#grisha-avenger

[navybrat817]

He went from this.

To this.

[chigirisprincess]

Covered in the Colour of You ࿐

— Armin Arlert

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, cisfem reader (use of girl as reference to the reader), reader's hair gets combed through, reader wears a nightgown, post-canon exploration of characters and setting, reader is mentally ill (so is Armin), hunger as a metaphor for desire, love as consumption, love confessions, first times (Armin is a virgin, Reader is not), first kisses, sex on a table, some foreplay, unprotected sex, creampies, ambiguous ending, angst, hurt/some comfort, childhood friends to lovers. ⊹ Run time. 10k ⊹ Note. I don't know how we got here but I'm glad we did. This was meant to be a cute comfort fic to deal with the ending of Attack on Titan but it became so much more, I hope you enjoy.

❝A surprise visit from your childhood friend, Armin Arlert forces you to confront the feelings you've been harbouring for over a decade..❞

The Jägerist’s cries are deafening, they bounce off the clay brick walls of the surrounding houses and slither through your shuttered window panes. Every Tuesday and Thursday, the newly minted Paradis military regiment convenes in the small town square within the rebuilt city of Shiganshina. It took them just under a month to replace the fallen with green boys and girls who were just buzzing at the idea of honouring Eren Jäger and avenging his death. Once Paradis managed to secure the resources– if there were any left– you were certain that the military would erect a bronze statue of Paradis’ “saviour”. For now, they’d bother napping babies and the elderly folk who milled about the area to soak in some of the sun’s sweet warmth. 

Today they seemed to be reminding those who’d spare an ear to listen, that traitors would soon shore and with them came treasonous falsehoods. If not for Queen Historia who still harbours some morsel of affection for her old comrades, they’d be as good as dead the moment their ship docked. Word spread quickly, how you weren’t sure, but like wildfire the claim that Armin Arlert had been the one to kill Eren Jäger scorched the plains and further sowed the seeds of instability amongst the population. 

The irony of such a ludicrous statement was not lost on you. Armin Arlert couldn’t kill Eren Jäger, they were best friends and all of Shiganshina knew there could not be one without the other. You had known the two almost as long as they had known each other. Shiganshina wasn’t so big in those days, Grisha Jäger was the only doctor and Armin’s father was something of a handyman. They were who you called upon when something was amiss and you’d thank them with a warm meal or something sweet. That was what you did in those days, you showed kindness wherever you could. They were so simple, those days when the walls kept secrets and our minds were shrouded with ignorant bliss. Some mornings when you woke before the sun had yet risen, you wished Paradis could have remained tucked safely beneath the blanket King Fritz had pulled over the island. 

What little sense of communal affection remained dwindled with calls to action that erupted from the square.

This morning, the sense of longing that had settled between your lungs weighed heavily as you listened to the shouting. You wished the clock would turn back and the next time you woke, you’d be ten years old and the house you lived in would be your home. It was sort of a sick joke, to be given the keys to the house built upon the rubble of your family's home. Floch handed you the keys as if he had done you this great personal service when it had been Eren, Armin, Mikasa, and their friends who had dug through the wreckage to salvage the home they too had lost. Vagrancy was tiring and what little money you had to your name after years of working for meagre wages that just barely covered your expenses, maybe you should have been grateful to at least collect a few pieces of your life before even if they jagged and misshapen. Something was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

It had to be. 

There needed to be some reason for you to keep going. Lately, there didn’t seem to be any. Everything felt wrong. The once-cobbled streets were made of smooth even stone that allowed you to bounce around the city with ease, it reminded you of the capital. As a child, you often felt jealous that Wall Sina was home to such niceties while you were made to trip over protruding stones and wade through mud puddles in the wet months. Now though, you’d give anything for a semblance of a distant past that would make Shiganshina home once more. But as you lingered around your old haunts, searching for familiar faces and memories that would ease the pain in your chest, all you’d find was something new and foreign that left you feeling disappointed.

Turning over onto your side you curled inwards, a soft sigh passing your lips as you willed your mind to banish the longing that gnawed at you. The cool breeze that glides through your window leaves goosebumps on the bits of flesh that aren’t being swaddled by your thin white blanket. All the battle cries seemed to have simmered down as the sun inched closer toward the middle of the sky. You might be able to catch the morning market before they pack up their wares for the day if you leave now. Your icebox was pathetically empty, with only a head of rapidly wilting lettuce and milk to occupy the space. Sitting upward with a yawn, you cast a glance toward your dresser. Your clothes hang sloppily over the side of the open drawers. You should probably tidy things up before the hour grows too late.

The sleek, mousy brown floorboards that make up the second story of your house do not creak as you pad across the room—your chest aches, though you’ve grown desensitised to the familiar feeling. Your house used to creak and groan when the wind blew too roughly, and the walls were thin enough that you’d wake to the sound of your mother humming as she prepared breakfast for your family. You tried not to dwell too hard, if anything you should have been relieved. An unexpected storm wouldn’t dare to blow the roof off your house now. 

Plucking the soft, brown wool knit cardigan off the lip of your cracked door you slipped the fabric over your body. Your delicate muslin nightgown did little to keep the morning chill away. It did even less to preserve any ounce of modesty. Your bare feet slapped against the stairs as you headed downward, and a soft knock sounded at your door. Pulling your cardigan closer to your body you sighed. It must have been Mrs. Bergmann from next door coming to check on you, make sure you left your house this week, let in some fresh air– function as any other human would, that sort of stuff. She had been widowed long ago, her only son had been one of the many scouts to give his life for a free Paradis. There wasn’t much for her to do aside from checking in on her neighbours. She was a wife, a mother– it was in her nature to nurture all the little lost souls she came across.

“I’m coming Mrs. Bergmann,” You called, your voice echoing around the empty space that would have been your living room, “You don’t need to call in Werner to bust down the door just yet!”

Forcing a smile to your lips, you prepared yourself to open the door. Mrs. Bergmann was well-meaning on the best of days, if a little nosey on the worst. It was better to have someone than no one at all, you remind yourself, pushing back the urge to blanche and roll your eyes at the urgency of her knocking. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you hope your hair wasn’t too gnarly after all the tossing and turning you did last night. The door opens with a soft click as you twist the knob open.

Shock blows through you as you blink at the person on the other side. Your eyes frantically open and close, trying to make sense of who stood before you but as your synapses fired off round after round, searching for something, they found nothing.

“Armin?” You timidly ask, your throat twists up and grows dry.

The syllables on your tongue felt wrong. Maybe, the muscles had just forgotten how his name tasted. As a child, his name rolled off your tongue sweetly and constantly. Back then, there had been too many emotions packed inside your small body, you could never make sense of them, all you knew was that they all led back to the man in front of you. Your cheeks warmed at the reminder of the crush you used to harbour, of how you’d write your name and his, silently calling yourself Mrs. Arlert as if she hadn’t already existed in the form of his mother.

Armin’s cheeks grow round with the shy smile he wears, “Hi,” he says. The remnants of his boyhood live in the soft curve of his jaw and the cherub-like softness of his rosy complexion. 

“Hi,” you breathlessly whispered as you searched for any other lingering signs of familiarity. 

“May I come in?” he asks, his nervous hands smooth imaginary wrinkles in his sage green tie. The breath is selfishly stolen from your lungs by the greedy, monster who lived inside of you. They swallowed back the traces of your youth, you hoped it was enough to placate them because as long as your breath was hitched, no words could come forth.

Armin’s blue eyes curiously peered back at you from beneath his pale blonde lashes. He was still quite pretty, but the edge of maturity that marred his features made your heart flutter in a way it never had. The desperate longing that clawed at your rib cage slowed, pawing instead as its interests morphed into something more amorous. You would have beaten it down if you could, shame prickles your skin as you clear your throat.

“Of course,” you stutter, opening the door to make room for him to enter, “You’ll have to excuse my appearance, I wasn’t expecting any guests this morning.”

His smile is polite, “What about Mrs. Bergmann?” He inquires, his eyes darting around to drink in the interior of your house. It looked just like the one he was raised in but it had been twelve years since he stepped foot in one. The scouts lived in barracks that were carved out of long-since abandoned castles, “You seemed to be expecting her.”

“Ah, not exactly,” you muttered, offering him a seat at your dining table, “She’s just the only visitor I have as of late … So, what brings you by?”

Armin declines the seat, instead pulling out the chair opposite of him for you. You thank him with a small bow of your head. His knuckles brush against your shoulders as he slides his fingertips along the edge of your chair before swinging around to the other side. In a world of boys, Armin Arlert was a gentleman, as he always had been, even at the age of ten when boys took to tugging girls' pigtails for attention. His grandfather would be proud of the young man he’s become. You think Mr. Arlert would have been proud even if all Armin did was survive.

The warm yellow sunlight filters through the windows and turns Armin’s hair a shade of bleach blonde. His skin is tanned, his cheeks rosy. He looks healthy, he’s a bit taller too. His hair was different too now that you took a moment to look at it, only slightly so. The shaved undercut reminded you of the short, stoic captain whose charge Armin was in for years.

Insecurity stirred in your belly. You thought of what you might look like to him being so dishevelled in nothing but a nightgown and cardigan. Unkempt, that is how you must have appeared to him. The bike in your stomach burns at the back of your throat as you cross your legs and tuck as much of your body beneath the table as you can. 

“I just wanted to see you,” he says, resting his linked hands on the table, “It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

It’s been over four years, the bitter overly insecure voice in your head hisses, “It has, but you’ve been busy, saving the world and all,” you say instead, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear, “Honestly I must confess, I'm a bit surprised, I thought you and the other ambassadors would be meeting with the Queen.”

What you truly mean to say dangles in the air. Armin can feel it, he shifts in his seat— why wasn’t he with someone more important? How did he manage to sneak past the Jägerists predatory gaze? He shouldn’t have been here. The anguish that wrought the shores of Paradis couldn’t be fixed with a measly conversation but surely, it was a start so, why was he here with you?

“She met our boat at the harbour to ensure our safe passage into the city,” he explains, picking at his fingers, “We’re still trying to coordinate with the army but they’ve agreed to allow free reign of Shiganshina so long as we remain unarmed.”

“It would be rather counterintuitive for peace ambassadors to bear arms.”

Armin lets out a small chuckle, smiling a bit to himself.

“But, they’ve already proved their incompetence in thinking trained soldiers need weapons to fight,” you muttered, casting your eyes away from him, “I … My apologies, I shouldn't speak ill of your comrades.”

“They’ve dissolved the Scout Regiment, I’m no longer a soldier and they are not my comrades,” Armin swiftly replies.

He fiddles with his tie again, flattening out the fabric with scar-riddled hands. The last time you saw him, his skin was surprisingly unmarred. Old scars you could have sworn imprinted his skin ceased to exist, something to do with his newfound titan ability, that’s what Eren said when he rolled up his sleeves to expose his own blemish-free body. It seemed unnatural then, for the pieces of personal history to be erased but Armin felt alien enough without you reminding him of how much he had changed. 

“Yes, but-”

“How are you doing?” He interrupts, and an apologetic look swims within the depths of his baby blue eyes. His time in the military was a touchy subject, which was to be expected but it didn’t wash away the burn of curiosity that ribbed at your bones, “When I last wrote to Mikasa, she said she hadn’t seen you in some time in spite of being neighbours.”

Pursing your lips, you sigh, “I’m doing well Armin,” it’s a bald-faced lie but the two of you have become so estranged, Armin couldn’t know you the way he once did, not when so much time has washed the imprints you’ve pressed upon each other as it brought in the tide, “How are you?”

“That’s not an answer,” Armin frowns, the dip of his lips making his cheeks round in a way that reminds you that he is only twenty-two, “I haven’t seen you in four years, I … I want to know what your life is like.”

Reaching over the table, Armin takes your hand in his. If he notices the irritated and oozing flesh around your cuticles, he keeps it well hidden. Smoothing his thumb over your knuckles, Armin settles his eyes on yours, taking in the two little lines that have been carved into your skin from how often you furrow your brows. There was no “correct” way to tell someone that you spent most of your afternoons curled up in bed, lying listlessly as you listened to the sounds of the bustling street below. Armin had a penchant for worrying, he’d worry about your well-being when there were far more important issues for him to focus on. 

“It’s not so different from before.”

Armin was unconvinced. Eight years ago, after the Scout Regiment took control of the central government, a bit of money was sent your way in addition to your rebuilt childhood home. Though they wouldn’t say it, you believed that Eren, Armin, and Mikasa felt guilty for abandoning you the moment they turned twelve thus becoming eligible to enrol in the Cadet Corps. You had no interest in joining the Scouts, Military Police, or the Garrison but Eren was determined and wherever Eren went so too did Mikasa and Armin. With no family and no friends, you had to fend for yourself. It wasn’t so bad. A woman, you could hardly remember her name now, paid you to care for her youngest child while she and her husband worked, and their older children attended school. She gave you room and board, fed you three square meals, and gave you “hand-me-downs” to wear.

In the chaos of Trost being breeched you became separated and weeks later learned that the family perished. You used what little money you managed to save to pay for board in an inn near Jinae where you worked as a stable hand until your childhood friends and their comrades came bearing gifts. You’d need to find work soon. Now that you were of age, you were sure to find a cushy job as a barmaid at the local tavern. 

“You think it is?” You asked, biting on your bottom lip.

Armin nods. His grip tightens and he mutters a low, “Sorry” when you wince from how he accidentally squishes your fingers beneath his.

Shrugging your shoulders you think back to the before much like you did most days, “Paradis is being run by lunatics who worship a dead man,” you blanche, your chest preemptively tightening from your nerves, “That’s not so different to before when this shitty little island was run by lunatics who worshipped the walls.”

Except now, people actually paid mind to the chirping loons. They had access to weapons that could wipe out what was left of humanity and certainly were unafraid to use them. Crossing them would be a very stupid and very dangerous mistake. Bravery was what this island prided itself on, now the most one could muster was a contempt-filled glower that was sent in passing. 

“That’s not …” Armin’s voice trailed off. There was that look of guilt again. 

“I know.”

Lacing your fingers between his, you squeeze Armin’s hand.

“It’s not your fault, Armin,” you assure, your mouth twisting up into a strange smile. The muscles in your face seemed to ache as though you were contorting your expression, “You know that, right?”

He nods his head, and strands of his pale blonde hair fall against his forehead as he does, “I know,” he whispers with conviction though his hand trembles in yours. You remain unconvinced, guilt rolls off his shoulders in sickening waves.

“It’s not Eren’s fault either.”

You’re unsure why you say it. It was Eren’s fault. It was his name and his image that they fought for. Whatever politics happened behind closed doors did not matter, not when he died knowing that those men and women idolised him and would wage wars in his name. One spoiled fruit rotted away the entire crop and now Paradis was ready to cosign its doom, picking on the weakened and the damned as if this island had not once been just the same.

“Thank you,” Armin mouths, his voice barely audible as he clears his throat and replaces his expression with a friendly smile.

“I guess the trains are different,” you blurt, looking for a way to steer the sinking ship that was this conversation, “I’ll never get used to them, they’re so loud and dark inside.”

“Glad to know our hard work is being appreciated.” 

You lift the corners of your lips to smile at him, “It is, the horses are very grateful to no longer be worked to the bone by merchants transporting goods from Maria to Sheena,” you say, nearly forgetting that there no longer was an interior or exterior to name, “Life here is still simple, Armin, there isn’t much to update you on.”

“Still-”

“We can’t all be heroes,” you jest, nudging his foot beneath the table, “So, tell me what is life like for you?”

Armin withdraws his hands from yours, “It’s all I talk about, I don’t want to talk about it with you,” he explains, swallowing thickly, “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.”

Rising from your seat you round the corner of the small table to press the palm of your hand between his shoulder blades. The gesture is meant to be comforting but you feel awkward, like you shouldn’t be touching him like this though your body craved the knowledge of what his skin would like against yours. The tips of your fingers graze the edge of his crisp collar, you hastily jerk back, eyes narrowing to inspect the fabric for any unwanted crinkles you may have caused.

“I’ve been such a bad host,” you mutter, “My mother would be so disappointed that I haven’t asked you if you’d like anything to drink.”

“Tea if you have any, please.”

You nod again, you still have some dried chamomile that Mrs.Bergmann gave to you when you confessed to her that you struggled to sleep some days. The tea didn’t help but it was the thought that counted. Goosebumps trailed up the length of your bare legs and you cursed yourself for not excusing yourself to dress before you sat down with Armin. The early spring air wouldn’t warm until the late afternoon most days. 

Armin’s gaze is heavy. He watches you flutter about your kitchen with keen intent. His eyes slither up your body in a methodical manner. You’re unsure if he’s leering the way men unabashedly do when they’re three pints in or if he’s searching for any indication that something might be amiss. You hope it’s the latter. It should be the latter, you didn’t feel uncomfortable and Armin wasn’t one to steal eyefuls of others.

