian sighs, but it comes out as a crackle. How had you managed to finally meet the first customer you’d ever had that was able to resist your persuading?

“I said no thank you earlier, and the same applies now.”

You raise your hands in defense, feigning innocence.

“Alright Mando, alright,” you taunt him and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m just trying to keep that baby warm through the winter time.”

At the reference to him, the kid squirms in the Mandalorians arms, turning to look at you with big eyes, full of want.

“Whatever’s on your list, I’ll do it. I’m the best around. Actually, I’m the only around.”

You decide to try one last time, and even if he doesn’t respond or buy, at least you’ll know what to work on when the next Mandalorian shows up at your table.

He’s quiet for too long, and you turn your attention back to the kid.

“I see why you wanted that silver, little one. It’d match ole tin can man perfectly.”

You taunt him again, and the Mandalorian continues to stand still.

After another beat of silence, you hear the scramble of feet behind him, and you move to glance over his shoulder.

“Peli!” You exclaim, and she smiles as she sees you, but you notice her smile growing even bigger when she sees the kid peeking through the Mandalorians arms to see her.

“Hey kiddo! And… kiddo,” she jokes as she moves to stand beside Mando.

The kid makes grabby-arms towards her and she laughs, accepting him into her arms.

“This that Mando you were telling me about over caf the other week?” You question and she nods.

“As he lives and breathes. At least, I think he’s living and breathing.”

You nod in agreement.

“Come on Mando,” she prompts, gesturing for him to follow her.

“Your ship has some… problems, to say the least, and I need an opinion that isn't a pit droids.”

You wave to the child as Peli retreats back in the direction she came before turning to face the Mandalorian once more.

“Offer still stands,” you start, and his helmet moves ever so slightly to look at you.

“Response is still the same,” he combats, and you laugh.

---

Three days later and Din is ready to get off of this sand pit.

He normally doesn’t mind coming and visiting Peli, having the Crest regularly serviced while taking a few days to visit old friends or to simply sit with the feisty mechanic and his kid.

But he’s got stuff to do now, and Life Day is just around the corner.

He didn’t remember too much of his childhood, but he remembered celebrating Life Day with his parents when they were still alive. Therefore, he wants to give the kid a good Life Day this year, as Din was almost certain he’d never experienced one before.

This meant gathering gifts specifically for the little creature, and that meant trekking across the galaxy before settling onto Nevarro to celebrate Life Day with Cara and Greef.

He watches from afar as the pit droids finish up their final touches, making sure the Crest has a full tank before he’s cleared to go.

“Hey Mando!”

He hears from behind him, and he turns to see Peli marching towards him.

“Looks like you made an impression a few days ago. I’ve never known her to do anything for free, much less as a gift.”

Din immediately knows that Peli is talking about you, and he wishes that he didn’t.

You’ve been all he can think about, and he hates himself for literally just standing there as you tried to talk to him.

Peli pulls him from his thoughts as she extends her hands to him, offering a gift wrapped in dark brown paper.

Din takes it from her and mutters a thank you.

“You’re welcome,” Peli replies dramatically before stomping off to find the kid.

Din can read the basic scrawled on top that reads “For the tin can man and his green kid,” and he feels himself smiling at the scrawl of your handwriting.

He quickly opens the box, not surprised to see a small dark brown robe, almost the color of the fabric he wears, sitting atop a silver pile of fabric.

He pulls the robe out first, noticing how well it has been sewn together, already knowing that the child’s going to never want to wear anything else now.

He then pulls out the silver fabric, noticing that it looks to be something for him.

“Oh yeah new moms put their kids in that at the market! You just strap ‘em right to your chest and they never cry again,” Peli calls from her spot beside the ship where she’s been holding the kid and watching Din.

Din finds his smile growing even more, and he’s almost surprised to see another note in the box, written on what looks like handmade paper.

The basic is even more scrawled in this note, as if you’d decided to put it in at the last minute.

Din pulls it from the box and can't help but to smile from ear to ear as he reads it.

Just trying to keep that baby warm through the wintertime. Anything else on your list I can do, but you’re gonna have to actually pay this time. Happy Life Day.

Here’s the next prompt for Dincember:

DINCEMBER - December 4 - Hot Chocolate

#underooswrites #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the child #grogu #baby yoda #peli motto #peli #ah yes Star Wars coffee #star wars #star wars x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin x y/n #dincember

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galaxythreads · 4 years ago

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Should I continue fic???

I wrote up these five pages to a possible Porcelain/Append merge (kinda) and was wondering if anyone would be interested/read it if I continued on with it?

What do I mean by merge? I mean, it would be like a re-written version of Append with Hela’s background in Porcelain put in, and the entire story overall would be much darker. Just. To clarify that. XD

*Also note of warning, all my italics were removed, and I am too exhausted to and put them back in. Just...imagine it.

Five Pages:

“No!” The sound is a hoarse screech, tearing itself out of her throat and refusing to be ignored.

Hela scrambles to get her feet beneath herself, dragging her heels into the snow, leaving a long blood trail smeared in the white, crystalized snow behind her. It’s not enough. He’s taking her. She’s not going to be able to stop him.

Oh, Allfathers.

A desperate, panicked sob begins to build in her chest, applying pressure until it feels like her ribs will burst from the effort of keeping it contained. She can’t breathe. Every inhale draws the sharp, painful air of Jotunheim into her lungs, searing them as it settles into her chest. It’s so cold that it feels like her tongue is beginning to go stiff in her mouth.

She struggles in the grasp, trying to get some sort of leverage so she can fight her way out of the grip and draw a weapon, but there’s nothing she can do. With her hair wrapped firmly in the fist as well as her arm, her neck is pinned into place and leaves little room to wiggle.

Desperate, she scrambles to find some sort of way to deal with the situation. She stops trying to claw off the fingers with her left hand and starts to flex out her fingers, feeling the familiar discomforting wedge as the dwarf metal implants in her arms start to form the weapon. She’s not entirely sure what she’s planning, anything sharp and easily maneuverable, but it doesn’t matter as Odin releases her abruptly, shoving her into the hard snow.

Hela smacks against it, feeling the sensation rattle up her face, but no pain. Never any pain. She hasn’t been worthy of it since early adolescence.

“By the gods, you insufferable child!” Odin exclaims, turning around to face her. His expression is twisted into familiar incense. Well, what’s left of it. Hela’s eyes snap up toward the unfamiliar sight of hasty field bandages wrapped around Odin’s head, covering his left eye. There’s still blood on his face from where it smeared down his cheek after the attack.

It looks painful.

Good.

“How can you be so ungrateful?” Odin demands harshly. He takes a step toward her, and Hela feels herself draw back from him, fresh tears spilling down her face to trace down to her chin. Her eyes itch from how much she’s been crying, and she hates herself for showing this frailty in front of him. There are no weaknesses in front of Odin Allfather.

Hela sits up slowly, her dark hair falling over her shoulders to spill across her chest. There’s wet blood on her fingers from the earlier battle, and it leaves ugly, morbid stains on the white snow. Something’s wrong with her arm, she notes distantly, it’s barely supporting her weight. She must have broken something.

She swallows thickly, wishing her voice didn’t sound so clogged. “What do I have to be grateful for?”

Odin snarls. “I saved you.”

“Saved me?” She hasn’t found much reason to laugh since Asgard invaded Jotunheim, but this--this arouses something. Not happiness, but a bitter sort of disbelief. Anger, perhaps.

Hela laughs sharply until he strikes her. It doesn’t hurt, it never does, but a harsh feeling of shame washes over her. Her head turns with the force of the blow, and she looks toward the snow, hiding behind a curtain of long hair. She tastes blood in her mouth and feels absently for the cut on her tongue with her teeth.

“You insolent wretch. I could have damned you by leaving you.” Odin hisses, and he waits for a second, as if expectant. He’s waiting, Hela realizes, for her to come to her senses and thank him. He hasn’t changed since she saw him last. Not in the slightest.

She isn’t surprised by this, though she thinks she should be.

“I would rather that you did,” Hela murmurs, and then looks up toward her father between her hair. He stands over her, imposing as always, tressed up in armor that adds to bulk she knows he doesn’t have. He looks every inch a king at this moment. A powerful enemy. Her enemy.

She deserted. She committed treason. He has every reason to execute her at this point. She’d deserve it. She’s deserved nothing less since she was a child.

Odin’s nostrils flare and he reaches out, grabbing her arm again despite Hela’s desperate scramble to back away. His fingers are iron against her clothing, a noose to choke her with. He hauls her to her feet, yanking her forward. In the far distance, Hela can see the remains of where she knows Asgard’s camp was set up. It’s gone now, which is to be expected, the war is over.

Jotunheim lost.

Asgard won. And now she’s being returned home. She’s saved.

Norns.

Hela starts to fight him again. “I won’t go with you,” she protests, “I’d rather be damned.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” Odin says heatedly, and the words hurt somewhere deep and quiet inside of her. “But your death would serve me nothing.”

Ah. So that’s what this is. Of course. It’s not fatherly concern, or even a base parental instinct suddenly aroused to save her from a beheading. She has not served all her use to him yet, so he will keep her. Because she’s a tool. A weapon. She’s so far from a living creature it’s a wonder that she breathes at all now.

Maybe that’s what he’ll take next.

Oh, Norns, Hela curses wildly. She can’t go back. She can’t. She can’t. She won’t survive that. Her struggles begin to grow more frantic, and Odin doesn’t let her go, because she’s not allowed anything. Not what she wants. The decade she spent as a war captive was a reperivie that’s over. He’s taking her back, and the sedirmasters will have more to do, and he’ll have more for her to kill, more for her to turn into, and--

Of course. Why is she protesting this? She’s a weapon. She’s his weapon.

Weapons have no regrets. No remorse. No emotions. No desires, or wants, or needs.

Norns.

Hela’s stomach twists, and she staggers to her knees and vomits. It’s bloody and thin, but her tongue feels swollen and her neck feels tight. Her free hand’s fingers scramble to dig into her ribs, as if they can simply remove the vile substance by clawing it out of her chest.

I can’t do this again.

The thought is a distinct contrast of sudden, deep despair to her previous frantic scrambles. Her fight has lost, because there is no escape. Norns. She closes her eyes tightly, squishing tears out onto her face in the process, and breathes out sharply.

Odin’s fingers tighten on her arm, she’s sure, to the point of bruising. It might have been more effective at intimidation if she felt it. As it is, the pressure becomes almost unbearable, and she bites on her tongue sharply.

“How weak you have become,” Odin says. His voice is toneless. But the disappointment is obvious.

And it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. She knows that she has changed. But it does matter. A part of her, she thinks, will always belong to her father. If not in body, then in mind. She wants this. His approval. She craves it.

She slaughtered cities for it.

“Go to helheim.” She whispers, trying to be snide, but bordering on desperate.

Look at you, a voice purrs in the back of her mind, dark and laughing, the goddess of death, weeping at her father’s feet, trying to be intimidating. You have become a weak creature, haven't you?

Odin sneers at her statement, but draws her back to her feet with force. Hela steps over the bloody bile, and the two of them carry forward. She seems to have vomited out her fight, because, though she stumbles on uneven footing, she doesn’t fight her father. There’s nothing she can do. If she ran from here, where would she go?

She doesn’t know if Laufey is dead, but she saw the corpse of his wife.

They draw closer to the Asgardian camp, and every footfall sends a rattle of dread up her stomach. She’s still crying, and feels like a child for it. She hasn’t cried this much since she was a child, and even then, very little. Her father never believed in tears.

“What will you do with me?” Hela whispers. She should fight, but she’s not even sure she could support her own weight without her father forcing her to move forward. “Public execution?”

“No.” Odin says derisively, as if this should have been rather obvious.

“Then what?”

“What do you think?” Odin snaps, “Your place is beside me. You are my executioner.”

But not, Hela notes with a familiar ache, your daughter. He calls her his child when it suits him, but it’s a formality. They both know what she is to him. Their relationship has never been one of warmth. If they’ve ever had a relationship to begin with.

“You will return to Asgard with me, and resume your duties. I will see to it that your recent...actions do not become public knowledge.” Odin says without looking at her. “That is what will happen to you. I do not intend to kill you, daughter.”

Hela smiles at that, knowing otherwise. Not physically, no. Perhaps not.

But he’s killed her so many times already.

Her smile drops.

Oh, gods.

This can’t be happening again. She thought she was out. Laufey promised that it was over. Norns, he was helping her. He cared. She thinks he cared. But no one she knows has ever cared for her. Maybe it, like it has been with everyone else, has been some sort of facade to beat her into submission.

It felt real.

It wasn’t.

It felt safe.

It wasn’t.

Hela sees the blood smears across the snow, the hard ice bearing the scars of war beneath thick sheets. The camp is empty, the tents set and the fires put out. The only remains that Asgard was ever here in the first place is the blood and the miscellaneous scattered around. It’s the first time she’s seen it, and she would have spit on it if she had the strength.

Hela ducks her head, breathing in the familiar frigid air. It feels sharp against her throat and lungs, but she would breathe it in forever if it meant she could stay here. Asgard has nothing for her but pain. But maybe Jotunheim had nothing for her, either. She doesn’t know. She can’t keep the lies straight in her head anymore.

Odin comes to a sudden stop, and Hela nearly stumbles over herself. The scorch of burned snow leaves a wet trail of slippery ice, but it takes her less than a second to recognize the markings. The Bifrost. It’s here. Again. This is really happening. Hela closes her eyes and feels fresh tears warm her cheeks.

I’d rather die than go back, she thinks again.

Odin turns his head up toward the sky, and Hela feels her gut tightening in apprehension. If her father notices, he doesn’t care. But he’s never cared about her before, he wouldn’t start now. “Heimdall--open the Bifrost!”

#Hela #my fics #hela odinsdottir #hela is more than a villain #odin's a+ parenting #odin fam #hela redemption #my fanfiction #???#idk #i like it #i just idk

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rouiyan · 4 years ago

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𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘞𝘏𝘌𝘕 𝘐 𝘍𝘈𝘓𝘓 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the fourth volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: and when i fall, will you be there to catch me by the waist?

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : angst, fluff ✧ word count : 7.4k ✧ disclaimers : disclaimers — violence in the form of attempted assassination/murder, bloody/gory scenes, mentions and allusions to character death, malintent

✧ author’s note — this is the one where i romanticize everything.

read volume three here: dearly departed.

prince donghyuck is running. he's sprinting almost, and his strapped bow and quiver hits his back with each of his coming strides. his hands are furious in breaking away the tall grasses that surround him on all sides with a blunt blade. cutting through them with swift flicks of his wrist. the dirt beneath his feet crunch and the blades of grass he's cut sway to the ground with slow and deliberate motions, avoiding the drag of gravity like paper in the wind. donghyuck is aware that he's leaving an obvious trail but there isn't time to spare if he doesn't want to meet death at his destination. he wished he'd been smart enough to take a horse, though he knows he would have had to abandon it as he drew close.

the skies are clear today, rare for the winter that has made itself evident in the past few weeks. there are no clouds to stir up a storm, and no threat of rain to muddle his sight. donghyuck pulls a compass from beneath his armored chest. his feet are still moving fast though his arms are now pulled in to read the display on the device. the grass that's no longer pushed back springs up and brushes the skin of his forehead, the skin under the cut of his hair, obtrusively. the needle points south albeit a tad east. he continues forth. the sun is just about setting, flakes of purple beginning to bleed into the blue and donghyuck swears he can hear the ocean. he swears it's near.

he breaks out into an open expanse, sudden in the way the grass stops short, but he sees soon enough that it stops short at the curb of a trodden dirt path. his hand against the ground, he feels the soil fine in between his fingers, sifting almost as finely as sand does. donghyuck's face tinges with the slightest annoyance in the realization that thin soil meant that tracks were covered up all the more easily, something that'd indeed be in his favor, if only there were tracks left to follow in the first place. the compass resurfaces again, the fine chain on which it hangs sloshing in the wind in conjunction with his hurried movements. lee donghyuck bites the bullet and recedes back into the mass of grassland, this time hurrying along the edge of the road whilst ducking once again in the cover of the reeds.

the sun is fast in waning and it's as if the prince is chasing it. he is on the descent of the hill himself when he begins to hear it clearly, the sounds of waves crashing against rocks, sputtering along the shore. he wishes he had time to go down and relish in the feeling of the water lapping between his toes, the salt and sand it carries shrugging off his dead skin. the sight he's first met with is the thatching of the roof, worn down and sodden through days of heavy rainfall. it sits like a weight upon the rest of the structure that soon forms in his line of vision. a decrepit shack, almost, or a sizable shack. the shiplack that holds the siding in place is doing the exact opposite, lifting off of its holds and fraying downwards into the ground, carrying pieces of the inner insulation of the walls with it. the shutters are absent in barricading the gaping holes the windows have abated to, the awning of the porch creases earthwards, blocking most of the front door. the visage reads, 'seaside home succumbs to the inexorable confines of loneliness and lack of care.' there is no other way to describe the forces that keep the assembly upright except the willfulness of a wicked hand.

donghyuck pauses and crouches to the roots of the turf. he peers between the strands to see a guard, no, two placed just before the widest cavity in the side of the house, the only way in he supposes. his fingers are quick to pluck the end of an arrow, to slot it in its place, to draw and arm back, an eye squinting. he's quick to duck under the cover of the grass once again when the arrow pierces the left of a guards' eye. he's quick to avoid ruffling the grass that would otherwise be giving away the whereabouts of his presence away to the other, frantic, guard. prince donghyuck is crouched at the foot of a tree when he draws another arrow, slots it, draws back, releases. he knows that death meets wherever the point of his arrows land, he's accustomed to it, he feels pride in knowing that one shot is all he needs to become the greater version of him, to decide who lives and who doesn't. one shot is all he needs to play god. at least, that is what you had told him on a lonely day of his fifth summer, the first summer he had spent at the northern palace but definitely not the last.

"and you'll keep staring from afar, will you? you in the creepers," you turned your head in exact to where he'd been crouching, "as if i wouldn't know." young donghyuck removed himself effectively from the brush, dusting off bracts from his trousers in effort to present himself with a little more ease. sheepily, he treaded across to a few yards behind where you were stood, stance rigid and facial muscles pulled taut when staring into the bullseye. you plucked an arrow, turned it over in your hands, fingers running along the ridges to inspect. prince donghyuck knew that you were the same age as him, he'd been taught of the four, of which he was one, who were birthed in the same year, in each of the kingdoms. he knew this, yet with the aura you're giving off, he couldn't help but think that you've been around for much longer. the arrow split the previous arrow in a clean half. both lodged into the red-marked center, fifty or so meters away and barely visible to the eye at such distance.

prince donghyuck stumbled to take a bow from the stand beside you. he placed an arrow clumsily between his fingers, strangely he felt the need to prove himself though he does just the opposite by fumbling. the arrow launched after his third try, but rather than taking on a straight course, it gave a feeble arc and lodged itself into the soil before him. the prince was a sight of vexation at this point, "my instructor said- he said…"

you crossed your arms over your chest, bow tucked neatly in between. "oh, i bet he said a whole bunch."

you taught him all you know and he learned with a newfound respect, though he was unwilling to admit to himself. you had him practice on a bird first, a bigger target than the red dot, so tiny that frustrations would surely be easy to come if he'd started there. donghyuck gave you an apprehensive glance behind his shoulders but you nudged him along with a nod of your head. it's the first time he hasn't missed. he never misses a shot after that. "is- is it dead?" donghyuck didn't dare peer over, afraid of what he might see.

"of course it is."

the five-year old boy was rendered a stuttering mess at this point, "d- did i just commit a felony?" shrugging, you plucked a stone from the shore of the creek, tossing it light across the water, "hunting is legal, if that's what you're asking."

"but i just killed a- a living thing!" he exclaims as if you hadn't said what you had said moments before. sighing, the next thing that comes from you left the boy in confoundment and annoyance at how curt you were, like an grown up he thought. "well, there are times where we are left with no choice but to comply with the blurred lines of right and wrong. there are times where we are left with no choice but to play god.”

his snappy attitude is all too quick to arise, no clue as to even what you were referring to and only in the knowledge that he disliked talking to you. "you're only five, just like me. what do you know?"

"i know a great deal," you turned abruptly to face the boy. you stepped in slow, paced motions, eyes strong and unwavering. he gulps as you spoke though unsure of why. "i know because i look for all my answers from what's put before me, not from my instructors."

prince donghyuck bites down on his lip, he wasn't nearly done with you yet, "so you're saying that you've learned all you know? then when will you learn that you don't have to act all high and mighty when you're already crown princess."

"i don't act. i am not an entertainer." he could not count the amount of times you've rendered him unable to process his thoughts. donghyuck can only retort back, "then what are you?"

"i am crown princess y/n, just as you've said it."

it's years later when he realizes why the earth seems to quiver beneath you, it's years later when he understands that it's because unlike the earth, soil that is bound by the pull of gravity, you've never allowed yourself to be limited to what something, someone, anything else subjects you to. you are a subject to no one, and that is why you will be queen one day.

he thinks this even as the second of the guards drop dead. he thinks this because he has never had less of a reason to carry out a task, yet he finds himself doing so with attentiveness to detail. donghyuck by no means could categorize you as manipulative, nor persuasive. he simply understands the way you work, the things you desire, the people you need by your side. even he, as much as he disagrees with the likes of prince jeno, he knows that only he can be your king.

the dust settles thick as he crosses through the threshold, one leg after another. he doesn't need to breathe to know that the air could suffocate if he didn't have his arm sleeve pressed into his nose. the inside of the cottage, the wreck that it is, seemed to be intact, for the most part. donghyuck even thinks that if you were to run a thick duster across the tapestries, the carpet, the counters, the armoire, most everything, that the place could live up to the coziness of just about a decade ago, minus the blatant hole in the wall and the condition of the walls itself.

donghyuck does his best, he's sure, but the halls twist in ways meant to confuse and he ends up at the same stairwell all too many times to count. he finds it soon enough, just as the sun regresses into night. the one stairwell that led down in the midst of all the ups. the absence of light is the only noticeable thing by sight, the moon isn’t nearly upon the horizon, but he uses all that he knows to make out the shine of the door at the foot of the steps.

skipping the last few steps, he rams into it with all his body weight. the brass, weakened through weather and age, cripples beneath him revealing the darker of night.

the first thing donghyuck does is cough, there is no way around that. his arm is back by his nose but this time his mouth also clamps tight onto the roughened fabric of his sleeve. he has a short blade in hand, his least favorite weapon of choice but a sword would have been too inefficient and a single arrow too thin. besides the heavy air that hangs, the room is also dead silent. four paces in and his foot hits a solid, a clang, a metal. he drags it along in the same direction, clang, clang, clang. bars. metal bars. a cage, an imprisonment of sorts.

the last bar he's hit escapes him, it swings open. the door, he supposes though he wonders why it hadn't been locked, why the door to the very basement hadn't been locked, why the whole vicinity was put under the supervision of two, poorly trained guards. donghyuck understands when his eyes do their part in adjusting to the dimness of the room and he sees the prince, slumped and unconscious, out cold.

perhaps, death really was waiting for him at his destination.

time is running thin as donghyuck dismisses his urge to check for a pulse, he figures he'd have to bring the body back anyways, alive or dead, and furthermore he has a deadline. long gone is the dagger, tucked away on the side of his left thigh, replaced with a metal arrow that clangs itself with each time it strikes the wall adjacent to it. to prince donghyuck, picking a lock with a sharpened point of an arrow is second nature; he's done it as many times as little boy scouts practice their square knots and soprano's run through their warmups. but even then, he hates the feeling of picking a lock that binds two wrists, he hates the feeling of how the wrists fall when they are no longer bound, and he hates the feeling of the chains as they clatter and clump at his feet. more than that, the dead weight of a man on his shoulders, void of all vicarious pretenses, is the worst among all feelings.

the sun carries with it shadows as it sets. it draws them like a coachman and his horses, a dog on its leash, a flock of baby geese and their mother. the shadow of the cottage, in particular, is seven feet from where it was when donghyuck entered. he doubts he'll have much time to get back into town on foot, running wouldn't work well with his already depleted stamina and the hunk of a man on his shoulders. he plays it safe with a jog and his compass in hand, the shine of the needle becoming harder to decipher in the fast-coming shadows that drown out his sight.

the first break he takes under a tree a little ways down from the cottage, shoving the weight of jeno under the cover of a few tendrils of vines. he almost wants to kick his figure in annoyance but under the guise that he was trying to wake him. prince jeno is very poor company when he's knocked out, or dead, he supposes now is as good of a time as any to check. fingers against his wrist, he feels the faintest of a pulse and is relieved in the most concealed way, though there is no one around for him to be concealing from. donghyuck thinks, with sureness, that if he were to let the boy wilt in his arms, to deliver him dead when he might as well have been alive, he himself would be dead in your eyes. he shakes his head and brings his flask to the lips of the older, slightly older.

the first few drops of water do nothing except sit in his dry mouth but the rest is gurgled, choked, swallowed. the prince, and soon to be king, lunges at donghyuck with his eyes still shut closed. he has his fingers tight around the eastern prince's neck when he finally regains the will to peel open his lids. the sun is long gone at this point and the moon has still yet to appear over the horizon. jeno is startled when he realizes that the ground his knees are rubbing against isn't dusted concrete but thick soil and stones. he draws back at that though his arms wind back as well, as if to drive into his unknown captor's cheek, to knock him out. donghyuck is a whirlwind of coughs as he barely registers the fist that's approaching fast, he's glad he still has it in him to roll to the side and croak out an, "it's me."

two princes are panting under the span of a tree, the roots that jut out slashing the backs of one of them and the twigs that litter the ground cutting into the kneecaps of the other. their breaths alternate, loud sighs and sharp inhales, as they regain their bearings enough to acknowledge each other. two princes sit side by side under the span of a tree, glancing at each other, or what they believe to be each other, in the shroud of darkness that envelops them. they wait for the moon.

jeno finds himself reaching for the flask that lays discarded a few feet away. he chugs and donghyuck eyes him in disgust, feeling how his own throat is clenching up with the same thirst. jeno must sense this because he holds it out for him when he's had his fill, "how much time has passed?" donghyuck throws back the rest of the water. they are bound to come across a freshwater stream on the long way back, he's sure and he swallows, "a week in approximation."

a week, he's sure a lot of things could've happened in the week he was gone. possibly, you'd know of his absence. surely, you know of the death of your father. no doubt were you in mourning and he was halfway across the region and in no state to comfort you. his brows furrow, "anything notable that's happened?"

there are many things donghyuck could say in response. he hasn't left your side since the day after your father's body was found, the day he'd arrived at the palace, ready to comfort. he'd never have expected you to lash out in rage with no one to blame. he'd been there when the maid had delivered news of the anonymous tip that'd made your knees go weak in an instant. a hell of a week it had been, indeed. he prefaces with the general. "the coronation has been moved up, three days from now you will be crowned king."

