#...and i never felt the need to have self-protection before (which was kind of foolish even if i felt certain i was physically safe)... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hitlikehammers · 9 days

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time for that age old question: is love enough to beat back the apocalypse?

Because Steve's right there to protect everybody like the self-sacrificing asshole he is help Eddie make the music he's not strong enough for yet help them all put Vecna in the ground for good this time, right?(!??!)

or: what's the song for your walkman, baby? does it even matter?

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< three: sleep 🌗

🎧 🎹 four: play 🎶 🛡️

To tell the whole truth of it: it comes too quickly—Vecna’s last stand. Of course it does.

But probably, if he’s being fair: they’d never have been really ready. Not for this, and so maybe it’s best that they’re not fully healed, not at full strength when it all comes to a head, not least because that means Vecna and his petal-toothed brigade aren’t at full strength either. And that choice, for their side, is sloppy; the Party stands on the right-side-up against the attack because they have to. Vecna makes his move because—or else, Eddie’s fairly sure—because the sadistic ballsac is losing his fucking mind.

Which is terrifying, sure, but fuck if it doesn’t help their cause.

It’s actually over pretty quick, even compared to Spring Break which, while it felt like a lifetime for how much it changed Eddie’s own, it’s only been those handful of days—but it’s kinda like the grand finale at a fireworks show: everything all at once then, done. In the everything’s though: he might not like it, but Eddie’s not so foolish as to believe he’s not still too tender, still too deep in healing the finer points of being gnawed alive to be anything but a burden in the thick of it. He refuses to be sidelined, though, and he thinks it says a lot for the long-term health of this glorious impossible thing he’s…building? Yeah, he, umm, he, Eddie Munson, is building a real goddamn thing where he doesn’t even just let someone into his heart and treasures them there, no, he’s building a thing where he gives his heart and gets on new and soft and trembling in kind and they both get to work at the treasuring of something more precious than just their own vulnerable insides, but yeah, yeah:

Eddie thinks it bodes really fucking well for the hopes he has that lean hard toward forever, already, in Eddie’s chest at least when Steve looks his way as they’re planning the teams and he locks eyes with Eddie and Eddie doesn’t even get his mouth open to breathe, to plead don’t cut me out, don’t send me to Wayne to be ‘safe’ or ‘out of harm’s way’ or whatever, don’t leave me so fucking far from you my heart hurts just because it’s beating in the middle space unmoored and shaking around all bruised up with it for not knowing and I know I can’t do what everyone else can but it’ll be bad enough not being next to you please don’t push me far enough that I won’t know the moment you’re safe, just—

Steve meets his eyes, and Eddie’s breath catches before his heart trips, and then Steve speaks up—and he doesn’t, not all that often when the nerdiest among them are shoring up the battle plans—but he watches Eddie without blinking when he pipes up:

“Eddie’s on medical and audio, with Erica and Jon.”

And maybe it’s his tone—this almost wholly novel thing in Steve that’s steely and unquestionable but no one pushes, they nod and get back to work, totally seamless and, and…yeah. That’s all Eddie wanted. Best he could hope for. Just outside the gate they go through. Close enough to hold a hand on the way down, and reach for purchase on the journey back.

Steve swallows hard, and nods at Eddie before he looks away and starts gearing up, twirls his fucking nailbat so it catches the sunlight even thought the metal’s mostly rusted, now and just…Eddie hadn’t needed to say a word. And Steve wanted to send him to safety, the way his throat had bobbed made it real clear there was something heavy he’s held back but: he’d said what he said. He’d laid the line in Eddie’s favor. Eddie wants to hold him, wants to pull him close and feel him breathe, and—

Yeah. Eddie kinda feels like the way it goes is a really good sign for their future as a couple. A couple. Them. Together.

With an always on the other side of all of this that could be kinda fucking magnificent, maybe. Given the chance.

Point being: Eddie gets himself set up with at least a full ambulance’s supplies for first aid, definitely not acquired legally, and a stereo set up he really wishes someone had been kind enough to outfit him with in not-the-apocalypse, holy shit is it gorgeous, but since the strength in his hands is still a work-in-progress, he’s gotta be ready to crank up the noise as a distraction from arm’s-length. It’s actually driving him fucking crazy—or, was; it was, pre-active return to the regularly scheduled world ending—the whole not being able to make music, to translate the noise in his head into sounds on the strings but even that, even that’s been tolerable, survivable because of Steve—who he loves, he gets to love Steve Harrington holy fuck—but Steve’s not just there to be everything and more than the air Eddie goddamn breathes, to become the music just by existing, nope, he one ups that shit: he asked Eddie if it’d be enough to learn the chords he needs. So Eddie could match the words with the notes right, so Steve could be a—

“—kinda piss-poor substitute but,” Steve had shrugged for it with a crooked grin; “but even a bad translator gets a message across, and you’d know when it’s wrong so we can figure out how to fix it and—“

And Eddie’d grabbed Steve’s chin and yanked his mouth close to fucking consume that man like a soul goddamn starved.

“I’d be a shit teacher,” Eddie had mouthed against Steve’s lips after they were sucked well-swollen; “if I still can’t lift the fucking neck for more than a minute,” but Steve had heard none of it, just shot right back:

“You don’t think we’ve beat steeper odds than that?”

And in the face of that raised brow, those red lips parted, that pulse in that neck still a little bit visible like a tease: the fuck was Eddie supposed to do but dive back in and love on the man who’d somehow agreed to be his, and to claim Eddie of all people in turn?

Which is a whole other reason why everything’s gonna be fine: Steve’s gonna make music with him. Steve’s gonna be Eddie’s muse and the vessel for what he inspires. It’s gonna be like Greek fucking poetry, except it’s gonna be them.

So Eddie’s all stocked up, s’got everyone’s floaty-bone-breaky songs queued up on blast for immediate deployment as necessary, and Steve’s the last to go through—he always is, in Eddie’s experience, waits for everyone to be safely accounted for before he spares a thought for himself and it might kill Eddie one day but not fucking today, because it’s gonna be fine—

“Eddie.”

It feels a little like history repeating itself, the way Steve huddles him in a little. Henderson’s through, with Lucas and Hopper and the weird stray Russian, but it’s not like history repeating, because Eddie’s got different words to see him off with; so fucking different.

“Last time I didn’t have,” and Steve reaches, cups Eddie’s cheek, drags down to press on his chest as his voice strains hard: “and it almost killed me,” and Steve usually pinches between his eyes to keep his feelings in check but instead of using his free hand to hold back the tears he reaches for Eddie’s and laces their fingers as his voice cracks and he chokes out:

“Please,” and it’s for everything. For all the almosts from last time; for all the possibilities rife this time. For all the hopes Eddie thinks they share beyond how this shakes out.

“Exceptionally underqualified field med,” Eddie breathes, and squeezes Steve’s hand so, so hard like a promise, because it is; “exceptionally overqualified DJ,” and Steve chuckles, wet but real and it’s enough, because:

“I got it, Stevie,” Eddie bends his forehead to Steve’s to say better than with words that he’s not in this to be a hero, he’ll be right here the whole time, but that doesn’t mean he…that doesn’t mean he can help but to ask this time:

“Just,” and the breath in him punches out unexpectedly as he damn-near begs:

“Only bring me back the little things, yeah? That I know how to fix?”

And they both hear what’s said underneath it:

Don’t turn around and die down there, and kill me in kind..

And—if anyone’s keeping track—they turn out not to need it but: the way the kiss is a wholeass wartime farewell, man.

And then: Eddie waits, and fucks with the speakers for less than an hour before the earth shakes, and his heart drops, but then he hears it.

The fucking whooping of those shitheads echoing through the cracks.

And then he sees it, runs, grabs the first hand that’s clinging to the rope this time and pulls with strength he doesn’t have, is probably more a hindrance than a help but he steadies them each back on the ground and hugs them so tight, kisses more than one of them on the head or the cheek as he doesn’t pretend not to be sobbing through the laughter because they did it, they fucking did it, somehow it’s over and he loves these people and he’s so fucking happy they’re alive and safe and here and—

And the person he loves more, loves most, brings up the rear, a little bloodied, a little scratched up, dingy with the fucking air down there but smiling and Eddie…

Eddie falls into him so fucking hard they both hit the ground and just, just grab onto one another. Just hold and breathe and catch lips every few seconds like an afterthought because they feel each other’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed tight and it’s, they’re…

Steve’s got four broken fingers across both hands. None in a row. He’s basically giving a Vulcan salute by default for how they’re taped.

Eddie loves him so goddamn much it hurts.

And Eddie’d obviously known—once things start to settle in the days that’ve followed—that teaching Steve guitar with those Spock-y hands was on the back burner, but he does ask Steve to sit, and to rest, and to help hum back the tunes in Eddie’s head while Eddie jots lyrics with a hand that’s still shaky but steadying out more every day, and it’s kind of perfect, and Steve adds some things into the melodies either on purpose or by accident but they’re better for it every time and—

Muse and vessel, man. The light of Eddie’s whole goddamn life.

With fucking Vulcan hands still, though, so: excuse Eddie for being…bewildered when his boyfriend—boyfriend, that’s his boyfriend—but his taped-up-healing-Vulcan-handed boyfriend is propping the front door open and lugging in a long, not-recovery-friendly thing that looks close to dropping on his toes and—

“The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks with a little more panic in his voice than he’d hoped for as he rushes as best he can to where Steve’s kicking the door shut behind him, fluttering his hands around uselessly as Steve maneuvers past him, leans across for a peck at the corner of Eddie’s mouth and calls—“It’s fine, it weighs, like, nothing”—over his shoulder as he settles the, the thing down on the coffee table in the living room they’ve started actually using for, y’know.

Living.

Eddie follows him in, though, because of course, he’s half-a-dog on that man’s heels, whole-caught-in-the-gravity-of-his-everything: but Eddie follows as Steve tosses himself backward with something in his hand, rolls and rucks up his fucking absurd Hawking Middle tee across the sweet curve of his hips, the way the soft give of skin tempts Eddie to run his tongue over the trail of almost-curls, like baby-curls where they lead under the waist of his jeans: Eddie would happily volunteer to survive on the taste of that musky-delicate space until the end of goddamn time—

But then Steve’s huffing a breathless ha from behind a chair where he’d been stretched to reach and a light catches Eddie’s eye from his periphery where he’d been staring unblinking just at Steve: the big long black thing on the coffee table. It takes a genuine concerted effort not to keep at the Steve-staring—not an uncommon state of Eddie’s existence, in all fairness—and check what’s glowing on the table: something turned on. Was plugged in, right, that’s what had Steve rolling on the floor without Eddie on top of or being deliciously pinned down by him.

The something being the big long black thing that Eddie takes in for the whole of it, now: a keyboard.

“Jon picked it up for me second-hand from the place next to Fox Photo when he drove down for his camera, and Rob vouched that it’s a good brand and like, really good condition,” Steve’s raised up on his knees, now with his hands braces on his thighs as Eddie studies the keys, fingers the ends of a every few of the naturals.

“Rob helped with those, too, so I’d know the right, like, chords,” and yeah: they’re stupa of masking tape stuck to the keys with letters in blue, black, and red pen, alternating so they don’t get mixed up, some with and arrow, Eddie assumes, to indicate a sharp.

“I only remember like half of one song from when my parents thought it would look good to have me take piano lessons,” Steve huffs in whole-ass judgment; “my mom wanted the endorsement of the guy who was stepping down from city council, and his wife taught private lessons, so, y’know,” Steve rolls his eyes; “super convenient leading up to the election.”

“What song?”

Steve blinks, tips his head in askance for what Eddie recognizes very clearly as something closer to a croak than a question, his throat all tight. He tries to cough, to clear it.

“What song do you remember?”

Steve snorts at that, leans back on his palms, and fuck is he beautiful.

“Clair de Lune,” Steve grins crooked; “the one song I was allowed to pick, instead of just being assigned.”

“Why’d you pick it?” Not that Eddie doesn’t like it or anything. It’s more that…he knew Steve could more than just drum fingers on keys, if only just, and that a baby grand used to sit in the corner where there’s a stereo cabinet now, but.

But: see, there’s like a whole half of his heart that’s dedicated to collecting new knowledge about everything Steve: his favorite food when he was 12 versus the now. How his favorite color became his favorite color. The story behind all the polos. The nitty-gritties about why he’s in a big-ass house alone for approximately 360 days a year, and how long it’s been that way. Eddie’s whole heart is basically Steve’s but every day that half overflows a little, and Eddie’s only keeping it relegated to parts filled with Steve-lore so he can feel the collection break containment every other day, this grand and joyous bursting under his ribs as everything spills over again, and again, and again until it’s all just Steve, and his heart has to burst or stretch, or both.