“Do you still like it with milk and honey?” you ask, though you’ve already reached into the icebox in search of the milk you knew was in there. Hopefully, it hasn't yet spoiled.

You flinched when you rose to your full height. Armin had materialised behind you. The jug nearly drops from your hand but Armin is quick to wrap his fingers around the handle, overtop of your hand. He guides the jug to the counter and reaches an arm around you to take the teapot off the heat before it can release a shrill squeal. 

Pressing your hand to your chest, you murmur a breathless, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Armin chirps.

His eyes bore into yours, he’s inspecting you once more. Whatever he’s in search of, you’re certain he isn’t going to find it. The girl that he once knew was not the same woman that stood before him, nor was he the same boy even if his eyes twinkled just the same. That was growing up. Your stomach grumbled, licking its chops as the wanting returned. Your eyes trickled down Armin’s face until they settled on his cupid's bow. His lips were full and a dusted pink colour. They were nice, you remember wondering what they’d feel like against yours if it’d hurt to kiss him after he’d bitten his lips raw with stress. 

The sharp edge of the counter digs into the plush flesh of your hips as you press your body against it. Hunger is as frightening as it is all consuming. You are hungry. Are you hungry for him? You’ve craved and yearned for places and their people, but never their bodies. The one time you allowed a man in your bed it’d been out of curiosity and some twisted need to feel something, anything other than the dull twinge of melancholy that sprouted from the roots it planted in your heart. 

Armin placed his hand on your chest where your heart was. The heat of his palm melted through the thin fabric of your nightgown, causing you to instinctively shiver, “Your heart is racing,” he comments, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, “I didn’t startle you, did I?”

“No.”

“How is Annie?” You nervously ask, searching for a way to stifle the deluded desire that coursed through your veins, “Last I heard from Hitch, she had been freed from her crystal and joined you. That must have been exciting, being able to speak to her after so many years.”

His face crinkles up into a confused expression, “Annie is fine, they’re all fine. Connie and Jean are excited to see their mothers,” he replies slightly, cocking his head to the side, “Why do you ask?”

You shrug your shoulders. Armin doesn’t remove his hand. Your heart skips a beat, you’re sure he feels it. 

“Was just curious I guess, since I heard you had feelings for her.”

“Annie and I are friends, nothing more,” his nose crinkles, he seems to want to ask where you hear such a ludicrous rumour but doesn’t. When he wasn’t with the scouts, he was with her crystal, talking as if one day she might answer back.

“Oh.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Armin counters, his long pale lashes fluttering against his cheek as he blinks, “You’ve always been … quite the catch.”

His voice trails off, he regrets his wording. He didn’t want to liken you to fish or cattle but of all the vast information stored in his brain, there seemed to be nothing on complimenting women. Not that he’s done much of that in his lifetime. There’s never been a need to. Armin wants to compliment you, to tell you how he really feels but it gets clogged in his throat as he struggles to get a read on you.

Shaking your head, you avert your gaze.

It’s not for a lack of trying or wanting. None of the relationships you pursued ever felt right. Their hands didn’t fit within yours the way they were supposed to. Your body was hallowed out in the middle but they couldn’t fill you up. It wasn’t their fault. You’d accept that you were broken, someone who simply wasn’t meant to be loved. It was easy. Until now, when the one person your heart still clung to stood here and dangled himself like a carrot.

“Good, you’re too good for anyone on this island,” his proclamation makes your skin itch. Even if what he said were true, you would have to settle for someone on this island eventually, lest you spend the rest of your life as alone as you are now, “You deserve someone who’s good enough for you.”

You nearly laugh, though he makes this statement with such earnestness that you’re almost inclined to believe him. Almost.

“Who then?”

Looking into his eyes made your lungs ache. There was nowhere to escape with how he pinned you in place with his gaze.

“Who’s good enough for me?” You ask, your nails digging into the wood counter as you curl your fists around the lip of it, “You?”

Armin rolls his eyes and the sight alone shocks you, “No, I could never be good enough for you,” a laugh springs forth, crackling past your lips before you’re able to stop it, “Is something funny?”

His cheeks turn red with embarrassment but there's nowhere for him to hide either.

“No … Yes, actually,” you sigh, expelling all the air from your lungs as you muster up the resolve to be truthful, “I have loved for as long as I can remember and I have wanted you even before I even knew what love truly was.”

Your fingers coil around his wrist, intent on wrenching his hand away from your chest but the look in his eyes stops you. Sadness and self-loathing meet in the bright blue pools of his irises. You were born six months before he was but he’s always seemed years ahead of you. There was a certain kind of wisdom that surrounded him, you weren’t sure why. Now though, whatever maturity that shrouded Armin vanished and all that lay beneath was a newborn fawn that teetered on legs far too long for him.

Your nails dig into the cuff of his jacket, crinkling the pristine fabric, “There is not a day that goes by where I haven’t thought of you.”

“I’m no good for you either,” he says with a wet laugh. His eyes shone with welled up tears that had no business blurring his gaze.

“Because you’ve killed people?” You ask, your brows furrowing as you frown, “There are many people who have done worse for less. At least you had a reason.”

“I could never be the man that you need me to be.”

“Not even for an afternoon?” You had always known his future held more than your own, even before he became humanity's saviour. He’d make his peace with Paradis and leave, maybe he’d come back years from now, or maybe he’d plant his roots elsewhere.

His hand trembles as he shakes his head, “No.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, he releases a shaky exhale. You bite back the urge to ask him once more why he was here. You were never that close as children, you were close in a way that all of Shiganshina was but never anything more than, at least nothing that would have meant this unannounced visit was appropriate.

“Why?”

“You should live a quiet life,” Armin whispers, his lips nearly grazing yours as they move to form each syllable, “A happy life, after all you’ve been through, you deserve it.”

Your eyes flutter shut, “And you don’t?” It’s a stupid question, really, if he believed he did this conversation wouldn’t be happening, “You’ve been through far more than I, you’ve lost so much more.”

“I have even more to atone for.”

His bottom lip quivers as he presses the weight of his body into you. He’s heavier than you could have imagined, and his body is harder too. Somewhere between now and then his lithe frame melded into lean muscle and it serves as another reminder of how much time has passed, how little you two knew of each other now. Trailing your fingertips over his shoulder, you slide your arm around him, pulling him into an embrace. Armin shudders in your hold, a meek whimper slipping past his lips as he crushes his body into yours. Your nails press into the sliver of skin that peeks over the lip of his collar. 

It's the nape of his neck.

When titans were simply the monsters that hid beneath your bed and plagued your dreams, it was common knowledge that the way to snuff them out was through the nape. It felt oddly vulnerable for your hand to roam over the smooth expanse of skin, though even as a titan shifter it was no weak spot, it may well have been with the way his body shook in your arms.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to live or to love,” you whisper against the shell of his ear, “You get to love now, you get to be loved. Armin, you’re allowed to have things and to want things even after all that has happened.”

Armin sniffles, pressing his nose in your hair. The scent of the lavender soap you’ve used for as long as you could remember still clings to your hair. You wonder if he remembers if that is why he burrows his face deeper until the tip of his nose and his lips brush against the skin of your neck. 

Wanting was hard.

So little felt tangible and on the off chance it was, it remained just out of reach. Like a tease, that brushed your fingertips as you outstretched your arm before pulling away or a glimpse of the sun before an array of clouds moved in from across the sky. You couldn’t remember the last time you wanted something. Whatever it was you felt for Armin simmered lowly on a back burner until now, longing did not serve survival. Still, you wanted him but not in the way magpies coveted shiny trinkets but in the way the stars longed for the moon. It was a constant, all consuming yearning that made your stomach twist inward at the strange sensation.

“I don’t even …” Armin trails off, his voice wet with emotion, “I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to desire something.”

Leaning back, Armin allows enough space for him to look at your face. His cheeks are pink, blotchy, and shiny with half dried tears that pooled atop the apples of his cheeks. Cupping your face with the palm of your hand, he smiles sadly at you.

“But, all I have wanted for years was to know what it is like to kiss you.”

Your body burns, not with embarrassment but something else.

“Is that all?” You ask.

The corners of Armin’s mouth twitch upward, “Maybe not but I let go of those dreams long ago.”

“You kept this one, why?”

“Wishful thinking, maybe or … ?” Armin says, scrunching his brows together as he trails off, “You’ve always been here, you’ve been a constant in this ever changing world so I suppose I hoped there’d be a day where I could …”

“Kiss me?”

Armin bashfully nods, biting his lip a bit.

The shiny metal kettle of water grows cold in the length of time you and Armin spend silently staring at each other. He assesses you, slowly, looking for any signs that your affection for him remained buried in the past. You spoke in the past tense, and your words were too easily misconstrued. Your hands slip to cup the underside of his jaw. All this waiting, all this thinking was maddening when you knew exactly what you wanted. His face replaced those of all the men you kissed, his body manifested in the throngs of taverns like an apparition to taunt you. You wanted to kiss him more than you wanted anything else in this world.

His skin was warm to the touch, you’re sure yours is too. You feel warm like you’ve been dipped in melted candle wax. A bit of stubble tickles the palm of your hands and it makes you giggle. His hair is so fair, you didn’t even notice. Armin’s shoulders tense as you lean in, insecurity claws at your throat but you’ve already taken the leap. You were too far gone now to change your mind. Gently grazing your lips across his, you give Armin a chance to back away but he only leans in closer, his calloused thumbs bite into the soft edge of your jawline as he instinctively squeezes you.

Armin’s lips are slightly chapped and scabbed over in a way that tells you he still nervously chews them when he’s worried. He’s inexperienced, that you were expecting, not that you were particularly tactful with how you clumsily melded your mouth against his. Though, he didn’t seem to mind as he eagerly attempted to mimic each movement. The thread of want that coiled around your stomach roared, begging for your attention as pulled away.

The small noise of disappointment that gathers in the back of Armin’s throat does not fall deaf upon your ears. But, you feel ravenous. If you didn’t slither away now, you’d consume him, bones and all, before he’d even had the chance to register that you sunk your teeth into his sternum. You feel ravenous. It makes your skin itch. Your fingers twitched, they desperately wished to burrow themselves into his flesh to feel how his heart thrummed for you.

Through lidded eyes, Armin peers at you, “Just like I thought,” he says, his cheeks somehow deepening in colour.

“What do you mean?”

“One kiss and I’m gone,” he explains but that doesn’t smooth the confused furrow from between your brows, “I want more, I don’t know how I’m meant to live on knowing what it’s like to kiss and never being able to again.”

Your nose scrunches as you frown, “Say who?”

“Pardon?”

“Who said that I’d never kiss you again?” You ask, smoothing your thumb along the length of his stubbly jaw, “Because, I never said that.”

“I just thought-”

Looping your arms around his neck you sigh, “Stop thinking so much,” you whine, allowing yourself to relish in the knowledge that he too wanted more, “Sometimes things are far simpler than you make them out to be.”

Armin bashfully dips his chin for a moment, his heat filled gaze cast away which offers you some reprieve. Only for a short moment, though. He faces you once more in an instant. You can see it swimming in the pools of his irises, the want, the hunger. It’s something you never imagined to be reflected back to you, least of all from Armin. It thrills you all the same, your skin prickling with electricity that crackles to life when he reaches for your hips.

It’s gentlemanly, how he rests his hands respectively over your body with a feather light touch that may flee should you move too quickly. You want more though, you wish he’d take claim to you the way you the way your cunt ached for.

“Are they?”

You nod, fearing your voice would somehow betray you.

He too nods, far more thoughtful than you were, “You know, I loved you too, never had any doubts of what it was,” he muses, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows, “It never faded either even when I lost and confused about what came next.”

His admission makes you bristle, your ears perking up in search of any misspoken syllables that may have deluded you. There were none. There was no mistaking what Armin had confessed. It doesn’t feel real. You’d pinch yourself if Armin’s watchful gaze was pointed anywhere but you. That alone was proof enough that this was very real, Armin just confessed his love for you.

“And you?” Armin asks.

“Huh?”

Your heart pounds, screaming over the sound of Armin’s voice. You suck in a shaky breath and will your heart to calm down. In all your years of wanting, of yearning, you never imagined what it would be like to have your feelings reciprocated. You assumed neither of you would live long enough for anything to come to fruition. But you could hope now, right?

“Did your feelings for me ever fade?”

“No … no, never,” admitting out loud that you pined after a boy for nearly two decades would have made you feel pathetic if it wasn’t Armin who pulled the truth from where it coiled around your ribs,  “Even if I wanted them too, they never would. You’re it for me, you’re the only person I was made to love.”

You didn’t fancy yourself a dreamer. At least, not after everything was said and done. There wasn’t much to dream up, but if you were to dream or indulge you’d tell him that there could never be anyone else because your souls were tied together. It was a terribly selfish thought but it was true enough that you felt inexplicably tied to Armin. Even if this day passed and you never saw him again, your heart would remain his until you both returned to earth.

Armin kisses you before you’re able to backpedal on any of your words, almost shyly, but still eager enough that his need rolls off his body in waves and crashes into you. His nails press through the thin material of your nightgown to nip at your hips. You’re reminded of just how strong he has become in all your years apart when you feel his muscles ripple through his forearms.

“Armin,” you sharply whisper between the desperate press of his mouth to yours, “I want you.”

It’s an unfinished thought. There are too many words that could come next and not enough actions to convey what it is you want. Threading your fingers through carefully styled hair, you tug at the strands. Armin keens into your mouth, one of his hands shooting out to grasp the edge of the counter you were pressed against. Having braced himself, he’s careful not to put too much of his weight onto you as his body melts into yours. 

“I’m right here,” he says, with a slight laugh.

Resting your forehead against his, you sigh, “I want you,” you repeat, untangling your fingers from his hair to fiddle with the top button of his shirt. You flick it open, slowly testing the waters. There’s a sparse patch of flaxen hair that leads your gaze past his collarbones, “I want to be close to you, close with you…” 

Your whisper, wanton words did little to clarify what you meant, Armin’s confused stare was fixed on your swollen, kiss bitten lips. Popping open another button, you glare at his tie. It constricts the fabric of his shirt from spilling open any further. Pulling the tongue of the tie out from where it’s neatly tucked in his waistband, you tug on it until you’re nose to nose. You swallow thickly, your gaze trailing down the expanse of his neck. The muscles strained beneath the skin as he nervously clenched his jaw.

“Oh … Oh.”

The red in his cheeks deepened. He looked a bit like a tomato but it was rather endearing.

“...Yeah?”

He nods a bit too quickly, “Yeah,” he agrees, biting his bottom lip, “I want this, I want this with you.”

Tentatively, Armin rests his hands on your shoulder and thumbs at the worn wool of your well loved cardigan. The fabric is slowly peeling away from your body, slipping down your biceps to pool in the crook of your elbows. Your heart flutters, it’s a strange sensation and for a moment you wonder if it’s healthy. It can’t be, not with how your stomach lurches alongside your heart. Unfurling your fists from his tie, you straighten your arms and allow your cardigan to unceremoniously fall to the floor.

“Are you sure?” You ask, your fingers skimming the delicate neckline of your nightgown. You weren’t yet so overcome with lust that you forgot yourself or Armin’s apparent lack of experience.

His hands replace yours, “Yes,” his skin is clammy but so is yours, the sheen of nervous sweat that gathers along your jugular feels disgusting when laid overtop of goosebumps but you can’t will either away, “You’re special to me … there isn’t anyone else I would want to do this with.”

“You’re not just saying this because you want to die with no regrets?”

You cringe at the crippling edge of insecurity that creeps over you, mentally slapping your hand in shame. Bad! You silently scold. You wouldn’t blame him if he did. In spite of all that happened, the future was never promised, you both knew that much. There was no shame in wanting to taste all life had to offer just in case. It was human nature.

“I’m going to live a very long life,” Armin says with a confident smile. Such sureness would usually make you roll your eyes in annoyance but Armin doesn’t say it to be boastful– even if he had, he’d have earned it– he says it matter of fact, he will live a long life in spite of everything, “And so are you, there’s no need to think in half measures filled with worries because we’re going to live long beautiful lives filled with everything we could ever want.”

It’s a pretty picture he paints but you can’t help but whisper, “We are?”

Smoothing his calloused thumbs along the column of your throat, Armin exhales, “Yes, we are,” you almost believe him, his optimism was just that convincing, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Armin tugs on the loop that keeps your nightgown tied closed, not minding that the two of you still stand in your kitchenette and it’s his first time. He gently guides the thin cotton fabric open to expose your chest but doesn’t move to pull the cloth from your body. In turn, you push his jacket off his shoulders and toss it to the floor with your cardigan. He unbuttons his shirt, letting it fall open to reveal his lithe abdomen. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, walking backwards at your behest, “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

His brows shoot into his hairline when he bumps into the edge of your table, “I never pegged you to be such a flatterer, Mister Arlert,” you tease, pushing his chest until he takes the hint to hop onto the tabletop, “You tell all the girls that?”