jeno nods in understanding. it's all his parents have ever wanted from him, to marry off into golden blood, to become golden blood, for their immediate family to bathe in golden blood. he sighs knowing that he feels it's fine if it's with you, that your presence in his life simply mocks that of his parents. but he needs answers, the yearning to see you is set alight in the pits of his stomach. "and how is she holding up?"

disgruntled, prince donghyuck answers curt and vague, the exact opposite of what jeno needs to soothe his worries, "she's holding up just fine." neither of them are in high spirits when they set off into the night. they suffice with the silence and when they come across the expected stream, donghyuck fills the flask, they bathe. the moon is kind that night, outshining all nights before and illuminating the compass needle, the guide into the outskirts of the southern kingdom.

the sun is on the rise when the two princes are met with the sight of buildings in the distance, small shacks, roofs thatched but unkempt and messy unlike that of the seaside cottage for royalty. the people bustling about are donned in the plainest of clothing and donghyuck is sure that his combat gear and jeno's days old and crinkle suit would draw unwanted attention from the commoners, after all, he's almost sure that they wouldn't recognize the faces of two royalty if they were dressed down, not here in the southern kingdom where the prospects of royalty are told like a fairy tale.

like how any disguise is gained, donghyuck sneaks through the bushels of the nearest house and snatches two pairs of trousers, two plain cotton tops, and a tweed satchel, leaving four golden coins under the back awning. they change before the sun arrives to clear the air of fog and mist and they bustle and weave within the crowd with ease when the sun peeks over diagonal, mid-morning.

they don't make it far on foot, there is still a ways to go before they can safely make it past jeno's homeland without being noticed. the farther they delve into the heart of the kingdom, the closer they mingle with the nobles, the higher-ranking families, those who would recognize them almost immediately.

a first of many close calls come when they are at the back end of a manor, a huge estate, spanning about half the palace itself. whoever the owner was, the individual jeno was rambling on about, wouldn't suffer the loss of two horses. that is, if they could be stolen in the first place. the stables were a mile into the plot of land from the back and though donghyuck could be so efficient in simply shooting dead all the guards that lined the outer premises, he really did not wish to cause a ruckus, not when he's sure the officials of the southern kingdom are aware of the escape of their second prince. and if jeno is correct in labeling this very estate as the abode of the capital governor, he wouldn't be keen in taking chances where it could hurt most.

night falls for a second time and, under the cover of darkness, jeno slashes the calves of two of the guards, a stroke that could easily be mistaken to be of a running and wild badger if timed correctly. he ducks between the electrical cords of the fencing, donghyuck just behind him, as he gets on all fours to survey the grounds. the guards that are left mill around the stables, the only structure that'll provide them light during their break. they are jolly and big-bellied when they laugh and jeno finds it all too easy to slip past the commotion to the back of the stables where the gates open onto the track. donghyuck moves with practiced stealth to the opposite end, foot looping on the edge of a table where kegs of beer are stood tall. he steadies himself, centering his movements around his breaths and not his impulses. retrieving his compass, he doesn't stop to crack it open this time, angling the sleek alloy cover in such a way that it glints in accordance with the glass of the window, left side of the stables that's illuminated inside out.

they count to three. the kegs meet the earth and while some roll, others simply spill. donghyuck leaves a mess in his wake. he'd like to stay back, admire his work, the looks of shock on their faces and the realization that'll come when they check the stables a little later. he gets this feeling each time he completes a mission, and very rarely is a prince allowed to do so. prince donghyuck loves the rush, the adrenaline, the anticipation and the satisfaction of completion. he knows that jeno feels the same. although as much as he would love to linger in the shadows to bathe in his victory, he knows that if he doesn't remove himself from the scene he will have a great deal more things to be worrying about. perhaps, his head on a stick.

with the horses accompanied by night, an ever-so-welcome friend, they are able to make haste. their course deviating the slightest to avoid the boundaries of the royal palace. jeno is familiar with the towns that lay just a little beyond and just a little before the middle glade. his familiarity means he knows where to book a rest for the night, where to get the needed replenishments for themselves and the horses and where to stock up for the coming day that will be spent entirely in the middle glade. his familiarity is helpful, but deemed futile when they arrive to see that each stall, selling food or goods, has a banner hung on the overhead. the prince's face is printed on each one, a lost prince, help needed! captioning each notice.

the pitstop, originally jotted to span a whole of two hours becomes a series of laborious tasks that involve intricate planning of thievery, indirect thievery as they make sure to leave, in their ructions, the rest of their gold coins, distributed evenly. they enter the middle glades with relieved and wearied hearts and sacks upon sacks of provisions.

the middle glade is the right place for any wearied heart. the grass is knee-length here, and it stays that way for a day's trip worth of land. the edges are crowded by a thick forest of trees with trunks too wide to hug and roots so big that traversing the land on foot is treacherous enough. but just beyond the thickets of trees and boughs that hang low is the glade itself. the four kingdoms were built to accommodate the livelihood of the grasses, wildflowers, gentle ponds that stretched only a few feet deep. the glade is a sight for sore eyes, and a marvel for all traveling through. it's where the four kingdoms diverge, and also where they meet.

rays of sun are harsh on their backs, it's been a little over an hour and though the looming threat of the southern kingdom has been left in the dust, the road ahead proves bleak, grasses the run along the horizon and, seemingly, endlessly beyond. jeno thinks of what he'll say when he sees you. he thinks of the smile that's sure to grace your features and he thinks of your warm embrace. jeno is patient when he thinks of you.

"she's been troubled."

jeno looks over in surprise at the sound of his companions voice, he notes the lilt and remains silent for him to go on.

"the princess and i, as i'm sure you know, we've been well-acquainted for a long time now." donghyuck steals a glance of his own and finds that jeno's sights are held to the front but his brows are drawn in consideration, deliberation. "and i've always known her the best, loved her the best, been the best for her. we've both been, for each other i mean. we both also knew that there would be a day where the same would be said for someone besides the other. i don't mean harm when i say that i didn't think it'd be this soon, not for her."

"why not for her, distinctly?"

prince donghyuck gives a moment to think of an answer that he knows all too well from being by your side for the good majority of his life, "because she's not one to talk. she prefers to listen." nudging his point along, jeno makes it known, "she talks to me."

"that's how i know you're the one for her." jeno smiles to himself. he lets himself relish in the feeling of your love, even indirectly. his lips stay turned upwards, even when he wills them back down. he can't help but feel a little silly so he disguises his countenance with another question, "did she ask this of you? to come for me?" a question that he already knows the answer to.

"of course," a playful grin spreads with ease across donghyuck's face. he supposes that the taut strings between them have loosened up ever so slightly, either that or the dreariness of traveling for days on end with only each other's company have done the trick, "i'd have never gone out of my way for you." jeno's expression is gruff but his tone is light when he quips back in agreement, "neither would i."

"i'll have you know though, she's beyond excited about the wedding preparations. the coronation as well but i can sense that she's more apprehensive to take the throne so early on. it's a relief to know that you'll be by her side when the time comes."

"as i should be."

"you know, i've heard some rumors about you, just picked them up here and there. and while i have made sure of your sincerity by means of this," he gesticulates, "this trip of ours, i would like to confirm that you're not...after her for the throne, are you?"

"not i, but i wouldn't put it past you to see it as so. much of my family sees her for only her blood," he doesn't bother to palliate the resentment in his expression as he spits out the last half. the other in the conversation is thrown into thought, once again. the moments he gives himself to respond are filled with the sounds of horse hooves fast on the crimpling grass.

"the death of her father, were you aware that it was dawning upon us?" donghyuck airs prudently, "in the assumption that it was of your lineage's doing."

jeno replies dismissively, not in the context that he is avoiding the inquiry, but more so that he found the case scenario obvious, "i was not aware, no. it had certainly been staged so that i could not have been there to prevent it, unfortunately." his eyes slide from the grassy hills ahead to his friend beside him, he lets new information fall from his lips in the face of someone he has come to trust, "i'm also apprehensive about her taking the throne so young, and not because of her duties. i have an inkling that she might be stolen before her throne is."

"another scheme of your parents, the king and queen? or is that past my bounds to be asking?"

the dismissive tone laces his voice again, but only for a few cumulative seconds, "not at all, there are many times a day where even i find it hard to identify as one of them." a turning point is reached where he gazes grows stern and the dismissiveness is replaced with an air of officiality, "but yes, i believe it to be one of their schemes to place a crown atop my head."

donghyuck considers jeno's words with heavy thought and a heavily-ladened question, "would you take it if it was offered?" he takes his answer with an equally heavy understanding.

"at the cost of her, i would give it up in a heartbeat."

you've lost count of the nights you've spent staring at the same ceiling you were faced with now. even turning onto your sides you know that you'll be met with all too familiar scenes. your mind, instead of relenting to the rest it needs, replays the same track over and over of prince jeno asking for you not to stay up too late, ironic in the sense that that's simultaneously exactly what you've succumbed to. you miss the way his locks bunch in between your fingers, something you haven't quite grasped the reasonings behind your liking of. it's just hair, but it being his hair supposedly makes all the difference. would it be foolish for you to be thinking of his hair when he might as well be taking his last breaths in the same second? there wouldn't be a way to know, the wall that you've encountered each time you venture down the glum alleyways of 'what if.'

"acceptance disempowers fear, darkness, shame." (my co--star day at a glance 1119).

you wallow in acceptance because the fear, the darkness, the shame stands too tall against your thin spears of hope. they've dwindled with each day that you've spent circulating between those three emotions in a hopeless and never-ending circle of self-induced torture. somewhere in between your fourth and fifth hour of intermittent lapses between sleep and wakeful exhaustion, the inner door of your chamber is burst open and you swear under your breath. murder is in the night.

or rather, it's your lady-in-waiting, her eyes bugged out and a coat haphazardly thrown over her nightgown. "your highness!" that's when you see the smile on her face, that's when a similar one begins to light your own. "the guards down in the valley, they say they've seen them!"

legs kicking up the blankets that hold you down, you scramble out of bed, even slipping on a coat is deemed too much a time-consuming task when the raptures that have enveloped you for the past weeks are now coming to a close. your fingers barely catch onto the door frame just as you skid out, peering back in to get another word for your maid, "them, them as in two. both lively and well?"

"i've been told of two men, both on horseback."

a grin splits your cheeks wide as your bare feet clap down hard on the frigid marble flooring. it echoes unlike the sound of your nightgown flitting between your form with each step, the whistling of wind curling your insides with warmth and joy. your heart sings like a village girl, whose love has just returned safe from the battling seas. perhaps you were a juliet, in the pretense that 'star-crossed' meant that you and him were written in the stars, not torn apart by them. your lungs welcome the morning air as you inhale as much as you can, replenishing the depths of your spirit, invigorating you down to each cell that you were built of.

the guard at the foot of the steps implores you not to go any further, the crisp winds that sift through the orchard would be far too dangerous with how little you are wearing. he sends for your lady-in-waiting, who had just arrived behind you, panting with all her might, to head back in to retrieve a coat or two for you. you tell her to take her time.

you're on your knees weeping when they come into view, the sight is unsuitable for the weak-hearted. head in your hands, you're making frantic motions to swipe away the furious tears that trace down your cheeks when the soiled dust from a sudden break of hooves lifts into the air before you. prince jeno dismounts as if it were his life's duty, his strides are long, as they have always been, and when he takes you in his arms, collecting your listless limbs and wearied bones in place, you find home within his embrace.

at the crack of dawn, on the bottom steps of the northern palace, a man clad in plain white and a woman in a silk nightgown rejoice in the name of love. his fingers never let the goosebumps on your skin stay for as long as he smoothes them over, you are absent of the wintry weather on your bare skin. at the crack of dawn, on the bottom steps of the northern palace, the up and coming king and queen of the northern kingdom rejoice in the names of each other, alive and so, so full of life.

you're looking up in curiosity at him as he crosses the room to the side of the bed, opposite of yours. jeno has a book in his hand, and rather than looking at you, his sights are on the pages, a finger skimming along with his eyes. he's by your side when he looks up, satisfied, "i brought something to read to you, love."

your eyes sparkle in the moonlight that slips undisturbed through your open balcony doors, "and what might it be?"

"you'll know when you hear, i assure you." he extends an arm and your back is pressed against his chest without a question, his arms encircling your frame, both hands converging to hold the book in front of the two of you. he spoke the truth when he said you'd recognize it. a smile makes its way to your face before you can even take notice. and when you do indeed notice, you mouth the words along with his voice.

“i will love you if i never see you again, and i will love you if i see you every tuesday. i will love you as the starfish loves a coral reef and as kudzu loves trees, even if the oceans turn to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest without anyone around to hear them. i will love you as the pesto loves the fettuccini and as the horseradish loves the miyagi, and the pepperoni loves the pizza. i will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of the vulture. i will love you as the doctor loves his sickest patient and a lake loves its thirstiest swimmer. i will love you as the beard loves the chin, and the crumbs love the beard, and the damp napkin loves the crumbs, and the precious document loves the dampness of the napkin, and the squinting eye of the reader loves the smudged document, and the tears of sadness love the squinting eye as it misreads what is written.

i will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. i will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp…i will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. i will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. i will love you until every fire is extinguished and rebuilt from the handsomest and most susceptible of woods. i will love you until the bird hates a nest and the worm hates an apple. i will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close…i will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, i will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory. i will love you no matter where you go and who you see, i will love you if you don’t marry me. i will love you if you marry someone else–and i will love you if you never marry at all, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all. that is how i will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.”

(Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters)

the book is discarded, but unforgotten, to the side when the curtains are pulled back. the moon is at its height. renjun has a lot of work to do.

the scene is as expected, the princess, inseparable from her prince is on the bed and clasped on all sides by his form. he regrets that he did not have the guts to ask for the murder of them both. his orders strictly called for the death of one, a much more tedious task when a possible witness, such as the prince, could hold a hefty punishment over his head if he were to be caught. renjun knows that isn't likely to begin with.

his first mistake is waking the prince. perhaps going in for a knife to the heart was the most efficient but the least accessible, seeing as the man clung to you like no other. renjun doesn't bother hiding though he knows his face covering and hood aren't enough to cover his unmistakable stature. the prince charges at him once he's gained a sense of his surroundings. renjun dodges his sleepful fit easily and uses this opportunity to strike at you. a quick blow to the side should do enough damage for his job to be considered completed.

his second mistake is misconstruing the sheer amount of power the prince possesses. in truth, the prince does not know himself, especially if that power is being drawn by the prospects regarding your safety and wellbeing. renjun is pulled back with veined arms that encase as if to wrestle him into surrender. he's experienced enough to worm his way out and to position himself opposite of the bed where you're now beginning to stir from all the commotion, the prince standing in front of him, shaking his head in disgruntledness as he tries to fight off the waves of post-awakening exhaustion and strain.

renjun knows a lot of things. he knows much about caged animals, he knows even more about greedy men, specifically greedy and powerful men, he knows of hierarchies and classes and exactly how to get what he wants from them, but in this moment, he knows nothing more than the fact that prince jeno will duck. and that he will regret.

when one is young and naive and still in the belief that their blanket will shield them from the monsters in the dark, they simply disregard that it will not. the flimsy, flimsy blanket, made of nothing more than woven, and likely processed, fabrics will do nothing against the demons that await, under your bed, in your shadows, from your ceiling. you are not young, nor are you naive, and it's in your understanding that these demons, they are a breed of sorts, fallen angels. perhaps, you will never understand. and in their line of work, they have never halted at the sight of a blanket. you toss it aside and you charge even as your prospects of living dim as the dagger parts the air, the air that scampers away and leaves an open trail for the dagger to the dead center of your abdomen, the very spot your father had been punctured with.

there is a part of renjun that wishes he missed.

the man in the moon frowns as the beams that foam and froth and bubble behind him are poured down from the heavens onto the west wing of the palace solely, the west-facing windows, a specific west-facing, wrought iron traced door that gives into the expanse of your room, your bed. it illuminates you, it bares its shine upon you, unabashedly, unashamedly. and it is also the sole reason jeno can see, with such clarity, the shank that slits your silk nightgown with ease, that embeds itself within your now-withering body, that in turn, makes his blood run cold.

renjun is long gone when jeno begins his cry for help. there are guards just outside but it would take a miracle for a medic to arrive before you bleed out your internal organs completely. the white of your sheets is stained with your blood, the strands of your hair are strung together with the stickiness of the substance, jeno's hands, the beds of his fingernails are deluged in the blood that spurts from where he is desperately trying to press down on. the hole in your front gushes with each breath you take and jeno could only wish that he could breathe for you, in your stead.

prince jeno cries, in the most literal and figurative senses, for help, for someone to wipe away his tears and to tell him that you're alright. to shake him awake as he dissolves further into the abyss of his fears. to kneel by his bedside and tell him that it was all a nightmare, that you're fine, really, that you've just gone to get a cup of earl grey with honey, that when you come back, there will be no dagger struck between your intestines and no red staining your nightgown. lee jeno cries because as time drags, and the guards that scramble about, fruitlessly counting on a distant and frankly unprepared medic, you are in his arms taking your last breaths.

"acceptance disempowers fear, darkness, shame."

and so he accepts.

volume five, the final installment: heaven belongs to you will be updated whenever the author sees fit.

✧ end note — i hope this piece brought back some cherished memories of 'a series of unfortunate events,' personally, such a great memory of my childhood, reading-wise. i say this a lot but, this has got to be one of my most favorite things i've ever written. i think i did quite well with this. it makes me happy. i hope it made you happy, i love you, have a nice day.

#nct fics #nct jeno #lee jeno #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno fics #jeno x reader #lee jeno fics #lee jeno angst #nct scenarios #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

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tarklesbehindthescenes · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Could I request G1!Soundwave/Cosmos either meeting or having a cute date, possibly stargazing? I’m not sure how much detail you would like, or if this is enough? But free reign for wherever your muse takes you!

Hoo boy, this was a tricky one. This is another ship I have never written for and I had to do a bit of research. I hope this is what you were looking for!

Word count capped at 928.

Cosmos zipped through the night sky, humming a happy little tune to himself as he went. He’d planned this night with Soundwave a week in advance and he wasn’t about to let anything get in the way, Autobot duties be damned. This was a rare opportunity to catch a sight as beautiful as what phenomena was about to hit Earth. The Autobots could deal with not having the regular reports for one night. Like anyone but Prowl would notice.

He was nearly to the place that he had agreed to meet Soundwave at. A cozy little roll of grassy hills in the upper midwest of the US. The little UFO checked the clock built into his visor. Nearly midnight. Almost show time. He hoped Soundwave was there already. He’d hate for his courted to miss out on the beginning of the show. Upon reaching the designated meeting place, Cosmos transformed and landed on the tallest hill, then looked around. Soundwave wasn’t there yet. Anxiously, he tapped his fingers together and waited.

Soundwave wouldn’t be late. It wasn’t like him. But what if something came up and he was? Or worse, he wasn’t able to make it at all? Sure, he could commit the experience to memory and let Soundwave watch it through his mind next time they met, but that wasn’t the same type of experience. A soft thud from behind him broke the nervous thoughts and made him turn to see Soundwave approaching him.

“Am I late?” He asked.

“No!” Cosmos assured hastily. “You’re just in time! Boy, but you sure had me worried.”

“I would have arrived sooner, but I had a difficult time convincing Frenzy and Rumble to sleep outside of my compartment tonight.” The communications officer glanced around curiously before redirecting his gaze back to Cosmos. “What is the plan for the evening?” He queried.

“Ah, well!” Cosmos gestured to the ground next to him, his spark pulsing with anticipation. ‘Butterflies in his stomach’ as humans would say. “If you’ll have a seat beside me? The show is about to start.”

Soundwave tilted his head slightly, but took a seat beside him as requested. He made himself comfortable as Cosmos joined him on the grass. The minibot checked the time again. A few minutes past midnight. Any moment now.

“You are nervous,” he observed.

Cosmos looked to Soundwave with surprise. It was always a little jarring that his courted could read his emotions so easily. That said, he had given Soundwave permission to use the powers that allowed him to do so, so he could hardly complain. “Maybe just a bit,” he admitted. “I’ve just been really excited for tonight.”

Soundwave took a breath as if to say something in return, only to hold that thought when a sudden bright light appeared in the sky, drawing his and Cosmos’ attention to it. They both widened their optics and made quiet sounds of wonder and awe as they took in the large curtains of dancing lights high above them. It was gorgeous. And unexpected. Who knew the Earth’s sky could hold such beauty like this? This was better than that human source described them to be.

“This is a sight to behold… Heavenly…” Soundwave whispered. “I’m trying to think of a song that could capture the beauty of this phenomenon…”

The minibot slowly turned his head toward the tape deck without taking his gaze off of the lights before finally being able to wrench it away to look to his courted. He was glad he managed to do so, else he would have missed out on the magnificence beside him. The bright greens and blues cast their light down on the bots below, making them glow with a radiance they didn’t usually have. Cosmos felt himself melt at the sight that Soundwave had become. He always looked stunning to the little UFO, but this. The lights dancing and decorating Soundwave’s armor. And though the communications officer still had his mask and visor in front of his face, Cosmos could just picture the look of amazement on his facial features beneath.

Primus, Soundwave was so beautiful… Cosmos couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have landed himself in a relationship with this mech. He really hoped the Decepticon would never wisen up and go for someone bigger than him. Better at fighting. More capable at protecting him. The little mech slowly moved his hand to rest over Soundwave’s gingerly, and was surprised when the Decepticon shifted his hand to grasp Cosmos’ firmly in return.

Soundwave left his visor down, but parted his mask and turned his head to look at his courted. A fond smile formed across his lips. “I am glad I did not miss out on this opportunity to be with you, little Cosmos. I will commit this to memory so I can look back on it again and again.”

Cosmos returned the look and shifted closer to lean against the tape deck’s side. “I’m so glad you like it. That you’re here with me…” He felt Soundwave shift to a lying down position and followed suit, only to have the larger mech pull him into a cuddle. The two gave each other a little nuzzle before turning their gazes back up to the curtains of light above. And then Soundwave finally thought of a song and began softly humming it aloud for them. If only the two of them could stay like this. Happy and away from the war. But for now, this temporary escape would have to do.

The night carried on.

#Requests #Asks #Soundwave/Cosmos #Coswave #Soundwave #Cosmos #G1 #Transformers #maccadam #Is this alright?

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highordinal · 4 years ago

Text

When a Man Dies, It All but Fades to Black

“Give me the scythe.”

Kayn raised a brow as Jarvan stepped forward, the emperor’s arm extended outward. Although he didn’t feel threatened, he simply rolled his eyes; what a ludicrous request from the other. Now where had he heard this line before? Ah, yes, with Nakuri when his mind was clouded by Rhaast’s false promises. With the Syndicate that were lured in by the entity’s calls.

He had heard this all before but for someone so pure of heart, someone who cared not for the domination of the galaxy, someone like Jarvan, to demand this wretched steel from him… He must admit, he was taken aback. It was concerning and it left the Ordinal a little miffed. Had Rhaast been gossiping behind his back? Fraternizing with those around him and feeding them lies? It was impossible, with how loud and brash the dark star was, Kayn would have heard it.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, your majesty.” The Ordinal finally stated with a slight upturn of his lips; his voice shrouded in its usual sarcastic tone.

Rhaast screamed in the back of his mind, threatening him with a fate worse than death if he relinquished him to the emperor. Ah, so the demon wasn’t playing his usual tricks then? So then why was Jarvan so intent on obtaining the scythe? So many possibilities to ponder, but not enough time to narrow down any suspicions. As much as he respected his emperor, there was no way his naïve mind would have picked up on his little escapades throughout the galaxy. His tracks were covered flawlessly, those who dared to spill his secret were dealt with swiftly. He had put precautionary measures in place after every step he took, always making sure he had an alibi or a plan B.

“Kayn.” Jarvan’s tone became darker. “I will not ask again. Give me the scythe.”

Hm? Oh, right, his emperor was demanding something from him. With a dramatic sigh the Ordinal placed his hands on his hips, glancing off to the side. “As much as I would love to indulge your request, my emperor, I’m afraid I simply cannot deliver.”

The brunette’s frown deepened, azure eyes narrowing at his subordinates' defiance. He huffed before taking his polearm and slamming its end onto the metallic floors. A loud clang resonated through the room, afterwards the doors to the chamber were pushed open and a line of soldiers streamed in, cutting off any means of escape. After them a familiar, colorful crew stepped into the chamber, causing a momentary look of shock across the soldier's features.

A smile spread onto the Ordinal’s face, a curt laugh he couldn’t control passing his lips as he turned to look over his shoulder. “You called my own men on me?” He acknowledged in disbelief, golden irises trailing back towards the royal. “And you even sought aid from Demaxia’s wanted fugitives?”

“You left me with little choice.” Jarvan answered, earning a scoff from his friend. “This hurts me more than you would know, Shieda-”

“Oh?” The soldier cut in, turning to gaze at each of his men, “You call me in here under the false pretenses of friendship, demand I hand over my weapons, and then you cage me like a deranged beast using my own soldiers? Oh Jarvan,” He sounded amused, “You truly know how to break a man’s heart.”

“Enough!” The emperor shouted. “You have abused my trust for years, and it all started with that damned scythe. If you do not wish to lose your station, and by extension your reputation, you will hand over that weapon.”

“Reputation.” Shieda echoed, “As if something like that matters to me anymore. I’ve sacrificed everything I’ve worked toward to keep this weapon out of the hands of those that would use it for evil, and frankly I think I’m doing a rather swell job-”

“You think killing innocent people and harvesting their Ora is a swell job!?” Jarvan finally snapped, taking several steps forward. “You have done nothing but commit heinous deeds behind my back, hiding behind the excuse that it was in the name of the royal family! I never permitted such deeds and yet- yet you hid behind my name and tarnished Demaxia’s image!”

The Ordinal twitched, anger swelling in his chest. “Nothing? You say I’ve done nothing? While you sat there looking all pretty on your golden throne I was the only one scouring the galaxy doing your bidding! I conquered for you, negotiated for you, killed for you, and you say I’ve done nothing!?” His throat was hoarse with raw emotion, his shouts straining his vocal cords as he seethed in anger. “That blood is on my hands, not yours.”

“No.” Jarvan hissed through clenched teeth, “You wanted domination. I wanted peace. I’ve had enough of this- guards! Reprimand Ordinal Kayn and strip him of his weapons.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, boys. You know full well what I am capable of.” He laughed wickedly as they stalked towards him, “You’re no match for the one who trained you.”

Kayn watched as they continued to advance forward, their weapons drawn, beginning to circle him as if he were an animal. And perhaps they were right. A primal urge to kill awakened within, one hand reaching up to draw the scythe sitting snugly against his back. Rhaast hungered for rendered flesh, something the ordinal was all too willing to provide.