Eddie thinks both will be amazing.

And right now, in the interest of building toward that amazing-both: he wants to know why Debussy.

Steve chuckles to himself—better music than any dead French guy by a country mile—and eyes Eddie almost slyly.

“Do you remember Claire Reynolds?”

Vaguely. Like, very vaguely. He remembers…uneven pigtails. Very actual-cult-like vibes about her family as a vague impression and now that he’s bringing it to mind he feels a new wave of indignation: those Children-of-the-Corn motherfuckers were just fine but Eddie liked a board game and he was probably a murderer.

“When we were in like, first grade,” Steve’s continuing on; “she asked me every, single, day, to come over and see her sheep.” Steve looks up at Eddie and bites his lower lip, lets his gaze dance and lets Eddie fall into it for a few dazed seconds before he spells it out.

“She had these crazy eyes about it, it was kinda unsettling,” Steve nudges, but Eddie’s doesn’t get it until:

“And it’s not like I do now, because obviously I don’t, but I definitely didn’t speak a lick of French when I was eight.”

It takes Eddie a hot second before he snorts hard enough to hurt:

Claire, da Loon.

“I was eight,” Steve protests Eddie’s laughter halfheartedly even as he joins in, reaches to slap at Eddie’s upper arm which honestly: just makes him laugh harder.

“Anyway,” Steve fights through the last of the chuckling as it peters out between them, drags himself to sitting next to the coffee table and taps his hand to the top of the keyboard.

“I know it’s not the same as learning guitar to help, and I can probably only get the top and bottom notes with these,” he lifts his Vulcan-fingers his a shrug; “but I was hoping that’d be better than nothing?”

And, like, how Eddie was talking about his heart having to swell, for all the things he gets to tuck inside of it that come with loving Steve Harrington?

He might crack a rib, just now, because—

“This is for me?”

Steve purses his lips, lifts a brow:

“Well, technically it’s for me,” steve singles his fingers, which looks absurd with the splints; “but yeah. To help you get the songs out. I mean, once these are free again, you can help me with the guitar like we talked about, until you’re—“

And Eddie cannot be blamed, see: he cannot be fucking blamed for tackling Steve to the floor and kissing him hard enough to bruise because…

“You got hurt,” Eddie half-breathes between kisses; “you got hurt and I was so afraid I was gonna lose you,” and Eddie reaches for those taped fingers and kisses them, too: so gentle and Steve’s expression softens so quick:

“I was scared, too,” he whispers between them, cups Eddie’s face with his unloaded hand; “you were as safe as I could make you within the fucking city limits but I was still so goddamn scared.”

Cue more rib-cracking for the heart-swelling, because Jesus fucking Christ.

“And you,” Eddie exhales, slow and shaky; “you’re hurt, but you went and got,” he nods to the keyboard;

“I know it’s not ideal,” Steve’s quick to, to what, apologize? For being insane and perfect and—

“Shut up,” Eddie says, voice low and watery and he’s still kissing at Steve’s fingers, holding his wrist delicate but also like a lifeline.

“You’re hurt,” Eddie maybe kinda moans it because he hates it, as much as he’s so fucking grateful that’s it’s just this, no worse than this; “and you still—”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

And that…that’s one thing Eddie’s learned beyond reproach; that even to his detriment, Steve keeps his goddamn promises.

And he’d promised to help Eddie get his words out, to place the lyrics to the notes and help unclutter his brain so he didn’t lose his mind.

Holy fucking hell.

“Steve,” Eddie starts, shakes his head, needs to find the right words. “You’re alive,” the most important thing. “You are healing,” another most important thing, for Eddie to oversee and make sure of, even as Steve keeps an eye on the last lingering threads of the long haul on Eddie’s road to recovery in kind, his beloved mother hen.

“This is,” and he runs his fingers too light to draw sounds across the keys, hopes he sounds as awed and grateful as he feels; “but you, you’ve gotta test, you have to,” and Eddie shakes his head and lifts his eyes to just fucking ask it:

“Why?”

And Steve: Steve just studies his face for a few seconds, reads what he needs before he smiles kinda exasperated, mostly fond and answers so simply, while also breaking a few more of Eddie’s ribs when he just says:

“Because I love you.”

And Eddie’s heart’s not so overfull yet of all of Steve, it’s not fair that it just bursts right then and there, Eddie propelled into Steve’s arms to kiss him deep this time, like he’s searching out Steve’s soul to taste and maybe he is, save that he needs his heart to not have exploded for feeling if he’s going to keep the memory of it safe in his chest for always, he needs to patch his heart back up first but he’s too distracted, too drowned in the way love actually fucking feels, fucking shifts his cells around and makes a new version of him, lets his heart grow bigger except it went and blasted apart with the unprecedented immensity of loving and—

And then Eddie’s got Steve’s taped up hands on both his cheeks, and he remembers that night, in the shower, where Steve ripped the seams from his shirt so taking it off wouldn’t hurt him; notices how Steve is wearing that same fucking shirt in this very moment, all in one piece, like it never split apart in the first place.

Master seamstress, tried and tested and true; truer than anything.

So Eddie just dives back in and kisses with everything in him, thinks maybe when Steve tastes the pieces of Eddie’s blowout heart under his tongue while Eddie goes diving for the sweet lick of Steve’s soul:

Eddie thinks Steve’s mouth might know how to stitch up torn things, too. Especially the kinds that are ripped at their seams wholly for the sake of loving that fucking hard.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson

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xhatake · 1 year

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Naruto wants to speak, in fact the words are on the tip of his tongue. He continues to sit with Kakashi, just twiddling him thumbs before the question can't be contained anymore, "Kakashi-Sensei, what was my dad like as your sensei?"

He's not sure why the question strikes him as odd. Of course, Naruto would want to know about his father, now that he knew who he was. Still, it was rare that was he asked about his connection to Minato. His memory was shrouded in legend, everyone already thought they knew who he was. Plus, they knew better than to ask Kakashi to look to his past as he would usually shoot them down. This was different.

" Minato-Sensei was a much better teacher than me. " Kakashi admits this freely. In hindsight, Kakashi had not been good to his team at the beginning of their story. Sentimentality may blur some lines, but he knows it's true. He was unkind & often cold, unwilling to understand his students' needs. Minato was largely the opposite. Minato was never a perfect man by any means, he often peered over the edge of optimism into the eyes of foolishness. But he was kind. He protected his students to the best of his ability, despite the call of war at their heel. Losing him had seemed impossible until he was gone. Kakashi sighs, thoughtfully.

" He was kind, strong, compassionate. " As he looks at Naruto, he sees much of Minato in him. He always had. It makes him think briefly about when he was a child, when Minato pulled him aside so carefully. Kakashi had tried to bind his chest on a mission; Minato took great care in explaining how dangerous that was. How if he wanted to succeed, he had to be able to breathe. It had been shocking to Kakashi; very rarely did anyone question his expression of self, but even rarer was it that someone took the time to educate him. Minato was good about that sort of thing; paying attention to the details. He continues, indulging in his own sense of nostalgia. " He treated us like his children... He always knew exactly what we needed."

" When I was at my lowest, he kept me busy. " He pauses, choosing his next words very carefully. Kakashi had spent much of his life swimming in his grief, trying to answer a thousand ' what if's. Minato was at the forefront of many of those internal questions, theoretical futures. Though he was long gone, Kakashi still had love for his sensei with nowhere to go. It felt natural to pour it into Naruto. Minato had been so thrilled to welcome Naruto into this world. It was that optimism, that hope for the future that made the dark seem a little less scary, " He had me protecting you before you were even born. Minato was so excited to be a father. "

There were only a handful of times he had acknowledged knowing about Naruto's parental roots. He had never intended to be the one to tell him, never known how he would be able to get the words out. Naruto had found out n his own terms, which was relieving but... Kakashi often felt he failed Naruto. If he had stepped up, took the boy under his wing, he may have been spared much pain. But in the same stride, it was just as likely he would have experienced so much more. Kakashi dealt heavily in bloodshed after Minato's death, he inflicted many evils onto the world. Though Minato had a gentle, bleeding heart... The idea had never been something Kakashi could surrender to.

He lets another deep breath pass through his lungs. It was much easier to talk about Minato than it used to be, but there was still a hole in Kakashi's chest that he had once inhabited. It still hurt to think about him, to think about his horribly needless death. But Kakashi was sure he would do it a thousand more times for his village, his students, his son. Minato wasn't the type to just lay down & let his loved ones die so long as he could help it. It was a sentiment Kakashi carried into the future now, the best he could.

"Well. He just cared. A lot. More than I ever could. " Despite his words, Kakashi could care a lot. A mournful smile pulls at his features beneath his mask as he dips into thoughts of his past, " He was a good man with a good heart. I couldn't have asked for a better sensei. "

@ournindos || unprompted!

#ournindos #ournindos; naruto #answered.#SHAKES YOU #SHAKES YOU WITH BOTH HANDS #S C R E CHE S

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ddarker-dreams · 3 years

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Wanderlust. Yan Diluc x Reader

Warnings: Typical unhealthy yandere behavior. Word count: 1.2k.

For such an expansive land, you’ve come to know every nook and cranny in Mondstadt.

The best shortcuts to take to avoid hilichurl camps, which time of year the local produce gives a bountiful yield, even the names of traveling merchants that come and go. This intimate knowledge is a testament to years spent in this nation. What bloomed as pride in your heart warped into prickly thorn-covered vines, that chain you down in place. Familiarity became mediocrity.

Each day blended with the last like watercolors, an amalgamation of harmless shades, as inoffensive as the last. This discontentment with life had you lamenting to the Knight’s of Favonius’ Kaeya. Somehow piecing together your troubles through drunken ramblings, he had offered you advice.

“Why not travel?”

It was a simple suggestion, said half-jokingly, that resonated with you the rest of the night. After feeling his words follow you a week, you relented. Bag in hand and ready to see the world. Goodbyes were temporary, you know you’ll be back, it’s a matter of when. Excitement flutters in your heart -- excitement that you haven’t felt in years -- at what is to come. The limitless possibilities, memories to be made, and possible experiences aplenty. Friends old and new alike had wished you well on your journey.

Now all that’s left is to take it.

You hadn’t even made far in the path to Liyue when he showed up.

Blocking the sun from your view, Diluc stands tall, his face is relaxed, unlike his rigid posture. He looks down at you through thick eyelashes, adjusting his gloves. You don’t move, confusion clouding your senses. Why is Diluc here? Where your other companions had sent you off in kind, Diluc did no such thing. Not that you had expected sugary words from the notoriously impassive man, but having known him a majority of your life, came an expectation of getting something. Even a lackluster “Good luck”, would’ve sufficed.

Did a guilty consciousness bring him here? For some reason, you doubt it.

He jumps down from the hill on which he stood, landing softly on the grass in front of you. The air feels tense with unspoken emotions. Your heart leaps into your stomach, hammering without relenting. Diluc’s stare is smoldering. Deep, vermillion hues never depart from your own gaze. Taking a deep breath, you decide to break the silence.

“Is there something you need? I don’t think I left an unpaid tab at the tavern.”

Diluc doesn’t acknowledge your lighthearted comment. “You truly intend to leave?”

The question, though inoffensive on a surface level, is a trembling lid over boiling water that threatens to overflow.

“Not permanently. I just want to explore.” You respond, shifting your weight from one foot to another. Why do you feel like a child being scolded by their mother? Diluc takes a step closer to you, presence imposing.

“Explore, huh,” he says more so to himself than you. Another step. “I was hoping you’d abandon this troublesome idea.”

You don’t want to hear anymore. If he came here only to belittle your ambitions, then you’ll leave, simple as that. There’s no reason for you to stand here and deal with this on what is meant to be your eventful day. Dealing with Diluc’s protectiveness is a thing of the past. He grabs your wrist when you go to walk past him, your Vision subconsciously activating at the unwarranted touch. Gust swirls around you both until you calm your emotions.

“You’ll be endangering yourself for no reason.”

A noise of frustration leaves your lips, eyebrows knitting together in displeasure. “I can handle myself. Listen, I don’t know what’s wrong with you lately, but you have no right to boss me around.”

His grip tightens when you try to tug yourself free.