It’s easy to wear a smile and play the part of a bashful lovestruck young lady. It’s only half a performance. There were parts of you that have long since been buried amongst the past lives you lived. They seemed to come back to you with each puff of breath that passed your lips. You slip in and out of you were and you could become. It’s frightening and thrilling. You like the rush you get when he smiles back at you. It’s megawatt bright and wide enough to take up most of his face. You wonder if he feels it too, the pieces that come together like a puzzle. He must, that’s why he smiles and allows himself to indulge in the perilous depths of wanting that lap at your bellies.

“No,” he playfully rolls his eyes, his fingers splaying out as he presses his palms flat against the table, “Only you. It’s only ever been you.”

Your stomach somersaults, you could get used to the feeling, the flirting, being desired earnestly. 

You’ve been desired before but those men didn’t desire you, but rather the idea of you, your house, even your cunt, but never really you. They never filled you with empty promises, their intentions quite clear from the first shared mug of ale. It never bothered you before but now it does. You wish you didn’t fall for their promise of something good when the real thing was so much better now that you had it in your grasp.

The tip of his shoe just barely grazes the floor as he swings his leg back and forth, stepping into the space between his spread legs, you graze your fingertip along the length of his thigh. The metal of his belt glints in the warm morning light. You should probably bring him upstairs, to your bedroom. You worry if you do, you’ll lose the nerves that have steeled over to service the aching monster in your belly. Tomorrow he might think you crass, perhaps he would even sooner when the haze of desire faded and he was left with the weight of his indulgence.

“May I? 

“Yes, please,” Armin breathes, shuddering a bit when you place your hand on the buckle.

His hips twitch upward, seeking the warm touch of your hand. Daring to cast your gaze downward, you rake your eyes over his growing bulge. His belt clinks open and you suck in a nervous breath. You’re about to ask if you can unbutton his dress pants when he whispers another small plea, his breath heavy.

A few strands of hair slip over the edge of your shoulder, Armin tucks them behind your ear with a pleased smile. His cock springs forth when you pull the waistband of his underwear downward. The wispy trail of hair that disappears beneath his shirt is a shade darker, but just as fine as the hair on his head. Your mouth waters at the sight of his rosy tip, precum oozes when you gently squeeze the base of his cock. Slowly pumping your hand up and down his length, you glance at Armin.

His bottom lip is squished between his teeth, hiding the sweet little sounds that travel up his throat. You strain your ears to listen, your eyes boring into his. He blinks but holds your gaze. He frees his bottom lip and allows his jaw to hang open when he realises that you’re listening to his sounds. Armin doesn’t have to be quiet, he can loudly indulge in his pleasures so he does. Softly moaning your name with a goofy, lovestruck expression on his face even as he jerks his hips up to match your rhythm. 

“Does that feel good?” you ask, internally cringing as you wrack your brain for something to say. You wonder if you should stay silent, but words may be more comforting. 

Armin’s head bobs as he nods a bit too quickly, “Yes,” he moans as he digs his nails into the splintered wood of your table.

He uses his other hand to curl his fingers around your wrist, the one that wasn’t languidly working his cock. Armin squeezes your wrist too roughly like he forgets himself and his own strength, your brows crinkle in pain but it’s easily masked as a look of concentration. You don’t mind though, the pain reminds you that you’re alive, that this was real and not just the machinations of an overactive imagination. Armin shudders when you use your thumb to spread some of the precum gathered along the head of his cock down the shaft, allowing your hand to slide more smoothly.

Your name is  sweet on his tongue, the syllables roll off it in a way that makes you think it belongs there. Like Armin was meant to say your name like this for the rest of eternity. 

“I want to touch you too,” he pants, between wanton whimpers. The smooth silver of skin that he clings to isn’t enough, “I want you to feel good too.”

It’s difficult to say no to Armin when he asks so sweetly, “Okay,” you say, bringing your linked hands up to your mouth to press a kiss to the back of his hand, “Lay back for me, okay?”

Armin does as you ask without question like a dutiful dog obeys its owner. You hitch your legs over the edge of the table and settle atop of his thighs. Hiking the hem of your nightgown upward, you guide Armin’s hand between your legs to where your bare, wet pussy clenches in anticipation. Your cunt aches with need and your chest squeezes at the slight brush of his calloused fingers across your folds.

“Touch me here.”

“Like this?” he asks, curling his fingers to rub against your throbbing clit, a shiver rolls through your spine.

Cupping your hand over his, you encourage him to make a few small circles, “Mhm, just like that,” you shudder, your breath halting when the table creaks beneath your shared weight, “It feels good, Armin.”

Seeming satisfied with himself and the way his name melted past your lips, he replicates your movement. You feel feverish with need as the urge to burrow yourself within his sternum consumes you. It melds with the pinpricks of pleasure that dance inside your belly as your muscles tense. It’s a terrible fate– to be ensnared by Armin Arlert. You don’t believe his promises, no matter how saccharine. It’s devilish for him to touch you, you’ve decided. Like with your kisses, how were you meant to go on without Armin ever touching you like this again? But, you’ve learned to manage your expectations. Dreams were called dreams because they were never meant to be anything more than something to wish on as a child. Even if he did still love you, there was too much distance between what became of your life and what became of his. 

Pleasure burns your belly. It singes your insecurities but doesn’t snuff them out in their entirety. It’s just enough to chase them away and leave nothing but bliss in their wake. Your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Your chest heaves with haggard breaths, and your nightgown slips open to reveal the supple skin of your chest and your breasts to Armin. His gaze is respectful as he drinks in the sight. He moans to himself and marvels, it’s quite endearing. You like it, you don’t feel dirty or ashamed for your wanton ways, how could you when Armin drinks you in like you’re a perfectly crafted mountainside that has been crafted just for his admiration?

“Armin,” you sigh, “I need you inside of me.”

Wrapping your fingers around his cock, you slide the head between your dripping folds. Armin’s body wracks and his shoulders shake as he quivers with need. He moans your name once more, and you commit the sound to memory, for those cold and lonely nights that never seem to end. Your shoulders tense when you press the tip to your hole. It’s been a while, the stretch burns a bit. But, it’s nice. Your eyes roll back into your head and you curse under your breath. 

Armin slopes his hand around the nape of your neck, “Can I kiss you?” he all but moans, “I want to kiss you again.”

His rosy cheeks grow round when he offers you a bashful smile. You kiss him, your tongue and teeth clicking against one another as you sloppily move your mouth alongside his. You’ve never been much of a multitasker. It’s hard to focus on much else aside from the mind numbing pleasure that distracts you. He hasn’t stopped rolling your clit between his fingers and as he swallows up your moans with desperate, fevered kisses, you wonder if he’s enjoying how much of a mess he’s made of you. 

Your heart throbs in a funny sort of manner when you sink all the way down the length of his cock. The feeling of fullness spreads to the tips of your fingers all the way down to your toes. You hate how complete you feel, the fact that a small part of you wishes you could bottle the utter feeling of contentedness that warms you. The hunger and longing that lives inside of you never felt satiated, not once in the decade since it burrowed behind your lungs. Now though, they purr happily like a fat cat who’s had its fair share of the cream.

The taste of salt dabbles on your tongue, “Why are you crying?” Armin asks, his voice laced with concern, “Is something wrong, does it hurt?”

Swiping your fingers across the top of your cheekbones you confirm that those are your tears and not his. They spill past your lash line and there is nothing you can do to stop them. You don’t feel sad, even with the mess in your head you know that much. You sputter for a moment, desperately searching his face for an answer but nothing comes.

“I’m just so happy,” you say though you’re unsure where those words come from but they flow freely before you can stop them just like your tears, “I like being this close to you, I want to stay this close to you.”

Forever.

That’s the word that should complete your sentence. You keep it clutched to your chest where it’ll remain safe so long as you’re vigilant.

You knock your hips forward to silence whatever endeared sentiment Armin is about to form. His brows press together in concentration. He’s nearing his end, you can feel it in the way he throbs inside of you. Your tears are gently wiped by rough hands, you hardly register them. It’s difficult to focus on much as he plays with your clit and dutifully matches each flick of your hips. He’s a quick learner, he always has been. You wonder if he’s storing your reactions and sounds for later so that if there was a next time, he’d do exactly what you’d like without instruction. The end nears for you too, it lingers amongst the obnoxious groans from your table as you rock your hips. The sounds of skin bare slapping marry your shared, debauched whines. They’ll haunt your walls tomorrow and the next. 

They haunt you right now.

You didn’t think you were capable of feeling so serene, but you do. You’re untouchable as you chase your release. It lays in the palm of Armin’s hands. You’ll eat straight from them if you have to. The coil in your stomach tightens for a moment and your breathing becomes staggered. Armin is no better, he sputters small half breaths between needy whines of your name. His forehead rests on your shoulder, and his sweat dabbled hair sticks to you. Strands of your hair cling to the nape of your neck too. The cool breeze that slithers across your house makes your heated skin break out with goosebumps. It doesn’t bother you though, nothing could bother you now.

“I love you,” Armin whispers into your skin as he cums, holding your body close to his.

A few more tears well up as your orgasm washes through you. Your thighs shake and you struggle to bring your arms around his torso. His tight embrace makes up for it as they lay limply by your side. Your flush skin is peppered with affectionate kisses and his nose is nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You feel loved, you haven’t felt it in a while but it felt similar to this. The earnest way he embraces you without a second thought is imbued with love. Lifting your tired arms, you curl them around his body. Your nails dig into the hardened flesh of his back. They leave a few crescent moons to join the myriad of battle scars and freckles that have returned to him.

‘“I love you too.”

You wish you could say it was true for the moment but it’s not. It was true because you did love him, you loved him in a way you weren’t sure you were capable of loving anyone else. If Ymir the Founder had left her people with anyone before erasing herself and her titan kin from existence, you think it might have been eternal love. The kind that wasn’t possible of fading, even when you didn’t understand why.

Hours pass and you find yourself in your bed once more, on the edge of waking and sleep you register the lack of sunlight. You don’t remember exactly how you made your way upstairs but you do remember two strong arms holding you close as you allowed slumber to cradle your tired mind in its embrace. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your blanket is tucked snugly beneath your chin.

There’s a letter on your bedside table and a glass of water. You make out the letters of your name and the promise of return but you choose not to read any further. Laying in silence you wonder if she’s still out there, your creator, the founder. If she was, you hoped she would listen to your pleas. You were strong, but you weren’t strong enough to spend the rest of your life waiting on a lost life whose remains had long since returned to the dirt and earth.

You prayed that the Jägerist’s stupidity would fall deaf to Queen Historia’s ears and that when you awoke next, there’d still be a head of blond hair next to you with long pretty eyelashes and rosy cheeks that told all his secrets. 

He was too far entangled in your rib cage. You were far too comfortably curled around his aorta. Armin may be able to withstand it but you weren’t. After all this time, you really hoped you could be happy. Even with all the strangeness that came from estrangement, you felt more alive with Armin than you had in all the years of living in Shiganshina. It was a shell of its former self, with the ghosts of yesterday's past filling all the nooks and crannies. You too easily allowed yourself to become one of them, the ghosts but you didn’t half to be a ghost, you could want things just the same as Armin could.

And you wanted him to come back to you so the two of you could experience that future he was talking about.

Mr. Arlert did not raise a liar or a man who’d break promises. Your chances were good. You could be happy. All the lost parts of you could return and maybe you’d feel whole again, and maybe you’d welcome the warmth of the sun on your skin the same way you welcomed Armin back into your life. 

You deserved some ounce of happiness too. 

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

[hottpinkpenguin]

"Just because all the others never showed you love doesn't mean no one ever will." This one with the Darkling with angst to fluff? Like maybe he keeps pushing the reader away because he's new to affection and doesn't know what to do?

A/n: this request felt so spot on for our favored tortured villain <3 thank you for the message anon!!

Darkling X Reader Word Count: 1656 | Warnings: not proofread, brief mentions of battle, hints at past abuse if you squint, super angst turns to tooth-rotting fluff

Note: dorogoy is the Russian for 'sweetheart' “Leave us.” 

The Black General strode in, his eyes murderous and his fists balled at his sides. Despite the warm summer night, the chill in his voice was enough to send a shiver up everyone’s spine. The two Healers rose from the sides of your cot where they’d been tending your injuries. They bowed quickly and kept their eyes glued to the ground as they scuttled out of the tent, leaving you and the Darkling alone. 

When the sounds of the retreating Healers’ footsteps had been swallowed in the gentle murmur of the camp outside, his eyes finally met yours. He looked as if he were about to break apart, his body practically abuzz with barely contained rage. 

“Aleks, I’m fine,” you chided him, rolling your eyes at his dramatics. “It’s just a burn. I’ll survive.”

Darkness blossomed around him, swallowing the dim candlelight on the inside of your tent. His jaw was clenched so tightly you worried he’d break a tooth, the veins in his forehead pulsing as he tried to regain control of himself. You’d seen his power a thousand times, but even still it startled you. You smoothed your face into a mask of calm, refusing to show him your instinctual fear. 

“You almost died, dorogy.” He sank down on the edge of your cot as the shadows receded into him like water soaks into a sponge. “You are decidedly not fine.” 

You smiled at him, shifting slightly to make room for him on the cot next to you. He was watching you, his eyes drinking you in. You could hear his next question before he even asked it. 

“Are the Healers treating you fairly?” The whisper of a threat hung off Aleksander’s words. You knew that his fear was that the other Grisha would shun you because of his affection for you. A fear you’d tried to quell a thousand times before. If only he knew how terrified the others were of hurting you, of disappointing you, or of otherwise mistreating you… 

You reached out, running your fingertips lightly along the back of his hand. He watched you, waiting for an answer. 

“They’re treating me perfectly,” you assured him emphatically. “I have everything I need.” 

He didn’t respond immediately, transfixed by the circular patterns you wove along the back of his hand. His eyes glazed over, his shoulders dropping slightly as he let the facade of the Black General relax in your presence. You watched him carefully, wondering how he managed to maintain such composure and control in the midst of battle. You’d seen him out there, on the battlefield: an avenging angel, all rage and cruelty, his black kefta fluttering like a flag, cutting down wave after wave of Fjerdan. He’d barely flinched, barely shown any sign of his powers draining him. It filled you with a strange combination of sorrow, pride, and lust. 

“Aleks?” Your voice, though quiet and gentle, snapped the moment like a dry twig. He looked up at you expectantly. “Are you alright?” 

You could tell as soon as the words left your lips that you’d said something wrong. He recoiled away from you as if he were the one that had been burned. His eyes widened in a mixture of shock and horror, followed immediately by self-loathing. You reached out, but not quick enough. He rose from the cot, stepping away from you. 

“How can you ask that of me? After what you saw today? After what I put you through? You want to know if I am alright?” His composure was unraveling, his dark eyes turning into bottomless pits of fury with nowhere to go but inward. He’d once told you that the most unexpected part of living so long was the extent to which he had come to loathe himself. You hadn’t understood it then, but now you caught a glimpse of just how deep Aleksander’s malice towards himself actually went. 

The shadows sprung from his fingers with ease, devouring the tent’s light and swarming around you like bees. The air around you crackled with their presence, although they didn’t touch you. Across the tent, consumed by a darkness so complete he almost vanished entirely, Aleksander shook with the explosive force of his power. His chin was tipped back and his mouth open as if screaming, although the only thing pouring out of his throat was more darkness. His eyes lost their whites, now just two blackened sockets, lifeless and unholy-looking. 

Terror seized you. Your heart jolted as adrenaline ricocheted through your veins. You knew Aleksander would never hurt you, although you weren’t sure how much  of the man you loved was still with you in that tent. 

You called out to him, but somehow your voice vanished in the space between you two. As if you’d been plunged underwater, your scream sounded distorted and dull. Aleksander didn’t even flinch. 

Wincing through the pain, you flung your legs over the edge of the cot. The shadows made way for you like a river parts around rocks. The hairs on the back of your arms and neck stood up straight, your instincts screaming at you to run! Leave! Kill him! Get out! 

Summoning your strength and with a sharp inhale, you forced your legs to hold your weight as you stood. The burns that climbed up the left side of your body from your kneecap to your jaw felt white hot, but you grit your teeth against the urge to pass out and took a shaky step forward. Again, the shadows pouring out of Aleksander moved to allow your passage. A distant part of you idly wondered what the rest of the camp could see, if anything, of the spectacle unfolding around you. 