“Oh, Rhaast.” He sang sweetly, “It’s time to play.”

“Yeeeess…”

A low rumbling shook the room; frantic eyes darting around the space in confusion and fear. Jarvan yelled over the commotion and readied his weapon, quickly closing the gap between himself and the Ordinal. There was no use in hiding Rhaast’s sentience now, and so he decided to embrace it.

Hearing the clanking of armor behind him, Kayn dropped low just in time to dodge the emperor's spear. He deftly kicked the royal’s feet from under him, watching as the bigger man stumbled to the floor, barely able to catch himself. As the soldiers began closing in all around, the Ordinal jumped back to his feet and raised Rhaast, swinging the neon blade in a wide arc. Those who blocked the attack were pushed back, those who didn’t had a nice new gash across their chest.

It was at this time that he noticed the crew of the Morningstar begin to act, Captain Yasuo unsheathing his blade, the crazy girl pulling out a plethora of guns. He sneered at them before turning his attention back to the fight.

One by one they got up and charged him again, only to be knocked back down into pools of their own blood. A few of them managed to get a few lucky hits in on the Ordinal, but those were nothing but minor scratches that healed up instantaneously due to the Ora running through his veins. He ducked under steel, weaving his way through the men with a grace so deadly they dropped like flies.

As he regained his footing he felt a presence appear beside him, a white blur rushing past. Thinned steel was brought down upon him, giving him mere seconds to react. After dodging the slash, flittering gold locked with the Captain’s hazel irises.

“Lookin’ a little tired there, Ordinal. Might wanna throw in the towel before it's too late.”

Annoyance bubbled within the Ordinal and the Captain smirked, unleashing a flurry of blows before Shieda could put some distance between them. He managed to deflect most of the attacks, however, a well placed strike caught him off guard and he staggered back.

“RAAAAH!”

Kayn’s head shot towards the thundering stomps as Malphite dashed toward him. He cursed under his breath, diving out of the alien’s path. Before he could recover the barrel of a gun was shoved in his face. Looking up he saw the crazy girl tightening her grip around the pistol, an apologetic looking grin on her face as she pulled the trigger.

The Ordinal swiftly evaded the shot, shooting his hand up to grab her wrist. With a tug and a twist she grunted in pain, the gun falling from her fingers. Using his weight he yanked her down, jumping up and spinning around to drive the butt of the scythe hard between her shoulder blades.

“Oh just kill her already!”

Kayn raised Rhaast and readied to strike the ginger and end her pathetic existence.

Seeing his crewmate’s peril, Yasuo maneuvered himself toward the Ordinal and set forth a wall of cyan energy, forcing the man to back off. Kayn ended up being pushed back into a precarious position, yet again surrounded on all sides. He was feeling sluggish, exhaustion starting to lock his limbs into place. He panted heavily, blood and Ora spattered across his uniform. His hair had been cut loose and hung disheveled over his face.

He waited until the foot soldiers pounced before emitting an animalistic snarl and hoisted Rhaast, heavy in his hands, up and tore through his former compatriots. Rhaast reveled in the bloodshed, and for a time Kayn did too, that is, until he saw the faces of his more recognizable men staring in disbelief as their own Ordinal raised his hand against them.

He shook his head, he shouldn’t be thinking of this now, they decided to get in his way so they are to face the consequences. And yet his memories of his time with these soldiers flooded his mind. Images of his senior disciples goofing around during training, taunting their master as they sparred, enjoying the merriment of bonded brothers.

The thought made him hesitate.

Rhaast noticed immediately, “What are you doing, fool!?”

But it was too late, Kayn felt a ripping sensation in his side as Jarvan drove his spear into his flesh. The Ordinal shrieked in pain, twisting partly around and jamming the butt of the scythe against the other’s clavicle. A delightful crunch emitted after it impacted the royal’s body, yet the other stood firm, instead gritting his teeth and leaning all his weight on the Ordinal, driving the spear further in.

“N-No!” He gasped, the searing throb caused one of Kayn’s arms to lose its grip on Rhaast, the weapon clanging against the tile as his now emptied hand came up to try and push Jarvan's off.

Captain Yasuo had strode forward and plunged his blade through the Ordinal’s thigh, rooting him in place, another soldier piercing his other calf. Golden speckled sanguine spilled from his mouth as he watched the soldiers take advantage of this moment of vulnerability. One sprinted forward and slammed his boot against Kayn’s hand, breaking some fingers and knocking Rhaast completely to the floor before they all forced him onto his knees. The others surrounded him, guns aimed directly at his head.

The dark star howled in fury, reverberating on the cold tile as Malphite callously swatted him away from the Ordinal's reach.

Kayn thrashed around as much as he could but the steel only cut further into his skin, drawing more blood which drained his energy further. He was starting to become lightheaded, his breathing becoming ragged and labored, lungs struggling for purchase from the pain.

“Let me go! I’m not done- I’m not-” Fear overtook him as he continued to strain against the emperor's hold, Ora streaming from his eyes and down his cheeks.

“Shieda.” Jarvan pleaded against his ear, “It’s over. It can’t control you anymore-”

“Unhand me! Only I can handle the power that thing wields-!” Kayn protested, his voice shaky as he choked back reddened sobs.

“That thing has killed many of our own and has brainwashed you!”

“No!” Kayn screeched, “With the voice of Ora we can become unstoppable! Finally the Empire will have the strength to carry out what it’s always dreamed of-”

“Listen to yourself Shieda!” Jarvan cut him off, desperation evident in his tone, “It has blinded you with delusions of grandeur- the Empire doesn't need that power, you don’t need that power.”

The emperor freed one of his arms and slowly wrapped it around his old friend, pulling Kayn’s back flush against his chest. “Please… It’s over…”

When a man dies, it all but fades to black. But when someone like him succumbs to fate, why does he see gold? It’s dull, unimpressive and looks worthless, but it’s gold none the less. The excess Ora pulsating through his veins- he watches as it trickles down his skin from open wounds. All that hard work was wasting away, all those souls he’d collected scattering back to the earth. Rhaast had even gone quiet, stewing in his own frustration for having entrusted his life to such a feeble mortal.

“Why did you stop me?” He asks, voice low and raspy. He began to shake, the Ora withdrawing from his system so quickly he body couldn’t keep up. He leaned his head back against Jarvan’s shoulder, lolling his head slightly to look into his eyes. His injuries were numb, head dizzy and vision unfocused. “I finally had the strength to give you everything.”

“Shieda…” The royal’s face twisted in pain, “The day you became Ordinal and stood at my side- that was when I realized I did not need anything more.”

Kayn’s body went slack at his words. The soldiers backed off and watched as their emperor cradled their Ordinal in his arms, slowly removing the spear protruding through his flesh.

“You will live, Shieda,” Jarvan demanded, “We will destroy that scythe and you will live. We will make the Empire prosper through our own means, not that of monsters.”

Live. Prosper. No, not any longer. He had thrown all that away in the pursuit of power, and now he lays incapacitated before his men who have lost all respect for him. Everything he had worked for, his station, his pride, gone in the blink of an eye. It was a risk he took and it backfired. Surely Rhaast blamed him for being unable to fulfill his side of the deal, and surely his emperor held some resentment for his actions. His plans were put to a stop before they ever truly began- how humiliating.

“Live.” The word tasted bitter on his tongue, “And what could I possibly live for now?” His words were hollow, devoid of fire.

Jarvan stayed silent for a moment, hands pressing hard against the gaping wounds in the other’s side. “We will find a reason together, but for now, live for me.”

All the Ordinal could do was scoff before his vision became spotty and he was forced to shut his eyes. The sounds of shuffling feet filled the room as soldiers filtered in and out, medics being called and special units moving to carefully collect the cosmic weapon. At some point he was removed from the emperor's warmth and onto a stretcher, but his body shut down before he could comprehend any more.

His vision faded to black, but it was not the reaper he saw on the other end. No, He was still so stubbornly alive, denied the sweet release of death and forced to live among his sins. He didn’t want that, and yet when an angel bathed in light extended their hand towards him, he foolishly took it.

When their hands touched, his eyes fluttered open and he was greeted by a blindingly white room. He felt a hand clasped over his own, a welcomed warmth contrasting heavily from the plethora of frigid needles piercing his skin, syphoning out the extra Ora in his body.

A muffled voice spoke beside him, although he was unsure if it was addressing him or not. Blurry shapes passed his view, coming closer for a moment before disappearing again. As his eyes adjusted to the light, a figure came into his line of sight, Jarvan, who sat loyally at his bedside with a gentle smile.

“Shieda.” The other said his name so sweetly, so full of relief that his heart throbbed, “Good morning.”

The Ordinal exhaled slowly, careful not to aggravate any of his wounds and reached a bandaged hand up before resting it against Jarvan’s cheek. No more words were said, just tired eyes coming to a silent understanding. He might never be granted the title of Ordinal ever again, but knowing Jarvan's generosity he still may be permitted to advise on the sidelines. Even so, he wouldn’t be permitted to do that so soon.

It would take time to heal, and probably months of therapy and reflection, but it would happen. Slowly but surely it would happen, and as his emperor demanded, he would live. No matter how much he struggled and protested, he would live.

#drabble #tw: blood #tw: fighting #can you imagine not posting for 2 years #and then getting the inspiration to finish a draft #this isnt a comeback or anything i still barely have time for this anymore #i just wanted to write this and share it

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realityhelixcreates · 4 years ago

Text

Lasabrjotr Chapter 73: Teal

Chapters: 73/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: R

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Mentions of Sexual Activity, NSFW, Starting to Bring Some Threads Together

Summary: Asgard honors the giant as best it can. You continue to dream

The weather turned worse on the way back, until even the well maintained Ring Road was scarcely visible. Eventually, Loki pulled you up into his saddle on Leynarodd's back, seating you flush with his body, and wrapping his back-up cloak around you.

“I will keep you as warm as I may.” He breathed into your ear. “Would it help if I were to whisper lewd and wicked things to you?”

You giggled, but shook your head. “Just cuddle. I want to go to sleep.”

And so, he wrapped his arms around you as well, and let you doze.

Your arrival was heralded with a celebration that woke you with instruments and shouting. You moved back to Acorn as the procession moved through the city, and, still drowsy, participated in a great feast thrown in the giant's honor.

This was a part of Asgardian funerary customs, as taught to you by Saga. The burial honored the dead's body, and the feast honored the dead's spirit. Normally, the revelers told stories of the dead's deeds during life, but no one knew the giant, so instead extolled the accomplishments of all Jotun, across the ages.

You didn't have any such stories, so you listened and ate, as Bogljot described being defeated in a contest of speed by the Forest Giant, Hyrrokkin, as the normally quiet Heimdall sang praises to his many 'mothers', as an older Asgardian you didn't know described the great mountain kingdom of Utgardaloki, for whom Loki was named.

It was dark yet again by the time the feast ended, and Loki led you, stumbling and tipsy on cider, back to his bedroom. He carefully divested you of your armor, stripped every last garment from you, and sat you down on your chair beneath the sunlamp. As the light warmed your skin, Loki also shucked his own clothing, and sat down at your feet. The two of you spent an hour under the warm lamp, Loki reading you various examples of Earth poetry he thought you would like, or resting his head in your lap and letting you toy with his hair.

Finally, when fatigue had clearly caught all the way up with you, Loki turned out the light, and carried you off to bed, where he made love to you until you could no longer keep your eyes open. When you drifted away, it was on a cloud of warm bliss.

******

You found yourself in the glory of open space once more buoyed by sparkling blue light. It came from a gem that you could see now, flying before you like a comet, with yourself gliding along in its glowing tail. You started to reach out for the glittering object once more, but pulled your hand back, vaguely remembering something that put you off of grabbing it. Thoughts echoed within your blood, concepts resolving themselves into impressions in your mind.

You are learning me. Learn me. Learn more.

How? You thought. What are you?

A swirl of something. A blur of light, a different 'texture' than the blue.

Green.

Your right hand itched.

Learn me! Learn me! There is so much of me! Look! See!

Your world jittered, like a heartbeat slightly out of rhythm. With the suddenness of a drop of water in a still pool, the space around you rippled unexpectedly, folded in around you, and instead of nowhere, you were Somewhere.

A world full of green-skinned, red-haired people, thriving, but confused. A woman walked the streets crying out what you assumed to be a girl's name.

Titan, with its orange skies, empty, ruined. A ghost town of a planet.

Earth, running through frigid winds. Other humans ran beside you, dressed for a time long since passed. Frost Giants pursued, driving terror, like dogs, at your heels.

A woman, bald and elegantly androgynous, in flowing robes and surrounded by nothingness. She looked at you with pity, with eyes that pierced right through you.

“You are not ready for what is happening.” She said. “And I am not in a position to help.”

A severed head, the size of a small moon, floating through space. There were lights, cities built upon it, within it. You recoiled in horror, but as you watched, the cities shrank; went dark. The head floated backward, back and back. You blinked, and it was reattached to an impossibly gargantuan body. Another blink and the colossal being orbited a young sun, along with a haphazard belt of asteroids. You watched as they grasped one of the largest of them, and sundered it over their knee.

Wiping the newly exposed surface clean, the being stared out into a space that was dark and sparsely decorated with stars. Then, with fingertips each stained a different color, they grasped the asteroid and began to draw.

******

You awoke, brimming with the feeling that something important had happened while you slept, but couldn't quite pinpoint where that energy was coming from. There was something you felt the need to do, something you couldn't put a name to.

You could barely sit still under your sunlamp, wolfing down your oatmeal and dried fruit. Loki couldn't help but to comment on your increased energy. A wink and a suggestive comment, and you had him back in bed, hands on his chest, riding him for all he was worth.

You sure didn't hear him arguing.

When the two of you were finally presentable, scrubbed and dressed and fed, you took to the halls with your sunlamp in tow. Loki had some meetings to attend today; some job disputes that had come up recently. You had your classes with Saga. A light squeeze of the hand, and you parted ways.

The snow had continued through the night, piling up high against the windows. Reconstruction of your room had been forced to a halt, and all of your things had been moved, either to storage or to Loki's room. The caterpillar in a jar had become a chrysalis in a jar, but the butterfly had not emerged yet. It was possible that the cooler temperatures and lack of light had put it into some kind of stasis: unusual, but not unheard of.

It was still frightening to think that you had caused all that destruction, just because of a dream you couldn't even remember. What if you did that while Loki slept beside you?

There were far more people indoors now that winter had come, doing what Loki had described as their 'real' jobs, weavers and seamstresses, scribes, engineers, jewelers, and so many painters. In every hallway and alcove there was someone with a palette, someone with a pencil, someone carving the plaster into delicate ribbons and knots. Some of them told you they were trying to recreate murals from old Asgard. Others seemed to be trying a new take on their history. Others were focusing on more recent events.

As you walked through the halls, you saw heavily formulaic paintings of what must have been Odin and Frigga, Bor and the terrifying Hela, Heimdall, Thor, and Loki, and many others you didn't recognize. There were battles, and peace treaties, Vanir, Alfar, and Jotnar, There was Njord, Freya, and Freyr, whom you stopped and stared at for a few moments before shaking yourself free.

There were also events and vistas in a different style, some of which must have been pulled directly from the painters own memories. Soaring golden buildings and busy streets, folk dances and blacksmiths forging swords. A riot of berserkers clashing their metal staves, the view of a waterfall ocean.

There were Svartalfari in the great halls, Heimdall destroying a strange vehicle, portals to all of the realms circling each other. There was Frigga, standing tall, holding a sword over her head. There was Frigga, lying in a boat, surrounded by golden light. There was a sparkling red jewel, hanging over the head of a woman you realized must be a stylized Dr. Jane Foster. There were the Avengers again, painted in the heroic style of Asgard, haloed like holy beings. Did the Asgardians see them as the pantheon of Earth?

There was the destruction of Asgard. The great Jotun Surtr, the tiny form of Hela brandishing her thorn-like weapons against him in an almost heroic way. There was the enormous wolf Fenris, grappling with the Hulk. The star-filled expanse of space, with their island spaceship carrying them safely to Earth, a beautiful orb, painted as though seen through a window.

There were the mountains and river outside, rendered in such marvelous detail that you recognized the exact place. There were nightscapes of the Northern Lights.

And there was you.

Your little figure, next to Loki, with your flower crown helm. Among the longhouses of Trolerkaerhalla, wearing the cloak of a Seidkona. It was a very strange feeling, to see yourself immortalized like this. The impostor syndrome flared up, heavy and loud. Logically speaking, you had made history. But why should it have been you? Why should any of this be you?

You hurried through the increasingly colorful halls, seeking out the library. There would always be this battle inside you, between acknowledgment that you were deserving of good things, and belief that there were others so much more deserving.

You rushed into the library, with it's nice new door, and set up your sunlamp. Saga handed you your drum. The Valkyries were here, as well as an ancient, wizened woman who had probably been a Seidkona since the Parthenon had been built. She instructed you strictly, but patiently in the primeval rhythm of Seidkona ritual. There was a chant she was teaching you, a mystical affirmation ritual in a bygone dialect of the Asgardian language, so archaic that the meaning of the words were lost even on your venerable teacher. Saga understood them, but since she was not a Seidkona, she was in essence, forbidden from speaking them.

You got the feeling that it annoyed her a bit.

You were walked through the chant, and the drum beat over and over, committing the sounds to memory, like you had for the past few weeks. The only thing you were missing was the very last syllable of the chant, the knowledge of which would only be imparted on you at the eve of the Buridag festival. Before then, you would not be allowed to speak, or even know it, for fear of completing the spell prematurely.

After your lessons, you spent a little bit of time in one of the library's side rooms, where Asgard's salvaged art treasures were kept. Lofn and her twin Sjofn, who were in charge of preservation, display, and upkeep, were both all too happy to educate you on what they were. Sjofn had just finished cleaning and labeling a collection of Nornheim knives, very similar to your own. You could see the shift in shape and handle style that had occurred over the years of war with Asgard.

They were all made of nornbein, with stone handles, though many of them had been engraved with the names of the Asgardians who had claimed them. Yours had not. In comparison, your knife, with its lance-like blade and cylindrical handle, was clearly from the latter period of Nornheim occupation, while the earlier knives were more leaf shaped, with flattened handles. You wondered how many hundreds of years those changes represented, with rock trolls carefully shaping the blades to their preference, and picking their favorite stones; blue and green, gray, violet, white, banded, and your own pink ruby, to carve into handles. Did the color and type mean anything to them, or had it just been personal preference?

These knives all represented Asgardian lineages which had died out, with no one left to inherit the blades. It was a sad collection to look at, as sad as where the knives had come from in the first place.

Lofn had templates from past Asgardian fashion designers, arranged on an enormous poster board, and carefully glued down flat. As you watched, she affixed strange little clip-like devices at all four corners, and at regular intervals along each side.

“They are useful storage and protective devices.” She explained. “We can make them from Midgardian materials too. You see, when activated, they form a protective field.” She tapped each of them in turn, and they lit up, covering the huge poster board in a very slight, almost imperceptible glow.

“It is protected now.” She announced. In a swift and startling movement, she grabbed one of the newly cataloged knives and stabbed the board with a ferocious growl. You jumped back, even as the blade bounced harmlessly off. She laughed as a glaring Sjofn snatched the knife back. “You see? It cannot be harmed. We protect our precious things in this way.”

“It has another use too.” She grasped the edges of the poster board and squeezed them together. To your amazement, the entire thing-easily as wide as you were tall-shrank to the size of a sheet of paper. “Look, do you see?”

She touched the field and it reacted like an electronic tablet, magnifying and moving across parts of the board, so you could see the details up close.

“You see, don't you? You see?” She asked.

Your gaze shifted, away from the fashion poster, away from the knife collection, to a work of art that had caught your attention earlier in the year. An artwork that wore the same preservation devices.

Ymir's Dreamscape.

“You see.” Lofn said.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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snkpolls · 4 years ago

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SnK Chapter 134 Poll Results

The chapter poll closed with 1747 responses. This month’s poll results were brought to you by /u/_Puppet_, /u/berthototototo, /u/staraves and @momtaku.

RATE THE CHAPTER 1,675 Responses

Chapter 134 “Depths of Despair” was another solid chapter with an average rating of 4.52, making it the highest rated chapter of the volume and 15th highest since we started keeping records.

The art was incredible

The best chapter in the volume, bar none.

it was really fucking cool and a definite step up from Chapter 133. This chapter does well to inform you that we *are* at the final battle now, and nothing is stopping this story from crashing to a sudden end pretty damn soon.

This chapter, like every other in the volume, feels like it was stretching. I was actively bored reading it. With so few chapters left, does Isayama really have time to stretch this much? He has so many loose ends to tie up and it's concerning. He obviously wanted a volume cliffhanger with the alliance facing Eren so I hope that his pacing next volume is much tighter because this ain't it, chief

This has easily become one of my favourite chapters in the while manga. [...] Overall, it's as good as 112, 122, 131 and other popular "masterpieces" in my opinion

Bruh I have been waiting for this so long and Isayama fucking DELIVERED. I was so worried with all the build-up and sometimes sloppy pacing that the final Eren vs Alliance showdown wouldn't live up to the hype but NOPE, it was amazing and beyond expectations. The moment where the refugees realize that Paradis forces had come to save them?? Gold. Beautiful. 10/10. Isayama I am sorry for ever doubting you, you are a god and I am thankful for your existence.

Rank this chapter a 5 for the Source of All Organic YEEKS.

Is there any button to press in order to rate this chapter 20/10?

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING WAS YOUR FAVORITE MOMENT? 1,692 Responses

It was a very close race, but “the crowd attempting to save the baby” ultimately came out on top and once again demonstrated the fanbase’s affinity for despair… or was it hope this time? In a close second comes Armin’s cliffhanger question to Eren, third place going to Reiner stomping the Beast Titan, which beat the rumbling scenery across the world by a single vote, which beat seeing the final audio by a single vote. If the extremely close results mean anything, this chapter certainly had something for everyone.

The crowd lifting the baby to safety is an image that will leave a permanent mark on me. I don’t have words to describe that scene.

Honestly, each goddamn panel is impacting, exciting or badass. I love the Historia scene, the chaos and destruction left me speechless, Karina and Mr. Leonhart's reflexion was heartbreaking, as well as the Marleyan general's.

“That Fucking Monkey!”

Reiner Helos was the most hype part of the chapter.

I could never really decide what’s my favorite scene or anything, it’s all just amazing.

as an eren stan it was rly brutal and eye opening to actually see all the innocent people and kids dying, overall it was a great chapter, just very gruesome

Reiners armored body slam and Levi’s monkey comment were best moments. Really appreciated seeing the worlds POV one more time.

I loved Reiner's moment but otherwise boring chapter.

I loved armin in this chapter he finally looks like hes acting as a commander.hopefully we will get more of this.

I love how much of other countries we get to see through rumbling, it helps to show more details for the wolrd building.

I liked Levi calling Zeke a “Big, furry bastard”.

We finally see Eren's new titan for doing something other than moving forward, and the beast titan scene was epic.

i cried when i saw the families saying goodbye. seeing eren as the founding titan hurts too.

Amazing. Literally lost for words. The last panel with Armin was so emotional/amazing. His character growth is phenomenal. Cannot wait for the next one

The tower guard's words were too much but I LOVED the moment with the baby on the cliff. I wasn't expecting something like that.

WHO WAS THIS CHAPTER'S MVP? 1,669 Responses

As well as earning the favorite moment this month, the crowd at the cliffs also scored a collective MVP, showing that teamwork does indeed make the dream work. Closely coming in second is Reiner, no doubt from his valiant attack on the Beast Titan, and in third place is the commander of the alliance, Armin.

ARMIN GOAT

I love reiner so much :D

CHADERENFTW

The final pages just shows why i love Armin so much

Karina's regret was one of best parts of this chapter.

Reiner such a badass.

Wow just wow, the crowd, the alliance with their shit together (for the most part) can’t wait to see how this ends

WE SEE HISTORIA AGAIN! FOR ONE PAGE… THOUGHTS ON HER GOING INTO LABOR? 1,666 Responses

28 months since we last saw Historia in the present time, and now we finally see her again. But is this one page worth the wait? 36.6% are glad that this plot point is finally coming back, 33.1% are glad to see her but wish we’d gotten her side of the story, 12.3% are glad it seems to be a real pregnancy, and 11.6% are done with Isayama’s handling of her in the story.

I thought she was only like five months pregnant.

i hope she survives this :(

I just want this subplot to be over.

It's alright? I still wish she would have joined the scouts in the final battle instead of the pregnancy tho…

I'm so disgusted by the whole Historia situation. The execution of this plot point was abysmal from the beginning and I hate it

None of the above options square with how I feel. Historia's perspective (in addition to Eren's) is being set up as the final "basement"; so while I can see why some are frustrated, it has actually piqued my interest to see where this may end up

EH is endgame

EreHisu would ruin the manga

Each chapter I become increasingly pessimistic about Historia as a character. In the beginning of this chapter when we got the close-up of her eyes as she closed them in pain, I was certain the next page would have her inner monologue as she thought back on how she got into this position. But instead it cuts away, us seeing absolutely nothing from Historia, and I'm back to thinking she really has no agency anymore. Even if she is super important in the ending and a pivotal player in determining the state of the world after the rumbling, it won't be worth what she's been reduced to. To be fair, she was in one scene in Return to Shiganshina, no scenes in Marley arc, and this arc... well, we know how she's been treated. So maybe I should have seen this coming, but it was still disappointing for Isayama to hint that she will have a role this arc like in Uprising arc, only for that to be a breeding machine.

Why Historia was crying when she was having a child?

She finally is realizing the regret of the pregnancy decision and that she once again chose something she didn't necessarily want to do.

her life was always miserable and I don't believe that she will get some ray of light. She was the happiest when she had Ymir by her side. Now, even if she survives and has her child with her, she will always feel the heavy weight of her decision and the blood of millions innocent people will always stay on her hands.

I'm dropping the series after this. It just hurts seeing a queer-coded character like Historia constantly being beaten and reduced to literally nothing. First it was Ymir's death. Then Zeke's plan that involved her having children to be eaten by them (WHY NOT HAVE ZEKE IMPREGNATE WOMEN? WHY MUST IT BE THE QUEER FEMALE CHARACTER?? WHO'S ALSO THE QUEEN?). Then all the talk about her as a mere breeder, as a not-so-walking womb. Then the awful, awful ship-tease with Eren. Then her not opposing Eren's plan?? This is just it. I was holding onto the fake pregnancy, but now I envy the people who dropped the series once they saw the first panel of her pregnant.