“I’ve seen it all myself,” Diluc’s voice is dignified and unwavering, in contrast to your disgruntled tone. “You don’t know how dangerous the world is. How much evil there is. Stay, it’s far safer here.”

You want to be understanding of his sentiment. Diluc might not be open in his feelings for others, but you’ve come to learn he expresses his care in more subtle ways. He’s lost a lot -- you remind yourself -- but hasn’t everyone? It doesn’t give permission to enforce your views and desires on others. It’s like he hasn’t learned anything.

“I’m not a naïve, defenseless child. I’d appreciate it if you stopped treating me like one.” You wish you didn’t have to be harsh. Diluc’s stubborn as his adopted brother, even if he’s better at hiding it. With a final pull, you manage to free your hand. It’s unfortunate that you’re leaving on tense terms, but it’s his own doing, you reason. There are better ways to express concern over someone’s safety than to make unreasonable demands. He’s always failed to recognize this.

You fool yourself into believing he’ll let you leave until hearing the sound of metal cutting through the air. Cold, hard steel presses again your neck, and you freeze in your tracks. What is he--

“If I had wanted it, you’d be dead by now,” Diluc is impossibly calm, walking in front of you while maintaining his claymore against your neck. You shiver at the sharp blade hovering above your skin. “You’re not weak, no, but you’re not strong either. This foolishness will be your grave.”

No longer will you withstand this insult, having had enough of this back and forth. Any self-restraint you had remaining snaps, as do you. “How can you be so oblivious…? Is this not the exact reason why I couldn’t be with you anymore!?”

His grip around the hilt of his blade tightens. That struck close to the heart. You still feel vindicated in your actions, having been pushed to this point due to his actions. Chest heaving, you test the waters by moving forward, only for him to remain unwavering in his stance. The blade stops just shy of piercing your flesh, your resolve as firm as his.

Diluc doesn’t respond to your enraged exclamation. Whether it’s because words escape him, or the ones he has to say are too hurtful, you’re uncertain. His eyes narrow when you move again, lips contorting into a deep grimace at your challenge. Craning your neck in the same direction as his blade, he moves it just far away as not to puncture skin. Despite Diluc’s harsh words, he’s still soft on you, it appears.

He clicks his tongue. “Stubborn as you’ve always been.”

“I’m leaving whether you like it or not, so stop making this so difficult.”

“So I’m the difficult one?” Diluc tilts his head, finally lowering his blade. “Maybe so. But if being difficult is what keeps you alive, then so be it.”

You’ve seen him in action before. His swift, agile movements followed up by roaring flames have always been a breathtaking sight, making you question if he’s even human. The air smells of burnt ash as he springs forward. Everything is dark and you feel far too light, your brain not even registering his movements before it’s too late. At his movements, you fall unconscious, only to be caught in his arms before reaching the ground. You feel like you’re floating as Diluc secures you firmly against his chest.

“Hold it against me if you must. But… I cannot let you part from me yet.”

The wind that was meant to extinguish his flames had only served to fan them.

#diluc #diluc x reader #yandere diluc x reader #diluc genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #yandere #yandere x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc headcanons #genshin headcanons #my stuff

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moon-lixie · 3 years

Text

word count: 2.242k

song: Too Fast - Sonder

cw: Explicit sexual content, dom Chan, edging, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, protected sex, and creampie. There's also a bit of angst in there.

Useless, numb, and mediocre. You were now the things that you had feared the most, nothing but a piling clump of failures. It was hopeless to try to convince you otherwise, because that's all that you saw reflected in the mirror.

You felt nothing but sheer hatred towards the product of a lifetime. You had lived so long and yet this was the best you could do, perform poorly at everything that you meant to be good at.

You hated pitying yourself and being pitied but it almost looked like that was the only thing that you wished for now. Hands giving up even on begging for the slightest crumb of attention.

But you still tried, because if you were to beg then he would surely comply. His will would melt under your pathetic pleads, restrain dissipating into thin air, reluctancy being washed away by the thought of helping someone else.

He was the purest man alive, only when it came to his intentions. Always willing to try and fix the broken and stay by the side of pitiful souls.

But he was completely foolish sometimes, because some people had no repair and he never understood that.

"Are you sure?" He was reluctant but he would never explicitly say so out loud, that could possibly hurt you and he would never risk making you feel bad.

You nodded slightly annoyed that he kept asking over and over again if you were sure of this. His question was valid, you were intoxicated on failure and despair, so perhaps it wasn't the best option to take impulsive decisions. But you were laying already on his bed so you had no desire to back away now.

A soft sigh managed to reach your ears as a mere miracle, that's how meek it had been while coming out of his mouth. Following the puff that meant to release tension, he smiled at you. It was the sweetest smile you had seen in your whole life, it most surely belonged to an angel.

His hands wavered just like the wind; that's what you liked the most about him, he had the nerve of being shy after all. But then his hesitation would evaporate a second later, like the fake confidence that you allowed yourself to have often.

First he just caressed the side of your torso, slowly and taunting, knowing fully well that he drove you to the edge with the slightest graze of the tip of his fingers.

Lips were fast to follow his eager hands, crashing against yours hungrily. Whatever doubts he had a couple of minutes ago were now long gone. It was obvious on the way he moved his lips hastily against yours.

This is what you needed, so much attention that you couldn't even think about anything else.

He nibbled on your lower lip, softly at first but it became harsher as seconds passed by. A hiss escaped your lips when he bit down especially hard, he chuckled lightly at such a sound making its way up your throat before allowing his tongue to glide over your lower lip to soothe the stinging sensation.

With him you didn't have to feel so scared, he would take care of you no matter what. So you finally tangled your fingers on his soft locks, because he made you feel like it was okay to melt into his touch. If you did then he would still stay by your side and that was enough for now.

Despite having made several breaks in the connection of your mouths, to try and get some air, he still didn't leave the softness of your lips. The only difference was that now he eagerly let his tongue explore inside the cavern of your mouth.

Veiny hands pressed down on your torso as if it was possible to sink the mattress more under your weights. Then his fingers finally grabbed your waist firmly to stop you from moving, but it's not like you were planning to do such a thing.

You like the pressure of his grip, it reminds you that you're in fact there, alive and breathing the same air as him. You like even more the way in which he finds the way to rest his knee against the mattress in the small gap that your slightly parted legs allow him to.

When his mouth finally leaves yours for good you whimper shamelessly, wishing for him to be well aware of the displeasure his actions provoked in you. He chuckled once again, amused by how needy you could become. "Don't worry, baby. We're obviously not finished yet."

Cushions of flesh made their way along your jaw and the skin of your neck with kisses that feel so present yet quick and faint. Your hands fall limp on both of your sides as you try to relish in his warmth. He was your last anchor to life and right now the only one that you needed.

"You're boring me." You had the nerve to say when your agitated breath completely said otherwise. He knew better than to take your words literally so he slipped both of his hands under your shirt and explored the texture of your familiar skin eagerly.

He made you sit on the bed before tugging at the hem of your shirt. You complied and raised your arms so that he could get rid of the thin layer of fabric that hid you from his sight.

He unclasped your bra before tossing it aside and pushing you back towards the mattress. His mouth soon rested atop of your breast, sucking and biting hard enough for you to squirm under his touch but gentle enough not to hurt you.

After a couple of seconds he looked up at your closed eyes and smugly smiled. "I guess I'm not boring you anymore. Or are you still not entertained enough?"

"More." You lightly whispered under your breath. Immediately he dived back in to resume his previous activities while caressing your torso with his hands.

The pads of his fingers were soft and warm, just like the chocolate tone of his eyes. But his intentions were as burning as fire itself.

You would rarely allow him to help you, always closing yourself to the possibility of voicing your worries out loud. And that pained him; it completely broke him to watch you struggle on your own while he sat by your side. The only moment in which you were fully vulnerable were moments like these, in which you were literally bare under his eyes. So he always made the most of them, always gave his complete self into pleasing you.

Every time that he had the chance to have you this close he would claim you as his. Leaving purple and red proofs that he had been there, close to your heart even if just for a second.

He bit down harshly on your collarbone causing your nails to dig on his pristine white back. It hurt but it was better than feeling nothing at all, better than being on an amazingly boring loop of absolutely nothing.

His back hurt too, but he loved the kind of pain that edged him more into pleasure. The pain that you brought him was always the best he had ever experienced.

His teeth sunk into your skin various times more before he felt satisfied with his piece of art. He moved away from you to catch his breath and admire the purple and red combination of his neediness on your skin. It was perfect, just like you were in his eyes, but he knew that convincing you of that was perhaps impossible. That still didn't persuade him from trying to make you believe it.

"You're perfect." His thumb caressed your cheek with the same amount of affection that his eyes held while looking at you. And it felt too burdening, because you could never deserve him and all the love he had to offer.

"Ruin me, please." Ruin me until I have no tears left to cry, until my worries dissolve in between your thrusts, until I forget all of my problems. That's what you really meant to say, but luckily for you, the three words you mustered to pronounce were enough for him to understand exactly what you wished for.

"Your wish is my command, princess." It had been enough playing around already, his fingers finally found themselves at the height of your waistband. The button of your jeans presented no resistance against his complying fingers and soon you were completely raw in front of him.

Black fabric abandoned his torso before he lowered himself on the bed. His face ended up facing your inner thigh, the perfect excuse to kiss away at the skin of that area.

His lips were swollen and warm like flames, causing his kisses to be the responsible for the soft tremble of your knees.

With a swift movement he made room for him to lower himself onto your heat. It took a single puff of air for you to relax fully against the fluffiness of his bed.

You spared one last glance at him before closing your eyes and what you saw was a satisfied smile on his lips. It was nothing like the heartwarming smile that he had given you before, this one made you shudder in anticipation.

One kiss at the sensitive bud of nerves and you were sighing in satisfaction. That’s all he needed to continue joyfully sucking at the sensitive bud and slipping one digit at your drenched core.

He fingered you at a steady pace before he retreated his face away from your core. He slipped another digit and his fingers kept going steadily while his lips found its way to rest against your cheek.

You were biting down on your lip to stop yourself from making any noises. He started kissing your cheek adorably, making an obvious contrast between his lips and the sinful thrusting of his fingers.

“Please, make a sound for me.” The words floated on the room in between soft and tender kisses. And instead of complying to his plea you bit down on your lip with more force. “Please princess, do it for me.”

It seemed like he wasn’t the only one whose will dissolved in between pleads because you were soon reaching your high loudly, and his chest filled with pride at your sinful moans.

Eyes closed and head resting comfortably against his pillow, you attempted to catch your breath. Meanwhile he unbuckled his pants and discarded his undergarments; you knew too well that you were barely getting started. With him it always proved to be all or nothing, he wouldn’t stop until he was sure he had fully ruined you.

He tapped twice against your waist with his index finger and you quickly moved to rest against your knees and hands. You knew him, exactly what he liked and what he would never be willing to try just like he was well aware of how to make you scream. It was laughable to a certain degree; he knew of your deepest and most obscure desires and yet you wouldn’t allow him to take a glimpse inside your head, too afraid that he would end up seeing you in the same way you did.

Kisses were littered on your back as he opened a silver package and slipped a condom over his length before slowly pushing himself inside you. Once you had adjusted to his size he started pushing himself in and out at a pace that you could only call pleasing. Soon picking up his pace and not allowing your still sensitive core much room to last for long; you felt your high approaching and you whimpered loudly at the feeling of a knot tightening on your lower abdomen.

The loud and high pitched sound that slipped from your lips were the sign he needed to stop his hips abruptly and deprive you from the blissful feeling that was going to wash over you in a matter of seconds.

Before you had the time to comply he started moving again, slowly, one thrust at a time. Breathy moans were stolen from your mouth by the angle of his movements that allowed him to hit the perfect spot that made stars litter beautifully behind your lids.

He kept the slow pace for a while before moving rapidly without a warning; whimpers got stuck in your throat. Once again he suddenly stopped but this time you weren’t having it anymore. You tried to move to face him as you complained but his hands firmly held you in place.

“Don’t be so impatient.” He said almost mockingly before thrusting inside of you with force, just once. “If you wait then I’ll give you what you want.”

He was surely enjoying himself and you couldn’t deny feeling exactly the same. It would be futile and useless to deny the fact that just a simple glimpse at his torso could suffice to turn you on; when he touched you, you managed to make your way up to the clouds.

When he got impatient of waiting and teasing, he started thrusting in and out of you, going back to the perfect and somewhat relaxed pace from the start. The speed of his movements increased little by little, the knot in your lower abdomen making its presence noticeable more and more as he kept going.