Your feet almost slipped out from under you in the damp grass. Your reflexes dulled by exhaustion and pain, you lost your balance and pitched forward. You struck out with your arms to brace your fall, twisting your face away from the direction of impact. There was a moment of free fall before you felt strong arms catching you, artfully avoiding your burns. 

Aleksander lifted you easily off your feet in a sweeping motion. You didn’t open your eyes until you felt your back settle against the cot. When you did, a familiar face hovered over you. All trace of his shadows gone, all you saw now was a man. A leader, a saint maybe, a King certainly: but a man still, exhausted and confused. 

Before he had a chance to speak, you pressed a finger to his lips. Your head was spinning with pain, but you forced yourself to stay present. 

“I’m not afraid of you, Aleks,” you insisted. You held his gaze defiantly, challenging him to argue with you. For once in his stubborn life, he held his tongue and let you finish. “I don’t resent you for who you are. I don’t fight because you command me as my general, or even because you ask me as my lover. I fight beside you because I love you, and I believe in what we’re doing.” 

For all his wisdom, you knew that there were parts of your heart that Aleksander would never understand. You’d accepted as much a long time ago. But you’d be damned if you let him rip himself apart over it. 

He swallowed thickly, as if trying to take in what you’d told him. 

“I don’t… understand. How you can feel that way. About… someone like me. Someone who is what I am. There’s… sometimes-most of the time- it doesn’t seem like there’s enough left of me to love.” You let him finish, his words coming out chopped and halting. It seemed to take almost as much out of him as his powers did, and the sincerity with which he spoke made you smile gently. When he was finished, you reached up and cupped his cheek, your thumb carefully tracing the ragged volcra scar that bisected his cheek. 

“Aleks. Just because all the others never showed you love doesn’t mean no one ever will.” 

You watched as his memory clicked into place, recognizing the very words he’d said to you the night he’d finally gotten you to tell him about the others. The men before him. The ones who’d tried and failed to love you, and the ones who’d only wanted to hurt you. Those had been the words he’d said, and the reason you’d fallen in love with him. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been waiting to give those words back to him. 

He marveled at you for a moment as if seeing you for the first time before he spoke. “I wasn’t talking about any others,” he said quietly. 

You shook your head, smiling. “Of course you were,” you answered. “The other lives, the other versions of yourself. That’s all you talk about because it’s all you know. You’ve lived with yourself for so long you’ve forgotten that there’s any way to feel about yourself but hatred.” 

You let your hand drop, a sudden wave of exhaustion crashing over you. He noticed, catching your hand halfway down and guiding it to the top of your sheets. 

“Dorogoy,” he started, hesitating a moment on the pet name he’d given you. “Where have you been all my lives?” 

You beamed at him, finally hearing a break in the tension of his voice. He smiled back - not a broad smile, but enough to touch his eyes. 

“Right here, Aleks,” you replied as you let your eyes drift closed for sleep. 

You didn’t let yourself fully succumb to rest until you felt his warmth lay down next to you, his arms ever so carefully snaking around your torso. He tucked you closer to him, and you buried your head in his neck, breathing in the scent and the feel of him. You felt yourself slide off into sleep just as he started singing you an old Ravkan lullaby…

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Who’s ready for another six of crows fic idea even though I haven’t written the first one yet?

Nearly 10 years after the events of Crooked Kingdom, 25-year-old Captain Inej Ghafa liberates Maya, a 16-year-old Fjerdan girl, from a pleasure house in Ketterdam. Maya is grateful to Inej, but she’s also vengeful and wants to track down the man who led her to her position. She explains to Inej that she and her father fled to Kerch when they discovered she was Grisha, adding that they didn’t go to Ravka for fear of prejudice against Fjerdans. But in Ketterdam, already struggling, they found themselves scammed out of their money and informed of massive debts they owed to a gang. With no other options, her father sold her in indenture to a council member and used the money to pay the debt, promising her that he would find a way to save enough money to pay out her contract as soon as he could. 2 months into her indenture, Maya received news of her father’s death after he was killed by the same gang leader who he’d originally been in debt to - apparently trying to steal the money he needed to free her. Mere weeks after this, the councilman who owned Maya’s contract died. Her contract changed hands several times, until she eventually found herself trapped in a pleasure house. Maya wants to track down the gang leader and avenge her father. Although she intends to negotiate Maya away from killing him and encourage her to find a route to healing, Inej agrees to help her find her father’s murderer. She asks Maya is she knows anything about him that could help her to begin her search, and Maya replies that all she knows is his name: Kaz Brekker.

[corpsebasil]

Cant stop thinking about Grisha!Reader with a horrifying past and Prince Nikolai during the war.

Don’t come for me just hear me out—it’s a concept for a longer series I’ve been thinking about for a long time so just read the concept and lemme know. This would be published after I’m done with Modern!Nikolai.

^^^ you after everything that happens.

You and your three Inferni sisters.

You’ve always been the most talented. The smartest, the strongest, the bravest. The most steady. Loyal to Ravka and its royal family. The prince himself, Nikolai, grew an attachment to you after a ball in which you and your siblings performed a celebratory dance, all flowing silk ribbons and laughter and gold jewelry flashing in the light.

But then the war started.

The Darkling offered you a choice: join him, or your family would suffer the consequences.

You falsely believed him to be wrong.

First came the two eldest of your younger siblings. One had been strung up like a common prisoner and displayed in front of the Little Palace, the constantly serene expression she’d always worn in life now twisted in a dead mask of fear.

The second sister, one who’d been a fighter in life, had been ran through with a sword.

You could do nothing.

“I’ll protect our family.” You’d sworn to your youngest sister, clutching her shaking body to your own after the discovery of your two murdered sisters. Even though you were breaking, you insisted. “I promise.”

You broke that promise.

The Darkling came in the night.

One moment your youngest sister—your baby sister—was there, alive and breathing. The next, she was slumped onto the floor, the life in her eyes gone as you wailed out your grief, clutching her in the same way you had before to your chest.

So you turned to dark magic.

You learned secrets of the Inferni that should never be found. You destroyed yourself and Nikolai, sweet Nikolai, could do nothing as you broke any part of you that was necessary to avenge the deaths of your siblings.

You slaughtered the Darkling’s soldiers. With fire and brutality, you slaughtered them.

But it was pointless, wasn’t it?

Because now you’ve been practically gutted at the final battle, lying on a too-bright field, gasping for air as Nikolai bends over you, one hand helping to keep your essential parts inside your stomach.

“It can’t all be for nothing.” You lament, clutching his shirt as the bloods drains from your body. His eyes are tear-filled and devastated as he holds you, his hands soaked in red. “Lose them..for nothing.”

When you die, he buries you beside your sisters.

Sorry HAHA

[antheshewro]

AOT headcanon #2 — (My) personal analysis on Keith Shadis

If there's a character I always found intriguing and very underrated, that's Keith Shadis. And for a lot of things, he's a key character.

Starting from Grisha's memories when he got to Paradis for the very first time, Shadis found him outside the walls. We need to remember that when it happened, the knowledge about titans and the outside world was, of course, a lot different for the Scouts. No one knew about titan shifters, or anything along those lines. But Shadis found Grisha there, wandering around the woods, only knowing his name and the fact he was a doctor. Anyone, and I mean anyone would've been quite weirded out by the fact that a person that wasn't a soldier serving in the Survey Corps (the only military branch who would purposely leave the safety of the walls) was found there.

In Keith's place, other people would've taken Grisha and questioned him like he had committed a crime, until he was exhausted. Why was he wandering there? Didn't he fear titans? Why would he only know his name and job? Why made him lose his memory?

Despite that quite odd encounter, Shadis only asked him why he was outside the walls and brought him to what I think was the Scouts' headquarters. A younger and fairly tipsy Hannes would brush that off quickly; he surely had better things to do, than to care about a random stranger. Keith didn't, at least not explicitly. Despite having his own doubts, he helped Grisha build a new life inside the walls and probably got him a job as a doctor.

That simple encounter is enough for us to know that Keith Shadis was – most likely – the first character that would find out that there was life outside the walls. That Grisha came from a place that wasn't Paradis for sure. That life could be found far away.

Flashforward to 845, during the fall of Shiganshina and the attack on Wall Maria. We know about the entire ordeal with Grisha, Eren and the Attack Titan. But from the same memories that had been shown, Shadis witnesses Grisha telling his son to "avenge his mother" after Eren told his father, and Keith as he stood there, that Carla died and had been eaten by a titan.

Later on, Keith follows the two into the woods (despite being asked not to), and asks Grisha why he couldn't just avenge his own wife. After a brief exchange of words, about being or not special enough to be the ones that would actually seek revenge for Carla's awful death, Shadis drops the bomb.

"Are you going to curse someone else now?"

That simple inquiry was referred to Eren. I didn't really find any other hint about Grisha hinting at being a titan shifter, or knowing anything that the Scouts would only find out later in the story. So how could Keith think that Grisha was going to curse his own son? What did he mean with the word "curse"? He wasn't aware of the titan serum, and even about the fact that titans were human beings, once. As blissfully unaware as someone could be at that time.

Somehow, that led me to think about their previous conversation about being or not special, as Shadis called himself "not special" while Grisha was. Keith then questioned him about Eren, asking "What if your son is different, too?"

At that point, he inquired about cursing his son. To me, Shadis connected it to the fact that Grisha was from outside the walls. He surely didn't talk about Marley, or else, who knew what kind of atrocities Paradisians were going to endure again. He knew what Eldians (and his family as well) went through in Liberio.

Yet, Keith must've thought that the fact Grisha wasn't from Paradis, made him special. Special in a way that was also connected to that one speech Carla gave Shadis, about Eren only being special because he was born into that world etc. Those words and the fact he didn't feel special himself always struck a nerve within the former Commander; to the point he felt not special enough and gave up on his position.

So to him, being "special" was almost a curse. Grisha called the Scouts special people, "chosen ones"; that led to a moment where the Scouts suffered tons of casualties. Then Carla calls Eren "special", and she reprimands Shadis for wanting to feel special himself no matter what he did. That he didn't need to do so much, and her son was simply that special because he was "born into this world".

To Shadis (and to me), every time one was talking about being special felt like a bad omen. I'm not sure if it even makes sense—to me, it does and it doesn't at the same time. Isayama had been quite cryptic on this matter.

But something makes me think that Keith Shadis, somehow, had imagined some sort of connection between Grisha and the titans. He couldn't quite pinpoint it himself, he thought it was crazy, but he did. After all, both were found outside the walls, and Grisha's background was unknown. If Keith ever reached the point where he thought that Grisha could know anything that the Paradisians weren't aware of, he never shared it with anyone. Just like no one else but him knew about Grisha's origins and backstory—leading me to think that he lied to Carla about himself.

But no matter how we want to see it, Shadis kept the knowledge that Grisha was from the outer world for years, until she got asked about it. And the more he mulled over those memories, the more we can understand why he never felt special.

He lost his purpose. When he spoke about Levi, Erwin and Hange and said "special people do exist", it was because their sense of duty was stronger than their despair after each failed expedition and all the losses. Shadis, when he was still a subordinate and the 11th Commander was still alive, told himself he could do better. Lead better, act better. But when he became Commander, it dawned on him.

He got greedy, he lost his passion. He declined Erwin's idea for the long distance formation, even if it came from a deep sense of duty, essentially telling him that he was in no position to do such a thing.

Keith relied on his high ranking to feel special, to feel like he mattered and had a purpose in this world. The reason why Carla asked him if he really needed to feel "special" all the time, no matter what, and he blurted out that she couldn't understand his struggles since she didn't get through what he endured. But not in terms of losses, but in terms of the weight of his job.

Shadis couldn't accept that you could be special only because you are a simple individual with hopes and dreams, or because you simply exist. The Jaegers were special because no matter what they did, for better or for worse, their purpose never faded.

Shadis only understood it when he saved the cadets from the titans and sacrificed himself on that train.

[sxnctxxry]

the way greed is a big theme in the grisha trilogy. we even have the quote "what is infinite? the universe and the greed of men." and how with the crows, as much as we joke about them doing it for the money, they aren't greedy. kaz goes on the ice court heist to seek revenge. inej goes on it for her freedom and those of others. matthias and nina were bound by honor for the most part. jesper may have needed the money but he isn't greedy for it. and same goes with wylan. but we can see how much greed indirectly influenced them to be in those positions.

as much as inej said that greed was kaz's god. it really isn't. he works for justice, for revenge. against whom? pekka rollins. the one who shows greed more than kaz ever will. pekka duped two young boys and countless many others out of their money, and some out of their lives. he did all the dirty work for the money. and kaz dedicated his life to avenging jordie and later making sure people like pekka don't do it to anyone else. and he goes on the heist for the money, not because of his greed, but to seek vengeance for what greed has done to this world.

the villain in inej's story is tante heleen. through inej, we see how people like tante heleen care about money more than anything else. she makes sure the girls in the menagerie never earn out of their indentures. she physically abuses the girls and then tells them she has to take from the money that they earn whenever there's blood on their bedsheets. and the second that kaz bought out inej to work under per haskell, tante heleen didn't even care and let inej go because she was given a sum. and she even taunts inej that she'll have her back because she knows she can earn from her. she's incredibly vain and greedy and i'm glad inej stole her diamond necklace in the ice court.

jesper's encounter with greed is probably the most common in ketterdam. people in ketterdam feed off of greed and all the dirty desires of the people. jesper's fallen into a lot of debt because of the casinos scattered all throughout ketterdam. and gambling houses are such a dirty means of profit but that's what ketterdam thrives off.

wylan, on the other hand, was disowned by van eck because of his dyslexia, because van eck didn't believe that wylan could properly carry on his legacy if he couldn't read. van eck goes to such severe means to build his empire, to earn as much as he can, as it is the religion of ketterdam. van eck ordered two people to kill wylan and drive him out to keep his reputation clean because if the merchant council only knew his dishonest ways, he would be kicked out and lose everything. he manipulates kaz into thinking he wants to save the world when he would gladly bring it to chaos if it meant he would have the power and the control. and his greedy and selfish ways are how he falls. and wylan helps bring him down.

nina and matthias are the most noble of them all. they went on the heist for both their people to be saved from the dangers parem could cause. but we can trace their place in the crows back to when they met. he was a druskelle and she was a grisha. a generations long prejudice, a war they've always had to face, because of the incredibly warped mindset of the fjerdans. as matthias says, what must it feel like to worship djel, knowing that he gave gifts to another? grisha power could be djel's hand and maybe the otkazat'sya were jealous and couldn't wrap it around their heads. and so with that came greed for control, greed for their god's favor to the point that they've missed what djel truly stood for. trying to justify all inherently evil actions they had to take when it all stemmed from envy and greed.

the greed of men is infinite, ancient, and common. i just find it intriguing how the crows are always described as criminals who will do whatever it takes for the right price but they are the farthest from greedy. they were shaped by greed, not their greed, but the greed that inhabits this world. and throughout the duology, we see how they all work against it in the end.

[stromuprisahat]

I never understood why genya staying there was in any way necessary though. Surely extraordinarily beautiful Grisha would have no problem on catching the eye of this one drunken foolish king. He could have easily removed Genya from there (in his own words he could have sent her away) and then sent some other grisha to seduce him/act as a spy. Or sent multiple to see whoever manages to catch his eye. Of all the problems they had, a lack of beautiful women was not one. Yes he gave her a choice, but she was so young and she wanted to impress him, not to mention revenge is a tempting offer. Her suffering was entirely unnecessary.

The problem lies in the King's preferences.

If he only wanted "extraordinarily beautiful" woman, I'm certain there are some among the usual classes, from which monarchs pick their mistresses. The fact he didn't feel the need to make even Genya official also speaks for itself.

This king doesn't want a willing woman, but helpless servant, who cannot possibly say no without repercussions.

He didn't want a sexual partner, but a victim.

Genya's also surprising, because she was a part of the Queen's household. Alexander III/Pyotr obviously doesn't mind crossing his wife, Fjerdan princess. If their royal family still had strong ties to her, Tatiana could cause decent trouble for being humiliated in such a way. Unfortunately at that point she also managed to cuckold him pretty publicly, so he decided it's worth the risk.

Seduction would be too obvious even for an idiot like A3/P. Besides, he despises Grisha. Either Genya truly caught his eye so well, he didn't mind he's sticking it into "a witch", or he went after her intentionally in retaliation for Tatiana's affair. There should also be a very good reason for presence of your hypothetical Grisha spy. Genya's obvious, but since there are no other Tailors, I can't think of anything that wouldn't be painfully evident. This generation of royal family bears no love for Grisha.

Genya's extraction would never be easy. Once she became the King's new favourite toy, nothing short of her death (true or staged) could get her out. Hell, even as the Queen's property, only the King could simply send her away.