I am tired of Tumblr crying over Historia. You are taking this pregnancy plot way too seriously. Newsflash: women don't automatically lose their agency when they get pregnant, kinda problematic of you to think that's what's going on. Historia has a plan and we will hear it

I think this may be a HUGE death flag for her. I mean if he can kill Sasha off with a gun says who histortia can’t be killed off by child birth?

I DONT WANT HER TO DIE

Historia gets what she deserves. She agreed to help Eren and now A LOT of innocent mothers and children is losing their lives in the rumbling. Historia has their blood on her hands and she won't be free from it. I don't feel sorry for her, at all.

If there's any character, besides Eren, who has humanity's blood on their hands, it's Historia, and her labor acting as a prelude to the moment that will decide the fate of humanity is incredibly poetic.

Hisu's baby is definitely having a titan inherited. So someone with titan powers will die in the final battle.

Don’t care about her

Well I guess she aint faking it after all

She's committing to the bit. There's no baby, it's all an act

WHO IS THE FATHER AAAAAAAAAA

Why did she want this child?

...all i can think is why does yams draw mouths/teeth like that? it’s so weird...

WHICH OF THE NEW LOCALS HAVE YOU FOUND MOST INTERESTING? 1,669 Responses

We get to see new corners of the earth… just before seeing them crushed. 37.3% found the cliffside of chaos to be the best, 31.3% enjoyed seeing Onynakopon’s London-esque homeland, and 23.9% enjoyed the scenery of the shrines in what could be Hizuru.

the panel with the people praying in the shrine was amazing also the cliff, these rumbling chapters are really dark yet visually beautiful (maybe I'm sick for finding it beautiful lol). "

The Titans drove Pennywise off that cliff

I really liked how it shows the different places where the rumblings is effecting like the Snk London etc

I’m a little confused about the timeline and placement of the cliffs and where the Titans are. Can someone explain how the Titans were seen pushing people off the cliff sides (also how were so many people herded into the middle of nowhere to be shoved off the cliffs?) and then also seen heading toward the fleeing Eldian/Marleyans? Are those two different places, a montage, etc? Do we suspend some disbelief to take in the apocalyptic scene of people falling from the cliffs into the sea? The opening scenes had me a bit turned around.

These shots where absolute nightmare fuel and they did an amazing job at showing how horrifying this situation is

HOW DO THE DEPICTIONS OF THE RUMBLING IN THIS CHAPTER, INCLUDING THE CROWD HOLDING THE BABY AWAY FROM THE CLIFF, RANK IN TERMS OF DARK MOMENTS INVOLVING CHILDREN? 1,652 Responses

Let’s just rename the series “In the Depths of Despair”. 39.2% think this chapter ranks near the top of the darkest moments in the series, 28.1% think Ymir’s daughters cannibalizing their dead mother is the darkest, while 19.1% hold to the other incredibly dark rumbling chapter we got with Ramzi and Halil.

All are equally dark.

Eternal winner is Udo trampled to death by a crowd while trying to save crushed Zofia

Every scene of children's deaths are all gruesome. Not one tops each other.

the mother throwing her baby away hoping to save them made me feel something and it broke my heart

I didn't think the cliff scene was that dark tbh, it was actually faintly uplifting. Though I also felt that way after reading chapter 131, so maybe I think that about any tragedy Isayama depicts.

Kruger saw his entire Family burn to death

It's a dark moment but I also think it's sort of hopeful, that humanity isn't completely fucked and they're all eager to try save this child rather than let it fall and die.

The entire imagery of masses of people barely hanging for their lives at the edge of a cliff is so abyssmal and daunting. This is seriously peak bleakness SnK. I still can't believe that there are people that support Eren after this.

he opening panels of the Rumbling were some of the most horrifying so far, especially the one with the baby.

This was, to me, possibly the single most powerful moment in the ENTIRE series -- and that's not something I say lightly.

Very little about this manga shocks me anymore. This moment is really no worse or better compared to every other disturbing scene

All the above are horrendous. I cannot choose.

TV Tropes has an entry called Darkness Induced Audience Apathy and that pretty much sums up my feelings at this point. Everything is so unrelentingly bleak and miserable that I’m rapidly losing my ability to care about these characters and what happens to them anymore.

The Rumbling; Yam's biggest middle finger to the world. Can't wait for this shit to end so my life can continue. Forever Yeagerist, because I am free, and Floch did nothing wrong.

THE GENERAL AT FORT SALTA GAVE A SPEECH ABOUT HATE AND MISTAKES, WHAT DID YOU THINK OF IT? 1,663 Responses

In the face of annihilation, the general stationed at Fort Salta has an epiphany on the path that brought everyone there. A solid 60% of respondents thought it was a great speech – it covers perhaps the grandest theme of the final arc of the story and someone needed to hammer home the message. 27.3% liked the message of the speech but thought it was a little too ham-fisted for the moment, but 6.8% just thought it was silly.

The general at Fort Salta’s words were really... desperate. It showed the truth of Eren’s rampage as the founding and I think it showed that Eren was more than what he hoped to become. He shows no pity now: I don’t even think he cares about the 104th and co. anymore. Really dark and I’m living for it.

The parts with no speech was great. Isayama is great with visuals which I love. The Marleyan speech was very cringe unfortunately.

Great to see the world let go of their hatred for the enemy. Still, Eren's stubborn charge is pissing me off!

FUCKING FINALLY. All this bullshit and guilting of the children and Eldians and we finally get SOMEONE owning up that their bigotry is the fucking problem here. And of course, too fucking late. But that seems to be how real history is

Nothing unrealistic about desperate people about to die thinking of second chances.

Great message, but would've meant more if it came from a more significant character such as Magath

Great speech showing that people always have the biggest realization when it's already too late and you can only count on miracles

I think it was honestly fine, but one tiny change could have been made to make it flow more naturally and not be so jarring to so many people: Rather than having the general talk about "us adults", and how "we" used hatred, I think it would have been more natural if he only talked about himself. This is a very common trope in war movies, and we're all capable of reading in between the lines and understanding how what he says applies to the different characters and the world as a whole. For him to point it out for us is a little jarring

hammy, but on theme

I feel like it's isayama's way of forcing his audience to understand his narrative by spelling it out for us. indicating that he has failed as a writer to just make his narrative naturally understood

IF the rumbling get stopped are they gonna still gonna keep their promise

In context it is fine, but I'm cautious about it being the end solution.

It was a desperate man's final words, and it showed.

It was a fitting speech that showed the Marleyans were finally ready to let go of their hatred towards the Eldians. It also felt like last-ditch speech to try to move Eren into reconsidering flattering the whole world with the Rumbling, but knowing Eren, the speech wouldn't sway him at all.

It was way to convenient and unrealistic for the general and the liberio Eldians to realize that they were wrong and I hope they die. That is all.

It was good to see they realized how terrible they were but as a wise man once said... “It’s too laaate to apologiiize. It’s too laaaaaaaate! Ay. Ay. Ay.”

Its good because its shows the message of the series of trying to stop the cycle of hate by either changing our actions or by sacrificing others for the "greater good". Placement is not bad tho, the general is realizing it is the true end

It’s okay, everyone has their own opinion. The general's opinion just happened to be like that.

I understand it, but I’m also bothered by the suggested idea that it took total annihilation to make people decide to finally “be considerate” of each other. It also feels very black and white to me, some of the subtleties of this whole situation was lost I think.

It was a great speech and super satisfying moment to see non-Eldians recognize how they played a part leading up to this, but there's no guarantee there won't be residual hatred for Eldians once all of this is over.

i honestly loved it. i don't mind the cheese one bit

KARINA THINKS BACK TO A YOUNG REINER AND REGRETS HER ACTIONS AS A MOTHER. WHAT DID YOU THINK ABOUT THIS? 1,659 Responses

There are many bad parents in SnK, and Karina has certainly been one of them. The majority of fans accept her seeking redemption, while 25% think it’s too little too late. 20.8% are willing to give her a chance if she proves she means it through her actions.

I liked the moment between Karina and Mr. Leonhardt. Awful parents unite. XD At least they showed a change of heart, even if it was too late.

Felt like she just wanted to live a normal life

Anyways, Karina saved the chapter. We've seen a more logical character evolution than in Annie's father, and at least she got to see Reiner again.

IF the rumbling stopped are they still gonna keep their promise

the attempt to make me feel sympathy for Karina Braun was just obnoxious

Only took advantage of the boy

I’m glad Reiner mom is realizing her mistake of using her son as a tool but there’s not really much she can do.

Fuck Karina in particular.

Am I the only one who thought that Karina and Mr Leonhart looked good together? 😳

WHAT DID KARINA MEAN WHEN SHE SAID THAT SHE USED REINER AS A TOOL OF REVENGE? 1,653 Responses

Karina mentions that she only ever used Reiner as a tool for revenge. 31.1% think he was a tool to use against her former lover, 19.1% think he was primarily a tool for Marley, but 47.9% believe it to be a mix of both purposes.

All of the above and perhaps just a general narcissistic “I’ll show all of you how special I am by proxy of my child. Reiner being a Warrior means I am a Good Mother TM”

Reiner was a tool to make Karina feel like she had worth in a world where everyone, from the man she may have loved to her nation to the rest of the world was telling her she was worthless.

Karina hated Paradis' Eldians for "abandoning" her and the others to the mainland and wanted revenge on them for that.

Clearly revenge on his father and if anyone thinks Karina intended on Reiner being used to get revenge on Paradis is really reaching to villify Karina.

She said it on panel: Why did Karl Fritz leave them in Marley's power?

I believe it's "both of the above", but with the revenge on Paradis being from Karina, not Marley, as an allegory for Reiner's father. She always talks about how Paradis abandoned the Eldians on Marley, and I figured this was her way of expressing the sorrow and anger at Reiner's father for abandoning her and Reiner. So she did believe Paradis were devils who abandoned them, but that was fuelled by her personal issue

I didn’t and still don’t understand what Karina means by revenge.

It was both but also to give herself a higher status given her self-hatred.

WHAT IS THE BEAST TITAN WE SAW? 1,668 Responses

That was unexpected! The Beast Titan showed up, but not in a way we saw anyone predict. A very close tie between it being Zeke’s beast being controlled/manipulated and it being a War Hammer formation created by Eren, with the former just edging out the latter. 14% believe Eren can make titans however he wants via the Founding Titan/paths, and 2.4% think this was just straight up Zeke.

Don’t know, very confused. But whenever I don’t clearly see the eyes of a character, I usually feel like something fishy is going on....

Eren ate zeke and took his power.

Eren using the WHT to generate a Zeke dummy, using Zeke's titan blueprints.

I think he used the Founding Titan powers, not the WH. Ymir/the founding titan is the one that builds the titan forms so I think that makes more sense.

I do believe eren is controlling him since his titan was attached to eren at the neck, and then reiner broke that off.

I think it's Zeke being mind controlled and treated like a puppet by Eren.

I think Zeke is crystalized somewhere in the Founders body and Eren is using him to create a zombie Beast Titan.

It could be Zeke in there, it could be a clone. Nonetheless it's a puppet and he still needs Zeke to do a complete exact rendition.

It took Eren all three powers of the Founder, WHT, and Beast Titan, combined to pull this off. The WHT alone can create anything with hardening but i doubt it could create another titan moving by itself.

It's obviously a War Hammer construct, but I can't stop laughing at the idea that the Alliance don't realise how vastly different he looks. It kind of reminds me of when they would go "There's no opening in the Armored Titan's armor, it's covering everything" even though there's clearly spaces in between where you can see the red muscle

YFW another Beast Titan clone shows up next chapter

if monke isn't a Warhammer construct, where the heck does he get those rocks?

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT EREN SEEMINGLY CONTROLLING THE BEAST? 1,656 Responses

So we’ve discussed what you think the Beast is, now what do fans think of the development from a narrative standpoint? Most fans are happy with this development finding it cool and surprising, with 17.9% being happy just to see monke again. 12.1% feel it’s another ability coming out of nowhere, and 9.4% don’t like Zeke being handled this way. 4.4% think Zeke is in full autonomy, which is somehow 33 more people than when that was an option last question...

ZEKE DEAD IN BEAST TITAN BODY AND EREN CONTROLLING HIM

I just wanna see Zeke :(

I was so happy to finally see Zeke but all along it was just a puppet Beast Titan :(

If Zeke is just going to be a mindless powerup for Eren to keep Levi or Reiner busy, he'd better have been dead. We already had the Warhammer doing that job, why this again?

Tired of the Eren OPness to be honest, its stale and old and overall poorly writter. It's clear from the start Isayama's willing to bend backwards to not only power up Eren randomly but to try and justify everything he does.

THE ALLIANCE CONTINUES TO FOCUS ON ZEKE DESPITE EREN STANDING WITH YMIR IN THE PATHS REALM LAST CHAPTER. WHY HAVE NONE OF THE CHARACTERS MENTIONED HER? 1,650 Responses

Despite us fans freaking out every time we see Ymir, the alliance doesn’t seem to care. 43.9% believe they’ve just been a little too busy to focus on the minutiae of the lore, while 39.5% just have no idea. 11.1% don’t think they saw her standing there in the first place.

Did any of them really know who the little girl was?

Easier to focus on what they know than what they don’t

Do they recognize her! Are they familiar with the iconography of this creation story? Either way, they’re probably at the “Oh look, Eren’s in his child body and standing with a little girl who is the progenitor of our race. This might as well happen.”

I'm pretty sure they at least discussed it and formed a plan in the plane

They don't wanna face the fact they have to kill Eren, plus killing the beast titan may be easier than killing the founding titan

They still are still not as informed of the relationship between Eren and Ymir, their first goal is to rid the connection of royal blood to Eren preventing further destruction

Wait, are you saying we as the readers can see Ymir but the others can't? in that case, Ymir may have appeared multiple times throughout this mess and yet we've only seen her for Ramzi's death and when the alliance were in paths…

Only Eren can see Ymir since he has the founding Titan, as well as Zeke since he has royal blood. The rest can see Eren because he has the founding Titan and is connected to all Eldians and Ackermanns via paths.

seems like they hold Zeke more accountable to the rumbling than Eren himself. Yeah I get it, he's their friend. But fuck that, humanity is at stakes, and when Zeke turned against the warriors, they accepted that they had to kill him, even if they didn't wan't to (especially Pieck), even if he was their comrade and leader, even if they grew up together, because it needed to done.

They’re saving it for when they discuss Levi’s hand

They're like Ramzi -- they have no bloody idea who this loli is.

Nothing to do with the question but I'm bummed the official translation for this image was not "THAT FUCKING MONKEY!" like earlier ones

Alliance are stupid Motherfuckers

THE BLIMPS CERTAINLY TRIED THEIR BEST, HOW WOULD YOU RATE THEIR PERFORMANCE? 1,646 Responses

Surprising no one (except for 5.6% of you from last month who predicted the blimps would deal a decisive blow), Eren tore through the bombing fleet like it was nothing. On a 1-5 scale from “Abysmal” to “They tried their best, okay?”, the plurality of you have decided to lend some sympathy to the squadron, with some erring on the side of neutrality. Low expectations seem to have prevented disappointment, as not many people are criticizing them in the write ins either.

as a WWI nerd I really disappointed by the airship "battle." Isayama has done his research on some aspects of early modern day tech (like the detail on the firearms), but then has the airships dropping what looks like submarine depth charges instead of zeppelin bombs (I was like--why are they dropping oil canisters?!) and then has the airships go down in Hollywood-style explosions from having rocks thrown on them.

WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE PART IN THE PLANE’S ARRIVAL? 1,659 Responses

35.4% of respondents loved Reiner’s dynamic entry, followed by 23.6% of respondents who loved Levi’s war cry of MOONNKEEEE. 17.1% were happy to see the image of Armin leading the charge that we’ve been expecting since hearing that final audio sample. 9.1% embrace the ongoing Avengers theme of everyone jumping into battle at once. 8.3% appreciated Onyankopon’s sweet fighter pilot moves, and 5.2% liked seeing the Eldian evacuees getting a glimmer of hope.

Finally, shoutouts to the handful of people whose favourite moment was Pieck bounding out with the bombs like a happy dog with sausage links.

This chapter was pure adrenaline. The Alliance's entrance in the plane was seriously badass. I can't wait for 135!!

Reiner with the Buddha's Palm. Respect!

I love how Levi is still so focused on killing Monke. Avenge your husband, sweetie.

Armin is finally grabbing Eren by the collar again and I like that. Safe to assume we're going to see more of the Eren vs Armin showdown now. Armin delivered a truly powerful line, "Which part of you is free" and I'm curious how Eren will respond to that

Reiner's transformation is probably my favourite one, and seeing the rest of the alliance jumping down in a tense but at the same time epic scene was priceless.

It was impossible to choose what part of the plane scene was the best, it was *chef's kiss* all of it.

PIECK TRANSFORMED AND GOT THE BOMBS IN THE CART’S MOUTH WITHOUT BLOWING THEM UP. IS THIS UNREALISTIC BASED ON THE WORLD’S RULES TO YOU? 1,602 Responses

Chekhov’s bombs are now in the hands, er, mouth, of Pieck Finger, via grabbing them from the plane and transforming into a titan while holding them. About half of fans had no issue with this, seeing that titan transformations are just summoning flesh around you. 17.5% did think the transformation explosion should have detonated them, and 30% are just wondering how she also managed to perfectly unravel the bombs midair.

Bold of you to imply Isayama cares about physics after the wet gun and the plane being ready in 5 minut... 1 hour excuse me.

Bombs are detonated through fire reacting to the gunpowder right? Do we know that the Titan's 'explosions' are made from fire?

Pieck has probably done this many times before, the cart titan is mainly used as a war mule after all.

She's just very very gentle ok ?

Cart titan has experienced in carrying things in different situations and the explosives shown could be improvised. Also, these types are initiated with fire and will not explode with any impact occurred.

I assumed that she let go of the bombs, transformed, then caught them. This does not bother me in the slightest.

I think it's kinda like Eren with the spoon, the objective was holding it, which is why it wan't damaged when Hanji noticed it. Same thing with Pieck and the explosives.

Rule of Cool, doesn't matter either way to me.

No, Cart Titan is especially a strange titan to begin with and a use for delicate and ambushing situations(read the chapters where Pieck transport Bertold in a barrel before the attack on Paradise)

It's kinda unrealistic, but falling from 50 meters with all your body burned and survive is way worse.

WAS THIS THE START OF REINER’S HELOS MOMENT? 1,615 Responses

Reiner being Helos has been a popular theory for a while, and now he seems to be acting as a hero to those left at Fort Salta. 54.4% believe this is the start of Reiner embodying the idea of Helos, while 12.9% are holding out for if he kills Eren. 27.9% don’t believe Reiner to be connected to Helos in any way.

Appeared as a small hope

Are people really still going on about Helos?

can he kill Eren? If he can, then hes Helos

H E L O S

What is Helos

Half-Eldian, half-Marleyan -- he represents so much more than Helos ever did.

He could be Helos, but I think Armin will be the one to save humanity, but Reiner can join him

I dont really like the whole X is helos thing, reiner definately is acting the part of the hero but i think its more redemption for reiner than trying to be some kimd of savior of humanity and i think that fots his character better.

The real "Helos" is not just Reiner, but the whole alliance.

He going to be Helos not when he kills Eren, but when he makes a sacrifice of some sorts.

He's not Helos, and will never be, but he is definitely a big hope

Who is Helos

Reiner does not deserve to be a ‘Helos’

HELL YEAH REINER

He'll do something sick

Helos was a fake hero, just a mask. Their is no comparison with Reiner's journey to maturity..

I won’t compare him to Helos. But this is sure a hero moment

Captain Suicide to the rescue

I think he’s helos but it’s gonna be armin who saves the day

I’m not sure if he’ll be helos but he’s still going to be essential to the story

Helos was a hollow and fake historical figure made up to push the "Eldians are evil" narrative. Reiner, on the other hand, is someone who was raised with a hatred for Eldians and committed atrocities because of it, but came to face his past actions and save the world as a true hero. Reiner isn't Helos, he's so much better than that.

WITH THE BEAST TITAN THROWING AT THE PLANE AND SKYDIVERS INDISCRIMINATELY, IT SEEMS LIKE EREN IS OK WITH KILLING ANY OF HIS FRIENDS. THOUGHTS? 1,630 Responses

The question of how far Eren would go to achieve his goal of freedom has plagued the community for a while, and this chapter seemingly confirmed his willingness to even kill his friends, as seen by the deadly projectiles that the alliance only narrowly avoided. 61.8% of respondents aren’t surprised by this, despite Armin and Mikasa, who were in the line of fire, being voted as very unlikely for Eren to willingly kill last month. While 16.6% were indeed shocked by this, 19.1% believe this can be explained away by Eren knowing his friends aren’t in any serious danger.

Eren has to kill everybody, the rest of the world and if they don't stop even the alliance. Otherwise this story will be worse then Game of Thrones Season 8.

Scared that eren is fine with killing the friends he wants to protect

ARMIN SEEMS TO RECALL THE 112 CONVERSATION WHEN HE SAYS HE WANTS TO ASK EREN ONE MORE QUESTION HE WON’T LIKE, “WHAT ABOUT YOU IS FREE”. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? 1,636 Responses

Eren’s quest for freedom and Armin’s quest for understanding come to a head in this chapter’s cliffhanger question from the latter: “What about you is free?” More of you think he is still in the reasoning stage (37%) than those who think the question was an affirmation of his determination to say goodbye to his old friend (30.1%). Some of you think the callback to chapter 112 is indicative of Armin believing Eren to be controlled in some way (27.6%).

Armin is trying to manipulate Eren like what he did with Berthold but I think he will 100% fail .

Armin is really being built up here for an amazing redemption. These last three chapters we've seen him carefully being inserted into the pivotal role in the series just like in RtS. I'm 90% confident the biggest plot twist of the entire series is coming, and Armin is the catalyst as he's always been for every amazing moment in the show prior to chapter 91. I think the ending is going to blow everyone out of the water, and that everyone predicting a side to win is missing entirely how the manga will end.

I'm so happy to see that Armin is basically done coddling Erin. He's ready to take him out, especially since he's become the commander

in line with what kenny ackerman said, armin thinks eren is a slave of his own obsession.

Please stop blaming Eren for everything, he needs Help. It makes me sad to see Eren has to face his best friends, and I dont like Armins way of confronting him, it looks like Armin has erased his memory of his best friend…

He's a fucking clown, I can't stand his shit. Still selfishly trying to talk Eren out of it when he's causing the fucking apocalypse and asserted many times that no, he won't stop. Who cares about Eren's vision of freedom when he's killing millions of people ? Just nuke him, you're supposed to be the colossal titan ffs

Their ideas clash at the moment. However, Armin still believes that his friend behaves unnaturally and won't let go until he discovers the truth.

we have continuously witnessed Eren being a hypocrite it makes perfect sense why he would say that

We need Armin's POV to know if he's now fully prepared to kill Eren or not

What I think is that armin might think that eren is being controlled by the attack Titan

Perhaps to get a rise or reaction out of him? Or just a cool way to introduce himself to the conflict!

that seashell fucker joke of a commander still wants to talk rather than kill him when Eren repeatedly made it clear that he won't ever stop the rumbling.

Hoping to see how this ideological conflict between Eren and Armin will end.

THIS CHAPTER HAS AN EMPHASIS ON THE SURVIVAL OF CHILDREN. WHICH ONES DO YOU SEE SURVIVING THIS CONFLICT? 1,649 Responses

This chapter’s repeated motif of humans coming together to save children, especially infants, has been noticed by many. As for what it means for the survival of the ones in this chapter, the majority of readers believe Historia’s child is in the clear (81.4%). The children at the fort appear to have much less of a chance (32.8%), but are believed to be comparatively less doomed than the baby at the cliff (26.1%). On the bright side, only about a hundred of you (7.6%) think they will all perish.

Great chapter showing the contrast between a child being born in Paradis and a child dying on the other side of the world.

Sometimes people will trample each other to escape (as we've seen in Marley), but sometimes through the mindless fear people try and protect a tiny helpless thing for a few moments. Whether the baby lives or not it was amazing imagery.

The crowd trying to save the baby from the cliff as the Wall Titans arrived was very dark, but I still think Ymir's daughters eating their own mother is still the darkest moment in the series involving the children, while the runner-up is Faye's death.

we all theorized that the final panel was Historia's child but maybe it's the baby at the cliff. Eren might actually win and destroy the world, then through the wreckage he approaches the child and picks it up and tells it that's it's free

Cliff baby is toast

While the Rumbling is still as horrible as ever, this time it didn't feel quite as hopeless as when we saw Ramzi and his brother. The baby lifting scene was chilling and yet strangely inspiring.

damn bruh seriously the poor kids

MANY CHARACTERS HAVE BEEN SHOWN TAKING ON THE BLAME FOR THE CURRENT SITUATION, INSTEAD OF POINTING TO EREN. DOES ISAYAMA WANT THE WORLD TO BE AT FAULT INSTEAD OF EREN? 1,636 Responses

With the story presenting us a complicated situation, does Isayama’s approach lead to the wrong conclusions? Almost 70% of fans believe that he wants us to view both parties as at fault for the current situation. About 17% believe the hatred of the world is squarely to blame, while 8.3% think it all lands on Eren for his own actions. 5.3% think Isayama is just really clumsy with his messaging.

this chapter makes you realise that eren is actually at fault. I used to make more excuses for him, but this chapter really sealed the deal for me atleast. No one deserves this pain. It is not marley vs eldians anymore it is everyone vs Eren.

While it makes sense for them to feel regret, I still disagree that its their fault. Like look at Grisha's parents, they didnt do any wrong to deserve this. They just lived their life the way they were told to. Thats why i dislike the argumentations. Most people just were forced to hate someone they never met, so I dont this like the speech that much.

i think isayama states that the alliance is at fault too because they decided to still fight on eren's side until it was already too late and he activated the rumbling. not because they are killing people directly.

while I think that Eren is the main culprit of the Rumbling, true peace cannot be reached if everyone acts all high and mighty ""well, it wasn't MY fault"". After all this, the whole world has to be humble and willing to work together, otherwise it has all been for nothing.

I find it weird everyone (SC, warriors, the world) is blaming themselves for everything and readers are using their pre-death laments as a confirmation that Eren is right/justified. I don't like Eren being portrayed just like the product of his context, especially because he himself deny it and many chapters exist to reforce that (100, 121, 123, 130, 131, etc). I feel nobody is treating Eren as an individual, but as a force of nature coming to punish humanity for their sins. It's uncomfortable, because he's just a person like everybody else and not a god even if he has some god-like powers.

I don’t think the narrative is on eren side, but it also doesn’t absolve the rest of the world, the narrative shows that both sides have good and bad people, innocent and guilty, how each decision affect each character, and what they feel about it all. This story is about a cycle of hate, eldia used titan power to attack the world, then the world revolted and decided to attack eldia, now eldia (eren) attacks the world again, cycles have no end unless someone interrupts it, the question is; What is the most effective way to end this cycle?