Once he reached a pace that caused the mattress to rock along with your bodies, you knew you were done for. It wasn’t long before another wave of overwhelming pleasure washed over you, but this one made your legs and arms tremble as the pleasures came back every time you tried to close your eyes.

His thrusting became sloppier when you tightened around him and his pleasure was let loose not long after you had finished.

As you laid in bed trying to come back to your senses a couple of tears started rolling down your temples. After a couple of seconds it wasn’t a couple of droplets but a whole storm of emotions that didn’t allow you to live in peace.

You hadn’t forgotten your problems but at least you could finally cry with freedom. You could finally feel everything escape your eyes and tears while he held you close.

A soft kiss on top of your head and arms securely holding you close to a warmth you were too familiar with. That’s how you ended up.

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anyoneseenadam · 3 years

Text

The Moon Spirit - three

Dorian x reader, Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)

Description: When you’re taught to be a queen from such a young age, nothing could go wrong. But when the king starts to fear your growing power you find yourself thrust into a world of faeries, evil magic and powerful men, learning to stand on your own can be harder than it seems.

warnings: Fenrys being cute, badass reader but like a shit ton of angst, allusions to sexual assualt (Fenrys canon stuff), mentions of weapons? idk if that counts

word count: 4.4k

a/n: so this took a while but it’s finally done, please comment it genuienly keeps me going cause it’s super easy to get unmotivated, hope you enjoy <3

——————————————————————————

After he left you, Fenrys begrudgingly found himself back at the palace, bowed on one knee in front of Maeve. She looked cruelly beautiful as always but there was something more sinister sparkling in her eyes today, remaining quiet as he stood back to his full height, meeting her gaze with wavering confidence.

“Who have you been with?” she finally broke the silence and he cursed himself for thinking he could ever get away with that.

“I just walked a young girl home, she was new, and I was afraid someone may take advantage of her if she was alone,” he spoke truthfully, allowing Maeve to push into his mind as she searched for a hidden lie.

He watched as she drew in a sharp breath, something like fear flickering across her face before her tightly drawn lips spread into a wide smile.

“Come here,” she commanded, and he went to stand in front of her, close enough to smell her sickening perfume and to see the flawless texture of her skin. “Do you love this girl?”

He shook his head, no, and she ran a hand down his face in a motherlike way. “Good, you will be recruiting her.” His eyes widened and he had to put his energy into not flinching away.

“What?” he spoke with an incredulous tone and Maeve glared at his lack of respect making him bow his head. “Sorry your majesty, I’m just slightly confused. She was just a young girl and didn’t seem to have any former training.”

“And that’s why I’m in charge, you men are too foolish. That was a powerful girl, and I would rather she remained on my side than any other.” He frowned, powerful? She had seemed kind, lost and strong enough to hold her own – but not powerful.

“I need you to see her again, convince her to join.” Fenrys physically felt the command go through him and he stood taller again, nodding gruffly as she waved her hand in dismissal.

Your first few days of work had been harder than expected, and you had gone home with aching muscles from lifting books and sore cheeks from plastering on smiles. Albert had made your days easier, drinking hot tea with you as you slowly revealed more and more about your past to him, his kind, old eyes lulling you into a comforting state.

But you didn’t receive rest when you got home. Ploughing through books on spirits and practicing using the limited magic you had found until the early hours of the morning, getting barely two hours of sleep a night unplagued by nightmares. By your fifth day Albert had handed you a pot of cosmetic product to hide the circles forming, commenting on scaring the customers away as you stuck your tongue out at him but smearing some on regardless.

On the second Saturday after your arrival you had a day off and used it to venture into the market, your empty shelves no longer sustaining you, let alone Amaris. Your basket soon filled with colourful fruits and vegetables, and you were browsing the fish section when a shadow fell over you.

“Let me take that for you,” you turned to see Fenrys standing over you with that same easy smile, his head tilted slightly. You rolled your eyes, trying to block out the feelings expanding in your chest at just the sight of him.

“And here I thought I had lost you,” you muttered, and he laughed, taking your basket from you, and paying for the wrapped salmon you had just been passed. “You don’t need to do stuff like that,” you told him, and he took your arm as he led you out of the market.

“Can’t help myself, I see a pretty girl in need and boom, I have to help.” He joked and you laughed lightly.

“Oh yeah, the damsel in distress disease, I’ve heard that’s a nasty one to cure,” he smiled down at you with a sparkle in his eyes.

“Not really, all I need is a kiss,” he tugged you closer and you squealed, shoving him away as he laughed.

“As I said, nasty.” He dramatically put a hand to his heart, throwing his head back in distress.

“You wound me darling,” he complained, and you laughed, hating how much you genuinely enjoyed his company. You reached your apartment in no time, and he stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to your door.

“So no invitation of tea, a glass of wine, a home cooked meal?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes,

“I’m afraid I reserve that for people I like,” he raised his eyebrows, hopping up the steps two at a time.

“Even if I have genuine cause to talk to you?” he asked and the sincerity in his eyes made a shot of fear run through you. He couldn’t know, could he?

“What is it?” you asked, and he smiled softly, a little pain shining through his loving eyes.

“The queen has a proposition to make.” His voice quietened and you straightened your posture, your entire demeanour switching in a second.

“Come in.” you opened the door and stepped in, allowing him to duck as he followed.

The first thing he noticed was how barren your apartment was, a simple kitchen, connected to a room with a pale blue sofa and worn coffee table. Your shelves were bare, and he sneaked a look into your room as he passed the open door, your mattress on the floor covered by only a thin blanket and a few cushions, one incredibly expensive looking gold dress on the floor, stained dark red. But before he could venture further in he heard you cooing in an impossibly soft voice.

He turned the corner and blanched at the sight he saw, “What the?”

You turned from were you were feeding small bits of salmon to a pure white bundle of fluff that hissed as soon as it saw him. “Amaris, be polite!” you scalded, and he surveyed the cat with a wary look, untrusting of the small creature.

“You have a cat.” He stated, suddenly completely unsure of his taste in women.

“No he’s actually a spider,” you deadpanned and Fenrys pouted.

“But I thought you’d be a dog person,” he complained, and you laughed, moving to throw open the curtains in the room before you started putting away the food you had bought, boiling a pot of water over your stove.

“I just like animals, why does it matter?” you asked, and he threw his arms up before transforming into his wolf form. You gasped and Amaris meowed loudly, scampering to hide behind your legs.

“You’re a wolf.” You stated and he turned back with a smile.

“No I’m a spider,” you flipped him off as you turned to put the rest of your food away.

“I prefer you as a wolf, they’re one of my favourite animals,” you told him and he smiled, sticking his tongue out childishly at Amaris who just sauntered of to doze on a pillow.

“So, what does the queen want?” you asked, pouring the hot water into a pot you had prepared, and he sat down on your worn-down sofa, cringing as it creaked under his weight. You followed suit soon after putting the pot and two mugs down, curling your feet underneath yourself as you looked at him.

“Well, she has told me that you’re actually extremely powerful and because of this she wants to recruit you. She wants you to join the Cadre.” He spoke surely and confidently but his eyes shone with wariness.

“Okay first of all, I’m not at all powerful, secondly how would she even know if I was, which I’m not! And third, what is The Cadre?” he laughed slightly and moved forward to pour himself a cup of tea.

“Well you clearly are because she recognised you and always knows these things, trust me. She’s never wrong about this. And The Cadre is a group I’m in, elite soldiers sworn to protect Maeve.” He explained and you shook your head.

“Fenrys I barely know basic self-defence, I’m not a soldier. And I don’t want to be sworn to royalty.” Your hands were shaking slightly at the thought of being sworn to another tyrant, “Plus in all honesty I only found out I was Fae on Monday, so I’m not exactly well versed in this shit.”

“How did you not know before?” he asked – frowning.

“The country I… come from, there was no magic. The king wiped all magic out years ago.”

“Why?” It was an understandable question but still made you panic, he couldn’t know.

“I don’t know, all I know is he did, so those alike me – with magic but born into a magicless world – never got to know.” You were good at concealing emotions, that much Fenrys could see. You seemed to have iron walls built into the clouds around your heart, protecting it as fiercely as you would Amaris.

“Well, Maeve wants to meet with you soon, so let me know when you decide gorgeous,” he stood, and you smiled at him gratefully for not prying further.

“I’m really sorry Fenrys I just don’t think it’s a good idea. As I said I’m not a soldier.” He nodded but his eyes still conveyed a sense of worry.

“Well keep in mind you would get to train with me, probably shirtless.” He joked as you opened the door for him, grinning when you laughed loudly, shoving him through the door.

“Bye Fenrys,” you said, eyes sparkling as he waved, whistling his way down the street comically.

You closed the door as your smile fell, a weight settling on your chest as you already knew why he looked so wary – Kings and Queens didn’t understand the word no.

You practically ran to the library the next day, opting to bring Amaris with you as he peeked out of the small handbag you had found stuffed into the back of your closet. When you flew into the library you instantly sought out Albert, who took one look at your flushed, shining appearance and abandoned the pile of books he was putting away, motioning for you to sit down.

You sat quickly, huffing out a breath as Amaris crawled out of his makeshift home and started exploring the new territory of the small backroom reserved for staff only.

“What bothers you child?” Albert’s voice was steady as always and his dry, warm hands grasped yours gently as your eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I just – I needed to talk to someone,” you stuttered out, your breath coming in harsher pants as he shushed you.

“Take a minute and allow yourself to breathe first dear,” he commanded, and you pressed a hand to your heart as you tried to slow its pounding. “Start from the beginning, tell me what’s wrong.”

“The man I loved, his- his name was Dorian, Dorian Havilliard.” You said quietly and Albert let out a small chuckle.

“I presumed as much, I visited Adarlan once, and an old man never forgets the face of a princess.” You looked at him through blurry eyes, confused.

“You knew?” he smiled sadly at you.

“I was 90% certain, but I would never have pressured you to reveal secrets like that.” He passed you a tissue, “But I sense that’s not all that weighs heavy on you?”

You shook your head, “Queen Maeve has made clear that she wishes me to join the Cadre.”

Albert’s face changed with the clear shock, and you bowed your head, shamefully.

“And what did you say?” he asked slowly.

“No, of course! I don’t have any desire to be another monarch’s puppet.” You stated and he shushed you again.

“You need to remember that people always listen.” He scolded, repeating one of the first things he had told you when you started working. “I agree that you should be cautious, but perhaps gaining the queens protection would be beneficial. Plus you would become an extremely skilled swordsman.”

“I am not a man, nor do I wish to be.” You said through gritted teeth, “And I vowed that I would become skilled on my own and go back to Dorian.”

“Yes but if you join, you will be more skilled than ever before,” Albert reasoned and you shook your head, tears welling up again.

“I thought you’d be on my side for this, you are the one who told me to be careful around powerful people.” You felt unjustly betrayed as he spoke and his shoulders slumped slightly, sighing before grasping your hands lightly again.

“I am dear, and I urge you to do what you think is best. But I am simply reminding you that if you truly want to beat this king you are being offered power on a silver platter right now, and perhaps it would be foolish to deny yourself it.” You let his words run around your head as you worked overtime trying to figure out a plan.

“Say I joined – what do I need to do to ensure I don’t become another puppet?” you asked, and he smiled at you.

“First of all, she will offer a blood oath and you must refuse it with everything you have in you – she came to you remember you hold the power. On that note you must summon all those queenly powers of yours and ensure when you speak to her, she is meeting you and she is trying to win you over. Never the other way around.” You nodded, pocketing the information in your head. “When in the palace you are always being watched, always being listened to, so keep your wits about you. But I’m sure you’re used to that by now.”

You laughed under your breath, “It’ll be just like going home,” you commented, and he smiled.

“Sadly yes, now take this money. Go but a new dress and tomorrow you will take a carriage, you can’t walk there.” You thanked him softly, placing the gold in the purse you held, “You’re a kind girl, that is what makes you strong and that’s what will make you a good queen. Don’t let them take your heart.”

Your throat tightened and you nodded due to the lack of trust you held for your voice, standing, and collecting your bag in one hand and Amaris in the other. Albert stood to take you to the door with a smile, and a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“You can have tomorrow off work as well, however I feel our work together is already coming to an end.” You smiled softly, allowing him to pet Amaris’ head softly before he kissed your cheek gently, ushering you out the door.