From your wording, I assume you mind Genya's continued presence. For that I'd say she was already raped. That cannot be undone. Her age isn't specified, but she was maturing before the King approached her, so she was no child, especially once the deed was done. She didn't only have a choice to impress/avenge, as you're writing, but to regain as much control over her fate as she could. Not to mention in S&B, she's aware there are others like her among the servants. Why does it never occur to anyone she might not want to let more girls go through what she already did?!

I know current society likes to babify teenagers, but this is pseudo-historical setting, when teen's more likely to be expected to assume a role of an adult, than stay a child until they're in their twenties. Hell, they're drafted at sixteen. If she can decide to get herself killed, she can decide to make the fucker suffer.

[starlsssankt]

@dhampiravidi (oraia) sent an ask //

It had been hard, changing forms multiple times for a week, but it was necessary. She needed to keep an eye on the Grisha if she wanted to avenge Rusalye. As she heard their horses approaching, she "stumbled" out onto the road, pretending to collapse. Lying down wasn't too bad--she was tired & hungry. She waited for someone to approach, keeping her breathing quiet.

The Darkling rode next to Alina Starkov, his Grisha and oprichniki both ahead and behind. He'd allowed Alina her freedom, as she hadn't attempted to stray from him (this time), but Ivan was under particular orders to make sure it stayed that way. Aleksander didn't really want to deal with a runaway Sun Summoner.

They'd been traveling for days now. She wore the sea whip's scales on her wrists, their power amplifying hers, and Aleksander knew it would be only a matter of time before they found the third and final one. Even if the Firebird was the most... elusive of them all, so little information concerning it...

His mind had been drifting for a time, as plans formed over where they should potentially stop for the night, when Ivan came riding up beside him, the oprichniki coming to a sudden halt in the front.

❝ Moi soverenyi, ❞ Ivan's voice was low, Aleksander turning to face his trusted Heartrender just as one of the others from the front came riding up. ❝ There seems to be a... collapsed woman in the road, it appears is the delay. ❞

The Darkling spared Alina a look, the Sun Summoner already starting to ride forward. ❝ Is the woman alive? ❞ he asked, urging his horse to ride forward as the group had paused, several of his guard just watching the body in the road.

But Alina was almost to the woman when she hopped from her horse. ❝ Hello? Are you-- Are you hurt--? ❞

[korkiekenobiconfirmed]

Thinking about how matthias’ family was killed, civilian casualties of a war they weren’t a part of, and the druskelle capitalized on this fact when they taught him his hatred for grisha. He never really had a choice, and neither did Nina — forced into being a soldier because of the fjerdans’ genocidal campaign against her kind.

Thinking about the effort it took to unlearn the fear and hatred (for Matthias especially) but also about the futility of their relationship in the larger scheme of things. They might have been able to conquer the divide between their people, but they were only two out of millions.

Thinking about how Matthias was killed by his own for being a deserter and a traitor. How he refused to tell Nina who shot him because he still hoped for that better future… but if Nina knew how he’d died she could never forgive the Fjerdans enough to want to unite their people.

Thinking about how Matthias, a soldier forever bound by a sense of duty and honor, was willing to let his own death go un-avenged — A final act of silence the only way he could ensure, even on his deathbed, that he did everything possible to end the slaughter between Fjerda and Ravka. To ensure he didn’t take away Nina’s hope for a better future.

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

Warnings- blood, choking, a LOT of combat

A/N- Okay this one is going to be quiiitte long, so buckle in. Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

Taglist- @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @sirisuorionblack @evelyndane @marauders-wife @el-de-phi

Ch-62 ~The Battle Of The Unsea~

“Hello?” Anaya could hear Alina whisper, despite being further away. 

“We hear you.” Zoya’s voice was loud and clear. 

They moved at a steady pace.

 Anaya heard a click, then almost ten minutes later, a double click. 

They’d gone a mile. 

At one point, Anaya could hear the distant flap of wings above them, and felt a wave of dread pass through the group.

The Volcra might not hear them but they could scent prey from miles away.

 Still, they kept moving. 

Two clicks later, they stopped and took up their positions to wait. As soon as they sighted the Darkling’s skiff, they would have to move quickly.

Anaya clung to the sword in her hand. She had a knife sheather beneath her leg, a revolver behind her back, yet no amount of weaponry could provide her comfort in these dark and dead lands.

Two clicks.

 They fanned out in the formation they had practised. 

Three clicks.

 Alina raised her hands and set the Fold ablaze. In the same moment, she bent the light, letting it flow around each of the soldiers like a stream. 

The skiff slowed.

 As it drew closer, Anaya saw its black sails marked with the sun in eclipse, the strange, smoked-glass quality of its hull. The violet flame of the lumiya shimmered over its sides. 

Squallers stood at the masts in their blue kefta. A few Inferni lined the railings, flanked by Heartrenders in red, heavily armed oprichniki in grey. 

Anaya thought of how many of them she had known. How many of them would’ve sat by her in class, how many she would’ve passed by in the halls. 

She thought of how many she would have to kill, so the rest could live.

 It was a spare force. The students must’ve been belowdecks. 

The Darkling stood at the prow, surrounded by his shadow horde.

Whatever was to happen, she was ready to face him. 

She thought of the little girl, the girl who sought her worth in the praise she attained from that very man. She thought of the girl, older, who’d thought of that very man as her saviour. 

They were all with her, as part of her.

 Each of them now being able to see beyond the veil, the monster behind the mask, the demon in the wood. They were all by her side, giving her strength. To take their revenge, to avenge what they had lost.

In a sudden, the first shot struck one of the Darkling’s oprichniki. He toppled over the skiff’s railing. Then the shots came in a rapid patter, like raindrops on a rooftop at the start of a storm.

This was their cue.

Anaya and the soldiers bolted towards the skiff, making a formation around Alina and the twins, blades drawn. 

“Go!” Anaya said to Alina. She gave her a glance before rushing towards the skiff with the twins.

 Grisha and oprichniki slumped and fell against one another as confusion broke out aboard the glass skiff. 

Someone shouted, “Return fire!” and the air erupted with the jarring thunder of gunshots, but their group was safely out of range. 

The nichevo’ya beat their wings, turning in wide arcs, searching for targets. 

Flints were struck, and the Inferni who remained on the skiff sent gouts of flame flaring through the air. 

Cloaked from sight, Harshaw turned the fire back on them. 

Anaya heard screams.

Then silence, broken only by moaning and shouted orders from the glass skiff. Their sharpshooters had done their job well. The area around the railing was littered with bodies. Still, she didn’t let her guard down.

A single click. 

The Squallers sent a wave of sand crashing through the air. More shouts rose from the deck as the Darkling’s Squallers tried to respond. 

Suddenly, one of the soldiers behind Anaya yelled, “Get down!”. She barely had time to react as the air exploded with gunfire. 

Two other glass skiffs came into view, loaded with oprichniki. As soon as they came into contact with the light, the skiffs ignited with the glowing violet flame of lumiya.

However many he had sent, only two had made it through. But that would be enough to turn the tide. 

Anaya could hear screams, shouting, their soldiers returning fire. A red stain appeared in the sand and she realised that one of their people was bleeding. Anaya’s eyes widened.

 It could’ve been anyone. Zoya, Nadia, Adrik , Harshaw. 

Soldiers rushed their way from both the skiffs. Oprichnik, Grisha, the lands were sprawling with all of their kind.

Their cover had lifted up, they were as visible as daylight.

An array of armed soldiers rushed Anaya’s way. She took her stance. 

One of the soldiers thrashed his sword in her way, but she quickly brought her own up, clashing it with his. With great force, she hefted it backwards, making him stumble. 

She kicked him in the shin, bringing him down to his knees before bringing her sword to his head. 

Another charged at her from behind, but she spun around rapidly, and ducked downwards. She bought her blade from the side, thrashing it with his, the metals echoing.

She pressed on to her weapon with as much force as the soldier did. She thrashed his blade, making him topple for a moment, she spun around, thrashing the weapon at his side, making a deep gash at his upper arm

The soldier yelped in pain, he lost his footing. But before he could move, she struck once again, making him fall back. 

Another struck at her from a side, making her drop her sword. He then threw a punch at her, but she grabbed his hand with hers and struck his jaw. He moved his other hand towards her, but she deflected it with her elbow.

She moved her other arm up, grabbing his, and kept a firm grip on it as she kicked him at a side of his torso. 

He keeled over, clutching his side. She held him by the shoulders and struck his leg, making him fall down as she let go.

She quickly picked up her sword as another soldier appeared in front of her. And two more came at her side, as if monsters appearing from the shadows. 

They surrounded her from each direction. She was seriously outnumbered. But she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Just as she tightened her grip on her sword, she could sense something.

Long steady streams, spreading out in each direction, lots of them. The steady flow of the water. 

Strange enough, as there was nothing but dead sand for miles.

It’s them

She slowly flexed her wrist at her side. She had a hold on something.

One of them lunged at her. But before he could reach her, she moved her arm up in a jerk. 

He stopped. 

She threw her sword down on and brought her other arm up. The rest rushed towards her, but stopped in their tracks, clutching their hands to their chests.

She seized the streams and directed them to their lungs. She turned her hand up and closed her fist.

They all slumped down to the ground as their lungs brimmed with water. 

She looked at them for a moment. She truly hadn’t realised as to what the limits of her power were.

She quickly picked up her sword and rushed towards the Soldat Sol that were outnumbered by the Darkling’s oprichniki. 

She raised her left arm, seizing one that had one of her soldiers in a chokehold. His body went limp before he soundlessly slumped to the ground.

Another lunged at her from the side and she barely had the chance to dodge. He thrashed his sword in her direction, but she deflected the blow with her own. She struck at his leg, making him move back.

She struck again, hitting the torso this time. 

But before she could compose herself, she felt a sharp strike at her back, making her topple. She felt an elbow wrapped around her neck.

She grabbed the arm, pushing it away as she spun around. But the soldier brought their fist to the side of her torso, hitting her right where her wound was. 

Spots danced around her vision as she felt the sudden, burning pain at her side, making her yelp. 

She pressed her hand to her side as she buckled down.

She saw the soldier move again to attack, but before he could make contact, he was pulled back by a soldier she recognized to be Ruby.

She managed to regain her balance, as she kept her hand pressed to her side as she took heavy breaths.

She strode forward, but was stopped short in her tracks by an inferni. A  familiar inferni. A girl with bright eyes and ablaze hair. Anaya recognized her, she knew.

“Anaya Nasrazeen” The girl looked at her with raised eyebrows. “What a shame” she shook her head in disbelief.

“Evalina” Anaya let out. She was one of the girls who’d spoken to her first when she’d come back to the Little Palace. But they went far before that. 

They were friends back when they were children.

“I had thought of you to be very smart,” the girl cocked her head to a side. “But you’ve clearly failed at picking sides, and look where it has gotten you” she summoned a flint

“You speak to me about picking the wrong side?” Anaya raised her brows. “That man, killed my parents, slaughtered thousands of innocents at Novokribirsk” She pointed a finger to her side. “And you choose to side with him?” She bellowed, fist clenched at her side

“ And what about the Grisha that have been slaughtered for ages? Were they not innocent?” she roared. “What about those who are declared witches and burned at stakes even now, only for the gifts that they are born with? What about us?” her flame burned higher.

“So you choose to justify the slaughter of innocents only because your own kind was treated the same? Anaya tilted her head. Where is the justice in that? For one town burnt, you choose to burn down the entire world? How does that seem fair?” Anaya said, her voice rising.

“It’s not too late, Evalina,” Anaya shook her head briefly. “We can still end this, make it fair”

Her flame deteriorated, she met her gaze, her eyes having a hint of pity. “Such touching words Anaya” she moved forward. “But there is nothing fair in war” she sent an arch of fire towards her.

Anaya bent downwards, avoiding it at the last second. She whirled around, rushing towards the girl.

If it was to end this way, then so be it. 

She rushed from Evalina’s side, nearly dodging another arch of flame and grabbed her in a headlock from behind. 

But the girl thrashed Anaya’s arm upfront and grabbed it. She spun around, bending it behind Anaya’s back, making her drop her sword in several thrashing gestures. 

She yanked at her hair and kicked her in her calf, making her drop to her knees. 

Anaya bent forward and took out her knife from her shoe, pressing her palms to the ground as she spun her right leg around. She jabbed the blade in Evalina’s arm and yanked herself as she stood back up.

She thrust her knife in her direction but Evalina thrashed her elbow upwards, making the knife fall far away from Anaya’s grasp. 

She then brought out her fist to punch Anaya but she quickly ducked downwards, dodging it. Anaya threw her fist, making contact with Evalina’s jaw. 

She threw another punch. This time, Evalina caught Anaya’s arm and moved it sideways with great force. She kicked Anaya’s shin, making her stumble. She then kicked her again in her gut, making her lose her footing and topple backwards.

Before Anaya could regain her balance, she saw a massive arch of fire being hurled her way. But before it could hit her, an immensely strong gust of wind hurled in their direction, making it vanish. 

Both Anaya and Evalina looked at the direction of the wave and saw Zoya with her arms raised. She had a burn along one side of her face. But before Zoya could take further action, she was struck from behind by a soldier.

As Anaya moved to help her, she felt another body crash into hers, making her fall to the ground. Evalina propped herself on top of Anaya and she felt a burning pain in her throat as she wrapped her hands around her neck.

Anaya scrambled her hand in the dirt, in hopes of reaching her knife. 

“I’m ashamed it has to end this way Anaya” she put more pressure on Anaya’s throat. “We could’ve been friends”

Just as Anaya’s vision began to darken, she felt the cold metal beneath her palm. 

She looked at Zoya who was struggling with numerous soldiers. Then at Evalina’s bright ocean eyes, catching a glimpse of the girl she’d once been.

“We were friends” Anaya let out a croak. 

She brought out the knife up, mustering up all her strength and Evalina’s hands went limp as soon as the blade made contact with the skin of her neck. Her eyes remained widened but soon appeared dead as she fell to the side.

Anaya gasped for air as her body hit the sand.

Zoya hastily rushed towards her, “Are you hurt?’ she asked as she helped Anaya get back up.

“No” She managed to let out a hoarse voice.

Anaya glanced at Evalina’s lifeless body, her eyes wide open as she lay on the sand. 

This was what war did. It changed the people you once knew in unimaginable ways. It tore them apart and molded them into something truly recognisable.

Before they could move forward, Anaya felt a sharp, burning sting at her arm. She yelped as the great force pulled her backwards. 

“Anaya!” Zoya bellowed but a swarm of Volcra surrounded both of them

Anaya scrambled behind her back to grab her revolver, but the pull of the monster was far too strong and she struggled to keep her feet on the ground.

She then suddenly felt the Volcra’s grasp on her loosen and then it jerked away from her. She saw numerous Volcra being hurled away from her and Zoya from another shape in the sky.

For a moment, she believed that her eyes had deceived her. But on a closer look, she realised it was real. 

It was Nikolai.

Fangs bared, wings spread. With his talons, he seized the volcra, and hurled them away. More of them started appearing in their direction but Nikolai flew towards them in the dark abyss. 

With her hand pressed to her wound, Anaya rushed towards the skiff with Zoya. She then sighted the nichevo’ya swarming on the deck.

Her mind reeled, Just what is she doing?

For a moment, everything went silent. Every possibility hung in the air like an untold secret. Then in a sudden, light exploded from the skiff.

The Unsea appeared as bright as the mid-summer daylight and then it vanished, leaving them in the dark once again. 

The nichevo’ya swarmed in all directions and the Volcra circled above them. 

Anaya took out her gun and Zoya raised her arms. They stood with their backs firmly planted to one another.

Anaya took her aim and fired two rows of shots at the Volcra, some of them fell down on the sand but more appeared.

Zoya sent gusts of wind at the nichevo’ya, making them scitter and disappear, only to regain their form.

Only then they heard a sudden familiar voice from the skiff, “Someone help!” Alina’s voice boomed through the air.

Anaya and Zoya gave each other a dreaded glance before rushing towards the skiff. Tolya and Tamar appeared from the opposite direction. 

Tolya was limping and Tamar was covered in blood. But they all stopped short when they saw the sight in front of them.

Mal lay on the deck, lifeless, drenched in his own blood with Alina crouched beside him. Her amplifiers, the stag’s collar was shattered, the remains lay near Mal’s body. And so did the Sea Whip’s fetter.

Anaya couldn’t ignore the ache that rose in her chest.

“Bring him back,” Alina cried out . 

Tolya and Tamar went to their knees beside him, but they too exchanged a mournful look. 

“Alina—” Tamar began.

 “Please,” she sobbed. “Bring him back to me.”

 Tamar opened Mal’s mouth, attempting to force air into his lungs. Tolya placed one hand on Mal’s chest, applying pressure to the wound and trying to restore the beat of his heart. “We need more light,” he said. 