Eren already lost. He wanted protect people on Paradis, his friends and Historia but it looks like his actions only have created more sadness and misery. A lot of people on the island died when the walls collapsed and now they most likely will have a civil war. Two of his closest friends are already dead and the rest feels depressed and miserable. The things for Historia don't look good either. Even if he fully rumbles the world, he will never really save anyone.

I think genocide is the solution to stop Racism

AS THE ALLIANCE PREPARES TO FIGHT EREN, ONYANKOPON IS MAKING AN EMERGENCY LANDING WITH THE PLANE. HOW WILL THIS GO? 1,638 Responses

Onyankopon flew the alliance where they needed to go, but the plane’s in trouble and he might be as well! 44.5% think he’s going to die or has already died in a crash, 41.3% think he’ll land with injuries, and 14.2% think he’ll be a-ok and join the onlookers for the battle.

Onyankopon is probably dead but I really hope he’s not.

WHO DO YOU SEE DYING BEFORE THE MANGA ENDS? 1,602 Responses

Going into the final battle, it’s useful to have some data on everybody’s predictions, as well as a follow-up to the same question that was asked for the chapter 127 poll, back in March. The characters who were voted more likely to die than survive are led by Zeke, who has a clear majority (78.1%), followed by Connie (59.8%), Onyankopon (59.2%), Levi (57.5%) and Eren (54.6%). Coming close, but still more likely to survive according to voters, is Pieck (48.9%), Reiner (47.9%) and Yelena (44.9%). Gabi (11.5%), Falco (15.1%), Armin (16.2%) and Historia (17.4%) are expected to make it till the end.

Interestingly, as we approach the end, every single character who was present in the March poll has increased in perceived likelihood of dying. Except for one, Yelena, who dropped 6.6% in votes, perhaps due to her injury rendering her a more sidelined and subdued character. The characters that the fandom changed their mind on the most are Levi (+39.1%), Onyankopon (+37.3%) and Connie (+23.8%). The characters that have remained relatively unchanged include Gabi (+3.5%), Jean (+1%) and Kiyomi (+1%).

if he kills Jean without giving him anything important in the whole arc I'm going feral.

I really hope there’ll be no casualties to any of my favorite characters

IM FUCKING SCARED TO SEE LEVI DIE

i hope reiner didn't die untill the last chap

I sadly think everyone will die besides the main three and levi since he’s an ackerman.

ARMIN, SON, PLEASE DON'T DIE. YOU'RE THE MOST PRECIOUS LITTLE BUNDLE OF HOPE. PLEASE DON'T DIE!! 😭

WE’RE STEALING THIS ONE FROM THE WIKI. ARE YOU MORE EXCITED FOR CHAPTER 135 OR THE SEASON 4 ANIME PREMIERE NEXT MONTH? 1,661 Responses

Monthly waits between chapters are rough, but so are the years between seasons! Luckily we have both with the next chapter and the Final Season coming out within days of each other. 57.9% are more excited for the next chapter following the pretty popular 134, and 42.1% are more excited for the anime to kick off.

FINAL SEASON HYPE LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO

Can't wait to see what will happen 135 and beyond!

I am overall completely hooked on the manga chapters, and I love Eren’s characteristic traits and mental strength. I am really excited on the final season.

can't wait for the final season!! It's going to be EPIC

Super emotional, everything seems to be leading to a tragic crescendo and all of this is going to look bonkers if MAPPA adapts it well for the final season

Incrediblesuperawesomethebestimsohypedineedchapter135

Cant wait for the next chapter and the final season!!

DESCRIBE THE CHAPTER IN ONE WORD 1,181 Responses

The top 5 words used to describe the chapter this month are below. As opposed to the usual superlatives as well as a resurfacing of pain, the standout this month is monke, thanks to Zeke’s return. We seem to be fully done with the recipe shenanigans after a few months.

Amazing [60] Monke [38] Epic [36] Pain [33] Awesome [31]

ISAYAMA RECENTLY ESTIMATED THERE IS 1-2% LEFT OF THE STORY. WHAT CHAPTER DO YOU THINK THE MANGA WILL END AT? 1,657 Responses

At the statue unveiling on November 7th, Isayama dropped another clue in the ever evolving mystery of when this series will end. His new estimate of 1-2% would translate into two more chapters (!). That estimate did little to dissuade our fandom from our most popular choice of 138.

Between Isayama's comments and this chapter, I'm really afraid there's 1 volume left and Isayama might rush everything, thus giving a shitty ending for everyone.

I really hope it doesn’t end at 135, there’s no way Isayama can muster a proper conclusion out of that unless it was all a dream or some dumb shit.

I'm confused as to how there is 1-2% left. Is Isayama really going to make Eren a cold-blooded killer after all the character development, I wonder. Honestly, I constantly feel like it's going to fast and that there are some things that need to go into more detail.

I fear the ending could feel too rushed if it really ends in ~4 chapters from now.

I'm glad we're closer to the ending. I just want to leave this series behind me and never look back again.

idk but i just dont want it to end too fast😭😭😭

WHAT ARE YOU MOST HOPING TO SEE NEXT CHAPTER? 1,657 Responses

The countdown clock is ticking away but there are still plot points to be completed and mysteries to be solved. To kick off what is likely the final volume of this series, nearly half of us hope the focus next month is The Alliance vs Eren (45%). In second place with slightly over 1/5 of the fandom, is interest in Eren POV (21.7%). Falco’s Flying Titan (9.2%), Historia (9.1%) and Zeke (8.1%) fill out the remainder of the pie with the smallest fraction (5.6%) wanting to know what is up with OG Ymir.

I still want to see Eren redeemed and saved, as that felt teased too much. Eren vs Zeke also felt teased too much. I also wanted to see Historia in action again. And how will Annie and Falco fit into the equation? And what of the titan powers? And the aftermath?

Kinda want to see this conversation between Eren and Armin more than anything

I want to see more Mikasa action.

i want armin to shift into the colossal titan and give spider-eren a big smooch on the lips

I personally would like to see Historia's pov because we still haven't gotten it and I want to know if Zeke is actually dead or not

I want to see more of Historia

v excited to see Zeke again, same w historia, hope eren pov is soon, liked seeing more of the world

Has Hajime forgotten Riko or will she have an interesting role in this ending? Can she be the child's mother in the end?

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING PLATFORMS DO YOU USE TO DISCUSS THE SERIES? 1,562 Responses

It’s official, after months of steady growth since we allowed multiple social media to be chosen, twitter has finally dethroned reddit on the polls as the most popular platform to discuss SNK. The more distant third place goes to real life, which managed to overtake discord again after falling behind a little last month. And 38 snapchatters now! Are you multiplying?!

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE CHAPTER? 479 Responses

this chapter got me fucked up.

Isayama: Hold my plum wine.

I haven’t seen anyone talk about it yet but in one of the manga panel you can see levi holding his sword in his way as if he had all his fingers back. So I think he does.

Save for chapters 130-131, the manga has been noticeably become underwhelming since 124. Like I implied above, there are many hints that this manga is going to have a GOT season 8 tier ending. Eren will be defeated and all the hate in the world will magically disappear. There will be some sort of unity between Marley and Cringevengers that brings peace to the world even though it shouldn't realistically be possible. And lastly, that baby near the cliff will end up living at the last moment and will end up being the baby from the final panel. "You are free", most likely being held by Armin or Reiner.

Go get him, Armin!

ALLIANCE HAS ME SO HYPED BYE

I wish it were longer but no thoughts my heart is heavy

I know Eren wants to destroy the world but HOLY FUCK.

I just, really hope that baby will be ok

I LOVED EVERY PANEL !!!!! I WAS FILLED WITH EMOTIONS WHILST READING 😭😭😭

I’m just really excited to see what’s gonna happen on the next chapter because everything is really chaotic and I’m just curious what’s the ending really like after years of making up theories and stories in my head.

I’m just so ready to see what’s really going on with Eren and which side will win. Also Armin is amazing in this chapter and his last question to Eren in this chapter gave me chills

I think Isayama is trying too hard to excuse Eren. Despite everything, he exterminted humanity instead of saving it. Other have gone trhough worst and would never have gone that far.

I’m not sure how to word it for English isn’t my first language, but it’s kinda sad to see a fictional world realize their mistakes/bad things they’ve done and how hatred can affect things

is the baby in the final panel (the « you’re free » one) the one that was saved or historias??? 😳

I'm so tired.

I think it will be more clear if we got eren pov sooner

I think that it doesn't make any sense if Isayama gave us Historia in labor for nothing. I want to know more about her and her baby, how have they been all these times after the squad left the island and before the rumbling. And Zeke, too. We haven't seen him for a while so i'm glad that he's back, but i think he's under Eren's control now. The chapter is kinda short for me. It's gonna perfect if we have more scenes of Historia and her baby, or at least Zeke's POV.

I think that we will have a lot of deaths in the next chapter

I think the current titan shifters will die. And then it will be reborn by historia's child. In short, the titan shifting powers won't end

I think this will end bittersweet at best

I think what Eren will do when seeing his friends are fighting him. Does him will hurt them back

Big fan of seeing Historia again, and that baby being held up is a very chilling image we haven’t seen the likes of for a few months.

I think with all the hype, it still was a setup chapter and I think the last 4-6 chapters will be monstrous and very bitter sweet.

I think zeke is there but only partially controlled, but the titan is formed by warhammer capability

I thought it was a very good chapter to end the volume off of. Now I expect the next 4 final chapters to be amazing Isyama writing we are use too.

I thought that it was interesting because we got to see zeke again and the alliance going to try to save eren and to fight again

I thought that that eren will go back to mikasa

I want a goodass ending

Rumbling hits Hiruzu but the base is still there? That can't happening at the same time.

SADDDDD

i have no idea I just stressed out with this chapter.

Safe pregnancy for Historia

THAT FUCKING MONKEY 🐒

the art is amazing but i'd like to see more dialogue

so much happened in a single chapter, i can't believe we're reaching the end

I've been here since 2013, and it's finally at the final volume, AND I'M NOT READY! ALL HAIL ELDIA! ALL HAIL EREN!

Isayama's art keeps evolving every month, it was live watching anime key frames before any color was applied.

it made me cry so much i hope it will have a happy ending

It was a rollercoaster of hype and regret lmao

yams says fuck dem kids

Can’t wait to see this animated

It was awful. All those big questions without answer... And I hate what he did with Hisu. I hate it as a woman.

It was cool like always hope isayama feels good like we do

It was cool, but it had some cheesy moments. Does the title suggest that History is in despair too? Is she having complications in her labor or is feeling guilty because of the rumbling? Or both?

It was cruel, it made me uncomfortable, I don't understand Isayama's joy in drawing scenes of suffering without a reason. And Historia, wow, I don't even know what to say, I still don't understand why she's pregnant.

wondering why she’s giving birth 2-3 months earlier, and why she lied to the mps. Unless it’s a premature birth but I doubt it.

astonishing, astounding, surprising, bewildering, stunning, staggering, shocking, startling, stupefying, breathtaking, perplexing, confounding, dismaying, disconcerting, shattering.

At last the end is near, but despite that the ending is not clear, it can end in so many ways but I don't think Isayama will disappoints us.

Avengers will beat the bad guy.

The biggest victims are always innocent children and that's the darkest and saddest part for me.

Great setup for the final battle, and that cliff scene broke me.

i tilt with helos theories :)

Armin and company, except Mikasa, are NOW ready to fight Eren to the death. Eren is also prepare to finish what he started, no matter who dies. Final result could go either way as Falco, Gabi, and Annie will come eventually, and their arrival will turn the tide one way or the other.

I hope armin and the gang can get through to eren :(

I hope eren kills them all

i hope eren win, to show the consequence of hatred

I just don’t care anymore

I just dont want that if the alliance wins, the marleyans and other races forgive eldia because that does not even make any type of sense

If it somehow wasn't clear before, this manga's message is about peace. It is NOT some n*zi propaganda, and it never has been. This chapter perfectly conveyed that.

Confusing but interesting alliance is making me angry they don’t understand Eren still think he’s being controlled

When a host for one of the Nine Titans dies without being devoured, their powers are transferred to an Eldian child through Paths. If one, some or all of the Nine Titan holders die during the current battle, would it be possible that the newborn, which is also of royal blood, inherits the Titan power?

Death Flags for Armin give me joy…

Why are men so afraid of letting lesbians be lesbians

did eren awake? will the wall titam fall off the cliff because it sweeps the area there? i always think about this, does eren have any secret plans behind this rumble? lol maybe, find a path tree and destroy it? lmao

downer chapter, I expected something better for the chapter where we see the final audio at last

Eren already won.

Eren and the rumbling is reminding me of Shin Godzilla

Eren best character

Eren goat, hisu goat

Eren holding his and historias baby in final panel seems more and more likely

EREN IS 100% THE FATHER AFTER THIS CHAPTER, IT'S NO LONGER EVEN A DEBATE

EreHisu would ruin the series

Eren, please stop the Fucking rumblimg. You killed A lot of innocent people.

Eren's eaten Zeke, and that's why he can form and control a beast titan. Sorry Levi, the only person that your gonna beat up is Eren yet again.

eren’s face with this dino titan just creeps me the fuck out, and i don’t look forward to the transformation being animated.

It was definitely surprising for me when I saw historia while some people predict she will die when giving birth although that could be a possibility I see her dying due to either old age or somehow her inheriting the beast titan since the Ymir curse exists

It was epic!

It was great but can we see eren and Mikasa moments in the upcoming chapters before the manga ends and also show some light on how to cure ymir's curse and stuffs

It was great to see Historia again.

It was necessary to show all the chaos Eren is doing, and i'm so excited to see the Alliance fight him!

It was really good set up for 135

all the violence !! Like was this even necessary ?? No ! Too much violence just "kills" the whole thing ! Damn it was just awful and a waste of time to read for me !

This is probably going to be the most disturbing episode in the show's history once it gets animated, even if it's heavily censored. I wouldn't be surprised if they end up having to put a disclaimer at the beginning as well. I can already see it now, God this is going to be insane...

This is the first chapter that has really felt like the end REALLY is here. The gang is engaged in battle with Eren, there is no turning back from this point. They will either succeed, or perish in the attempt.

This story used to have the character growth and the plot at the center of the focus. I'm sad that it is all blown away in favor of cheap spectacle.

This won't end well, for anyone. I know Isayama has something significant planned for Historia's baby (my pet theory is that all the titans will die without heirs, be recombined with OG Ymir, and then she can finally be reborn and GTFO of PATHS), but thanks, I hate it.

Armin already grew up. he was from a coward child and now he is a brave man. i wanna cry

Geez, I hope the alliance can stop eren

This is all a series of bad plot choices falling like domino. Are things gonna work out once we get to final revelations? Probably. Is it gonna feel earned? At this point I doubt it. I miss the passion in this story. Char. develp. has never been the finest but they've always been human. Historia's a uterus. Eren just cares about his freedom. Dialogue falls flat as if Isayama didn't believe in what he writes and he's trying so hard to force feed the reader. If the rumbling is the final stop why was half of this necessary when it gave no closure to any character? But if it isn't, we deserved a real build up of events.

Zeke finally back but we still didn't know if he being controlled or willingly

Zeke is not being controlled and instead helping his brother, Eren is going to win and killed some of his friends, Levi is going to survive, Historia is going to survive with her baby and showed up at the final chapter. That's all I'm sure at this point. Mark my words.

it was sad

It was so cool but very chaotic I feel like I need a flashback or something or a tiny break.

It was so depressing, I can't imagine how Isayama would end this manga in only 1-2 chapters, it definitely need more

Omg this chaoter make me cry and relived, im just relieved that marleyan know they are wrong, that paradis not a devil blooded

one of the best chapters

Poor pacing and seems like a lot of unnecessary convolutions to the overall message

Pure masterpiece! Thanks Isayama

The chapter is fine but ,The story is leading to an obvious ending .I want to be wrong about that . I want a satisfying end . But part of knows that is not possible , let's watch isayama handle this shitshow he created.

The chapter leaves you with just the right question.

ERREEHH REINEERR!!???

Even if I don't want many people to die, I think that everyone will die, humanity will go extinct :(

Ever since 133, it's two chapters which have amazing elements but ultimately falls off as dissapointing. The plot needs to move forward. I thought we were going to have Bertholttalk and Ackertalk. 132 was such a masterpiece of a chapter that it becomes a let down.

Everyone told Eren early on that he'd have to abandon his humanity to make a difference, to save Paradis- especially Armin. Regardless of whose on which side, its ironic that now Armin is the one who can't accept this.

Excitement😎

There are two panels where Levi and mikasa are showing a shocked expression, idk if it’s just coincidence but can this possibly be relating to the Ackerman instinct?

This chapter is amazing good job isayama thx for a another masterpiece chapter

This chapter is really intense. Also, I wish I could've seen Zeke's POV.

Waiting for royal blooded Armin

was good until it spoke

We miss you, Hange, fly high our angel

We're finally at the final showdown boys and girls

We're truly at the beginning of the end for my favorite anime/manga series, huh?

What a series!

What happens with Yelena when either Falco or Annie transforms on the ship? Kiyomi said she‘s ready to sink with it but Yelena?

i hope eren isn't the father

What’s up to come seems uncertain.

Where is Ymir

falco or annie is definitely gna come flying in sooner or later

I really hope we don’t get a peace treaty ending.

I really hope we get a good ending... not happy necesarily....but good.....

I really just don’t care anymore. Yet I come back for more every time. Curse my completionism nature.

I really liked it. Definitely worth the month wait.

I really love the detail from this chapter and my favourite was when seeing Isayama drawing all those colossal titans and those people being crush. That's so amazing.

The end is near. I think we'll see Eren's next (final) POV in the final chapter.

Very cinematic, impressive setup/start to the alliance vs Eren fight

Very devastating

WHY is historia pregnant? (idc about father) Please give us the real answer yams! It was nice to see final audio. I loved Armin’s final comments and can’t wait to see the EMA confrontation.

Wonderful chapter, it's nice seeing another of Armin's plans. Reiner decking the beast titan was hype. The babies and the rumbling were a great juxtaposition too.

Would love to see if eren is really being controlled or if he’s willingly doing this to be stopped and perhaps killed?

I still wanna hope Hänge IS alive

i still wanna know how the hell eren's titan moves forward. the only thing i can imagine is some of the big bois carrying him. i can't get over it

I suffer

#snk poll #snk polls #snk chapter 134 #snk 134 #snk poll results

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quarantined-with-bucky · 5 years ago

Text

Crash

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 4,900

Summary: Bucky learns what he likes about life: you

Warnings: Angst, but also fluff

A/N: Mildly inspired by “Crash” by You Me At Six!

...

Wait, where you say you've been? Who you been with? Where you say you're goin'? Who you goin' with?

There was a knock on your apartment door. Plucking yourself off the couch, you trotted towards the door, pulling it open. You were met face to face with Bucky, a smile immediately finding your lips. His visit was a surprise, he hadn’t said anything about stopping by. “Hey,” you greeted, about to stretch out your arms for a hug, stopping immediately when he didn’t return your smile.

Oh. And that’s when you peaked over his shoulder and noticed Steve standing on the street, leaning against the car. “Sorry, doll,” Bucky apologized, offering you his arms for a hug.

You accepted, pulling him close and tucking your face into his chest. “’S okay, Buck.” He told you earlier that he may have to be leaving to go on missions, he couldn’t say exactly when or where. But this took you by surprise; it was the first mission he’d been sent on since he’s met you – since he started dating you.

“So, it looks like I’m going to have to raincheck dinner on Friday,” he mumbled shyly, pulling away, but still holding you firmly at the waist. He awkwardly chuckled, hoping you’d at least find light of the situation in his old charm.

You smiled up at him. “Let me know when you’re back?”

“You’ll be my first stop.” He moved a hand to cradle your jaw, leaning towards you for a goodbye kiss. You obliged, biting your lip and watching him saunter back towards Steve.

Bucky stood next to the man, giving you a stiff wave. “Make sure he comes back in one piece,” you call out to Steve, waving back at the both of them.

Steve laughed, waving back. “Will do, (Y/N).”

You stood frozen in the doorway, leaning against the frame as you watched the boys climb into the truck, pulling away, heading off to wherever the hell they were going.

Wait, keep me in your skin, Keep me in your chest. I'll wait for it to start, I'll wait for it to end.

Bucky sat at the camp sight, the soft light of the fire illuminating the picture before him. He held the edges carefully, the image creased perfectly in the middle from where he’d folded it up to fit in his pocket.

It was a photo of the both of you. You were at the bar, one around the corner from your apartment, that you took him to months ago. It was the night of your friend’s birthday, and you wanted to bring Bucky along to meet a few of your friends. He was nervous at first, not sure if they’d recognize him, if they knew his past, if they’d be scared of him.

However, everyone welcomed him with open arms. They didn’t ask him too many questions, didn’t pester him about his arm. Instead, they told him extremely embarrassing stories from your past. And, damn, it made him laugh; you were blushing like crazy, trying to cut them off after every story – doing so by buying rounds of shots if they promised to stop talking about you.

It ended up not working, everyone growing more and more intoxicated as they continued teasing you. But you found it to be all in good fun, just enjoying you night out with your boyfriend and your friends. You spent the whole night attacked to Bucky’s arm, linking your own two arms around his, his hand resting on your thigh. You buried your face in his shoulder to smother your laughter or after they said something embarrassing about you.

It was one of the best nights he’d had in such a long time; he doesn’t remember laughing for so long or so genuinely in a while. Your friend had secretly snapped this picture of you, sending it to you the next morning. You groaned and rolled over in bed; your few hours of sleep interrupted by your phone buzzing loudly. Bucky handed you your phone, holding back his laughter at your raging hangover. You mumbled an “oh my god” and showed your phone to Bucky, cheeks tinted pink.

It was dark, the bar had been dimly lit where you were sitting. Cups half full, empty shot glasses, and beer glasses littered the sticky table in front of the both of you. Your face was buried in Bucky’s shoulder, unable to conceal the drunk smile taking up your whole face. You held on tightly to his metal arm, the glare of the metal prominent in the photo. Bucky was gazing down at you, a similar grin painting his own lips.

As you tucked yourself into his side to resume sleeping, he took your phone and placed it on the bedside table, but not before sending it to himself.

That was the picture he carried with him on missions. He tucked it away into his breast pocket, hidden underneath his armor-plated vest, right above his heart. He patted atop his armor for safekeeping.

He couldn’t wait to see you when he got home.

Just crash, fall down, I'll wrap my arms around you now. Just crash, it's our time now, To make this work second time around.

It was eight days later when he showed up on your doorstep again. This time, when you opened the door, you were met with a smiling Bucky; he was clean shaven, his hair pulled back behind his head. He was wearing that red Henley you loved so much, and his arms were open wide, waiting for you to run into his arms.

So that’s exactly what you did: hopping off the front stoop into his warm embrace. He caught you, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist, intertwining your hands behind his neck. The two of you stood on your front steps, embracing each other, kissing each other, for what felt like an hour. Eventually, Bucky made his way into your apartment, plopping down on the small sofa, not taking you off his lap.

That became routine for you two. Whenever he had to leave, you’d spend a whole day holding each other when he came back.

We grew up, We worked and changed our ways. Just like wildfire, Been burning now for days. Tearing down those walls, Nothing's in our way. I said, nothing's in our way.

Time flew by; before you knew it, it was your two-year anniversary. Two years of bliss, two years filled with commitment and trust and love. Despite taking it slow at first, after that first mission, you two became inseparable. Given the fact that he spent a lot of time with the Avengers: working, training, and on missions, you had no choice but to spend every bit of free time together.

You’d spent your fair share of time at the Avengers Tower, spending the night at Bucky’s place, joining him at parties, watching the sunrise on the roof of the skyscraper. But there was something about your place that Bucky felt more comfortable. He was like a giant in your tiny apartment. Meager living room, tiny couch, lined with pillows and blankets; modest kitchen, two small chunks of countertop on either side of the oven, shelves crowded with spices and utensils, pots and pans hanging off the pot rack on the ceiling above the island; crowded bathroom, utilities barely able to fit in the small room, no room to maneuver, shower head just too short for Bucky; humble bedroom, packed bookshelves, clothes strewn about, bed pushed under the one window, narrow enough that you have to sleep half on top of Bucky – not that he minded, except for the fact that his feet hung off the edge.

It made him feel small and safe. He hadn’t felt a home in a long time. He went from the frontlines of World War II to the empty cell of Hydra to a block of ice. He’d spent the majority of his life without comfort. And when he was welcomed to the Avengers, he hadn’t received much either. There were shrouds of hospitality, yes, but something about it lacked an intimate feeling. Vast corridors, high ceilings, large rooms; Bucky decided he wasn’t a fan of minimalism. He much preferred “cottagecore” as you liked to call it.

He loved to garden, taking care of your houseplants almost too much. He’d named all of them, from each viney philodendron to the splaying palm trees. He had an almost aggressive watering schedule. Soon, he began spontaneously bringing you flowers and houseplants – your small apartment turned into a jungle.

It was the morning of your second anniversary when Bucky asked if you wanted to move in together. “Do you mean you want to move in with me?” You clarified smugly, flitting your eyes above the coffee mug currently held to your lips.

He giggled childishly, happily. “Maybe,” he mumbled, drawing out the first syllable. He sipped his tea, mimicking you as you couldn’t contain the smile pulling at your lips.

You sauntered across the kitchen – as in, you took two steps closer to him and you were already chest-to-chest – and tilted your head up to his. He kissed you on the tip of your nose before you could respond, the grin on your face already confirming your answer. “You think you can fit all your clothes in my bedroom,” you teased, eyebrows raised in challenge.

He rolled his eyes, pointing his chin towards the open door of the bedroom. Piles of your clothes and his clothes thrown over chairs, folded on top and in the dresser – he practically lived with you already. “I think my clothes fit just fine in our bedroom.” His tone dropped, as did his face, burying it into the crook of your neck, pressing his lips to the soft skin of your collarbone.

You hummed, setting your mug down on the counter beside you, wrapping your arms around his neck and broad shoulders. You traced the top of his spine on the back of his neck, barely dragging your finger on the surface of his skin; the tickle brought a smile to his lips against your skin. “It seems so.”

And then he moved in. It’s not like he had much, anyway; everything he had technically belonged to Tony. He spent one Saturday bringing over his clothes – in which you graciously shoved into the dresser beside yours – knickknacks – to which you’d decorated throughout the apartment, displaying them on shelves, on the walls, between pots of plants – and boxes of memorabilia. Bucky thought about stealing his king-sized bed, just so he’d be able to fit without curling up into you (also so you’d have more room to roll around), but he wasn’t even sure it would fit through the door. He wouldn’t change anything about it, though. Everything felt like home, it felt like you.