“Have a good night Albert,” you said, turning to see him watching you with sorrowful eyes.

“Remember what I told you dear, don’t let them take your heart.” Your smile was sad as you spoke,

“I won’t.” You both heard the lie but, neither of you decided to correct it. Not tonight.

Of all the things Fenrys expected to see the next morning, you were the one he hoped for. But as he looked around at the powerful men surrounding the room he felt white-hot panic seize him as he realised what you were about to do. You hadn’t even looked at him when you walked in, keeping your eyes trained solely on Maeve, not even dropping them as you dropped in a low curtsy.

He was even more shocked by the blood red dress you adorned, the v-neck deep and skirts long with a slit up either leg, high enough to reveal the halter you wore with a silver dagger and a ruby encrusted hilt secured into place. Every man, woman and mouse watched as you walked through the room – head high and shoulders back, revealing enough to entrance everyone in the room but covering enough to keep them wanting more and he felt his anger grow as he watched you.

You waited with a soft, but condescending, smile on your face, allowing Maeve to regrasp some power by speaking first – every movement so calculated and precise. As he watched you he saw the power and understood the fear and lust building in the room.

“So I guess you heard my offer.” Maeve finally said, drawling low with relaxed posture.

“I did.” Your statement was short, to the point but you saw it grate Maeve’s nerves and smiled as sweet as spun sugar, “Your majesty.”

“And?” he watched as Maeve grew more agitated and was surprised she hadn’t killed you yet, usually not standing for even an ounce of insubordination.

“I am willing to accept on one condition – I’m not taking a blood oath.” He had to fight jumping in the air with glee as you spoke, so afraid you were going to get tangled in the mess he was in. Maeve’s face grew dark, but you held your ground, never letting your eyes stray lest she see your weakness.

“Well that’s simply not viable,” she stated, glaring you into the ground but you just smiled again, nodding with a polite laugh.

“I see, well this was a lovely meeting, gentlemen.” You raised your hand politely as you moved to leave, your eyes finally flittering over him and the rest of the cadre. You bowed once again to Maeve, making to leave when Maeve raised her hand.

“We are not finished.” She stated.

“Well I’m terribly sorry your majesty but I’ve made my terms extremely clear, and since you refuse to budge - I believe we are done.” Your voice was still sweet, but he watched your face change slightly, every bit a queen looking down upon her people. He couldn’t help but wonder were you learned to speak this way, but Maeve simply laughed.

“Yet here you are,” she spoke with a mocking tone, and you smiled with your teeth this time.

“Need I remind you that you sought me out, if I have terms it should be in your best interest to meet them if you wish me to join your miniature army.” Fenrys heard Lorcan snarl lowly next to him but gripped his arm in warning.

“Oh your training is impressive princess, but I’m afraid it will be of no use.” Your face didn’t budge as Maeve spoke, but Fenrys watched as something flickered through your eyes, “You see, I learn of misdemeanours in other courts very easily and I wish to show you what I learned of Adarlan.”

“There’s nothing you could show me that I won’t have seen before,” you said, and he watched the two of you laugh like you were mingling at a party instead of standing of in a court.

“Oh I’m afraid this is relatively new, you might reconsider your terms after this,” you stood straight as Maeve walked down the steps and moved to whisper something the rest of them couldn’t hear in your ear, her hand pressed lightly to the base of your neck.

She pulled away after a few minutes and he took in your now shaking hands, eyes filled with tears you clearly refused to let fall. You took in a steadying breath before speaking, “You’re lying.”

“Oh I wish I was princess, but I can only show the truth and it appears your prince had moved on rather quickly, what use is there going back to a country where you can no longer rule.” She stroked your hair condescendingly and you chewed the inside of your lip as it quivered. “But here, here – under my control – you have power of your own. Men will no longer hold onto you like a prized pony, you will become something they fear, you will be my perfect princess, the daughter I never got to have.”

Fenrys inhaled sharply, he knew Maeve never planned to relent the throne, especially not to a woman from another country. She looked at you like you were a doll, something for her to reshape and change. You must have seen it to, but through your blurry eyes everything had changed.

“Okay,” your voice was smaller than before, and he wanted to tear Maeve limb from limb for having broken you down so harshly with just a few words. She smiled cruelly at you as she cut a small line along her forearm and you bowed your head in pain, before falling to your knees – graceful even as pain consumed your entire being. You brought your lips to her wound and drank as she repeated the words that he remembered all too well.

When you rose your lips were sparkling red, and your eyes were glistening with tears still unshed – but you raised your head like a queen and Maeve smiled.

“I believe you have already met Fenrys, he will be training you as the training you have received is not proficient, I’ll have all your belongings brought to a room here.” Maeve waved her hand to some guards, but you stopped her.

“I only need Amaris brought here; the rest can burn.” You muttered.

“And for your new wardrobe?” She asked and you smiled looking down, wiping your mouth slowly.

“Make it red.” You finally met Fenrys eyes, and he stepped forward, desperate to drag you far, far away.

“Shall I escort her to her new room?” he asked Maeve and she flitted her eyes to him, then to the hand he had pressed to your back.

“Yes and then afterword’s come find me,” she smiled cruelly at him, and he felt you stiffen under his hand, but he just nodded and began to lead you out of the room.

He led you through the corridors and up the stairs in silence, angry at you for accepting and at himself for not putting up more of a fight. When he reached the room he presumed would be yours he opened the door for you, following you in as you sat on the bed, your usual lightness replaced by the weight on your shoulders.

He watched you bow your head and came to sit beside you, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise; this was my choice.” You said and he reached an arm around your shoulders, but you quickly shrugged him off.

“I shouldn’t, we shouldn’t, if you and the queen are…” you trailed off and Fenrys bowed his head in shame.

“It’s not like that, she, she makes me,” he muttered, and you inhaled sharply, turning to him with those watery eyes.

“I had no idea, I’m sorry,” you whispered, instantly looping your arms around him neck and holding him tight. “She’s a monster.”

Fenrys huffed a laugh, pulling away, “You’re telling me.”

He reached a hand for your face slowly, wiping under your eyes where a tear had escaped, “how did she change your mind?” he asked, dark eyes searching your face for clues as your bottom lip quivered in pain.

“She showed me home,” was all you said, and his shoulders dropped. He would leave it for now, you were young and clearly not ready to speak – and now, they had all the time in the world to speak.

“Sleep tight, training starts at seven tomorrow,” he stood and kissed your head lightly and you nodded, words getting caught in your throat. He left quietly, walking away as quickly as he could to avoid hearing the soft sobs that erupted as soon as he closed the door.

You could barely contain your tears until you got to your room, repeating rule thirteen over and over in your head, crying in public is only appropriate at funerals and weddings. But as soon as Fenrys left your room you sobbed into your hands, wailing, and crying like a child throwing a tantrum as you let out the emotions, the screams that have been locked inside of you for so long.

You had done everything for Dorian, changed every part of yourself and become the perfect princess, girlfriend, fiancé – and he, mere weeks after you had to run, was already moving onto a new girl.

As hard as you tried you couldn’t get rid of the image of him and the blonde girl out of your head. How he kissed her softly, his hand on her lower back where it always used to rest on yours. The smile when he pulled away, the way he laughed with her, the way Chaol smiled at his brother when he was happy. You had been forgotten, replaced, almost instantly, the warmth you used to feel when you thought of home, of your princes’ arms replaced by a tight chest and a cold feeling encompassing your heart.

“I’m sorry Albert,” you whispered into the air as you stood looking out on your balcony, gripping tightly to the rail as you feared your legs would give out, “She already took it.”

You were interrupted by a quiet knock on your door, wiping your eyes as you opened it – taking Amaris from the tall guards’ hands as a flurry of women pushed in, filling your drawers with clothes and cosmetics, candles and hair pins, books and plants, a million supplies for Amaris and then some. You smiled politely at them as they left without saying a word, in and out extremely quickly as you stared at a knot in the floor.

Another knock sounded soon after and you turned your head to see one of the Cadre staring in with piercing green eyes. You motioned for him to come in and stood, tilting your head up to meet his gaze as he took in your messy, tear-stained expression.

“You’re the first female member of the Cadre, ever.” He stated and you blinked slowly.

“Lucky me,” your tone was sarcastic, voice rough from the crying but the man smiled.

“I’m Rowan, it’s good to meet you.” He reached out a hand and you met it, allowing him to kiss the back gently.

“(Y/n)” you returned, with a slight curtsey.

“I look forward to fighting with you (y/n),” he stated, releasing your hand and turning to leave, stopping right before he reached the door, “Oh, and don’t lose that dagger, you’ll find a shocking number of men dislike powerful women.”

“First I’m hearing of this,” you deadpanned, and he chuckled.

“Goodluck kid.”

#fenrys moonbeam x reader #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys x reader #dorian havilliard x reader #dorian x reader #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #tog #rowan whitethorn

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hpalways · 3 years

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Yaksha’s Destiny || Xiao

DARKNESS was the biggest fear held by fellow Yakshas. This power bestowed upon you and many alike gave an opening to the pitting shadows that raged within your chambers. Some days, it wasn't as bad -- other days... it felt like you were getting ripped apart into shreds, taking in all your willpower to battle against it. It was tempting, to give in and call it quits. Life for a Yaksha wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. There were always too many demons and not enough heroes. Especially for a weaker one like you, anger and frustration would stem from these battles, only to eat at you later on.

Today was one of those days. The sky was a stormy sea of clouds, with the Gods crying from the heaven above. Droplets prickled down your bare skin, cold to the touch. While in the mountainside, you had stumbled upon demonic energy, so there was no choice but to finish them off.

Dodging the monster that lunged at you, you took out your polearm. The hydro vision on your hip gleamed brightly in the setting. Taking a turn, you could feel power surge to your arms. As you were about to jab your weapon into the demon's abdomen, they had ducked in time. Shit. You had underestimated this one.

Its body rammed into you, knocking you off your feet. Air left your system, causing you to groan in pain. Just as it was about to sink its teeth into your arm, you rolled over on one side and jumped back to your feet. Fingers clenching tightly around the metal stick, you pushed your hind legs and tried to stab at it another time. Your speed and reaction time was too slow. Too damn slow. Too damn weak. Gritting your teeth, you began to use up more of Yaksha's power, drinking the exhilarating taste of freedom. It was so addicting... often times, you'd wished it'd never stop.

A burst of water shrouded from the weapon, circling the demon until it was surrounded. With one, clean fell swoop, you sliced the demon and the energy faded away. The deed was done.

Falling to your knees, your entire body was shaking. Face contorted and in pain, nails dug into the earth to feel wet mud. Your body would not move -- it could not. Stilling there as if you had just been paralyzed, hungering thoughts plagued your mind... Thoughts you wished weren't yours. Letting out a disgusting whimper, similar to that of a wounded animal, you bit down on your lip, hard. Blood dribbled down your chin, painting the grass in crimson. Tugging at your mask, you stared at it for a moment. A sigh let out.

That was a close one. Crashing to the ground, your chest heaved up and down in exhaustion.

A figure suddenly entered your peripheral vision. Climbing up to the ridge of the mountain was Xiao, his dark teal locks blowing along with the harsh winds. Donned in his usual robes, he was as attractive as ever. The first time you stumbled upon him -- one of the famous five -- you nearly forgot to breathe. You had referred to him as Alatus then, starstrucked by such a powerful being.

You would never not awed by him. The way he held himself would always come to remind you of the big gap in strength between the two of you. Maybe you did establish a relationship with this all-mighty Yaksha, but this inferiority complex was tugging your strings more than you'd like to admit.

At the same time, he provided you the distraction needed. He kept you grounded, which prevented you from going mad. He was the only one who made you feel human, if that was even possible.

Golden amber hues landed on you, withholding an unreadable expression. He walked up to your beaten up form and sat down, unbothered by the rain. Struggling to get yourself into a sitting position, you looked out at the view in front.

"You used up too much of your power again," he murmured.

"Do you think I don't know that? I had no choice," you sighed.

His sharp eyes narrowed further. "You were being careless."

"It happened. There's nothing I can do to change it." His anger barely dwindled and the scowl only deepened. "Come on, Xiao. I don't want to talk about my mistakes when I'm with you. Busy as we are, I barely get to see you as of late. Can't we just enjoy our brief time together?"

That got him. His eyes softened at your words and he reluctantly nodded in agreement. Seizing the victory, you laid your head on his shoulder, feeling warmth even upon this cold weather. The rain was starting to let down too -- perhaps Xiao was the lucky charm.