Alina let out a choked laugh. She held up her hands, but nothing appeared.

Anaya couldn’t quite fathom what exactly was happening.

 “I don’t understand,” Alina cried as she pressed her wet cheek to Mal’s.

Anaya pressed her hand to her wound, her sleeve was entirely drenched. She took heavy breaths.

He really did it.

Despite having no gain out of it, the boy gave up his own life just so they could live. Just so all this could end. But what use did it have?

The path in front appeared shrouded in mist, one she had no power to clear.

Anaya looked around at the darkened abyss. Then suddenly, she glimpsed at a small beam of light spurting from near one of the skiffs.  Then another, one by one light began to spread around in a steady wave.

“What is that” she spoke, her voice coming out as baffled as she was.

For a moment she stood bewildered, entirely sure that her mind had deceived her. That it was making her see things, a false gleam of hope.

But then the others noticed it as well. Another appeared, a bright point that became two broad beams, sweeping high and wild above them. 

A torrent of light burst from the darkness just a few feet from them. Anaya turned to see one of their soldiers,Vladim, open his mouth in shock and confusion as light poured from his palms.

One by one across the Fold, like stars appearing in a twilight sky, Soldat Sol and oprichniki, their weapons forgotten, their faces baffled, awed, terrified, and bathed in light.

The arcs and cascades of light blossomed around them.

 The beams met, and where they crossed, the darkness burned away. The shrieks of the Volcra erupted around them as the Fold began to unravel. 

Anaya Nasrazeen had never believed in miracles. She was the kind to always look for logic in the tales of the Saint. She’d believed for everything to happen for a reason.

But this was a true miracle. The gleam of hope brightly lit, soaring. And the girl before her might not have been a Saint, but she was the closest to it. 

“How?” Alina looked up. 

The Darkling stood behind them, stunned, taking in the impossible sight of the Fold coming apart around them . 

“This can’t be” he began. “Not without the firebird. The third-” He stopped short as his eyes settled on Mal’s body, the blood on Alina’s hands. “It can’t be,” he repeated.

“What power is this?” he demanded. He stalked toward them, shadows pooling in his palms, his creatures swirling around him. 

Anaya stepped forward, guarding Alina and Mal. The twins drew their weapons. 

Alina lifted her hands but nothing happened. 

The Darkling stared. He dropped his hands. 

“No,” he said, bewildered, shaking his head. “No. This isn’t- What have you done?”

 “Keep working,” Alina ordered the twins. 

“Alina—”  Tolya began.

“Bring him back to me,” she repeated

She lurched to her feet, and the Darkling strode towards her. His hands went to her throat. “No,” he whispered. 

 Her wrist was bare and the fetter had broken too. 

“This isn’t right,” he said. “You were meant to be like me. You were meant… You’re nothing now.” He dropped his hands.

Power, it was the only thing that had ever connected one to him.

 It was the strangest, but the only language he’d understood. The world to him was divided in only two segments, once who had it and others who did not.

That was all he’d seen each of them as. Wielders of power. One way or another. He’d seen Alina to be somewhat his equal because she wielded the rarest form of power. 

It was the only reason she had mattered to him, it was why any of them had mattered to him.

He spread his arms wide, calling the darkness. The nichevo’ya scattered and turned on Soldat Sol and oprichniki alike, cutting them down, snuffing out the beams of light that blazed from their bodies.

In a sudden, Alina drove a shadow-wrapped blade deep into the Darkling’s heart. He made a soft sound, little more than an exhalation. 

He looked down at the hilt protruding from his chest, then back up at her. He frowned, took a step, tottered slightly. He righted himself.

A single laugh burst from his lips, and a fine spray of blood settled over his chin. “Like this?” His legs faltered. 

He tried to stop his descent, but his arm gave way and he crumpled, rolling to his back. 

“Blue sky,” he said. 

Anaya looked up and she could make out the glimmer of light, pouring from beneath the darkness of the fold, the sky. 

The volcra were swooping away from it, looking for someplace to hide.

 “Alina,” he breathed. 

She knelt beside him. The nichevo’ya had left off their attacks. Anaya looked up as they circled and clattered above them, unsure of what to do. 

She looked back down at him.

He glanced at her for a brief moment. He almost appeared amazed.

He’d taken away her life, mended it, molded it and made it into something she hadn’t thought of in her wildest dreams. He’d turned her into something she’d never thought to become.

He had taken away all of it.

For a moment, she could see her mother’s smile, the glint of her dark eyes. She could see her father’s grin, his gleaming blue eyes.

He had taken them from her.

She remembered her proud grin, the one she attained each time she was praised by him. It was strange, how once she would’ve done anything to make him proud. 

And now she stood, watching his breath fade away, feeling a weight being lifted off her, a wave of relief washing over her.

She looked at him with droopy eyelids and a faint smile. She was relieved

He knew

 His eyes fluttered shut. “Don’t let me be alone,” he murmured.

The nichevo’ya blew apart, scattering like ashes in wind, leaving startled soldiers and Grisha staring at the places where they’d been. 

Anaya heard a sudden wrenching cry and looked up in time to see Nikolai’s wings dissolve, darkness spilling from him as he was falling down.

She rushed towards him, followed by Zoya who attempted to slow his fall with an updraft. She formed a cushion of wind as he fell down to the sands with a gentle thud.

Both Anaya and Zoya rushed to his side and for a moment, he did not move. Anaya felt her heartbeat grow as she took heavy breaths.

“Saints, Is he alive?” Zoya managed in a heavy voice

“I don’t know,” Anaya said, bending down to his side. “Nikolai, Nikolai are you alive?” her voice came out entirely hoarse.

He remained still and in a sudden, he let out a groan as he pushed her elbow to the ground and attempted to get up. “I feel very much alive,” he managed.

Anaya’s breath hitched as relief washed over her.

“Come on” Anaya let out a breath as she took his left arm in her hand and put it around her shoulder.

Zoya helped him up from the other side and they trudged forward. 

Anaya winced as her bleeding arm throbbed. 

“Anaya are you alright?” Nikolai asked as he glanced at her

“Yeah I’m fine” she said

She wasn’t entirely sure that she was. But she had the feeling that they were going to be.

……………………………………………………….

A/N- Wow this chapter took a LOT of effort to write so I really hope you liked it. It was honestly a roller coaster of emotions writing the entire thing and reading it back again. Anaya just can’t catch a break can she😔

[gothgril69]

Levi Ackerman/Fem!Reader Royalty!AU

Summary: You dream of another life, a simpler one under the rays of the warm sun, where you find love and your brothers live happily.

But you're destined to serve, to be the black sheep of the family and married off to whoever your father pleases because your parents can't seem to harbor any love for you. Your brothers will serve in the war, side by side with their Chevaliers, and you'll be left to pick up the pieces or die trying.

And the one you thought always hated you, will be right by your side to catch you when you fall.

Overall Warnings: themes of sexism, minor character death, angst, depression, minor character death, smut (please check ao3 for all tags)

Chapter warnings: none

Chapter Length: 7.4k

ao3 link

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

You wish you never stood up from your chair. You feel like you’re going to faint where you stand.

You wish this was all some sick joke Theo wrapped Auguste into playing on you and they would walk through those doors and relieve you of all your nightmares, but Levi’s features tell you it’s anything but. His eyebrows are furrowed again in sympathy and you look away to avoid the pity that seems to be the only thing he can look at you with lately in favor of looking back at Hange.

“No,” you whisper.

“We’ll hold your coronation–”

“No,” you interrupt, louder this time. “I can’t. I’m not– Auguste was supposed to– No, this isn’t right.”

“Aeron,” Erwin’s clear voice cuts through the fog in your brain. “Have a seat.”

You don’t object. You take a seat in the chair you sat in before, not bothering to push it closer to the table, and put your elbows on your knees so you can bury your face into your hands. You stare at the parquet flooring below your boots.

“Your coronation will be held in three days time,” Hange starts again. You’re silent, absorbing everything they’re throwing at you. “The people of Mirlenas need a queen to look up to, not a military force. We have a plan on how to get Zeke out of the picture if you’re willing to cooperate.”

You sigh and lift your head, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you lean back in your chair. “Do I have a choice?” You want to help your kingdom, but you never expected to be thrown into something so asinine.

“No, not really,” Erwin states plainly.

“Of course she has a choice,” Levi argues. It’s the first time you’ve heard him sound so strong since he’s come back.

“I don’t see another way of removing Zeke from the throne without her being involved, Levi.”

“She still–”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupt the two men. Whatever it may be, has to be better than what you are going through now; lying in your bed as an almost corpse. You can avenge your brothers, Furlan for Isabel, and prevent yourself from Zeke ever laying a hand on you.

“Aeron, we can talk about it first,” Levi tells you, walking towards where you sit.

You look up at him and frown before standing. “It would be for Auguste and Theo,” you mutter, “for Furlan.” He stops. 

You look over at Erwin and Hange and they both give you a curt nod before going over the plan. It’s complex, full of uncertainties and gambles, but you trust them both. It doesn’t guarantee the safety of Grisha and Carla Jaeger, but it would save both of your kingdom's fates and you’re willing to do just about anything to prevent Zeke from getting his hands on anything he wants.

When traveling to Kaslogon yourself comes up in Erwin’s plan, Levi vehemently refuses. “Absolutely not.”

“Levi,” you try.

“No,” he cuts you off. “Absolutely not. I promised Auguste I would protect you and letting you onto their territory is quite the opposite of that.”

“You’ll be with me,” you try again, “you can protect me.” You look at him with pleading eyes, but you can see the pain in his grey gaze as he looks back at you from how close you are.

“I’m one man,” he states. “I couldn’t protect your brothers, or Furlan. If you died there it would just be another promise broken. Another meaningful life gone.”

“You’re well aware my skills are above theirs,” you argue.

“She needs to attend for negotiations. This is too urgent to wait on messengers, Levi,” Erwin intervenes – you’re grateful for the intrusion. “If we have any chance of sparing the Jaegers' lives we must act swiftly.”

Levi spins to face Erwin, helplessly arguing with him. “We should meet on neutral territory. Navarre–”

“Navarre will want no part in this.”

“It’s worth the effort, do you not think so?”

You stare at Levi, at the way his eyebrows furrow slightly while he practically begs Erwin to compromise – to anyone else you’re sure his frustration wouldn’t be so obvious.

Erwin is quiet for a moment before muttering. “We don’t have time for messengers to come back and forth.” The room is silent. You can feel the defeat radiating from Levi and the sympathy from Erwin as the two stare each other down, silently communicating. 

“It’s settled then,” your voice cuts through the tension. “I’ll be going, and so will everyone in this room.” You walk towards the table and place your hands on the surface, staring down at an updated map of the lands of Mirlenas and where the front lines currently reside – your country has at least held their ground.

Levi curses and walks towards the balcony doors. “I need a moment,” he grits out and the doors slam shut behind him after he walks out.

—

He shouldn’t be as frustrated as he is. He should trust you, trust in your abilities and Erwin’s plans, but Erwin’s a gambling man that doesn’t mind losing nonexpendable people and you’re too stubborn to realize a bad idea. You’re smart, but he can tell you have the need to prove something – he’s not sure if it’s for anyone else but yourself – and he understands the feeling, but this has to be the most idiotic thing you’ve been willing to do.

Levi can’t fathom losing another person in his life even if it’s you, especially not when the two of you have seemed to have made some progress on whatever your relationship is. You let him hold you, found comfort in him, and he was surprised when he enjoyed the feeling of holding you and protecting you; enjoyed knowing you felt protected by him.

Now here he was, forearms leaning onto the pale stone railing of the balcony and trying not to lose his mind at the concept of you going head first into danger. He thinks you’re underestimating Zeke’s abilities and his scheming ways, not fully grasping what the man is clearly capable of, but he wants to believe you’re smarter than that. He’s not sure if it’s worse if you know and you’re still diving head first into the conflict or not.

He doesn’t know what the letter from your brother says, but he hopes Auguste told you not to be stupid.

He also has a feeling your brother has, instead, encouraged you, but you have yet to read it.

He shakes his head as he stares off into the castle gardens – the chrysanthemums have died off, leaving a brown spot in the flowers. Everyone has continued as normal, the servants doing their usual chores to keep the castle grounds in check and Levi wonders if they care about the deaths of his friends or the current state of war they’re in – or if they’re even aware. He spots Isabel tending to a tree growing yellow mimosa flowers and he sighs, knowing this plan has to work for not just the sake of the kingdom, but the people he cares about most. He has to trust you to make it happen.

—

It’s staring at you in the face, begging you to just snap it open and begin reading the perfect lettering you know that’s waiting for you on the page. The blue wax with your kingdom’s emblem on it, unbroken and sitting next to that spot of blood. You beg your mind not to wander on how it got there.

You’re sitting on your balcony chair, the white painted wood being quite uncomfortable even with a cushion under your body, as you stare at the letter from Auguste on your table. The biting autumn air doesn’t bother you despite only wearing a black silk robe over your thin nightgown; it’s the least of your worries. Your legs are drawn up to your chest, balancing your heels on the edge of your seat as your arms wrap around your legs. You want to open the letter, need to open the letter, but you can’t bring your muscles to move. You know as soon as you see the familiar handwriting on the paper that you’ll fall apart all over again, you’ll lose the streak you’ve gained of not crying.

It’s been two days since your meeting with Erwin and Hange – your coronation is tomorrow – and Levi hasn’t left his guard of your bedroom door ever since, remaining insistent that he’s always within your presence even if it’s behind closed doors. You’re grateful for his protection, knowing that his vow to protect your family has been extended to you and has remained even after your brothers and father are gone. He’s the only thing that’s remained static.

You take a deep breath, exhaling loudly as you abruptly reach out for the letter and snap the wax seal with a sudden burst of courage before pausing. You’re so close, so close to just reading those first words on the page, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. You groan loudly, setting down the paper on your table so you don’t wrinkle it.

A knock on your door. “Aeron?” Levi’s voice sounds through the painted wood. “Are you alright?”

No, you want to say. No, you feel like your heart is about to be ripped out all over again. “I’m fine,” comes out instead in a small yell so he can hear you.

He doesn’t respond, but you can hear his feet shuffle a bit before all is quiet again. You look back at the paper and grab it, unfolding it quickly so you can’t back down.

To my lovely Aeron,

Tears are already pricking your eyes, threatening to spill over and down your cheeks as you look up at the moonlit sky in attempts to quell them. You can do this, you tell yourself with a small, shaky exhale.

If you’re reading this, then I apologize with my whole heart for leaving you. You mean the world to me and always will, but I understand if you can never forgive me for leaving you alone on this earth.

He knew. He knew you’d feel unbearably alone, but you can’t imagine not forgiving him for leaving – it was never his fault, never something he would’ve done with malicious intent. He had to have known you would never think ill of him.

I want you to know that you are not alone, and you never have been. I’m writing to you with purpose, to inform you of who to trust when I’m gone and can no longer protect you myself.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, but you continue on as you swipe tears away from your face that have managed to escape.

I know going on the mission myself is a risk, but it’s a risk father insisted I make as the next heir to the throne and you must understand I would have never left if that wasn’t the case. You know how insistent the man can be.

But Zeke is an evil man and I could never leave you without protection against him – he will never have you, I assure you. I’ve spoken with Erwin about a way to prevent the marriage and I know you are an intelligent woman that is capable of ensuring your own safety.

I also know you are intelligent enough to know that Erwin was going to be my mate once I was king. A taboo surely, but one that I could not escape from nor would I want to. I can only hope that you find your own once the conflict with Zeke is no longer.

You’re smiling now, tears still trickling down, but despite your sadness you’re happy that Auguste found his true mate before passing instead of an arranged romance. Your smile falls when you realize how Erwin must feel, how devastating it must be to lose your own mate and live on.

I trust him with my life and I hope you will do the same, but I must also tell you something you may not be pleased to hear. You must trust Levi. 

You frown. Not because you don’t trust Levi – you do – but Auguste knows how difficult the two of you can be together. You’re willing to put your differences aside to not condemn yourself to living in hell with Zeke if your brother is telling you to trust him. It seems Mrs. Kirstein may have been onto something.

He is the only one I truly trust to do everything within his abilities to protect you. Levi is an extraordinary man, in battle and in my personal life. The man has more depth to him than he cares to admit and I can only hope you give him the chance to do right by you.

I hope that Theo is still with you.

At this your tears are unstoppable, a small sob escaping you before you manage to slap your hand across your mouth.

If he is not then I apologize for him as well. He loves you as much as I do, dear sister, he was just not a man to express his feelings. Our care for you runs so deeply, second nature to us. You’re our whole world.

You’re strong. You’re capable. I’ve always known you would achieve greatness and I can only hope it comes easy to you. Don’t do anything to endanger yourself if you can help it. Only trust those that I’ve spoken of.