You shared countless memories in that apartment: long nights spent talking instead of sleeping as the New York City traffic blared through your window, endless nights of baking (and burning) desserts, numerous movie nights that half-the-time ended in the two of you having sex on the couch or falling asleep innocently in each other’s arms.

No matter how many times he woke up with cramps in his legs and a sore back from falling asleep on your tiny plush couch, he still couldn’t wait to do it again the next night.

…

“(Y/N),” he whispered your name, face pressed up inches from yours, pillows smushed together and against the wall. Your sleeping eyes fluttered, eyebrows twitching, and bridge of your nose crinkling slightly. Soon, though, you were completely relaxed again, and Bucky almost felt bad waking you up – but not really. “(Y/N),” he murmured a bit louder, this time smoothing your wild hair down against your head, pulling his fingers through the knots.

You hummed, stirring in the bed, inadvertently stretching, pressing your palms against the wall, toes lengthening to the edge of the bed, pulling the bedsheets off you (and Bucky). “’Sup,” you mumble, immediately closing your eyes again, burying your face into your pillow and tucking your hands underneath your chin.

He smiles, gazing down at your tired form, obviously exhausted from the night prior’s festivities. “Baby, wake up,” he almost groans, faux upset that you weren’t giving him attention.

“I’m up,” you hum, not moving – not even opening your eyes.

“Let’s get married.”

You laughed in your pretend sleep, reaching your hand out blindly up his arm and up to his cheek, patting it lightly. It wasn’t the first time he said it; although the other times he had either been extremely intoxicated or sleep talking. “Do you have a ring for me, darling?”

“I do.”

And with that, your eyes popped open, meeting his staring back at you. You then narrowed your eyes at him, crinkling your nose. He was beaming at you with a shit-eating-grin, hand curled under the pillow propping up his head, curled up like a goof. You couldn’t find any words.

“So,” he continued, filling the gap of your shocked silence. “Will you marry me?”

Sitting up in bed, you propped yourself up on your elbow, staring down at him. He quickly took the cue, flipping around and digging his hand around under the bed. He returned facing you, sitting up next to you, sheets pooling at his hips. He held up the box, opening it with his metal hand.

Your breath left your lungs.

“Bucky,” gasped, covering your mouth with your hands, eyes flitting between the ring and his eyes: blue, glossy, and glazed over with passion. “Oh my god, Bucky.” You kept repeating yourself, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

“So…is that a yes?” He chuckled, nervously holding the box, gesturing it towards you.

“Oh my god, yes!” You nearly screamed, tears now fully flowing down your face, holding your hand out for him to place the ring gently on your finger. You then threw your arms around his neck, kissing your fiancé. He smiled through the whole kiss and you felt his heart beating next to yours.

You pulled back to fully look at the rock now sitting on your left hand. “I hope you like it; I had to go through my sister’s daughter, who had to go through a ton of old keepsakes and it took a while so I would’ve gotten it sooner, but – ” he cut himself off, realizing he was rambling when he met your growingly perplexed facial expression. “Anyway, it was my mom’s ring. And my pop saved up forever for it. I know it’s not huge and probably out of style and you deserve a million diamonds – ” he cut himself off again with a deep breath, anxiously scratching the back of his neck. “I just thought it would be nice – but if you don’t like it, you can just tell me and – ”

This time it was you who got him to shut up, leaning forward, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his lips to yours. “Bucky, I love it.” It was beautiful. The diamond was small, still in perfect condition. The gold band was twisted intricately around the stone, newly polished and sparkling in the light shining through the window. What was even more appealing about the ring was the sentiment behind it. There was no two people that Bucky looked up to more than his parents; he often told you stories describing how much they loved each other, how hard his dad worked to finally convince his mom to go on a date with him. He beamed with pride when he spoke of them, recounting their hardships but how that never impacted their love for each other.

There was nothing more he wanted – then or now – than to give pass his mother’s ring along to you. He just happened to be lucky enough that his sister and niece saved it after all this time. He admitted that he could’ve gotten you a new ring, probably through a loan from Tony. Bucky technically didn’t have an income – just Tony’s money. And he did, in fact, offer to buy you the most expensive diamond ring in the world, a ten-carat ring from Antwerp; but that didn’t feel right. This was the only thing that Bucky had actually felt right about in a long time.

…

One month from that day, it was your three-year anniversary.

It happened during dinner – one random Thursday while the two of you sat at the edge of the kitchen counter, enjoying a casual plate of spaghetti.

“What – ” You choked on your mouthful of noodles. Coughing slightly, you sipped some wine, washing the rest of your bite down. Then you repeated yourself firmly: “What?”

“You heard me,” he responded, casually, mouth full of garlic bread.

“Now?” You ask, eyes wide, but unable to stop the smile forming on your lips.

“Yeah, why not?”

You stood from your stool, holding your palms against the island counter on either side of your dinner plate. “You were the one who said you didn’t want to do anything special for our anniversary.” You laughed, completely knocked off guard, mind moving a million miles per hour.

He raised an eyebrow. “You really thought I’d say that without some trick up my sleeve?” And, in fact, you were surprised when Bucky wanted to have a very low-key anniversary – he’d always been one for romantics. “Thought you knew me better than that,” he smirked, throwing a wink your way.

You rolled your eyes and swatted at his arm. “Are you being serious?” You leveled with him, leaning over so you were staring directly into the eyes of the man sitting beside you.

He smiled back kindly at you. “What do you kids say these days? Deadass.”

And you burst out laughing. Maybe you were a bit wine-drunk – but, god, this was something you’d never grow tired of. And that was perfect, considering you had already agreed to spend the rest of your life with him. There, in all honestly, was nothing that made your heart flutter like Bucky being an old man. “Okay,” you then whispered, cupping his jaw in both of your palms. “Let’s elope.”

So that weekend, that’s exactly what the two of you did.

Bucky had “borrowed” one of Tony’s cars – he assured you that he asked to take it for the weekend, but the smile and laugh in his voice told you otherwise. There was no time to question him further – no need, in fact – as he threw your suitcase in the trunk and opened the passenger door to you, ever the gentleman.

It was a short drive to Brooklyn Botanical Garden. You’d taken Bucky’s word for it, a place he remembered from his childhood; it was somewhere his mother used to drag him to and roam around – obviously with time he grew to appreciate not only the memory but also the serenity. He knew that was where he saw the both of you getting married; he knew that seeing you adorned in white surrounded by the beautiful trees and flowers was a sight he would never get tired of imagining.

Now, it was a sight burnt in his memory, holding your hands in his, a simple white gown falling perfectly on your body, veil pulled back that made it seem as though you were surrounded by clouds, the beautiful angel you were, anyway. Your hair was free, moving ever so slightly with the soft breeze; cheeks tinted pink as your skin glowed in the sun that shined before you; a bright grin painted your lips, so genuine that it made small crinkles form around your eyes. God, those eyes – gleaming in the reflection of the bright light before you, sparkling with love and laced with anticipation.

You faced a similar view, Bucky donning a casual grey suit; you insisted that was the one he brought with, a light grey contrasting his dark hair and deep blue eyes. While you had no doubt that seeing Bucky in an all-black suit was one of your all-time favorite looks, this was much more fitting for the occasion. The bright morning sun, the light-colored leaves surrounding your union; black was too harsh. Black, after all, was the color associated with the Winter Soldier. His uniform was black, his mask, his pants, his boots – his whole life was shrouded in darkness. This could not have been more the opposite; it was untraditional color, but so was your wedding and, hell, your whole relationship.

It was you and him, the officiant and the witness. You couldn’t remember either of their names, and you didn’t care, either. The only thing that mattered was Bucky’s eyes staring down at you, your hands held in his large ones, him slipping the wedding band on your finger.

And the kiss: perfect. You didn’t have the words to describe it. One hand found your waist as the other snaked through your hair, holding the back of your neck, guiding your lips up to his. Your arms folded around his neck, allowing you to pull your entire being flush against his body. He gave you two pecks on the lips before pulling away, letting his forehead rest against yours, staring into your eyes, glazed over with tears. His heart was full, it took all of his willpower not to breakout in tears. “I love you,” he whispered.

Your smile never faltered as you repeated those words to your husband.

…

“Buck, I have to get ready for work,” you called to him, yelling over the sound of the shower running.

“I’m almost done,” he responded, peaking his head from behind the curtain.

You stood at the vanity mirror, holding your hairbrush in one hand, flat iron in the other, makeup bag propped skillfully on the corner of the sink, one wrong movement away from spilling all over the floor. The mirror was fogging up ever so slightly; Bucky always insisted on taking the hottest showers possible. You began work on your hair when the water shut off, curtain swinging open, Bucky stepping out to grab a towel.

The two of you were practically pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, your elbow actually jutting out to nick his side as he toweled-off his hair. He laughed, maneuvering so that he stood behind you, his reflection towering over yours in the mirror. “I think we need a bigger place.”

He frowned, holding his hands against your hips. “But I like this place.”

You set the hot instrument on the edge of the sink, turning around in his arms. “I think we’re out of room,” you replied, thinking of the stacked up boxes of wedding gifts everyone sent you; you didn’t have anywhere to set them out or store them, thus everything remained in their boxes stacked up in your living room. Books and clothes lined every wall of your bedroom; you couldn’t fit nearly anything in the bathroom – and, hell, Bucky didn’t even fit without having to crouch under the showerhead.

He smiled down at you as you ran the brush through his freshly washed brown hair. “I guess so,” he mumbled shutting his eyes, reveling in the feeling of you softly brushing out his hair. “Plus, we’re going to be needing some more room to grow.” He peeked open his eyes, shooting a wink in your direction.

You cocked an eyebrow and yelped when his hand tucked against the underside of your thighs, pulling you up against him; you locked your ankles around his back and held onto the back of his neck, droplets of water still rolling down the nape of his neck and down his back, tickling your skin. You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah, why’s that?”

“You’re telling me you want little baby Barnes running around this place? It’s kind of a hazard, (Y/N),” he teased, then pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You rolled your eyes and pressed your hand against his chest, signaling him to drop you. Once he did, you turned around, back once again against his chest. “House first, then baby.”

“Really?” He gasped, staring at you in the mirror, wrapping your frame in a backwards hug. His eyes lit up, a huge smile creeping on his lips.

“Better get house hunting,” you said, shooing him off to get dressed so you can finally get ready for work.

Crash, fall down. I'll wrap my arms around you now. Just crash, it's our time now, To make this work, second time around.

There was a knock on your front door. You set down the sponge you were washing dishes with, placing the bowl in the drying rack next to you. Wiping your hands on your jeans as you walked over to the freshly painted door. Bucky had painted it a deep forest green before he left. You’d been waiting for ages to find the perfect color, the best shade to match the cozy, rustic – cottagecore – living space the two of you had cultivated together.

Once the door was done, you felt it was finally finished. Everything was so much bigger, but you two made sure to fill it with large, comfy furniture, displaying all of your wedding gifts graciously (and obviously Bucky’s plants). He made you wait outside while he painted the door; he didn’t want you breathing any fumes in that could harm the baby growing newly inside you. You rolled your eyes: “It’s the twenty-first century, Buck. We don’t use lead paint anymore. It’s okay – plus I want to help.” You picked up a paintbrush, reaching towards the paint can.

“(Y/N),” he groaned, grabbing a hold of your wrist, instead holding it up to his chest. “I just don’t want anything to happen. Please,” he pleaded, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes, curling out his bottom lip.

A soft smile pulled at your lips and you quit protesting. “Okay, baby,” you giggled, gazing up into his blue eyes. He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, blushing hard as he did so, laying a hand to your lower belly. It hadn’t grown much, only three months – hell, it was still the size of a plum (which also happens to be your husband’s favorite fruit) – you weren’t even showing yet, nonetheless he was still so excited, so proud, so in love. And nothing had changed since he met you on day one. He still looked at your with the utmost admiration, a lustrous gloss in his eyes as he stared down at you. You’d only grown more beautiful by the day, to him. You were his to come home to, his to protect, his to love.

You spent the afternoon out front in the garden, pruning bushes, watering flowers, and pulling weeds. You’d detested yardwork – everybody did – but there was something about doing it while you called across the lawn to Bucky, still positioned at the front door, cracking jokes and sharing anecdotes that made it all worth it. You wouldn’t trade this for the world: to be able to do chores with Bucky, even the most menial work, because he enjoyed doing them, just because he got to do them with you.

You walked to the door, kicking a few rogue shoes out of the way, and swung it open.

You were met with the sight of a uniformed chest, straight ahead in your line of sight.

You dropped to your knees, holding your hands to your chest, feeling your heart race. You couldn’t breathe – you were almost feeling yourself for a pulse.

He knelt down and wrapped his arms around you.

It was just the two of you in that moment.

You buried your face into his chest, the tough leather scratching your face. The wetness of your tears smeared across the surface of the material, painting your cheeks. His hand rubbed up and down your back, cooing softly in your ear. You didn’t know if he said anything in that moment, your mind couldn’t register anything coming out of his mouth, your ears clouded with a loud ringing behind your eardrums.

It was a loud, open, ugly sob – you sounded like a toddler throwing a fit; damn, this was quite the tantrum.

You pulled back suddenly, fisting at the chest of his uniform. It startled him; he tore himself away from you quickly. There was no way of knowing what you looked like – eyes red and puffy, cheeks glistening with wet tears smudged along your lips and chin as well. You couldn’t even stop, as you pulled away to look into his blue eyes, your own tears kept flowing, eyebrows knitted together and breath still hitching. He looked tired – exhausted; you didn’t know how long he’d been torn up like this. His face was pale, cheeks red and irritated with tears, blue eyes filled with tears exactly like yours.

“Is he really gone?”

He stared at you for a moment, new, fresh tears flooding in his eyes and down his cheeks. He bit his bottom lip, unable to trust his own voice. But Steve found the strength to muster up two words, the words that made you bury your face into his chest again, crying harder than before:

“I’m sorry.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes #captain america #winter soldier #angst #bucky x you #angsty bucky

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everstarry · 5 years ago

Text

veiled

words: 2029

summary: Din meets a dancer.

warnings: touchstarved!mando, lap dances, technically over the clothes sex ?? also, swearing

notes: this is my first time writing any kind of smut (or something that is even remotely steamy) so that’s a warning in on itself.

It’s almost as if the stars were looking down on him.

He can feel their kaleidoscopic glare as it penetrates his armor—no, his very skin even. It was almost as if those celestial bodies that hung in the night sky knew exactly what he was doing, where he was going. The bounty hunter couldn’t escape their shame filled stare as he sunk further and further into himself, mimicking collapsing stars and long-forgotten societies.

A hard slap to his back made him straighten, muscles slowly loosening, as they approached the rundown establishment. “Don’t be so tense, Mando,” Cara grinned, eyes twinkling with something he had never seen in the woman before.

“Never done this before,” Din nearly wheezed out, his armor had never felt as heavy as it did now. The weight of his way of life never more apparent.

“I find that extremely hard to believe,” his friend rolled her eyes. “I know for a fact that you’ve caught a bounty here,” she corrected.

“That’s different,” he protested because it was different. “That was just for business.”

“And this is just for pleasure,” she teased as they stepped inside the club. The air seemed different from outside, almost as if this place had an atmosphere of its own.

The stars were gone but he felt other eyes burn into him, curious stares from both occupants and dancers as Cara guided him through. He felt like he was going to suffocate, crumple to the dirty floor before he could help himself. His cheeks flush, and his heart pounds, and he can’t help but avert his eyes when a dancer brushes past him. Yet, the glimpse of flushed sparkly skin seems imprinted on the back of his eyelids and he can’t get away from it. The Mandalorian’s knees feel weak—threaten to actually buckle—as he continues the walk to the dimly lit corner.

He sags into a chair, breath coming out shaky from the modulator. Din’s skin pricks beneath all his layers as he tries to chill the fuck out. Cara is grinning at him from her spot next to him. “I’m going to be sick,” he barely manages to get out past his clipped and uneven breaths.

“You’re not,” she promises, barely looking at him as she searched the room for something. “Besides, if you get sick it’ll just go everywhere in your helmet.” The horrid image is enough for the Mandalorian to try to calm his breathing. He was a grown man, a grown bounty hunter at that. He could handle a club, handle even the tempting visions of exotic dancers. He had handled much worse before.

“Right,” he nodded, scanning the room before he could help himself. Din’s embarrassed to admit that he’s not looking for a girl, but rather an exit. Mind already concocting an escape if he needed one. A habit that had been instilled into him when he was much younger than he was now.

“Can you not act like I’m physically torturing you,” Cara scoffed. “This is supposed to be fun!” A playful shove of his arm made him nearly bump into a patron who was leaving with a giggling dancer. The Mandalorian cleared his throat uncomfortably, feeling a faint heat coming from under his helmet as he flushed.

“I can’t drink,” he pointed out. The other issue that he wanted to bring attention to was the fact that he was covered in armor and couldn’t take any of it off to enjoy himself. Din decided to keep the sentiment unsaid, hanging in the silence of barely-there breaths, he knew Cara would catch on eventually.

“I’ll just have to drink for the both of us,” Cara stood from her chair brushing her hands on her pants. “Be back in a bit,” she promised with a wink and was gone before the Mandalorian could protest.

Din sighed at her absence, eyes traveling the room again. The initial shock of having an armor-clad bounty hunter enter the club seemed to have worn off. The patrons of the seedy place had gone back to what he supposed they were originally doing before he arrived. There was drinking and loud conversation barely being drowned out by the music, the dancers weaved in and out of the crowds finding new customers. He was so caught up in studying his surroundings he hadn’t noticed your approach.

You’re sitting in the spot Cara had been not moments before. He’s taken back by the brightness in your eyes and the gentle curve of your lips. You’re seraphic, a creature so exquisite that the minuscule longing he felt before suddenly explodes. He momentarily thinks that the stars would be envious of the light in your eyes. Din is so caught up with comparing you to the skies that he almost misses your question. “Was that your girlfriend?”

The Mandalorian loses all his breath at the sweet sound of your voice, you lean close to him to make sure your voice carries over the chaos around you. He looks down at your chest as you do so. He nearly chokes at the sight that greets him.

Your veiled outfit leaves nothing to the imagination. You’re both covered and completely exposed at the same time, and Din feels like he’s losing his mind. Reality and time slip through his very fingertips as he tries to memorize the sight of you, someone who wasn’t really his to have in the first place.

“Well?” you tease, bringing the tips of your finger down gently on his shoulder, tracing the Beskar that rests there. He nearly jumps out of his goddamn skin because he swore a sort of electricity worked its way through his system. It doesn’t make any sense because you’re not even really touching him yet he feels so much, too much.

“No,” he manages to spit out, body almost on autopilot like some part of him knew he needed to respond to your question. The modulator hides the awe that somehow seeped into his voice. The smile that graces your features makes his heart nearly stop.

“I’m glad.” You shift until you're in his lap, chest to chest, and he exhales quietly. Your arms drape languidly behind his neck, effortlessly caging him to you. He can feel the breath hitch in his throat as he looks at you. “That means she wouldn’t mind if I…” You roll your hips down, creating a sort of delicious friction for you both. You give him a second to relax, seeming to realize that he needs a fucking breather. When he nods you move slower, teasing him into a sort of heated comfort so he finds himself craving your next movements.

The Mandalorian feels like he’s on fire.

Something burns through his every capillary. The heat that blazes under his skin feels almost foreign to him. He can’t think of anything but you, hands coming down to grip your waist, pressing down to feel more of you through the cloth that covers his groin. Din doesn’t know if he’s being too rough but he can’t seem to stop himself. You let him, teeth sinking into the plush skin of your bottom lip as a soft sound escapes you. “How much?” he croaks, voice dripping with need. The Mandalorian doesn’t want you to stop. He doesn’t care how expensive you might be, he just knows he needs this. It’s been so long.

“Enjoy it,” you urge, hips circling him in a way that makes his breathing stutter. “Price after.” Your coy smile makes the inferno inside him roar. There’s something so captivating about your eyes and the embers they hold. Their mesmeric color drenched in both longing and desire and he can’t seem to look away. He’s fucking throbbing as you drag your core against him.

You lean back to grind into him, eyes focus on his lap and his growing arousal. There’s something about the expert way you move against him that makes him ache. It takes every ounce of self-control to not rip the sheer pink slip that clings to your body so sinfully and just take you on the floor. The Mandalorian lets you rock against him, imagines he can feel the puffs of air that leave your parted lips on his face as you lean your forehead against his helmet. Your fingers grasp onto his shoulder, nails digging into the spots where his undershirt doesn’t meet Beskar for any purchase. Din actually groans, jerking into you as he tries the impossible feat of burying himself inside your clothed heat.

He doesn’t care if someone’s watching your performance or that he’s getting off to a simple lap dance. There’s this throbbing need inside of him that doesn’t seem to relent. He’s getting higher— winding up tighter—as he tries to roll his hips into yours. He’s so frustrated that he can’t really feel you, he wants to cry.

The tight circles that you draw in his lap seem to stimulate you just as much as they do him and he feels like he’s melting when the sounds you softly make reach his ears. His hands grip your hips to get you to still as he tries to catch his breath. “I’m gonna…” he can’t finish, too embarrassed to admit to someone as heavenly as you, that he’s about to cum in his pants like some inexperienced kid.

Your big eyes blink at him, once then twice, before it seems to click for you. A curious tilt of your head is all the warning he gets before you continue grinding into the obvious bulge in his pants, slow at first to get the pressure just right. A strangled gasp leaves his lips but that only seems to spur you on. Lifting your hips faster and bringing them down harder, giving yourself a moment to linger, mimicking the act of love without truly committing to it.

Your hand rests on his shoulders as you basically ride him through his clothes. His eyes want to shut but he fights to keep them open, trying to focus on the erotic image that you’ve painted for him. He isn’t sure if it's the low lighting or his own thoughts projecting onto you but to him, you look like you’re blushing. “It’s okay,” you nod, sounding so wanton and so breathless that he nearly whines.

He can feel a sort of a shame ignite in him, the fact that he was going to cum in his pants was mortifying. “I can’t,” Din shakes his head, chest constricting, jaw clenching. He’s shaking as he digs his fingers into your hips.

“You can. Please let go for me.” Your smile is so serene, and the sight of you bouncing on his lap and smiling so sweetly at him makes the heat finally devour him whole. It’s incredible, nearly indescribable. The pleasurable fire rolls over him, waves that threaten to drown him in you but he lets it wash him away. You slow to a stop in his lap, letting him twitch and hold you as he came down from his first orgasm in months. He catches his breath as you trace the Beskar that adorns his chest.

He feels sticky and gross, crotch uncomfortably damp. “How much?” Din asks, chest rising and falling rapidly as he looks at you.

Your eyes lock with his and for a frightening moment, he wonders if you can see through his visor. “Get me out of here.” Your voice sounds quiet and broken as if you were too scared to even mutter the five words aloud. Helplessness fractures the color of your irises as a whispered plea reaches his ears. He realizes you’re begging him, he notices the way you subtly shake against him and something breaks inside of him at that.

It’s sobering, and Din suddenly feels immensely guilty.

He wants to push you off his lap so you don’t have to continue to feel the aftermath of his lust but you cling to him. Tears slowly gather in your eyes as you take his silence as a refusal. “Okay,” he nods and that seems to freeze you, eyes widening slightly at his response. “I’ll get you out of here.”

Permanent taglist: @fanfiction-trashpile

#mando fanfic #everstarry #mando x y/n #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #mandalorian fanfic #exotic dancer!reader #din is very touched starved #also I overuse fire as a symbol oops #technically mando smut #the mandalorian x reader

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ichigo-daifuku · 5 years ago

Text

Biblical Sense

Obey Me! Fanfiction [Read on AO3]

Angel!Lucifer/Succubus

Frustrated with the state of affairs surrounding his father's rule in the Celestial Realm, Lucifer the Archangel descends to the human world with a purpose: to commit a transgression against the Most High and soil his virtuous hands.

There, he meets a succubus who leads him to engage in a different kind of corruption altogether, one defiling the virtue of chastity.

Explicit | Pre-Canon, Introspection, Mentions of Canon-Typical Violence, One Night Stand, Oral Sex, Loss of Virginity, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Blasphemy

Contains references to Lucifer's Devilgram Story, The Glory Days.

Word Count: 7k

To know someone in the biblical sense is to have sexual relations with them.

In the beginning, the Morning Star descended from the Celestial Realm.

Engulfed by the brightest of the lights, he came down from the night sky like a shooting star. A thud resounded from his feet the moment they landed on the human world’s soil. He folded his wings, their brilliance fading as he switched from his armor of light to his casual clothing and assumed his human-like form. Alone in a garden, the darkness brought by the current time in this realm made him blink a few times, his eyes adjusting to this change for a moment while the chirping of crickets filled his ears.

Lucifer the Archangel stepped out from the shadows, fallen leaves crumbling under his feet with every step. Rumors had brought him to this place—rumors angels weren’t supposed to hear yet he was privy to due to his status. A wishing fountain stood in the middle of the courtyard, a little demon in its zenith wearing a hat and holding a pot that trickled the water down to its base. Surrounded by trimmed hedges, the scent of red and white roses hung in the air in the most intoxicating way possible that he could imagine the taste of rosewater on his tongue. Though calm and composed on the outside, the normalcy of this wicked place took him by surprise. He expected something more… sinister.

Beyond the maze of the courtyard, a mansion that could only be described as lavish stood. Its exterior’s grandeur was all he needed to see to know that whoever was residing in it was far from impoverished, but he supposed that would be the case for this was a territory of demons, the creatures of indulgence. He made his way closer to the mansion, noting no sign of anyone except for the lights illuminating the windows. His hands balled into fists, he stood in front of the tall doors, unable to bring himself to swing it open and be done with his purpose in a minute. However, his dilemma was short-lived as the lock clicked, the door creaking as it opened.

A woman revealed herself from beyond the wood, her stature barely reaching his shoulders. Long tresses cascaded over her back, the straps of the cotton white nightdress she wore hidden by the locks of hair falling on her shoulders, the hem reaching the middle of her thighs. Barefoot, she cradled two objects with her hand and separated them when she had let go of the knob.

“Apple?” Unfazed by his sudden appearance, she offered the fruit inside her outstretched palm to him, taking a bite of the half-eaten apple on her other hand.

It was unlike any regular apple he had seen before; a considerable portion on top of it purple while the bottom looked a regular green. Suspicious, he narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“Don’t you think I should be the one asking you that question?”

Lucifer shot her a glare to which she responded with a sly smile curving up her lips.

“A premium item found exclusively in the Devildom, Princess’s Poison Apple. Despite its name, it’s safe to eat,” she took another bite, the crisp sound an evidence of its freshness, and swallowed before adding, “and delicious.”