"What have you been up to?" you inquired.

"Demons. Monsters. The usual," he responded. His cheeks tinged with a soft pink all of a sudden. "I... I also got you something."

Your ears perked up at the sound of this. Lifting your head, you watched him in curiosity. He took something out from his robe pockets and slowly opened his palm. Laying there was a blue, glowing object. Shaped as a butterfly, it was gorgeous. You had never seen this kind of butterfly around these parts. He must have traveled far to have found it.

"It's a crystalfly," he mumbled, averting his eyes in embarrassment. Your heart raced at his actions. He was too cute. Before meeting him, you could have never imagined the Vigilant Yaksha to possess such qualities. "I saw it and... thought it would look good in your hair."

"Oh, I love it. Thank you," you whispered breathlessly, touched beyond words. This was exactly what you meant with how Xiao could easily brush your problems away with a smile.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and kissed his lips. They were soft as petal leaves. He returned the gesture immediately, arms wrapped around you in a warm embrace. Digging your fingers into his hair, you kissed with a ferocity that was never present in your fights. This was to release the pain you dealt with today. As long Xiao was here, you were going to be okay. As long as he was by your side, you were going to be okay. This era of demons and gods will end someday, leaving you a happy future with him.

You tasted him. His lips. His mouth. His entire self. He tasted of mint. He tasted of life. He tasted of iron. The kind of metal tang found in blood. Sighs were exchanged upon each kiss, breathless but the two of you would not let the other go. Your lips trailed down to his jaw, peppering his baby-soft skin with a few nibbles here and there. He let out a gasp.

Finally you pulled away, giggling at his flustered state for your bold moves.

The end was nearing. He picked up the crystal fly and reached up to your [h/c] hair. While he gently pinned it down, you could only focus on his swollen lips. He was beautiful... and you loved him so.

"[Y/N]," he said, interrupting the honey silence of the mountains. "If you are ever in trouble, just call my name and I will come to you. In any circumstance, avoid overusing your power."

This bliss that left you giddy disappeared as quick as it came. All that remained was the harsh, cruel reality. Brows knitted together in offense and you quickly shook your head. "Why would I do that? I'm a Yaksha. What kind of Yaksha seeks help from another? This wounds my pride, Xiao. Is your faith in my skill and strength that low?"

"No. That's not it," he argued, features twisted in desperation. "Why won't you let me protect you?"

"Unbelievable," you merely scoffed, staggering up to stand. "I have to go. I'm sure you do too."

Ignoring his blubbering protests, you jumped down upon ledges until you reached ground level safely. He didn't understand what you had to go through. He never had to face judgement from those who didn't believe in you. Strong enough to battle the demons both externally and internally, Xiao was different from you. But even so... even if his words meant that he only cared for you, it hurt like you had been just stabbed.

You were willing to prove to him that you could stand on your own feet. He was going to eat his own words. So would the other Yakshas who looked down on you your entire life. If you trained hard enough, surely improvement could be gained. Right? It wasn't as if destiny could determine what you could accomplish already.

Approaching the forest that was said to contain many strong demons and monsters, you surged ahead, with eyes filled of challenge.

There, sitting in a nook was a cave, Sensing a suffocating presence, you knew you had hit a jackpot. Sneaking across the grassy lands, you stayed silent. The tall, towering trees were beginning to look a lot more ominous. Tiptoeing to the edge of the cave, you peered in to find the energy unbearably strong. One staggering breath later and you went forward. A roar let out, signaling that it knew of its intruder. Shoulders tensed up and sweat beaded your forehead, but you couldn't stop now. No matter what, you were going to go through with it.

It was a beast. Fangs gleamed in the darkness, nearly the size of your weapon. Having woken from its slumber, its terrifying eyes landed on you. Claws swiped the air, which you barely avoided in time. Fear had seized you with a hand, choking you until you could barely move. This was a terrible, foolish move. There was no way you could beat such a demon.

Calling in more power, it filled you up at the core. To waste no time, you delved right into battle, slashing at the monster. It had little to none effect on it. With a lazy swipe of its arm, it slammed you right into the cave's walls, causing you to spit out blood. Pushing yourself up, you tried again, putting in more power to your weapon. Adding hydro to the mix, the weapon hit its arms. It caused the monster to roar in pain, but that only made it more angry. Barreling straight to you, similar but much more frightening than the last demon, it pounced on you, pinning you down to the ground.

Drool left its mouth, splattering all over on your face. Its claws dug into your side and you let out a piercing scream. You were so fucking sick of this shit. Why was it destined that you had to stay weak? It was so unfair you wished to cry your heart out.

The last of the powers was used. Pushing the demon's hold on you, you stumbled up and felt thrill run through. It was delicious, but your mind was also beginning to grow hazy. "X-Xiao..." you uttered out.

The Conqueror of Demons arrived as soon as you called, anxious to apologize for his insensitivity. What he didn't expect to see was a battlefield. A large and strong demon was torn apart to pieces, the iron smell of it so strong, it was gagworthy. Sitting on the pile of bones was you, dark, gruesome scratches decorating your arms and legs. A deep gash was bleeding from your torso and your [e/c] eyes were dimmed; at the same time, they held a crazed look in them.

His face paled and his body grew cold at the sight. You did the thing he last wanted to happen. Already too far in and consumed by the darkness surrounding your whole life, you were looking at him not with love, but with bloodlust. "I'll kill you, Xiao!" you screamed at the top of your lungs.

Climbing down, you tried to run to him. But your footsteps halted and you crashed to the ground. Spazzing out as if you had just been electrocuted by lightning, the Vigilant Yaksha slowly approached you, tears streaming down the side of his face. He kneeled down, cradling your head in his lap. "Don't leave me..." He hit the ground in fury. "Dammit! Why didn't you listen to me!?"

Consciousness returned but you were on the brink of death. The wound was deep, but so were the demons. It was raining again, so you forced a small smile out. "I'm weak. It's my fate," you whispered. "At least I won't have to suffer through this darkness any longer. It's over. I quit. You won, my demons. I am yours to keep."

"Shut your mouth," he snarled. The rain had turned into a storm, adding fury into the mix. "Please. You can make it through this. Don't leave me yet. It was going to get better. An era with no more demons to haunt us. You said so yourself."

"That was just a stupid dream."

"Don't fucking say that," he growled, flinching as if he'd just been slapped. You were supposed to be the optimist here. It meant that this death was real... and that you would accept it with open arms. "It's going to happen. So hold on. Let me find someone to save you."

Your head shook and you winced. "We all learned this since young. We'll die if we let our power consume us. It's impossible and you know it."

"Stop," he choked out, lowering his head until his hair covered his broken expression. "Then don't talk. Save your breath."

You ignored his words. "Thank you... for the crystalfly. Does it look pretty on me?" you murmured.

He heaved out a sob and slowly nodded. "I've never seen anyone more beautiful."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"And I'm sorry."

"I am too."

"Protect... the people... like you always do, my sweet, Vigilant Yaksha." Your voice grew more raspy by the second, for the pain was getting unbearable.

You fluttered your eyes shut and the pain faded. On the other hand, Xiao's pain grew, the scars and trauma there to haunt him, for a life and infinity.

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bewitching-elizabeth-olsen · 3 years

Text

Press/Gallery: How Elizabeth Olsen Brought Marvel From Mainstream to Prestige

“The thing I love about being an actor is to fully work with someone and try so hard to be at every level with them, chasing whatever it is you need or want from them.”

GALLERY LINKS

Studio Photoshoots > 2021 > Session 008 Magazine Scans > 2021 > Backstage (August 19)

Backstage: Elizabeth Olsen grins widely over video chat when recalling many such moments on set with her co-stars. Yet, she can’t bring herself to divorce such a lofty vision of film acting from the technical multitasking it requires. The camera sees all.

“But then you move your hair, and you’re in your brain, like: OK, remember that! Because I don’t want to edit myself out of a shot. I know some actors are like, ‘Continuity, shmontinuity!’ But the good thing about continuity is, if you remember it, you’re actually providing yourself with more options for the edit.”

That need to balance being both inside the scene and outside of it, fully living it and yet constantly visualizing it on a screen, feels particularly apt in light of Olsen’s most recent project, “WandaVision.”

The mysteries at the heart of the show grow with every episode, each fast-forwarding to a different decade: Could this 1950s, black-and-white, “filmed in front of a studio audience” newlyweds bit be a grief-stricken dream? Might this ’70s spoof be a powerful spell gone awry? Could this meta take on mockumentary comedies be proof that the multiverse is finally coming to the Marvel Cinematic Universe?

The series’ structure, which branches out to include government agents intent on finding out why Westview has seemingly disappeared, calls for the entire cast to play with a mix of genres, balancing a shape-shifting tone that culminates in an epic, MCU-style conclusion. What’s key—and why the show struck a chord with audiences during its nine-episode run—is the miniseries’ commitment to grounding its initial kooky setups and its later special effects-driven spectacle in heartbreaking emotional truths. It’s no small feat, though it’s one that can often be taken for granted.

“I was thinking how hard it would have been to have shot the first ‘Lord of the Rings,’ ” Olsen muses. “Like, you’re putting all these actors [into the frame] later and at all these different levels. All the eyelines are completely unnatural. And yet the performances are fantastic! And technically, they are so hard. People forget sometimes that these things are really technically hard to shoot. And if you are moved by their performance, that took a lot of multitasking.”

As someone who has learned plenty about harnesses, wirework, fight choreography, and green screens (she’s starred in four Marvel movies, including the box office megahit “Avengers: Endgame,” after all), Olsen knows how hard it can be to wrap one’s brain around the work needed to pull off those big, splashy scenes.

“If you think about it, it’s, like, the biggest stakes in the entire world—every time. And that feels silly to act over and over again, especially when people are in silly costumes and the love of your life is purple and sparkly, and every time you kiss them, you have to worry about getting it on your hands. Those things are ridiculous. You feel ridiculous. So there is a part of your brain that has to shovel that away and just look into someone’s eyeballs—and sometimes, they don’t even have eyeballs!”

The ability to spend so much time with Wanda, albeit in the guise of sitcom parodies, was a welcome opportunity for Olsen. Not only did it allow the actor to really wrestle with the traumatic backstory that has long defined the character in the MCU, but having the chance to calibrate a performance that functions on so many different levels was a thrilling challenge.

“It was such an amazing work experience,” she says. “Kathryn [Hahn] uses the word ‘profound’—which is so sweet, because it is Marvel, and people, you know, don’t think of those experiences as profound when they watch them. But it really was such a special crew that [director] Matt Shakman and [creator] Jac Schaeffer created. It was a really healthy working environment.”

Related‘WandaVision’ Star Kathryn Hahn’s Secret to Building a Scene-Stealing Performance ‘WandaVision’ Star Kathryn Hahn’s Secret to Building a Scene-Stealing Performance Considering that the miniseries spans several sitcom iterations, various layers of televisual reality, and a number of character reveals that needed to feel truthful and impactful in equal measure, Shakman’s decision to work closely with his actors ahead of shooting was key.

“We truly had a gorgeous amount of time together before we started filming,” Olsen remembers. “Our goal was—which is controversial in TV land—that if you wanted to change [anything], like dialogue in a scene, you had to give those notes a week before we even got there. Because sometimes you get to set, and someone had a brilliant idea while they were sleeping, and you’re like, ‘We don’t have an hour to talk about this. We have seven pages to shoot.’ And so, we were all on the same page with one another, knowing what we were shooting ahead of time.

“Matt just treated us like a troupe of actors who were about to do some regional theater shit,” she adds with a smile.

That spirit of camaraderie was, not coincidentally, at the heart of Olsen’s breakout project, Sean Durkin’s 2011 indie sensation “Martha Marcy May Marlene.” As an introduction to the process of filmmaking to a young stage-trained actor, Durkin’s quietly devastating drama was a dream—and an invaluable learning opportunity.

“It was truly just a bunch of people who loved the script, who just were doing the work. I didn’t understand lenses, so I just did the same thing all the time. I never knew if the camera would be on me or not. There was just so much purity in that experience, and you only have that once.”

The film announced Olsen as a talent to watch: a keen-eyed performer capable of deploying a stilted physicality and clipped delivery, which she used to conjure up a wounded girl learning how to shake off her time spent in a cult in upstate New York. But Olsen admits that it took her a while to figure out how to navigate her career choices afterward. In the years following “Martha,” she felt compelled to try on everything: a horror flick here, a high-profile remake there, a period piece here, an action movie there. It wasn’t until she starred in neo-Western thriller “Wind River” (alongside fellow Marvel regular Jeremy Renner) and the dark comedy “Ingrid Goes West” (opposite a deliciously deranged Aubrey Plaza) that Olsen found her groove.