I love you,

Auguste

You set the letter down onto the table so you don’t tarnish the parchment with your tears before pulling your knees to your chest as tight as possible. Your teeth are clenched, your whole body tense as you try to reel in your sobs, but you feel like another one of your walls has been broken down. You know Auguste would have never meant to make you cry, but how can you not when the only two people who had wholeheartedly loved you are no longer with you. They’re simply another addition to the sky, two stars looking down at you with such sadness even through their soft glow.

You aggressively swipe at your face to rid the dampness from your skin and stand up, pulling your silk robe tightly over your body. The stone flooring of your balcony is cold against the soles of your feet as you pad your way inside and straight to your bedroom door, straight to the one man your brother told you to confide in despite your personal feelings. You turn the nob and whip the door open in one fluid motion, clearly startling the man that was leaning against the wall nearby.

“Levi,” you whisper, staring at his wide eyes that are regarding you with such surprise and worry.

“What’s wrong?” he frantically asks, seemingly snapped out of his reverie once he hears your voice ring through the solitude of the night.

“I– the letter,” you stutter. Your hand is still on your doorknob and you know you must look absolutely frazzled with red rimmed eyes and tear tracks on your skin.

He pauses at this, mouth opening and then closing, as he seems to think of what to say. You know he’s a man of few words, at least when he’s not replying with snarky comments back at you – you almost miss those. You stand back from your door, taking it with you to open wide in a gesture for him to come in.

“You’re hardly dressed for my company,” he mumbles, looking down at the ground. Of all the times for him to instate his chivalry, this couldn’t be a worse time.

“Get the hell in here,” you snap, your voice sounding weaker than you intended, but still having the same effect. He walks in quietly and you close the door behind the two of you before gesturing for him to take a seat on the bench at the end of your bed.

Levi watches you pace back and forth in front of him, arms crossed over your chest and your black silk robe flowing slightly behind you. You’re hardly dressed for this meeting between the two of you and certainly not for the chilling breeze that’s flowing through your balcony doors now. He stands for just a moment to close the doors and spots the letter on your table outside. Levi grabs it before continuing his task so it doesn’t blow away in the breeze that’s continuing to pick up outside and sets it down on the edge of your bed. You haven’t even looked up from the ground as you continue to pace back and forth.

“Aeron,” he mutters, breaking the atmosphere that was previously filled with the sound of your footsteps and the fire crackling to his left next to the balcony doors. It seems to work at snapping you out of your train of thought, but only for a moment as you glance up at him and move on to doing something else.

Your silence is killing him. He wonders if it could have been that bad, or if you’re just overwhelmed with your feelings after reading Auguste’s words to you. He sits there patiently as you grab the metal bed warming pan by the fire and stick it in the flame. You don’t move after that, just watching the fire dance in the hearth.

“Aeron,” he tries again.

“I read it,” you mutter, still staring at the fire. He figured as much with the way you were behaving. You look just as empty as the day you attended their funeral. “Do you want to read it?” you quietly ask, eyes finally coming up to meet his own. There’s no tears – you just look tired.

“What would you like me to do?” He doesn’t want to breach your privacy even if it might be easier to understand how you’re feeling. He’d rather hear it from you.

“I don’t know.” You abandon your stance in front of the fire and slowly pad towards him, your robe coming slightly undone as your arms fall to your sides and exposing your décolletage. He averts his eyes until you sit right next to him, his gaze coming up in surprise as you settle the side of your head onto his shoulder. You must be truly exhausted to be leaning on him like this. He doesn’t move, instead acting as your pillar of support as long as you need.

“Why don’t you tell me,” he suggests quietly, his voice barely a whisper in fear of spooking you away like a wild animal.

“Him and Erwin were going to mate,” you sigh. He blinks, digesting the news. Is this what you’re so upset over? It can’t be. He knew they were partners at least, but Erwin never hinted at the two of them becoming mates.

You continue on. “He told me to trust him and… I think I do now that I know that,” you mumble and lift up your head to look at him, your irises swimming with so much hidden emotion. He wonders if you still hate him. “He also told me to trust you.”

You stand up and walk towards the fire, grabbing a mitt off the wall next to the hearth to grab the bed warming pan to let it cool a bit before you stick it under your bed sheets. “Do you?” he asks instead of his real question, thinly veiling his insecurity about your feelings towards him. He never wanted you to hate him.

“Of course,” you reply easily, as if it was second nature. “I trust that you’ll protect me like you did with my brothers. I…” your voice trails off as you turn back to him, remaining your distance as you fidget with the tie of your robe in front of your torso out of nervousness. “I know now that you did what you could. I’m sorry, Levi, for ever saying otherwise.”

He forces himself to meet your eyes now that you’re apologizing. You look so sincere, so sad and sympathetic towards him when he should be the one looking at you that way. The warm light from your fireplace is flickering on your skin, illuminating you in the most ethereal way as you look back at him. He knows you’re waiting for a response, but what can he say to you when he should be on his knees begging for the forgiveness you’ve given to him so easily.

“I never hated you,” is what comes out instead of a thank you, instead of a returned sorry. He needs you to know.

“You’ve said that before,” you sigh.

“I meant it.” Levi stands and walks towards you, his body moving before his mind can catch up. He grabs your hands from the ties of your robes to prevent your fidgeting, looking down at your hands before meeting your eyes. “You’ll ruin the fabric with all your fidgeting.”

“That’s not really my main concern,” you breathe. He ignores your rebuttal.

“I’m sorry for all that I’ve done to you,” he tells you sincerely, holding your gaze so you know he means every word. “I’m sorry that you couldn’t trust me before now, and I’m sorry I couldn’t bring home Auguste and Theo.”

“Levi–”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you needed someone to hold you,” he interrupts you. “I promise I will do everything I can to protect you, to ensure your safety above my own if I have to.”

“Levi–” 

“I’m not done–”

“It’s okay,” you insist, eyebrows dipping with sympathy. You gently take your hands back from his own and look down. “I know you mean every word,” you mutter. “I know I trust you because of Auguste’s reassurance on top of my own, but my–” you sniff and turn your head to the side to gaze down at the fire. You’re avoiding him. “My heart has been so torn.”

He wants to be the one to put you back together, to make it up to you and mend your heart when you thought only Auguste or Theo were capable of such a thing. How are you supposed to heal when you’re required to deal with a war you never thought you’d be a part of?

“Let me help you,” he gently pleads, sounding desperate even to his own ears as he practically begs you to let him in. He can’t allow another person around him to fall apart and leave.

“I’ll get there,” you tell him, meeting his eyes to assure him you mean it. “At least I think I will.” You shift your body away from him to grab the metal bed warmer now that it’s cooled off enough to place under your silk sheets. Levi takes it as his que to make his leave.

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” he promises, looking back at you with a hand on the doorknob. He wouldn’t miss your coronation even if he was on his deathbed – he owed it to your brothers as well as you. You set the metal bed warmer back next to the fireplace before walking back to the edge of your bed.

“Thank you,” you mutter back to him, looking down as you begin to slide your silk robe off your shoulders so you can get in bed.

Levi doesn’t stick around to see it fall to the ground.

—

You abruptly wake up sweating, shaking, as you throw your sheets off your body. Your thin nightgown is sticking to every part of you and you swipe the little hairs off of your forehead, panting as you try and catch your breath. The moonlight is casting a soft glow into your room through your floor to ceiling windows, the waxing gibbous soon turning into a full moon that would bless your coronation day. You assumed it would make you feel more calm, but you’re still reeling from your nightmare, Auguste and Theo’s marred faces staring back at you still.

It’s only a matter of a couple seconds after you wake up that Levi is turning the handle to your door and stepping through the frame, eyes wide and searching for any threat that could be lying in wait. “Christ, Aeron,” he breathes, leaning against your doorframe once he sees that there’s no threat, only you sitting up in your bed after waking from a brutal nightmare. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you mutter, your voice sounding hoarse, hollow. Your breathing has leveled out by now as you bring both hands up to wipe more hair out of the way and swipe your cheeks free of any tears you may have left behind. You need some air. You stand up from your bed, disregarding Levi’s presence completely, and pad your way over to your balcony doors to allow some fresh air to flow through. The fire has dwindled down to a pile of embers and you relish in the cool breeze that soothes your sticky skin and allows the nightgown that’s barely hanging on your shoulders to flow freely once again.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Levi’s voice sounds from behind you, closer than he was last time. You glance back to see that he’s closed your bedroom door and stepped inside, patiently observing you from the foot of your bed where he’s taken a seat on the bench.

“I’ll live,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your nipples have pebbled under the thin fabric, but you stand still despite the chill, knowing you’ll have to turn around to grab your silk robe.

Levi stands up behind you and lays your robe around your shoulders, ensuring the fabric falls over the front of your torso as well so you can slide your arms through. “Nightmare?” he inquires gently.

You turn around as you put your arms through the sleeves and face him. “Of course,” you mumble. He’s regarding you with one of the softest gazes you’ve seen on his features and you know he understands what you’re going through – he was the one to witness the events after all. “I’m assuming I wasn’t quiet.” You look down at the ground, embarrassed that he’s even here to observe your disheveled state.

“No, not quite,” he mutters, pausing before continuing, “I have them too.”

You look up at him. “You don’t sleep.”

“I know.”

You frown and move to sit on the bench. Maybe you should start your fire again now that you’ve allowed the chill from the night’s air inside your room. Levi beats you to it, wandering over to the hearth to stack the firewood that’s precariously placed next to it. “Tomorrow shouldn’t be happening. It should be Auguste,” you mumble, staring down at your fingers that have started to fidget again with the fabric of your robe.

“You’re right,” Levi says, his voice coming out strained. “I wish for your sake that it was so you would not travel to Kaslogon.” The fire is roaring with life now, flickering against his features and illuminating him in such a way you almost think he looks beautiful despite the furrow in his brows that tells you he’s upset.

“Levi–”

“I know you’ve made your choice,” he interrupts your distressed tone. “You are capable, fully, and I respect your decision, but I wish you never had to make that decision in the first place.”

“What’s done is done,” you sigh as Levi strides over to your bedroom door.

“Yes, I know,” he mutters. “I now intend to keep my promise this time of protecting you, even if it means my life is yours. I do not regret making that promise.” 

You stare at him, wondering just how traumatized the man must be to devote his life to you. It crushes your soul to observe how broken he is – how broken both of you are – and you wonder if you would be able to stitch his heart back together like Auguste and Theo could always do for you. You wonder if he would try to do the same for you.

When you don’t say anything back he opens your door and steps through the frame, only glancing back to let you know, “Isabel will be here at dawn with Mrs. Kirstein and Mrs. Springer to help you get ready. I’ll be your escort.”

The door closes softly behind him.

—

It’s almost too much to handle as you open your door to allow Mrs. Kirstein and Mrs. Springer into your bedroom as they carry full buckets straight to your bathtub, Isabel following shortly behind with a large bundle of fabric in her arms. The two of you make eye contact when she looks up from the ground, freezing in her footsteps as she takes you in and you do the same.

“Let me hang this before you attack me,” she giggles and you can’t help the smile that graces your features when seeing the young woman’s youthful features light up. You missed her. You allow her to pass and shut your bedroom door, noticing Levi standing guard in your hallway and looking the other way as you do.

Once the dress Isabel brought in was hung next to your floor length mirror, you rushed her and attacked with a strong embrace – one she returned with equal enthusiasm. “I missed you, Is,” you mutter. You lean back and separate from her, grasping her hands in front of you. “I should’ve been there for you more. I’m sorry.”

“No,” she’s quick to speak, barely allowing you to get all your words out. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been there more for you. We needed each other and I abandoned my duties to you.”

“You have no duties to me,” you chide. “The only thing I ever hope for is your genuine friendship, and friends are there for each other just like we will be now.”

She nods, giving you one of her signature bright smiles as a strand of hair falls out from her updo. You tuck the strand behind her ear. “You’ll make a great Queen, Aeron.”

You give her a sad smile and recognize her own on her face as she regards you with such sympathy. She knows you don’t want to be doing this, but she’ll guide you through whatever you need and be there for you until her last breath just like you would for her. “Thank you,” you mumble.

“Aeron!” Mrs. Springer shouts as she exits your washroom. “Now is not the time to dilly dally! We’re running behind schedule!”

You share a look with Isabel and laugh, dropping her hands as you start to take off your silk robe to get prepared to bathe. “I think we have plenty of time, Mrs. Springer. It is hardly after dawn.”

The blonde woman frowns at you with Mrs. Kirstein’s sweet face appearing behind her. “Come on sweetheart, the water will get cold,” she coos at you, as if to coax you into the bath like you’re a kitten.

“I’d like to bathe by myself today,” you tell them, hanging your robe precariously over the stool for your vanity. It’s been a while since you’ve had a quiet moment to yourself in the bath, usually having Mrs. Kirstein bathe you when it felt like such an overwhelming task. 

Mrs. Springer sighs while Mrs. Kirstein and Isabel nod at you and you finally slip yourself inside your washroom, closing the door behind you to give yourself the much needed solitude. You slip off your nightgown, allowing the thin fabric to pool around your feet before stepping out and into the tub next to you. The warm water feels nice on your skin, soothing your aching muscles from tensing up during your nightmares as you slide your whole body under the surface. You close your eyes under the rippling water, allowing it to soak your hair and block out any intrusive noises from your environment. It feels nice to just simply exist in the dead silence, all of your senses numbed so you can’t hear, can’t see, can’t smell, can’t taste anything as you only feel the soothing warmth of the water along your skin. The lavender and oats in a sachet they had added make the water silky and nourishing.

You lift your head out of the water, overwhelmed by the rush of water that flows off of your head and all of the sounds coming back. You press your fingertips into your eyes to rid the water so you can open them, lips slightly parted as you take a deep breath in after holding it for so long. You enjoy the sensation of your senses flooding back into you, feeling alive for the first time since Auguste and Theo left for their dreadful mission. You breathe in deeply, allowing the scent of lavender to calm your nerves – you wouldn’t allow your mind to go there right now. You needed to be strong in front of your kingdom, in front of the people that were relying on you to guide them despite your young age. Your people were not going to wait two years for the military rule to end – the conflict needed to end now.

You rush through your bath to keep yourself distracted from your thoughts, thoroughly scrubbing at your skin to the point where you almost rub your skin raw. The water drips off your body as you stand up, landing below with soft sounds of the droplets hitting the water. It felt good to bathe alone, to feel just strong enough to help yourself and not rely on someone else for such a simple task. Some days had felt hardly worth getting out of bed and now you felt like you could do the bare minimum despite the hollowness of your heart – perhaps you were just growing accustomed to the feeling.

You wrap your silk robe around you and exit the washroom, ready to have them dress and prep you for the day.

“She is in desperate need for a wax,” Mrs. Springer tells Isabel and Mrs. Kirstein right when you walk through the doorway.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” you state plainly. You were not one to partake in the new trend of waxing. You’ve heard that it’s painful and you found the idea of being perfectly smooth odd, but you suppose you wouldn’t know for yourself unless you tried it. Today was not that day.

“It was merely a suggestion,” she offers, slightly caught off guard by your appearance.

“I do not have a mate,” you sigh, “besides, they will love me regardless of my grooming habits.”

Mrs. Kirstein intervenes before Mrs. Springer can get a word out. “You’re absolutely right. Let’s get you dressed.” You stifle a laugh at Mrs. Springer’s mouth snapping shut.

You didn’t pay attention to what Isabel had been carrying when she arrived, too focused on the young woman herself, but now you’re gaping at the extravagant gown hanging near your mirror. It’s the most gorgeous dress you’ll ever wear in your life, clearly specially made just for your coronation day and you wonder if they began making it as soon as they knew you were now in line to become queen. Mrs. Kirstein takes your robe off your shoulders and you stand still, watching in the mirror as they work on you. Mrs. Springer throws a chemise over your head the moment the silk fabric is cleared, tying a small bow in the front to keep it secure. Isabel ties the skirt support around your hips at the same time, making sure the knot is secure before moving on to your corset that will go under the dress. Its more intricate than normal, the bodice practically glittering with how fine the fabric is. It’s a navy blue, matching your nation’s colours, with silver detailing – it should show through the dress. Isabel pulls it as tight as possible, practically squeezing the life out of you as she does it with a smile. You glare at her in the mirror.

Mrs. Kirstein and Mrs. Springer both grab the dress, carefully guiding it over to you to slide over your head. When they finish lacing it up you practically gawk at yourself in the mirror. The dress has a high neckline, coming up to almost your jawline and contouring your face. It’s a dark blue, just like your corset, but it has silver metal detailing that frames your shoulders and scatters down the front of your dress and the long sleeves. Silver accentuates your breasts and a sheer lace allows your corset and cleavage to peak through the fabric just enough to be slightly alluring. Its form fitting, but the skirt of the dress doesn’t stick to your skin, it flows freely with a slender form.