She loosened her fingers on the apple and shifted her wrist sideways, the movement leading his attention to shift from her face to the movement of her hand. On reflex, he reached out his palms and set them together to catch the fruit, the gravity of his actions dawning on him the second the deed was done. Pleased with the turn of events, she chuckled and raised her own apple as if she was saying a toast for their meeting and chewed on another bite.

It wasn’t Lucifer’s first time to encounter food from the Devildom, and it wouldn’t be his first time to partake in it. He brought the fruit closer to his face and inhaled. No strange scent emanated from it. He parted his lips and took a bite, the sourness of the apple and an unexpected sweetness blended perfectly with it satisfying his palate.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” she asked and spun around without waiting for his answer. “Come inside.”

Her nonchalance and her every action so far irked Lucifer, but he couldn’t complain when they worked in his favor for he would never admit to this strange apple being delicious. He bit into the apple once again and stepped inside the house, sealing the door shut behind him.

With quiet footsteps, she led him up the staircase and into a series of corridors. Portraits of females, both in demon and human-like forms adorned the walls, a variety of depictions of horned women performing illicit acts with mortal men alternating with them. He shook his head and sighed, finding these poor excuses of art tasteless.

“Ever been to the Devildom?” she asked out of the blue, neither looking back nor slowing down her steps.

“That’s none of your business.”

In truth, Lucifer had been to her world. Darkness prevailed in the Devildom, and he could still recall the way mud went flying everywhere and soiling his armor when his feet touched its ground. Up to this day, it was one of the worst experiences he has ever had, and he made sure that this fact was known to his hosts. Still, he had no reason to share the experience with this stranger.

“I’ve never been to the Celestial Realm myself,” she told him.

“For a good reason.”

“What was that?”

“Demons such as yourself have no place in the Celestial Realm.”

“I see. So, you really are an angel.” She faced him but continued walking backward, the spring in her steps an indication of her liking the confirmation of her suspicions.

He had just spit out an insult directed to her and her kind, so why and how was she, at the very least, unoffended? “How did you know?”

“I can feel it, the purity radiating off you.” She halted in front of one of the rooms, turning from him and opening the door. “It’s impossible to ignore and so… enticing.”

It was the same for him. An aura of evil radiated from her presence, masked by the fragrance of roses. He was unsure where it emanated, from her body or from the garden outside, but he recognized the sweet scent of it all too well: temptation.

She ushered him inside a drawing-room that matched the lavishness of the house’s exterior. A candelabra chandelier illuminated the space together with the lamps on the walls, the fire in the hearth contributing to the light and providing warmth to the space. The giant mirror hung menacingly by the bookshelf caught his attention at once. On the corner of the room, a sleek grand piano rested, an untouched chess game across it. An intricate table with matching plush seats served as the room’s centerpiece.

“Welcome. Feel free to sit wherever you like,” she said and exited the room, leaving him to observe the place for himself.

Out of curiosity, he wandered around, passing by the mirror and getting a glimpse of his reflection. He looked quite weary, he thought, but nevertheless, alert and ready for anything. Casting those thoughts aside, he strode to the bookshelf and scanned the spines for their titles, judging the residents of this house through them.

Before he knew it, she returned with a tray of refreshments and arranged them on the table. Swirls of steam flowed from the matching pair of teacups as she poured the fresh brew inside them. Beside each cup, a slice of sponge cake waited while other baked goods were also in the middle of the table, ready to be eaten.

“What is that?” Lucifer marched over to her direction and asked, his tone both cautious and accusatory.

“You might have already heard of it, but it’s called black tea.” She paid no heed to his unfriendly behavior and continued, “Teatime wouldn’t be complete without pastries, don’t you think so?”

He set his half-eaten apple on the tray and sat down. “There better be no strange ingredient in this, demon.”

An amused laugh bubbled from her lips. “I promise you, there isn’t.”

After serving the refreshments, she took her cup and saucer with her hands and sat across him, blowing the steam for a second before taking a sip. It was only when she had begun indulging in her slice of cake that Lucifer sipped his own tea, assured that he would not drop dead if he were to partake in whatever she had served him. He couldn’t help it; her hospitality left him unsettled. The brew was flavorful, yet he held back compliments and set the cup down. The lightness of the sponge cake would be the perfect pair for it, and he picked up his fork to take a portion but was halted midway by her query.

“You’re not going to say grace?”

“No,” Lucifer threw back irritatedly. It didn’t cross his mind to say grace at all, and the small victory on his part satisfied him.

“Interesting,” she commented and indulged on a forkful of sponge cake, dabbing the corner of her lips with a napkin.

Lucifer disliked how she was treating him like a spectacle. He was no creature for a demon’s amusement, and he had an urge to let her know of this fact, seeing how unguarded she was acting around him and how pleasant she was treating him. With complete sang-froid, this demon was underestimating him, but he wasn’t about to make the same mistake. He sized up his opponent and weighed in his options.

She picked up her teacup and leaned back in her seat, still as relaxed as ever. “Why are you here?”

“And if I told you I am not here for anything?”

“You wouldn’t have found this place if you weren’t. This mansion is a succubi’s den,” she stated and sipped her tea. “And in the human world, too.”

“A succubi’s den?” The rumors proved to be true; this was a place established by demons, but the fact that it was by the succubi was an unknown tidbit to him. He refused to imagine why the succubi needed a place like this in the human world, but with one of their kind sitting in front of him, images of these female demons—including her—preying on unsuspecting mortals made their way into his mind so vividly that he had begun to wonder if the incubi had established something similar.

“Yes. Every being that comes and goes from this place is here for life’s carnal pleasures.” She crossed her legs, giving him a glimpse of the skin on her upper thighs, which he couldn’t decide if she intended to do or not. “So, tell me, angel, what is it that you are here for?”

Angel. She spoke the word in a way that it was almost like an affectionate pet name. He hated it. The implication of her statement sparked wrath within him. “You have no right to speak to me that way, vile succubus.”

To his surprise and further vexation, she didn’t even flinch at his tone or insult. “Do you want to leave?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He would not. He wasn’t going anywhere until he had accomplished his goal. Once he had set his eyes on something, he would consider it done, and this wasn’t an exception.

“Alright. Let’s enjoy our tea?”

For a while, nobody spoke. The clink of the ceramic as she set her teacup down accentuated the pin-drop silence. He started eating his food in an attempt to collect himself and think rationally, as he always did. She let him be, filling his cup once she noticed it was empty and doing the same to her own.

As she placed the teapot down, Lucifer found himself saying, “To begin a rebellion.”

“Hm?”

“You asked what I am here for,” he replied, “that is my answer.”

He clenched his hands, the forlorn faces of his younger brothers etched inside his mind, the memory of the tears streaming down his sister’s face so crystal clear to him. So much has happened, and though his siblings were a messy bunch at times, they didn’t deserve this. It was the last straw. It was time to put an end to their suffering.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Shameless creature. Why don’t you stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“True.” She chuckled and placed her elbows on the table, folding her fingers together and setting her chin on top of them. “An angel is going to sin. How lovely.”

There it was again, her fascination with him that bothered Lucifer so much. It made him want to expose her true colors—her nature as a demon—and push her buttons to make her lose her cool.

“Aren’t you concerned for your well-being?” he challenged, giving her a hint of his intentions.

“That depends. Are you here to kill me or are you here to sleep with me?”

“You seem to be rather calm about the first prospect.”

“I’m not going down without a fight if that’s what you mean.”

“I’d be disappointed if you would.”

She stretched her arms and stood. Wordlessly, she made her way to the piano and picked up a ribbon he hadn’t noticed earlier from above it. Her fingers deft, she stepped in front of the mirror on the wall and gathered her hair. The delicate skin on the nape of her neck as she encircled her locks with the bow and tied it piqued his interest, and she met his eyes through her reflection, unsurprised that he was already staring. “Battle me, then.”

Lucifer had been scrutinizing her every movement, noting gracefulness up to the smallest of things. The challenge she issued took him out of the trance-like state he was having, and he internally chided himself for letting his mind wander.

“How very foolish of you to propose such a thing,” Lucifer replied. But also very bold, he didn’t say. He gestured over the laid out chessboard on the corner of the room. “Very well. Be my opponent in a game of chess.”

“A game of chess? That’s strange, but sure. If I win—”

“You don’t get to make the rules, succubus,” he said with a glare. “If you defeat me, I’ll spare you and leave, but if I win, I’ll choose what I’ll do with you.”

“I didn’t know that angels had it in them to be so unfair.” She turned around, pleasantly surprised. “But since everything about you is so irresistible, I agree to your terms.”

Irresistible. She wasn’t the first demon he had the chance to encounter, but everything she said threw him off. The sight of the hair behind her back bouncing as she strolled to the chessboard attracted his attention, but this wasn’t the time to dwell on his initial impression of her. He followed suit, aiming for the dark crystal pieces he had always favored over the light and clear variations. It seemed she was in agreement with this as she immediately went behind the clear pieces and sat down.

“Ladies first,” he urged.

“My, what a gentleman you are.”

Foolish demon. He was giving her a handicap, yet all she was thinking of was how much of a gentleman he was? She was careless. The two of them sat closer now as compared to when they had their refreshments. Lucifer’s eyes darted from her to the chessboard she examined, clearing his throat the moment he found himself distracted once again. Her dainty fingers moved a pawn forward to another square, and the game officially began. Strange as she was, it didn’t take long for her to ask him questions.

“Is it true that it’s eternally daytime in the Celestial Realm?” she queried once it was her next turn.

“What do you think?” he fired back absentmindedly, deciding on which piece to move. He broke into a pleased smile as he made the first capture and eliminated her pawn, placing it on his side.

“There it is,” she pointed out.

His eyes flickered from the chessboard to her. “What?”

“Your smile. It’s radiant.” She smiled in return and chuckled. “You seemed tense. It’s fine. There’s no one for you to impress here. It’s just me.”

“You know nothing.”

“You’re right about that, I don’t. Are all angels this stoic?”

“Is that an insult?”

“Only if you consider it one,” she quipped. “Well? Are they?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Good to know.”

If there was anything he learned from his loss in another chess game with a certain demon, it would be underestimating his opponent. She might look all innocent and conventionally attractive, but she was still a demon; a cunning creature of the dark who existed to bring disorder and chaos, wreak havoc among the three worlds, and exploit the weaknesses of her enemies. He just knew she was setting a trap somewhere and fooling him, but to his frustration, all she did was continue firing one question after another.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“I have several brothers and a sister.”

“I see.”

Her lips curved into a frown as she calculated her next move. Up until that moment, she had been nothing but all smiles, but the seriousness in her demeanor caught his interest further. She moved a rook in silence. Every time she asked him something, he assumed she would share about herself, yet she never did. How odd.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Hm?” She raised her gaze at him, pausing her competitive train of thought. “You could say my fellow succubi are my sisters, in a way?”

He nodded, considering the thought. In his long existence, his one and only sister has caused him so much trouble, but she was the dearest and most precious angel of all, the one he and his brothers adored and doted on. All that aside, he could only imagine how life would be like with a lot of sisters. At the furrow that made its way into his brows, she began laughing. For an evil creature, the peal of her genuine laughter was similar to carefully crafted notes in a musical piece, and Lucifer found it hard to believe that he was able to make such a comparison.

She proved to be a worthy opponent, he would give her that, but not good enough to beat him. Despite her assumption that she has a chance of winning, he captured all of her pieces with only a few to spare on his own.

“Checkmate,” Lucifer stated proudly, ending the match.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she stood and sauntered to the tall window, gazing over the courtyard. Lucifer concluded that she must have known the moment he stepped foot on the succubi’s property. His train of thought was cut short as the breeze billowed her hair and the skirt of her nightdress, the curtains in rhythm with them, hiding and revealing her from his sight in flashes. The moonbeam illuminated her form in the most unearthly way, and his throat bobbed as he took in the sight to behold. At that moment, she was far from the horrific creature that he assumed she would be, but the certainty that she was a demon—a succubus—stood out, for she possessed a beauty so sinful that he had no doubt only a being meant for seduction could be so alluring. Like he was being summoned by a siren, he stood and followed her, the air highlighting the fragrance of roses which, right now, in all the senses he possessed, felt holier than incense.

“Do it,” she dared as she lifted her head to look his way, the fire in her eyes telling him that she truly wasn’t going down without a fight.

This night was the turning point in Lucifer’s life. In the clash against his father, his siblings needed not to stain their holiness nor stand beside him; he was prepared to do this on his own. Still, he had a hunch that they would follow him for all of them had always counted and trusted his decisions, but if that were to happen, as their eldest brother, he needed to be the one to take the brunt of everything, especially this initial step. Determined, Lucifer would soil his hands in an act of disobedience to his father. His holiness was one of the main ideals that tied Lucifer to him, and Lucifer would sever it and burn the image his father expected of his son, tainting his purity and showing his father that he was no longer his child. His father, all-knowing and all-powerful, would know at once when Lucifer would appear before him that Lucifer disobeyed. As his father organized the appropriate chastisement meant for him, Lucifer would face him without regret and declare, I will no longer follow you.

Lucifer would scale the heavens, and above the stars of his father, he would set up his throne. He would ascend above the tops of the clouds. In the process, he would leave no stone unturned. Always true to his convictions, he vowed to reach his end goal, and this was a leap in the path he was walking on.

To soil his hands with another’s blood or to defile the virtue of chastity; she had asked him earlier which one he was here for, and though he evaded the question, she was able to tell which was the answer in the end. In truth, he had only had the former in mind. The sin he aimed to commit was murder. A demon would be dispensable, he had decided, and it wouldn’t matter if there were one or a hundred demons in this mansion; he came prepared to destroy all of them with his bare hands, and if he were to be severely outnumbered, he was equipped with the dagger hidden in his coat. It turned out, she was alone. This succubus would be no match against him, a high-ranking angel, one of those who wielded the most power in the Celestial Realm.

But in the game of seduction the two of them played the second their gazes connected, the wide eyes that had stared back at him with intrigue when the door opened held him captive. He was the one who was no match for her.

Lucifer has had enough denying it; he coveted her. She would be his ruin.

He took her by the wrist and pulled her against him, unable to discern what sort of unholy spirit was taking over his body but meaning every word as he whispered, “Sin with me.”

“What?” she exclaimed, bewildered. She was expecting him to strike and fulfill his original purpose, not coax her into giving in to her lecherous desires. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You refuse me?” he clarified disbelievingly. This succubus, a creature who lived and breathed concupiscence, was rejecting him, Lucifer the Archangel, and his proposition. “You dare refuse me?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea, angel. This is difficult for me, maybe even more than it is to you.” She glared and shook her wrist from his grasp, staggering backward to put space between them. “This wasn’t what you were here for. You were here for your bloodlust, not your lust.”

He supposed it was correct; she was drawn to his light while he was enticed by her darkness. It was true yet ironic that an angel and a demon would be each other’s temptation, but here they were, the very manifestation of the iniquitous idea.

His resistance thrown out the window, Lucifer stepped closer and pulled her in again, trapping her body with his by the window. He slowly dipped his head, his heated gaze connecting with hers in a silent challenge while hers searched for an ounce of hesitation in his choice, her resolve faltering when she found none. The tips of their noses brushed, and her eyes fluttered closed, his own doing the same at the first caress of their lips. She kissed him back, pliant and eager when his tongue slid to the seam of her lips and met her own, satisfying each other’s curiosity but awakening another hunger altogether.

She pulled away, close enough that their lips barely touched but still shared each other’s warmth. “You’re actually serious about it?”

“I want you,” Lucifer stated as he traced her collarbone with his fingertips, cradling her shoulder with his other hand.

“I…” She averted her gaze. “I want you, too. Of course, I do.”

“I know. Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” he stated, the blush on her cheeks telling him as much. “Where’s your room?”

“Right across this—”

That was all he needed to know. He wasted no time and took her hand in his, leading her to her bedroom. Once inside, he removed his gloves and coat and hung them on a chair, his vest following suit. As he loosened his tie and pulled it off, he chuckled at the feeling of her gaze boring into his back and pointed out, “You’re looking at me so wantonly.”

“I think I’ve been doing that for quite a while now…”

He turned around and strode closer to her, giving her a challenging stare. “Show me what’s been running inside that mind of yours, then.”

She reached out and unbuttoned his shirt, taking all the time in the world and savoring the slow pace of revealing his skin. With hesitant fingertips, she brushed over the contours of his abdomen, moving upward to splay her hands over his torso before taking his shirt by the collars and discarding it. She kept quiet and continued to take in his appearance up close. Warm palms reached to cradle his cheeks and slowly moved to touch the hair on the sides of his forehead, coming back to trace his jawline. Her touch was gentle, and her was voice full of reverence as she said, “Everything about you is so radiant.”

A strange feeling washed over him and caused his skin to flush, and he sought her lips again before she had the chance to notice. He carded his fingers through her soft locks and caressed the nape of her neck, his palm sliding over the small of her back to draw her closer. She broke the kiss and pressed her lips on his shoulder, moving down to his chest and his abdomen, worshipping his form. With a glance at him, she sank to her knees, and Lucifer has never seen a more beautiful sight. From below, her hands worked to remove his footwear and undo his trousers, baring his body completely. At first, Lucifer thought that she undressed him for her eyes to have something to feast on, but all he found in her wide-eyed gaze was awe, as though she was a firm believer of a deity and was looking at one. He liked that; it stroked his ego and made him feel powerful.

It gave him a sense of pride.

“Open your mouth,” Lucifer commanded.

She swallowed but responded by doing as he asked which satisfied him, immediately knowing what he wanted. Her lips parted, she took the tip of his hard cock in her mouth and ran her tongue across it. Slowly, she slid his length further, all the while holding his stare, and her head bobbed forward and backward as she sucked him with zeal and innate talent that suggested her nature as a sexual being. He closed his eyes and marveled at the sensation in his groin, her hand that grasped his base running up and down in rhythm to the ministrations provided by her lips and tongue. How could something so sinful feel so heavenly? It was too good in the way only forbidden things could be, he was unsure if he could get enough of this feeling.

Caught in the haze of sensual pleasure, his eyes fluttered open and found her doing something which… displeased him. Lucifer cradled the back of her head with his palm and urged her to take him further, testing her limits. “Are you touching yourself? Who told you that you could do that?”

A strangled noise of surprise and confusion rumbled from her throat, making him release the groan he had been trying his best to hold back. She retracted the hand that was nestled between her thighs and placed it on the floor to steady herself instead. Satisfied, he released her and wiped her wet lips with his thumb, urging a response.

“I wanted to,” she answered haughtily, panting, “that’s why I did it.”

“Come to me, evil one.”

Her legs wobbly, she stumbled as she stood and braced herself with her hands on his shoulders. Lucifer let out a sigh of disapproval but proceeded to take her by the waist and hook her legs around his hips, carrying her to the bed. He undid the ribbon in her hair, leaving it to splay over the sheets like a grand halo, and between the two of them, it was difficult to differentiate who was the angel and the demon. The hem of her nightdress hiked up by the sudden motion, he leaned back, and his gaze traveled downward and was welcomed by the sight of her sex, dripping for him through the fabric of her underwear. After a curious swipe of his finger over the cloth, he said, “All you needed to do was ask, and I would have done it for you.”

She whined, shifting her hips in search of friction, her voice so pleasant in his ears that he yearned to do more to hear it again.

Did she add a dose or two of aphrodisiac in the black tea she served him? In the Princess’s Poison Apple she liked so much? Lucifer couldn’t recall, but he was positive she didn’t. He could find no explanation why he was being like this, his whole body blazing with arousal for this woman. “Or better yet…”

He tugged her underwear and slid it over her legs and feet, discarding it to the side. The longing to see the entirety of her led his fingers to trace her legs and slip the nightdress over her head. He was no stranger to the sight of a woman’s body, but it was the first time he stared at one with open desire. She was a true creature of sin. The idea that he would be a notch on her bedpost ruffled his feathers. It shouldn’t matter. No, it didn’t matter. It didn’t bother him at the slightest. A casual affair was all they were to each other, nothing more and nothing less. Unable to deny his yearning to acquaint his skin with this stranger’s own, he parted her legs. She obliged with a moan, her fingers shivering with anticipation as she encircled his shaft and stroked him before guiding him to her entrance. He slid inside her, groaning, but as he went on further, the tightness and the exquisite clench of her walls around him led him to an unbelievable conclusion. “You… You’re a virgin?”

“Don’t say it like that.” She turned her head away, covering her flushed face with the back of her hand, her chest heaving. “It’s not as if I’m completely innocent. I’m a demon, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Then, why?” he asked, unsheathing himself from her and leaning back, confused.

She pulled away from him and sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around her naked body, vulnerable at her confession. “You could say that tonight is my initiation. My fellow succubi brought me to this world to lure a mortal man, seduce him, and become a full-fledged succubus.

“It’s all garbage to me. If I fail, I would be deemed unworthy and become labeled as a regular demon, and if worse comes to worst, I could die at the hands of my kind, but then again, I could have done so with yours tonight, and it wouldn’t have mattered. I’m still not going down without a fight.”

As these customs were unknown to him, the possibility of her strange sense of purity being intact was something that never crossed his mind. From the burning need in her gaze to the passion in her touches to the ardor in her kisses… This succubus was a temptress through and through, and yet...

She equated his quiet moment of contemplation with disgust. “We’ve accomplished your purpose tonight, haven’t we? If that’s all, you can leave.”

“No,” he growled, the audacity of her dismissal offensive to him. Lucifer grabbed her by her hips and returned her to where she was before—where she rightfully belonged tonight. Despite her assumption, he found it quite the opposite. To be the first one to bring this creature to the highest of the highs for the first time in her existence, he felt gratification and triumph. He pinned her wrists over the mattress and hovered over her, regarding her with both want and need, intent on finishing what he started thoroughly. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“But you… I… I see.” Her eyes flickered from his grasp on her to his carnal gaze, understanding. “Do you enjoy that? Do you like being in control?”

“Yes. Very much so,” he admitted.

She nodded, and as if she was repenting for her behavior, he felt her surrender and submission as her whole body went lax underneath him, giving him permission to do as he desired. Lucifer rewarded her with a kiss, an absolution she was more than happy to receive, her body quivering with anticipation for more.

And so, Lucifer knew her.

He parted her legs, aligned himself against her slick entrance, and once again eased his length inside. She shut her eyes, her eyebrows furrowing and moans falling past her lips with every inch of him she graciously received. Once he had fully buried himself inside her, his body tensed as he kept himself from unsheathing himself and thrusting into her again and again with wild abandon.

Breathless, she opened her eyes and wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him to continue. “You don’t need to be so gentle. I’m not one to break so easily. I can handle you.”

At the reassurance, he found no doubt in her capability to do so, and for that he was glad. He was done holding back. “You asked for it.”

Guided by his primal instincts, he slammed inside her relentlessly, the grasp he had on her wrist tightening as his every thrust grew in intensity. It was a connection of two troubled souls: an angel and a devil in an act of consummation outside the sanctity of marriage. As he sank into her and her hips met his every movement, they crossed the line between the sacred and the profane. It was as if both of them were each other’s tools. Tonight, he was saving her by ruining her, and she was ruining him as a catalyst for his rebellion. But at the same time, no event in his existence has ever felt so intimate. A decision made with his free will, this was the night he welcomed the dark side he didn’t know he had, or perhaps, he has always had but laid dormant inside him—too enamored by his light to show up, but now shining in its own in the company of darkness.

At the frenetic pace of the meeting of their bodies, her hands clenched into fists, and she trembled underneath him and climaxed. No painting hung on the hallways did this moment justice: the sweat on her forehead, her reddened cheeks, her swollen lips—everything about her screamed unadulterated lust. Every detail dissolved into white light as he chased his own peak. His eyes shut, his jaw slackened, and his cock pulsated inside her with his release, leading him to loosen her wrists from the restraints of his palms.

As she took him in her embrace, found his lips with her own, and shifted their positions for another bout of their illicit liaison, she freed him from the noose surrounding his neck that was his halo. He should be feeling the darkness of the pit, yet he has never felt so high, the pure bliss that any promised land could never compare to taking over his whole being.

Lucifer had sinned.

And he saw that it was good.

Lucifer strode through the mansion’s courtyard, navigating through the zigzag of the maze as if it was second nature to him. The fragrance of roses stronger than ever, he sped past the fountain with the little demon, the water giving off a beautiful sparkle as the night slowly met the day. Soon, he was at the spot he landed on a few hours ago. As he was about to change into his natural form, a voice halted him and made him turn around.

“Wait!” the succubus called.

She emerged from the exit of the maze and ran toward him, barefoot, wearing that white nightdress again and smiling when she found him waiting for her.

Why wasn’t she wearing any sandals? Did she traverse in the maze with those bare feet of hers? Lucifer didn’t care, but through the confusion, he asked instead, “What are you doing here? Why did you follow me?”

“Here. These are for you.” She waltzed over to him and took his gloved hand in hers, securing the handle of the picnic basket she held in it. “More Princess’s Poison Apples and black tea leaves.”

“I didn’t ask for these.” He attempted to hand the picnic basket back to her, but she shook her head and stepped out of his reach.

“You liked them, I think, especially the apple,” she told him. “Who knows when you’ll get another chance to have a taste of this Devildom fruit? You’re welcome.”

He frowned, wondering if she was teasing him for trying to hide that fact. The picnic basket remained in his hand. If there was anything he learned in the few hours that he had known her, it was that she was not one to back down so easily, no matter what the circumstances were, including this one.

She roused him from his reverie by saying, “If you are already this beautiful in your human form, then I can only imagine how beautiful you truly are in your natural form.”

He masked his startled reaction with a sigh. Her assumption reminded Lucifer that she was unaware he was heaven’s most prized. To her, he was an angel who was about to stir trouble, and that was all she knew. He couldn’t believe he had almost forgotten that fact, but he still managed to admonish, “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Not if I’m being honest.”

“Vile succubus.”

“That’s me, angel.” She laughed and cleared her throat before continuing, “It’s none of my business, I know, but whatever you’re planning, it’s a big deal, isn’t it?”

He kept quiet, refusing to dignify her question with an answer.

She nodded, neither prying nor asking more. “It’s okay. I wish you the very best of luck.”

“I need no luck to succeed in it.”

“Maybe not.” She ambled closer to him and stood on her tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss on his lips. “Take care. You know where to find me.”

How dare she brush her lips against his on her own accord, those lips he had so thoroughly kissed? How dare she suggest that the night they shared would have a repeat one day? How dare she suggest that he should seek her for another tryst? Though these questions plagued his mind as he gazed at her retreating form, a part of him knew deep down that she was someone he wouldn’t forget. The night he shared with her was a memory that would be branded inside his mind to last until the end of time.