“It was at that point, when I was five years into working, where I was like, Ah, I know how I want it. I know what I need from these people—from who’s involved, from producers, from directors, from the character, from the script—in order to trust that it’s going to be a fruitful experience.”

As Olsen looks back on her first decade as a working actor, she points out how far removed she is from that young girl who broke out in “Martha Marcy May Marlene.”

“I feel like a totally different person. I don’t know if everyone who’s in their early 30s feels like their early 20s self is a totally different human. But when I think about that version of myself, it feels like a long time ago; there’s a lot learned in a decade.”

Those early years were marked by a self-effacing humility that often led Olsen to defer to others when it came to key decisions about the characters she was playing. But she now feels emboldened to not only stand up for herself and her choices but for others on her sets as well.

“[Facebook Watch series] ‘Sorry for Your Loss’ I got to produce, and I really found my voice in a collaborative leadership way. And with ‘WandaVision,’ Paul [Bettany] and I really took on that feeling, as well—especially since we were introducing new characters to Marvel and wanted [those actors] to feel protected and helped,” she says. “They could ask questions and make sure they felt like they had all the things they needed because sometimes you don’t even know what you need to ask.”

It’s a lesson she learned working with filmmaker Marc Abraham on the Hank Williams biopic “I Saw the Light,” and she’s carried it with her ever since. “I really want it to feel like we’re all in this together, as a team,” Olsen says. “That was part of ‘Sorry for Your Loss’ and it was part of ‘WandaVision,’ and I hope to continue that kind of energy because those have been some of the healthiest work experiences I’ve had.”

If Olsen sounds particularly zealous about the importance of a comfortable, working set, it is because she’s well aware that therein lies an integral part of the work and the process. As an actor, she wants to feel protected and nurtured by those around her, whether she’s reacting to a telling, quiet line of dialogue about grief or donning her iconic Scarlet Witch outfit during a magic-filled mid-air action sequence.

“Sometimes you’re going to be foolish, you know? And [you need to] feel brave to be foolish. Sometimes people feel embarrassed on set and snap. But if you’re in a place where people feel like they’re allowed to be an idiot,” she says, “you’re going to feel better about being an idiot.”

This story originally appeared in the Aug. 19 issue of Backstage Magazine. Subscribe here.

Press/Gallery: How Elizabeth Olsen Brought Marvel From Mainstream to Prestige was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

#Elizabeth Olsen #WandaVision #Avengers #Scarlet Witch #Wanda Maximoff #Sorry For Your Loss #Avengers Infinity War #Avengers Age of Ultron #Captain America Civil War #Ingrid Goes West #Godzilla #Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness #Marvel #MCU #Candy Montgomery #Love and Death #Avengers Endgame

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animeyanderelover · 3 years

Note

Can you write promp 15 to Shuu tsukiyama :) Thank you I love your writings.

I love my writing as well😉. No, but seriously guys. If it wouldn't be for my passion to write, I would have gone on a hiatus the moment I found out that I was being shadowbanned.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, clinginess, manipulation, paranoia, mentioning of kidnapping, catcalling, sexual harassment, blood, killing, Shuu being a sadist to the victim, eccentricity (?)

Prompt 15: “Shh princess… don’t cry over this scum, he doesn’t deserve your tears.”

"Kanae!! What happened to her?!?! Why is she crying?!?!"

You hadn't wanted to burst out in tears like this, but replaying the scene in your head over and over again like a movie had caused you unimaginable frustration and embarrassment. Now you remembered why you hated people so much, they were all just greedy and disgusting jerks. Calling you such nasty names in public and daring to go as far as following you. If Kanae wouldn't have been there with you, you didn't even want to imagine what might have happened to you.

"My poor princess! What happened?! Tell me!"

Furious tears were falling down your face, even though you had wiped them away already countless times before. You were not in a very good mood at the moment, you felt quite etchy at the moment. And that was what caused annoyance washing over you when you heard Shuu's cooing words, taking quick steps towards you to comfort you somehow. You knew what would come now. Another smothering session of his. Something you didn't need in the least bit right now. What you needed was time. Alone.

You still tried to stay as calm as possible, not wanting to make a huge scene that would only gain you more annoying attention. All the servants were honestly so much like their master, they all appeared to be overly dramatic when it came to you, the only real exception was Mirumo.

So when you suddenly stepped back from Shuu, lips pressed together and a mixed look out of sadness and anger on your face, you knew that you had hurt him. It was all too obvious judging from his wide eyes, confusion and pain already reflecting in them, and the way he had frozen when you had suddenly put a distance between you two. The hand, which he had extended, was staying in the air, shaking slightly. As always, he was overreacting.

“(y/-y/n)…What did I-“

“You did nothing Shuu. You didn’t do anything. I just wish to be alone right now. So I ask you to do me the favor and leave me alone for once. If you don’t, I might say things to you that will hurt you and which I don’t mean. Don’t test my patience for now.”

You were surprised by your own tone of voice, you sounded extremely rude, annoyance dripping from your voice like venom. It was hard to keep a calm and collected voice under such conditions. But for the reason of you having been well raised and well treated by the people in this place, you wanted to return the favor by doing the same.

You just stormed past both, Kanae and Shuu, without saying a single word, chewing furiously on your lips whilst the voice of the man kept ringing in your head. You felt like you wanted to smash something to relieve yourself of the ocean of emotions inside of you. Today had been the wrong day to convince Shuu with the help of his father to let you out without him.

“Master (y/n)!”, you heard Kanae yelling after you, followed by a thud sound that caused you to turn around shortly, feeling slightly startled by the sudden noise. But you were left feeling a bit surprised when seeing that your company for the last few hours had gone done to her knees, forehead pressed against the floor of the mansion and bowing deeply down in front of you.

“I can never forgive myself for not being able to help you. I failed you! I’m so sorry! It’s all because of my own foolishness and incompetence that you had to go through all of this!”

Her voice was shaking and you guessed that she would break out in tears at any moment, she was just as theatrical as your partner was.

“Kanae, it’s not your fault. We were under too many people, you couldn’t have done more than you did already. And that was already a big help. Also, please don’t refer to me as your master, I don’t like it when I’m being called this way. I see you as a friend, so that makes things always a bit awkward when you call me your master.”

Only the fading and fast footsteps of yours were heard in the silence which followed afterwards, leaving two people left dwelling on what had just happened. Shuu, who was staring with still shocked eyes at the stairs where you had just walked up, and Kanae, who was still remaining in her humble position. Somewhere upstairs the rather loud slam of a door was heard, indicating that you had just entered your room.

“Kanae…What…happened?”

Even her master seemed to be left flabbergasted by this sudden change of events, although tears were already starting to fill his eyes. It was not as much because of your rejecting behavior towards him, although that had hurt as well. No, it was because someone had upset his little dove so that she had cried and he hadn’t been there to protect her.

“So eine Scheiße!”, the girl suddenly shouted furiously and frustrated, slamming her head against the floor harshly as if wanting to punish herself.

By now she had bursted out in tears, drops splashing to the ground. “What am I good for when I couldn’t even keep her safe and this-this disgrace away from her?! Now she is angry! Please forgive me Master Shuu. You chose me because you trusted me to protect her, but I was the wrong person to choose.”

The last few sentences of her were told much more softer than the previous ones, only proving to Shuu that Kanae felt beyond miserable for what had happened. But it didn’t answe his question! It only made him more anxious.

What had happened whilst he hadn’t been there?! Who the duck dared to make his lovely darling cry?! Who?!

“Would you just please tell me what happened?!”, he yelled at the servant, his string of patience snapping right then and there and leading him into raising his voice.

Kanae flinched when hearing him shouting at her, the panic in his voice overwhelming her even more. It was all because of her that her master would have to go through the same pain as you as well. How should she even start explaining what had happened without him losing it right away?

“Mast-I mean (y/n)…She has been catcalled! And I was unable to take proper care of this threat! Watching this bastard…It was disgusting! Enraging! This rotten mouth of his…The things he called after her, I wish I could have gouged his tongue out! And he even had the audacity to follow her through the city, using every opportunity he had to spit more gross words out! And (y/n) had to endure all of this without losing her self-restraint. She even had to stop me. She stood her ground without breaking down in front of him. She was so admirable. I should have taken an example on her.”

The confession of the truth hurt, having to go through it all again hurt. Her master’s darling had been so brave, so perfectly in control of her emotions, so empathetic to rather let herself get humiliated instead of risking to let Kanae get triggered and reveal that she was a ghoul in the center of the city. And (y/n) still saw her as a friend! She was so kind. No wonder Master Shuu was so madly in love with her.

After that the ghoul waited for some reaction from him, shouting, yelling, crying, lashing out on her, anything. But nothing came. Instead another silence befell both of them, coming with a creepy feeling. An almost paralyzing feeling that made the violet-haired girl stay on the ground. The air felt like it was weighting her down. She knew this feeling.

Fear.

"So you're telling me that ma chérie is crying because some walking useless trash thought that he could use her and play her for his own entertainment?"

His voice was beyond spine-chilling, spoken like a true lunatic. His voice sounded for the most part quieter than expected, though it was trembling slightly. But what made her body nearly forget to function out of terror was the icy blood lust in it, like he was on the brink of insanity.

Barely, only barely did Kanae manage to lift her head, enough to catch a glimpse of his face. It only made her break out in cold sweat more. She thanked the heaven that he wasn't looking at her right now, instead staring in the empty space, a murderous grin on his face. His eyes were wide, reflecting the craziness inside of him perfectly. Just by looking at him was enough for Kanae to know that he was tearing the culprit in his mind currently to a bloody and deforedly mess. Her master was thinking like her, she had planned on doing the same. But she hadn't looked that unnerving.

"As much as I would love to torture and rip this waste of oxygen right now, this will have to wait. My princess needs me right now."

The sudden change in his whole personality was delightening yet also the slightest bit stunning for Kanae to witness, how he went from psychopathic sadist to his normal dramatic and lovesick self.

"W-wait! C-can I do something, anything to make somehow up for my failure?", Kanae stuttered out, stopping Shuu from crossing the stairs with huge steps. She had to do something, she felt truly feeble.

Shuu noticed her still majorly guilty expression, giving her a small sympathetic smile. "Don't work yourself up to hard over it now. (y/n) was only right. You would have only done much worse if you would have let lost control then and there. You already did a better job than I did in keeping composure. For now just tell the others to prepare dinner, (y/n)'s favorite. And also..."

The sudden drop in Shuu's voice and his face was a dead giveaway what he wanted to say next. "Let's meet later outside when my darling is sleeping. I believe we have something to take care of, don't we?"

That alone was enough to make Kanae stand up, the anger and feeling of helplessness scratching her feeling of self-esteem. Her master knew that she had a score to settle as well after having only been able to watch. She felt grateful that he took that into reconsideration even though she had let this happen in the first place.

"It would be my pleasure to be from any help. I feel honored that you still chose me."

"Why are you here? I think I told you I want to be alone.", you shot out after Shuu had simply knocked and entered your room without permission, giving you nearly no time to wipe away all the tears on your cheeks. You hated crying in front of people, you hated looking weak and vulnerable and being it as well. That's why you always wanted to be alone when you felt like crying.

"You expect me to just stand away when my dove clearly needs someone right now?! You were just sexually harassed and want me to leave you alone?! Forget it!"

His reaction was what you had seen coming, the paranoia coloring his face being all too obvious and he looked distressed as well. Shuu wasn't good in handling something like this at all, not when it had you being in any sort hurt involved.

"Go away. I look terrible right now.", you just said without replying to what he had just said, though this had been a rhetorical question. You didn't look very good right now, tears smearing all over your face, your eyes reddened and puffy and your nose running due to all the crying.

"That doesn't matter to me. For me you look beatiful no matter what, even if you cry."

Despite feeling upset, you managed to let a chuckling scoff out when you heard the man saying this, still not being completely used to his more cheesy lines. But right now he probablly had the intention to cheer you up.

"Good grief, you're really too much. Let go of me.", you replied slightly ironically in between your sobs when he suddenly just clinged to you, wrapping you up in his arms. It wasn’t uncomfortable though, his hug was warm and managed to soothe you a bit.