The three women usher you in front of your vanity where they can primp and prep you for the ceremony. Mrs. Kirstein and Mrs. Springer work on your hair, carefully accentuating your natural hair texture and keeping your hair flowing freely. Isabel does your makeup, but keeps it relatively natural with just blush and a lip tint – she knows your preferences.

By the time they’re done you have little time left until the ceremony where you’ll greet your nation that has gathered close enough to the castle walls for you to address them. From then on you know you have a long evening awaiting you full of entertainment and addressing public officials – all people your brother and father knew well, but not you.

You’re guided in front of the floor length mirror again and your breath hitches – you look beautiful. You resemble a Queen. You hold your head high as you stare at yourself, tilting your head so you can see your hair and makeup. 

It makes your heart ache, desperation seeping into your wishes for Auguste and Theo to be here just so they could witness your coronation. You push the thought away again – you won’t allow tears to ruin Isabel’s hard work.

You see her walk up behind you slowly. “One more thing,” she mutters. She steps in front of you with a tiara in her hands, gently grasping the sides as she raises it to place it on the crown of your head. It’s simple, glittering with small diamonds and a sapphire gem in the center, but the metal encasing them isn’t too intricate. It still must have cost a fortune.

You stare at yourself for a moment longer when she steps away before you turn to all three of them. “Thank you,” you start. “Thank you for taking care of me, and being there for me when I could not be there for myself.” You give them a sad smile, hoping you convey just how much you truly appreciate them.

“We love you,” Isabel says, and you desperately wish to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“We’ll always be here for you,” Mrs. Kirstein mutters softly. 

“We would hug you, but we’ll ruin our hard work,” Mrs. Springer grumbles, and you know that’s her own way of telling you just how much she cares.

You grin. “I love you too,” you laugh. “Is it alright if I have some alone time before the ceremony?”

“Of course,” Isabel says fondly. “Levi will knock when it is time.” You nod and the three of them disappear through your doorway.

You let out a sigh of relief, grateful to be alone before you must put on a face for your kingdom. Auguste was always so much better at it than you. You were hardly prepared to rule a whole kingdom without any formal training at all. You only had the education you were lucky to receive with Auguste when he taught you everything he knew from the regular education he was offered as a male.

You pace your room, completely lost in your thoughts, when Levi’s knock echoes through the room. “Come in,” you address him as you stop to stare at your door. He opens it and suddenly freezes – he’s staring at you with wide eyes. You panic for a moment. “Do I look alright?” you ask as you walk over to the mirror to inspect yourself. You seem fine.

He clears his throat and you turn around. He’s managed to close his door after shaking himself out of his stupor. “You look beautiful,” he mutters quietly – you blush. “Like a true Queen.”

You can feel your cheeks heat and you turn around to look at yourself once again in the mirror. You try to think if Levi has ever given you a compliment before and come up empty. You spin to face him once again when you’re sure the flush of your cheeks has gone away and find him standing much closer, looking down at your small bottle of lavender oil. 

“You forgot something,” he mumbles when he notices you staring. He gestures for your wrists and you tear up at the memory. “What is it?” He’s inspecting your face, honing in on the tears that form on your waterline.

“Auguste,” you mumble, “he um,” you clear your throat. “He was always the one to…”

“I see,” he states, effectively cutting you off, but you’re grateful for the interruption. “I can allow you to do it yourself?” he questions, uncertain of whether or not you’d like his assistance like Auguste had given you.

You gently pat at your tears and Levi hands you his handkerchief, a soft white cotton with the letters “L. A.” stitched in the bottom corner. You dab at your eyes and offer it back to him. “Keep it,” he tells you gently.

“It’s yours,” you state the obvious.

“I know,” he mutters, “I have another. Keep it for now.”

You nod and set it down on the edge of your bed behind you, carefully folding the piece of fabric into a square. You gently offer your wrists to him once you turn back around and it only takes Levi a moment of confusion before he realizes what you want from him. He gently places one drop of lavender oil on each wrist and you smile.

“One more,” you whisper, gently guiding him to place one more drop on your wrists like Auguste had done before. His cheeks flush and he drops the lavender oil on your wrist and you spread the scent to your jaw and behind your ears since your dress neckline goes so high. Levi walks away to place the lavender oil back on your vanity. “I’m scared,” you confess now that there is some distance between the two of you.

“It’s only natural,” he provides, slowly walking back towards you. “You did not have all the preparation your brother received, but you’ll rule just as well.”

“How can you have such confidence in a woman that hardly knows anything,” you mumble, looking down at the ground.

“Because that’s not the woman I see before me,” he sighs and you look up. “You’ve had an education, you’ve been trained for combat, and you know every useful skill there is to know. I can see the self doubt you hold and I know it will soon turn into a strong insistence to prove everyone wrong that has ever spoken poorly of you. You are a stubborn woman.”

“You hardly know who I really am, Levi,” you frown.

“I have lived next to you for nearly half my life,” he huffs. “I think we know each other more than you are willing to admit.” He reaches forward and straightens your tiara on your head, a look that you can’t place in his eyes.

You turn away from him, knowing he’s right, and look at yourself in the mirror. You practice a small smile and notice how it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, but it’s the best you can do in the moment as you try to tell yourself that you’ll be okay. You realize you’re not as alone as you thought you were as you think of Erwin and Hange’s guidance, your companionship with Isabel, and whatever possible friendship is blooming between you and Levi as you glance at him through the mirror. He’s standing by the door, looking down at his hands that are clasped in front of him as he waits.

“I’m ready,” you state confidently.

[farrahda5hywrites]

Superposition

Pairing: Alina Starkov(a) x Grisha!Reader, Past!Darklina, Implied!Unrequited Aleksander Morozov(a) x Alina Starkov(a) x Reader

Summary: After the Darkling’s death, you seek to avenge him, but instead you confront some repress emotions.

Warning: It’s all angsty, baby. Vague-ish Spoilers for Season 2, Me, making shit up because I can. 

Taggies: @marvelmusing (Sorry to do this to you.)

“Very convenient of you to leave me out of your plans, Alina.” You appear in the middle of her bedroom as she removes her crown from her head.

She says your name gently, but you swear there’s a hint of malice or perhaps grief.

“You were missing.” She sits down still facing away from you. As you prepare to summon shadows to choke her, she is on her feet in the same stance.

“How?” She gasps, finally looking you in the eye. She hesitates to attack, and you are already close to her, grabbing her by the neck and tossing her against the wall. You are far from surprised that she has his shadows. She was his Sun Summoner, his Alina, his favorite. You were and still are just one of his shadows in the darkness.

“You killed him, and you didn’t even let me say goodbye.” You hiss. “It’s the least you could have done for me.”

“He was a monster.” She wiggle out of your hold, and she attacks you almost knocking you on your feet.

“He was our only hope, and now you’re helping the Royal family.”

“I’m doing the right thing for Grisha.”

“You’re misguided, and you’re helping the enemy.”

“Nikolai is different!”

“Isn’t that great for you? But what about everyone else? The other orphans, the other Grisha who have been tortured for decades under his family rule. You killed their hope! Some of our friends and allies are missing. Or should I say your former friends.”

She grabs you, pinning you on the ground, putting a hidden dagger to your neck. Her hair is disheveled, and you remember the first time she bested you during your training at the Little Palace. You were excited for her finally embracing her powers. Both of you were relatively new to embracing both of your powers, and while you stayed somewhat close and friendly, it was clear you somehow were eclipsed by both the General and Alina.

“You only listen to what you want to believe.” You mumble. “You’re so afraid of being a tool, but you let anyone use you. I shouldn’t have helped you. I wouldn’t have helped.”

You wrap your legs around her, and you roll her over pinning her down. The dagger has left her hand a long time ago, but you’ve just noticed, not to mention she hasn’t screamed for help. She wiggles a hand free and reaches up to touch your cheek. 

Your heart flutters remembering the small talks in the library you had and the fruit you shared during the few walks you took together between Alina learning to ride a horse. The General...he...always had made time for her, and the time you tried to take moments for yourself and Alina were interrupted by his need to be the only one in her orbit. Somehow, she did the same when you attempted to seek him out. She was always in need of something from him: approval, touch, comfort. Eventually, you made yourself scarce knowing you would never penetrate that orbit. 

Alina leans her head in for a kiss, and you can’t help but kiss her back. You immediately pull away, but she pulls you back for another kiss cupping your cheek. Tears start to stream down your face, but the hunger and grief keeps you close to her lips.

You sit up quickly as does Alina, and she holds the hem of your cloak as if she can sense your desire to flee.

“Please stay.” Alina begs, her plea barely hitting your ears. Before you can respond, she’s pulling you to your feet by your shadows, and you can’t break out of her grip. The look in her eye is almost feral, and it is nothing you have ever seen from her.

You pull on the shadows seeming to yank her towards you, and you can’t help fight back. She tugs you harder with what you can assume is hungry smirk on her face, and you pull her close to you.

“Come with me.” You mirror her plea.

She pulls you back to her, and your lips crash against hers. The both of you hold each other close, the kiss deepening.

Alina lets her hair fall to her shoulder, and you can’t help but play with a few strands. Kill her. Avenge him. Kill her. Kill her. Avenge him. She betrayed your people. You don’t have to live in her shadow anymore. You don’t have to compete with him anymore. You don’t have to…be.

You repress the thoughts and pull away, and Alina looks you up and down.

“I am sorry.” Alina wipes tears from her eyes. “I should have…known you loved him, too.”

“I suppose we were all blinded.” You clench your fist, trying to muster the courage to strike.

Someone knocks on the door, and Alina turns toward it. You flee leaving the same way you came.

When you get to your hideout, you press your back against the wall and slump down to the floor fingers touching your lips. You ignore the pull calling you back to Alina along with the regret of not killing her then and there. Another pull urges you, but you can’t place it as Alina’s pull is only slightly stronger from the other one. You won’t be surprised if she chases you until she finds you just as the General did when you attempted to help her flee.

Damn. You touch your lips again closing your eyes. You swear feel lips on yours again, but they’re different this time, a beard scraping against your cheek.  You are up on your feet again, and you sigh, having lost yourself in the grief again.

[nya-in-the-multiverse]

DRs guide

(just wanna say that I did not shift yet, that’s why I’m specifying to what point of the media I’m shifting to)

the originals

name: Nya Mikaelson

age: 1030 if i got my math right

relatives: Kol Mikaelson (twin brother)

rest of the Mikaelson bloodline..

species: original vampire

shifting to: the originals s1ep9

mcu

name: Nya Stark

age: 18

relatives: Tony Stark (uncle)

powers: none

shifting to: 2016

different timeline: Peter already joined the Avengers and is 18, Steve brought Bucky as well. Civil War storyline did not happen.

stranger things

name: Nya Lehnsherr

age: 18

relatives: Erik Lehnsherr (father)

El Hopper (sister, not blood related)

powers: metal bending

shifting to: pre s3ep1

the s3 storyline goes all trough summer

fame dr

name: Nya MyCrLastName (which i will not be saying on here)

age: 23

occupation: actress

shifting to: 2017

my most known roles so far:

Vanessa Stark (mcu, my dr self basically)

Candace Carver (monster high book series adaptation by netflix)

Cinderella (live action disney adaptation)

grishaverse

name: Valerya Morozova

age: 400+ ?? a lot

relatives: Aleksander Morozova (brother)

Baghra Morozova (mother)

Ulla Morozova (sister)

grisha order: shadow summoner

shifting to: week or two before first trilogy storyline starts

the only reason why i’m changing my name in this one is because i plan to date Genya and our names would sound way too similar to my liking

[mx-nii]

The following message is directed to darklina shippers, primarily those of which who have not read the books, those who excuse the actions of The Darkling in the books, and/or those who see the actions and simply accept/ignore them because “he’s morally grey tehe 🤭” or “he’s the same as Kaz Brekker” or “Ben Barnes is sooo hot”.

Let’s start this off strong: The Darkling is ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY, BEYOND A SHADOW (ha) OF A DOUBT nothing like Kaz ‘Dirtyhands’ Brekker, and here’s why.

Kaz is a criminal, there is no denying it, and we love him for it. Why, you may ask? That’s because Kaz has two things the Darkling doesn’t.

#1 lines he won’t cross. Kaz Brekker, a man who wants vengeance more than he wants oxygen, still has a hard limit. He’d never do *insert unspeakable things the darkling has done “for the greater good” (they were in fact NOT for the greater good but we’ll get into that later)*. And the reason for that is he actually cares about his friends, his crows. He CARES about their lives more than he cares about his vengeance. Even if he doesn’t show it, he’d never trade one of them for Pekka’s head. Instead, he’d work with them to kill him.

#2 he has an actual reason (now I know, I know: Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason- but he has one). We all know his traumatic history and how it affects him to this day. We know what happened to Jordie and how Kaz vowed to avenge his big brother. We’ve all read the same chapters, the same Kaz POVs. He was wronged and ofc, it’s a YA fantasy novel so he’s gonna kill the bastard, duh. He’s getting his pound of flesh, and some for Jordie too, and he’ll build his empire off of Pekka.

Now I know what you may be thinking: “THIS SOUNDS JUST LIKE THE DARKLING!!” but does it really? Think about it here. Point #1, lines that won’t be crossed. Kaz has proven to have mercy even when it would have served his plan better to not (that part in CK when he threatened to kill a kid); but has the Darkling?

Let’s start a list:

the fold (and everyone inside). Sounds like genocide and world destruction to me.

Novo Kribirsk - again with that genocide.

Alina. Everything Alina. This includes, but is not limited to: grooming her, putting a collar around her neck to steal her powers and enslave her, torturing her and her partner, kidnapping her, sexually assaulting her, attacking her (x a bajillion times), threatening her, etc.

Genya - put a (I believe) 9 year old in the hands of a KNOWN pedophile to retrieve information, separated her from other grisha so she felt alone, manipulated and groomed her, mutilated her, etc.

Killed Botokin and Anna Kunya, and held orphans hostage.

These are specifics I know off the top of my head and I could get more if I did some research, but just rapid fire here: deaths of countless grisha who stood against him, what he did to Zoya, Fedyor, Sergi, Nikolai (not a grisha but he counts), etc.

All of these actions were supposedly to get to his goal of “a safe place for grisha” (We’ll talk about how that wasn’t what he actually cared about later) and he didn’t stop at anything. Never hesitated, nothing.

The real reason this was all for was because he has a MASSIVE savior complex. He may have wanted (past tense) a safe place for grisha but now, what matters more to him is being the hero. He wants more to be the one who saves everyone than to have everyone be safe. It really reinforces the whole “make me your villain” line bc he doesn’t believe he’s the villain, he wants to be the hero so bad- but he’s not. And he never will be, because somewhere along the line, he lost sight of the goal and started making bad decisions and now we’re here.

Another thing I’d like to add, you can like Ben Barnes and not like the Darkling. You have to remember that it’s a ROLE. I love Ben and hate the darkling. Simply bc they’re NOT THE SAME PERSON. It’s actually quite genius that he was casted bc a big part of his gig was seducing people to his side with his insane looks and charisma so clearly it worked a little too well.

Now to get to #2. He didn’t have an actual valid reason- not that any reason could warrant his behavior but he didn’t even have a fucking reason. He SAID he was doing it all “so grisha could be safe” but it’s a lie. It may have been his reason a few centuries ago but I guarantee it’s not his reason now. If that was his reasoning for ALL THIS, he would not HARM grisha to get what he wants. He wouldn’t KILL grisha for his goals.

In short, the Darkling does what he does because he has a MASSIVE savior complex. He wants more so to be the one who saves everyone, than to have everyone be safe.

[sapphicclaw]

matthias as a character and his story arcs significance from the very start of his introduction to the very end when he takes his last breath is one of the best but also the saddest things i have ever read, because matthias alone unfortunately is not enough to be able to stop the never-ending cycle of violence that he was brainwashed to believe at a young age, thats because the brainwashing will still continue to happen without him as that same system indoctrinates and recruits more younger generations to take his role, to take his place in the system, and even going as far as to fucking killing him if it was the last thing the system will do to him. that’s not even mentioning how long it must have taken matthias to unlearn all the horrible things he was taught about grisha kind, and how when he meets nina and when he later falls in love with her they start to believe they will be able to change the ways their kind think about one another’s kind, but they were only two out of the millions of others out there, and how even in his last moments matthias never told nina who shot him and went out as an un-avenged hero because he knew that if he told nina who shot him was someone who he saw himself in, she would have never forgiven the fjerdans for what they did and how in doing so in not telling his grisha lover that the one who shot him was someone of his kind it would hopefully give nina faith that she will still have hope that she will be able to end the dispute between their people. i am so normal about matthias helvar.