It was the moment he had shifted his life into a new path with the defiance of his father’s insufferable orders and expectations. His transgressions—his blasphemous behavior—were serious matters his father would never let slide, and his fellow angels, the righteous and holy, would condemn his failure against morality. However, things had changed. All of those he had once loved about himself and now hated and strived to get away from no longer rooted his feet to the authority of someone else. He was no disciple who merely followed, and he would say no more prayers and sing no more praises. He existed no longer for his father’s purpose, but for his own. The sheer power of individualism spurred his ambition for he was now the master of his own fate and nobody else. He would no longer be invisible under his father’s shadow for he would assert his own greatness and take pride in his own merits.

“Be not afraid.”

“Why would I be afraid of you?”

Lucifer laughed, assumed his natural form, and spun around, the shining aura emanating from his wings faltering for a second before retaining their brilliance. He turned his head and took one last peek at her awed and stunned expression from above his topmost wings before he lifted his feet off the ground, leaving a beam of light in his wake as he went farther. Against the morning air, he flew high and soared in his own wings, the fragrance of freedom as fresh as the morning dew on the roses and leaves.

As the light slowly faded, she managed to collect herself and waved at him from below, wondering when their paths would cross again, if they ever would. When she saw him no more, she turned to leave, but something swirled down from the sky and caught her attention.

With a smile, she opened her palm and waited for the white feather to land on it.

Dawn had broken completely when the Morning Star ascended to the Celestial Realm. Standing in front of the gates of heaven, a revelation struck Lucifer and led him to stop and stare at the picnic basket in his hand.

He did not even know her name.

Special thanks to @photoproses for brainstorming with me and for being the first reader of this story.

And thank you, dear reader, for taking the time to read this! 💙

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bitchwhoreofastorm · 5 years ago

Text

“origin”

"Nerevar's parry! Advance! Delyn's backhand! Retreat! Meris' block! Step left! Olms' thrust! Step right!"

Seron's sonorous voice echoed over the regular beat of heavy boots against pavement and ragged breathing in hot training-hall air. A crowd of Dunmer noblechildren did not a disciplined batallion make; Seron, however, was a Hand of Almalexia, and by a combination of careful diplomacy and strict admonishments that the Lady Herself would've been proud of, he'd whipped them promptly into shape, and they kept rigorous time with his instructions, feet and swords striking in rhythm with his shouts.

"Felms' Strike, take the knee-- Well done!" Seron shouted breathlessly over the clatter of several nobles falling to the ground. Fully-armoured and imposing for his height, the Hand walked down the line of kneeling children, all of whom were panting from exertion, their heads bowed and their training-swords held before them as if they were kneeling before the Gods Themselves. "Llarol, your parries are too slow," he said as he walked. "Mylis, good backhand. Ernil? Careful with your steps, they're too broad-- remember the Homily about the careless Alit who lost a battle by stepping off a cliff? Thanethen, best in the class today, well done. Iliah-- Iliah, your form is excellent but you move too slowly. Perfect form only counts if you use it in time."

Iliah, the fourteen-year-old girl who knelt at the end of the line, bowed her head and said nothing in response. This was a sword-class for the children of nobility, prospective politicians who needed to learn how to defend themselves (a necessary part of Dunmer politics, where assassinations were a part of daily life), and Seron seemed content for his advice to be accepted begrudgingly. While her peers grumbled about their criticisms, Iliah stared at the floor and focused on regaining her breath, flexing her hands on the hilt of her training sword and swearing to move more quickly next time.

"Alright," Seron announced, "Osuhn molha! Stand up and pair off. Let's put your lessons to the test."

A sense of dread crept into Iliah's throat. This was, by far, her least favourite part of training. Instinctively she looked over to Mylis, the only other girl in their cohort, but no sooner had she looked up that a stupid, grinning face abutted itself into her vision.

"You again," Iliah uttered.

"Me again!" chirped the boy. "Fight with me?"

Iliah looked past him, to Mylis, but she'd already paired off with Thanethen, and Seron had been claimed by the anxious-looking Llarol. "Um."

"Of course you will," laughed Ernil-- for that was the name ascribed to this pest-- and, before Iliah could protest, he seized her spare hand dragged her to a clear section of the training-hall.

Resigned to her fate, Iliah followed after hand, her hand hanging limply in his sweaty one.

If Iliah hadn't known better, she might have thought that Ernil enjoyed being beaten up by her. He always insisted on sparring with her, and hung around her like an unpleasant odour throughout their sessions; he'd even taken to following her home, prattling on about boring things, and she would endure his company in polite silence, or condone to wander around the public gardens with him until she found either her sister or her father to save her from the menace. Unfortunately, her withdrawn nature had done nothing to convince him that they were not, in fact, friends-- he seemed to like that she hardly spoke, calling her a 'good listener' and joking that he spoke enough for the both of them-- there were some boys, Iliah had realized, who treated conversations as opportunities to deliver monologues about whatever they pleased. And to Iliah's horror, even the adults had begun to take notice of how much time they spent together; when Ernil, holding her hand, positioned her in their usual training-spot, Seron gave them both a nod of approval, and Iliah wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground.

At least she could avenge herself on him. She was by far the better swordsman, and Ernil had barely dropped into fighting stance before Iliah had him on the floor.

The 'sparring' went predictably poorly for Ernil. He got in a few good hits, but he was one of those sensitive noble-children who couldn't commit to the violence, and each time his sword struck her he balked, leaving ample opportunity for Iliah to dive in and send him flying. To his credit, at least, he offered no protest: he would always hop back on his feet and attack her, only for Iliah to knock him back again. When Seron came by to observe them, he even noticed that Iliah's speed had improved considerably; at Ernil's efforts, the Hand merely sighed.

By the time the lesson ended, some half-hour later, Iliah's arms were sore, and Ernil had acquired several new bruises to boast of.

Not that it seemed to teach him anything.

"You're so good at this," Ernil prattled on after the lesson, as they sat next to each on the floor, peeling off their armour. "Unlike me. I'm the worst! The swords just move so fast. And I'm so clumsy. I don't think I'm cut out to be a warrior. You're lucky that you're a girl, nobody will be disappointed in you if you aren't good at swords. It's not fair. We should change places, really. But I don't mind that a girl's better than me at sword-fighting. Hey, you could give me private lessons. What are you doing this afternoon?"

Iliah, halfway through unfastening her cuirass, desperately wracked her brains for anything happening this afternoon. "Nothing," she finally conceded. "I'm not doing anything."

"Wonderful!" said Ernil with a grin. "Want me to help you with your cuirass?"

"No--"

But he was already unfastening the back for her; Iliah cringed away from his touch, but punching him would have been rude, so she stared patiently at the floor.

"Wanna come to my house?" Ernil asked. "There you go, it's unfastened. We should hang out! You just said you're doing nothing this afternoon, so why not?"

"I, um."

"Don't be shy! I know you're a shy girl, but I want to hang out with you, I promise. I think you're so cool, Iliah."

Iliah dropped the cuirass next to her and moved away from him, keeping stubbornly silent, focused on removing her armour.

Unfortunately, Ernil took her silence as agreement. Once she'd removed her armor, she wasn't quick enough out the door, and he tagged along with her; they both lived in the manor district, so their paths home regrettably aligned.

"Let's take the long road back," Ernil said, the moment they’d left the Temple complex, "Through the gardens!" And Iliah, who at least loved the public gardens, simply shrugged and let him usher her off into the trees.

The weather that day was warm, a lovely late-spring afternoon, the air thick and heady with flower-scent. They walked by a canal, concealed from the sun by the dappled shade of the pink Moril-trees standing overhead, through beds of Timsa-Come-By bowing their heads in a light breeze. After the hot sweaty air and cold stone of the training-hall, the gardens felt soft, fragrant, and their myraid pinks and oranges cast the entire scene in a hazy pollen glow. Despite the irritating presence of the boy, Iliah found herself quite content; too tired to be annoyed, she relaxed as they walked, enjoying the lovely atmosphere of Mournhold. And Ernil let a comfortable silence fall between them, for once, so the walk was nearly pleasant.

"I love this place," Ernil finally broke the silence, looking up at the trees.

Iliah, walking close beside him, stared out at the opaque blue water of the canal. She could see Koi darting around the base of the violet lotuses that dotted the water. "Me too," she said fondly, watching one of the big orange fish nibble at a plant.

"Do you remember playing here, when we were little? When you and your sister used to climb up that tree there," Ernil pointed to a large, stooping tree, drawing her attention away from the water, "And you'd declare yourselves the Queen of Mournhold, and make everyone do your bidding. You made me bring you sweetrolls! Do you remember?"

Iliah followed his pointing finger. "Yeah, I remember," she smiled, self-conscious. "I still like sweetrolls."

"I always wanted to be your friend, back then, but you were so shy. But I thought you were so cool, even then. You were smart and mysterious and dignified, like a real princess... and so pretty."

His hand brushed Iliah's. Iliah jerked it back to her chest.

"You're thinking of Karnalta," she said flatly. “In that game, Kar was always the Queen--”

"I'm not," Ernil said, looking at her, and something in his expression made Iliah stop in her tracks.

"But--"

"You're beautiful," Ernil said, also stopping. "Do you know that, Iliah?"

Iliah looked away. Suddenly her face was burning; she wished, more than anything, she'd brought her training sword on ths walk.

She felt Ernil grab her hands, and this time she didn't pull away. "Iliah Ra'athim,” declared Ernil, “I-- I like you a lot." His hands were still clammy. "I know you're shy, so I don't mind if we take it slow. I think it's cute. It gives you a certain... charm. But I like you a lot, and I think you're so... cool, and beautiful, and quiet, and interesting. I've known you my whole life, I don't remember a time I didn't know you, and I've always admired you so much."

"Ah, I'm not--" Iliah's gaze was fixed firmly on a nearby Timsa-Come-By; her hands were itching. "I think-- you're thinking of Kar, not me. I'm not..."

"No! I like you. She gets too much attention, but you're the one I really care about. You're the interesting one, the one who's good at swords, the beautiful one, the dignified respectable quiet shy devout one. You're wonderful. And I, I must ask you--"

The Timsa-Come-By beds were very interesting right now. Iliah, still with her hands imprisoned in their moist tomb, watched a dragonfly land on one. From the corner of her eye, Iliah saw-- in slow-motion, as if a disaster were taking place-- Ernil drop to his knees.

"Iliah Ra'athim," echoed that thin, reedy voice from a million miles away, "Will you be my girlfriend?"

The dragonfly lifted off and darted back to the canal.

A drop of sweat slid down Iliah's wrist.

"Um," said Iliah.

Ernil was still on his knees, holding both of her hands. He wasn't moving.

It had been several seconds.

When Iliah peeked down at him, he looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"Well?" Ernil pressed, voice shaking.

"I, um," Iliah stammered. "I... need to ask Kar."

"You need to ask your sister if you can date me?"

"Ah. Yes?"

"But that's foolish!" Ernil cried, jumping up, his hands still clamped around hers. "You deserve to be free! Why should she control you? I'll stand up to her for you. She's a bully, I always knew that, but I won't let her terrorize you any longer!"

"It's not--" Iliah shook her head. "I meant, I-- I need to ask my father?"

"I already asked him!" Ernil said anxiously.

"You what?"

"He said we'd make a great match. I'm nobility too, you know! He says I'm a fine young man and I'll be a good influence on you and--"

Iliah, aghast, wrenched her hands away from him. "But I--" she cast about for excuses. "I'm only fourteen!"

"So am I!"

"I can't use magic?"

"I don't care!"

"I snore? I-- you don't actually want to-- me? I don't like going out late! I’m boring! I hate holding hands. I'd be an awful girlfriend!"

"I don't care about any of that," Ernil said, pleading. "We've known each other all our lives, I know who you are. That's who I like! You!"

On the verge of panic, Iliah looked around. Why hadn't she brought that sword?

"Why don't you want to date me?" Ernil asked miserably. "I'm noble, I'm a nice person, I'm rich. What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you," Iliah choked out. "You're-- you're very nice."

"Am I ugly?"

"I don't think so?"

"Is there another boy? Is it Thanethen?"

"No!"

"Then why?" Ernil rushed forwards, grabbing Iliah by the shoulders-- he was really standing far too close, close enough that Iliah could definitively see that he’d shed a tear or two. "Why won't you--"

And at that moment, in a stroke of what she would later consider to be a message from divinity, Iliah heard Hand Seron's voice echo in her mind: Nerevar's Parry.

Emil landed in the canal with a resounding splash.

Iliah stood on the shore, still in post-suplex stance, having not even realized she'd hauled the boy over her shoulder until it was too late.

As Ernil waded towards the shore, shouting at her, Iliah finally decided to put manners aside: she took off at a run. Seron had been right, she thought vaguely-- good technique was most potent when combined with speed.

"You threw him into the canal." Idrenie said, disbelieving.

"What else was I supposed to do?"

The two women sat near a hearth, in their corner of the barracks; Idrenie, holding a goblet of greef, rested with her back pressed to Iliah's chest and her eyes closed contentedly, listening with rapt attention as Iliah told the story. The ending, however, had roused her, and she laughed, pressing her head back into Iliah's breast. "Only you, my dear, would think that suplexing a man is an appropriate rejection!"

"Again," replied Iliah, with feigned irritation, "What else was I meant to do? He was so annoying!"

"You could have just said no. Most women reject men with words, not suplexes. Could've said you were a big mean Telmoran and wanted no part in his nasty boyish charms. "

"Well, I didn't know that yet, did I?" Iliah sighed, burying her hands in Idrenie's loose hair. "Honestly, I felt too guilty. Because he was... nice, and we were friends. It would've made sense to date him, but the idea made me want to puke, even if I didn't know why."

"And that's how you realized it."

"Yes. Before that, I thought I could be with a man, if such an occasion ever came. But Ernil made me doubt it. I thought that if I would be with a boy, it should be one like him, but..."

"But you didn't like boys." Idrenie laughed again. Her laughter turned to a happy croon as Iliah massaged her scalp.

"I don't like boys," Iliah agreed softly.

"What about that Mylis girl?"

"Ah, she-- I could hardly speak in her presence. She was the kindest, prettiest, funniest, sweetest person. Once, during training, she actually asked to spar with me. Asked to spar with me! I felt so lucky. And she said I was talented afterwards. I was so-- Idrenie, why are you laughing at me."

For Idrenie had tilted her head back, and was grinning sleepily up at Iliah. "Nothing," she drawled. "I just remembered the first time we sparred."

"Oh, gods, don't--"

"When I said, 'beautiful backhand'."

"Idrie."

"And you replied, 'You're beautiful too.'"

Iliah groaned and leaned forwards, pressing her nose against Idrenie's forehead. "You'll never let me forget that, will you?"

"Of course not," Idrenie replied, tilting her face back to kiss her. "Just don't throw me into a canal over it, okay?"

#iliah #for a discord servers pride month thing #fic

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 4 years ago

Text

What Keeps You Up at Night part 2: Michael Knights Pov

Bonnie’s POV X

Dedicated to @aspacerat1 and two other people who begged me to write this.

For most silence is craveable, worth more than its own weight in gold. However, for Michael Knight, the quiet is intrusive. An invading force that extends its wicked tendrils into corners of his life he'd prefer to leave undisturbed. He had enough personal demons plaguing him without reawakening those wicked wraiths left to slumber in the wakes of the past.

Stirring, walking, and working forced those unsettling spirits to remain cast out to bay where they belonged. Observant azure orbs behold Wilton’s garage, taking note of the thermal pools of light exuding from within. Michael pauses outside the industrial doors, his fingers clasped around the solid steel handle. Dare he interlope on the work being done within? Would Bonnie be receptive to the encroachment on her territory at this hour? Or should he travel onwards like the wayfaring soldier he was? Warring deliberation is evident upon his striking face though it rests in the realms of darkness. The unyielding urge to investigate eventually wins over.

Barstow hears him though his practiced steps are hushed. A fact, he deduces, comes from having been snuck up on one too many times. He is pleasantly surprised when she does not berate his nosiness but rather, welcomes it. A whimsical Cheshire-cat-like grin snakes across his lips at her prodding. “Ya know, Bons, I could say the same thing.” He casually leans his weight against Kitt’s door.

For posterity's sake, he casts a glance down at his watch. His azure orbs briefly denote the time. It’s the bewitching hour of three when thick blankets of fog cuddle close to the ground and envelope everything including the skyscrapers of the far-off city. Darkness has not yet tasted the welcoming vibrancy of sunlight. Even still, the sky is gradually perfecting a reverse ombre. Thoughts of any realm outside the present garage fizzle into nothingness.

Michael is genuinely touched by her obvious concern. His lips part ways with a gentler, more tame smile. “I’m fine.” Suddenly, he is overly conscious about the focus of her eyes flashing over him. His large hand smooths through the luxuriously thick tangles of his dark curls, hoping to bring some measure of order to the otherwise half disheveled and unruly appearance. After a pause, he finally embellishes his answer to her question. “Figured I might as well make myself useful since I can’t sleep.” Devon surely had mountainous stacks of manila folders laying around with new cases. Some of them might even become the Foundation’s priority before too long. Yet, he’s not really interested in swimming through the black inked collections of information. By preference, he invests fully in his favorite prepossessing coworker.

His azure eyes practically glow, wired by mild disquietude as if they were neon lights when she lets out a huff. Had he ventured to ask something he shouldn’t have? He is about to apologize for any offense he may have dealt her when she finally begins to speak. Any semblance of a smile completely evaporates. Her first answer to his inquiry felt deliberately vague but in a way, he fully understood it. There had been so many instantaneous reactions and so many moments over the years that he would amend if he was ever given such an opportunity. Lingering at the top of that very list was the way he spoke to the poor dying Wilton Knight the day he stormed into the garage. Devon said Michael had just struck a dying man. That phraseology though simple haunted him still. He’d spend the rest of his life wishing he could take those venom-laced words back.

Sympathetically, Michael nods. In existence, there were probably a trillion comforting words he could offer. Begrudgingly, not a singular term would willfully lend itself to snuffing out her quieted sufferings. Even still, he refused to be dismissive of her pain. “I get it. Trust me, I do.” And the hideous truth was, he painfully did comprehend. He waits till she stands to draw nearer. “Look I know you don’t need me to tell you this,” Michael starts, “but there’s no use in torturing yourself over the past. It just takes your mind away from your present.” A pause. “Besides, every mistake is a lesson propelling you on your way to success.”

“You stole that off some cheesy poster, didn’t you?” Bonnie playfully accuses.

Bonnie wasn’t wrong. He had pilfered some of it but adapted it to fit in his own lax lexicon. Notes of cheerfulness begin to creep back into his countenance and it is denoted in the softening of his eyes. “Well, it’s more like borrowed,” he cheekily returned. Stealing was such a dirty term.

Bon’s next confession cuts him to the quick. He felt as though he had been sucker-punched. The strangled breath that he emits attests to the awful palpable sensation of having been viciously belted by her words. “Bons...” Her nickname is expelled reverently, in the form of a near prayerful whisper. His hands which had been mindful of respecting her personal space now lurch forward, gingerly collapsing around the slopes of her shoulders. He swallows sharply with the realization of just how much responsibility she allowed to weigh down upon her shoulders. They’ve had their share of close calls but not a single one of them had occurred as a result of anything Bonnie had done. Michael couldn’t fathom how she’d ever shift that blame to herself.

Making sure he is holding her gaze, he speaks again. “You’ve never let either of us down. No matter how hopeless our situations have been. I know you constantly say that you’re a scientist, not a miracle worker, but I tend to think of you as both. Without your skills and expertise, neither of us would be here.” His chord is full of unwavering conviction. “I know you, Bon. You will never let Kitt and I peel out of this garage if you genuinely thought we would not return in, at the very least, a salvageable condition.” He knows that this will probably do little to assuage her fears. Yet, he is trying. Michael allows one hand to depart her shoulder to cup her face. His thumb purposefully swipes slow strokes across the smooth globe of her cheekbone half-committing her beauty to memory.

He can discern wisps of terror coiling through those turquoise pools of hers and immediately, his poor heart gives off a series of terrible thrashing pangs. He desired to remove that fear from her, to let her know that he and Kitt are always going to return to her. Perhaps, he thinks to himself; he should take some measures towards being less feckless. “We’re safe. We’re going to stay that way. I promise.” Sure, he knows he ought not to make vows that he is uncertain he can keep but it feels exceedingly important in this very moment to do just that.

He can feel unintentional crater-like chinks forming in his armor both physical and emotional. Shielding her from bearing witness to anything that may translate into the depths of his eyes, Michael opts to press a doting kiss to the expanse of her forehead. It’s a sin. He knows. But he allows the cracked leather of his lips to remain against the warm silk of her skin for a touch longer than he ought. While there, he reveled in the familiar scents of her shampoo and body wash. Man, oh man, he jealously coveted her the way pirates did their treasures.

Barstow’s question causes Knight to unintentionally recoil. It’s something he hadn’t allowed his mind to ruminate on. Hell, he can’t remember the last time he thought about the causes behind his insomnia. Withdrawing his lips and taking a step back, he elects to gaze upon her countenance. She deserved nothing but an honest answer.

The unspoken reply hits Michael the way a barreling freight train might. With every click along the tracks shot fleeting shadows, hollow phantoms of faces and places, resurrecting images imprinted on his mind. Whether they were imagined or real or an unholy collision of the two, he could not distinguish. There was nothing concrete left in the whirlwind the question created and still, the sparks felt indelible. Among these things, Michael dared not give a voice were: oppressively thick jungles with flickering silhouettes of soldiers traversing cautiously through them, glints off of silver and gold shields with the towering engraving of city hall etched in them and the casts of red and blue flashing lights, hot Nevada nights, his father and mother or a man and woman with near enough resemblance to Long, American flags draped over caskets, super-nova like bursts of light from guns being fired, and something- something way back in the blur of memory. He thinks though it is with no absolute clarity, that it might have been home. No. It is not his current place of residence but rather that of his, correction Michael Long’s, childhood. Having taken two bullets to the skull had done little to preserve the things most other people could never forget. Tanya Walker’s bullet managed to wipe out the most solid impressions of the past. While he was grateful not to relive a majority of the horrors and atrocities of Nam, he mourned the loss of recollection towards the rest of Michael Long’s life.

Somewhere along the way, the unspoken reminiscing to the lost voices of the past derails. It takes a wrong turn, spinning on an axis until it conjures up feelings of dread, anxiety, and intense anger. His fingers curl up, clenching tight at his side before going lax again. Just as quickly as the negative emotions arrived, they vanish.

Embarrassment flushes across his cheeks when he realizes that she is patiently staring and he had not given her a response. He had been floundering, drowning without hope of rescue, in things he couldn’t entirely understand himself. He’s never been raw and open about any of his wounds. Discussing them wasn’t going to be an easy feat.

Despite Michael Knight’s outward confidence, insecurities dogged his every step. “Sometimes,” he starts, his voice unusually gravely and husky. “Sometimes I lay awake, wondering why Wilton Knight chose me to carry on his legacy instead of someone else. Instead of Devon or .... or any number of readily available people.” His tongue trails briefly over the jagged edges of his lips. “If anyone deserved a second chance at life, Muntzy did.” It is a fact Michael whole-heartedly believed. He would have traded his life a hundred times over to ensure that poor Rebecca (Muntzy’s wife) and his three little girls wouldn’t have to face a life without their father.

Bonnie listened intently. Her eyes never daring to depart from him. She is so astonished by the revelation, that she finds herself at a rare loss for words. Her brows furrow in disbelief. In her mind, she never questioned Michael’s appointment to FLAG’s most trusted operative. Devon might have earned the position were he younger, more nimble, and less inclined towards a life of predictability. Sure, he had been wild in his youth but those days were long tossed to the wind. Regardless, Wilton had always been startlingly confident in his choice! There had been no doubt in his mind to Michael’s worthiness.

In a softer agonized tone, he rhetorically prods, “why me of all people?” He didn’t fancy himself as being overly special but more than that, he didn’t feel deserving of Wilton Knight’s incredible mantle. The extraordinary burden of which had been thrust upon his shoulders without his ever being asked with the demand that he walks away from everything and everyone he cherished. There hadn’t been one single moment where Michael had been gifted the opportunity to turn back. Michael Long was dead. “What if I cease to make him proud? What if one man isn’t enough to make a difference?” He shifts uncomfortably. His hands briefly delving into the denim pockets of his jeans. His eyes dart around the garage before returning to her. Where he expected to find judgement, he found only empathy. Before she can open her mouth to further comment, he changes the subject.

Taking one of the cleaner rags he could find nearby, he starts running it along Kitt’s outer shell. It was easier to focus when he could be doing some menial task or other. Or so, he tells himself. “There are some nights where fragments of intelligence missions in Nam and my early days of police work come back to me. Can’t make odds or ends outta them but I know they’re there. They’re hopelessly jumbled like a tangled ball of yarn.” It was hard to put to words unless one had experienced it for themselves. It was like trying to recreate a phenomenal recipe with no real idea of what ingredients went into it. Even if you did, by some miracle, manage to secure all of the ingredients, there was still a mystery pertaining to measurements. When they’re all mixed together, it never really turns out like the original. Now, does it? Heck, sometimes it didn’t make for even a shallow reproduction.

When he tried to connect the dots of things that happened in Nam and on the big bad streets of Nevada and Los Angeles, they came out pixilated a kaleidoscope of images woven tightly together. Everything would shift and warp with the slightest touch, altering in their entirety. Reality or fiction? It was impossible to discern which category each memory should be assigned to. There is no one he could ask to assist him with the task of making distinctions. A majority of his work gathering intel reports and sending them along in a timely manner had been highly classified. Worse still, there were no war or cop buddies who were made privy to the knowledge of Michael Long’s rebirth into Michael Knight. He had to circumnavigate lapses in memory on his own.

Relinquishing a frustrated breath, he continues in a low voice, “ there are nights when I close my eyes and see her. I see Tanya and that sharp burst of yellow light from the gun...” The words feel thick and he chokes a little. A frigid chill creeps down every vertebra in his spine. Even talking about it makes him recoil. He knows Bonnie wouldn’t ask him to further elaborate. She knows about the accident and a good bit of the aftermath.

Turning back to her with a plaintive expression, he decides to confess a terror that made every drop of his blood turn to ice. “Hear me out,” he starts, abandoning the cloth rag on Kitt’s T-top so that his hands might return to Bonnie’s frame. He hesitates, pulling his hands away from her shoulders at the last second and opting to cradle her face. “Those things are all intense but thoughts of losing you are by far the worst.” He spoke in a manner that left no debate towards his sincerity. Azure orbs vigorously drink her in. He’s lost one love and he made a vow before heaven and earth that he would stop at nothing to protect her.

#answered ask #bonniebarstowofflag #Michael Knight #Knight Rider #because they don't deal with his trauma like ever or let him talk about it #forgive me as Michael is not my main muse #this got far longer than expected #bonnie barstow

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