You actually shouldn’t feel this way, not in the arms of the man who used to torment and hurt you out of pure and utter sadistic fun. Back then it had just been horror for you. And only thanks to his well-mannered father things had changed for you, only then. You owed Mirumo for that more than you could effort, but his only request had been staying, knowing the attachment his son had for you would never perish. But at the same time you had the feeling his father had helped his son as well, causing you to get along with him better and better until you had started to forget where acting stopped and where real feelings were showing.

“Shh princess…don’t cry over this scum, he doesn’t deserve your tears.”

He had a point. That asshole had wanted to get under your skin which was the second reason you had stayed strong in front of him. But you were human as well, you had feelings which could be hurt. You were currently hurt which was why you needed some sort of comfort right now and Shuu provided it. Maybe a bit too much.

You estimated that you needed about five minutes until you had calmed somewhat down, though the after effects from your crying session still shook your body every once in a while. But you felt the tiniest bit less shitty.

“I think I’m feeling better now. Thank you…Shuu.”, you told him softly, feeling your cheeks warming up the tiniest bit.

He just let out a content ‘hmm’, his chin resting on your shoulder and his one hand playing with your hair a bit. He didn’t look like he had any intentions to move despite you giving him the look. You had a rather silly bad feeling.

“Do you want to let me go?”

“Never. At least not until the dinner is prepared.”

“Shuu.”, you protested slightly, pushing him a bit against the chest which turned out to be good for nothing. He didn’t budge. Instead you could almost see with your inner two eyes on the back of your head that he was grinning upon your attempt to remove him.

“Oh well. I’ll let him have it his way. He deserves it.”

Kanae was walking, as quietly as possible, nervously back and forth. She would never blame her master for anything at all, but maybe she just felt extremely uneasy right now that she wanted to leave desperately. Tokyo was huge and finding one single man would be hard, though she remembered the few broken pieces of informations she had heard when the man had been taken away from some other people who seemed to know him.

“I have to avenge (y/n) or else I’ll never be able to feel like I deserve this happiness.”, the girl thought bitterly, intending to bring suffering over this piece of garbage.

“You seem rather impatient. Believe me, I am just as eager as you are, though we shouldn’t waste too much time with this sad excuse of a man.”

Kanae quickly turned around, anticipation shining from her eyes when she saw Shuu appearing from the shadows, already having put on fitting clothes and holding his mask in his hand.

“I apologize, I simply couldn’t bring myself to leaving my princess alone. She looked too gorgeous to not marvel over. That’s why I want to speed this all up, I want to return to her as fast as possible. It of course doesn’t mean I intend to let this person easily of the hook.”

He chuckled a bit, for a few moments softness dominating his face when recalling the sweet memories of his darling sleeping peacefully. But in the blink of an eye he changed, the lust to kill someone taking over him and twisting his face into something entirely else.

“Kanae, do you know where we should start?”

His voice was terrifying, his feelings and intentions dripping freely from it and a malicious glint shining in his eyes. Not like Kanae minded, her own face being overshadowed by her negative feelings.

“Yes, I do have an idea.”

#yandere tokyo ghoul #yandere shuu #yandere shuu tsukiyama

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macandriley · 3 years

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5x10 – A Very MacRiley "Analysis"

Well, I definitely didn't expect to be making another AVMA post, but I am a woman of my word.

Below the cut, I will be discussing last night's episode of MacGyver (2016) titled "Diamond + Quake + Carbon + Comms + Tower"—particularly in reference to the relationship between Mac and Riley (with mentions of Mac x Desi as well).

So if you haven't seen it yet, do be aware: this post contains spoilers.

Without further adieu, let's get into it.

The Cold Open

Here we see Mad Scientist Mac tooling around in his kitchen, rambling about pressurized carbon and diamonds. I won't bore you by going into details, but I will give a brief rundown:

Bozer walks in.

Bozer is weirded out by Mac's strange behavior.

Mac reveals he intends to propose to Desi with a diamond he cooked up in a box (side note: I am so here for conflict free genius diamonds).

But I digress.

I won't lie and say this entire thing was surprising. The intended proposal was a touch predictable; everyone on Twitter had been hypothesizing about it for weeks before the episode even aired.

Still, when I heard those words come out of Mac's mouth, my heart absolutely shattered.

I pictured a wedding. Having to watch them say I do while Riley stood off to the side.

And then logic set in.

Why on God's green earth would this man want to marry a woman he's only really been on good terms with for a few weeks? Why would he want to take that next step when she's been so hesitant to even call him her boyfriend?

Well, Mac himself said it best. "Ever since I lost my dad and Jack, I've been thinking about the bigger picture. And a commitment to make things work is exactly what Desi and I need."

Problem One

As Mac said, this newfound craving for marriage does not come from a genuine desire to take that next step. It's influenced by loss. By grief.

Which isn't inherently an issue. Mortality is a great motivator for soul-searching and self-discovery.

However, when it comes to matters of the heart, acting out of grief can often be more detrimental than helpful. It can cause you to cling to what you have left, sometimes in ways that are unhealthy.

Which brings me to:

Problem Two

Mac clearly does not view marriage with Desi as something he truly wants. As an act of love or genuine devotion.

To him, it seems more like a desire to force things to work. Like a business contract. "If we're married, we have no choice but to talk it out."

Which makes sense when you consider that, in 4x04, Mac admitted he and Desi were clinging to the familiar instead of actual substance. He wants to make it work because the alternative is being alone.

And to be frank, that doesn't frame MacDesi in a very good light at all.

I Probably Shouldn't Tell You This

Before Mac, Riley, and Desi are sent off on their mission to Mexico City, Bozer pulls Riley aside and, presumably, tells her about Mac's intentions to marry Desi.

I won't go into detail on that here, but it's important to later scenes, so I felt it deserved a mention for that reason alone.

Plus, it only further confirms, at least in my mind, that Riley still has enough feelings for Mac for Bozer would worry about her. So...a win?

Got A Secret, Can You Keep It?

After Mac runs off to play Murdoc's little game, Riley and Desi follow him. One thing leads to another, and the trio winds up on the roof of a skyscraper, unable to unlock the doors and get back inside.

Cornered, they are absolutely at Murdoc's mercy.

So what does this glorious psychopath do?

He tells Mac the one thing he has never been able to figure out on his own. That Riley had feelings for him and buried them deep, deep down. That having to watch him and Desi was genuinely hurting her.

I love this scene for several reasons. The most important of them being: I really don't think either of them would have said anything if Murdoc hadn't done this.

They are both so self-sacrificing. So willing to give up their happiness so that they won't get in the way of other people's' joy.

Getting that little push opened them both up to experiencing feelings they'd previously denied. Which is super important for people like them, who don't have a lot of experience with touchy-feely type situations.

And the best part?

I think Desi truly realized all of that. She wasn't mad. She wasn't bitter. She saw this happen, realized the lengths Riley went to to protect her feelings, and accepted it. She refused to let them be distracted by it, and looked after Ri like a real teammate would.

Her not holding that against them isn't something I would have expected way back when this season first started. But you could really see that, as much as she probably didn't enjoy hearing that, she understood it.

Sidebar - Desi

While I think the shift in Desi's character is abrupt and I would've preferred a more transformative storyline, I'm honestly not mad about how they're writing her.

If this continues to be how she's written, and it all remains consistent, I can personally overlook the sudden shift in behavior for her.

Because honestly, Peter Lenkov was a dick, and I can get not wanting to continue on with the toxicity he injected into D for even a moment.

Hug It Out

When all is said and done, Mac lets Riley know that they don't have to talk about it. Which is super considerate, if a little obnoxious.

She, being the wise and tired babie she is, decides it's best to be honest. So she explains what happened in Germany. And finally, after months of waiting, it's all laid out in the open. Just like that.

There is not much to analyze in this scene other than the hug itself.

Riley shuts her eyes, holding onto him like she can't quite believe he's real and Mac sighs, because god, he did not expect for his day to go like this. And he definitely didn't think he'd feel so oddly satisfied that it did.

So they just stand there, rocking slightly, comforted by each other's embrace.

The only word that came to mind when watching it go down for the first time was: safe. They almost looked like they were at home in each other's arms. At peace.

And as someone who has loved these two deeply since season one, it's so heartwarming to see them have that kind of connection with someone. Even more so to see them find it in each other.

Knock Knock. Who's There?

Mac. That's who.

Late at night, after contemplating his proposal again (boy, why?), we see Mac leave his house. He shows up at an apartment building, knocks on a door, and...

Oh look, it's Riley's place.

She's shocked.

He asks if her feelings are really gone.

And...cut to black.

I am not foolish enough to assume this will be easy. It's entirely possible she'll lie and say she's over him to uncomplicate things.

But this is the closest we have ever been to canonization. And I think it speaks volumes that Mac is the one making the first move.

We don't often get to see the more emotional aspects of this show through his point of view. It's usually the people around him who are allowed to feel things, and him who deals with the aftermath.

Yet here we are. He was the one to seek out Riley. To take the leap.

And I think that speaks a lot to his own emotional growth.

In Conclusion

Monica Macer is the bait and switch queen. 5x10 was an emotional ride I did not ask to go on, but I'm pleasantly surprised by the final destination.

Here's hoping I can write another one of these after 5x11.

#Spoilers #5x10 #MacGyver #MacGyver CBS #macgyver 2016 #macriley #mac and riley #angus macgyver #riley davis

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mxvladdy · 4 years

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Diavolo- True Form

Whoooooooo weeeee! ‘Pologies for the wait on these longer posts. I’ve been hit with a one two punch of house emergencies and sudden costly ass repairs, so my creative juices have been rightly squashed as of late.

Plus side I got my drawing tablet and drafting table back so I can neaten up my blog lay out now (yay!)

Anyway this one was a challenge in the best possible ways. I really like Diavolo because of how little we know about him so it gave me some wiggle room. Or at least what I know of him- im only on like chapter 23 of the stories. Idk if I did him justice as this is angsty af but I sure had a blast writing it!

Hope ya like! Next up: Beelzebub

Trigger warning: Mention of blood, and swearing.

Diavolo-

He'll never show you, so don't ask. His true form is god-like in its own right and such knowledge, such truly raw demonic power in its natural form is not for your mortal eyes.

No matter what your lineage, it would break you. And despite his roles and being the literal devil, he doesn’t want you suffering.

Sometimes when he thinks you wouldn't notice he relaxes his hold on reality, just a fraction. He wants to relieve some of the tension that is always building just below the surface. Like closing your eyes when you have a tension headache. The mental energy he has to exert to keep face is enormous. Regular glamour doesn’t work nearly as well as his own, or Barbato’s magic.

But you see hints during your downtime spent in his company. A ripple in his reflection on the window pane. Unexplainable shadows dancing across his exposed skin. Too many teeth in his mouth when he laughs. Sometimes when you stare into his eyes you see something indescribable staring back behind them. His usually warm and inviting gaze darkening. A barest flicker, a hulking bestial thing kept locked behind in his golden gaze. It's enough to freeze the blood in your veins.

On certain nights when you can slip away from the brothers you stay in his room. Lying awake, you watch his magic wane and shift as he slumbers. Sometimes you see runes, or at times letters. You are tempted to write them down and ask Solomon. But something stops you each time.

The worst images are the faces. Unknown souls trapped beneath his flesh clawing to be freed. Silent screams fading back into his body as he dreams. Your fragile fingers trace the patterns they leave as you wait for the next day wrapped in his embrace.

Only once have you seen more of his form then he would ever wish. The depths of his strength and mental fortitude were unknown to you so the slip up took you both by surprise. He masks the error well, but the sudden shift in energy in the room couldn’t be suppressed .

You are suddenly so aware of the oppressive weight of gravity on your frame. Your bones grinding together under the force of his aura. You panic, desperate by the need to breathe, but are unable to draw even the smallest bit of oxygen as it is robbed from the room. Time and reality wrapped too, distorting in ways only you thought only Barbatos could do. You knew in that moment the sudden dread of death, how mortally was but a rusty shackle tethering you down.

He collects himself, dispelling the energy and locking his glamour down tight to protect you. But that split second of fury felt like an eternity to you as you sink to the floor. You hiccup a shaky sob and shiver. Your fragile human mind bowing under the strain of what it cannot comprehend. Scolding hot tears fall from your cheeks, before splashing crimson the stone below you.

You didn't approach him again for over a month. No matter how strong you are, some things were better off unseen.

Mini Fic

He didn’t know. For once in his ancient pitiful existence, he had been unaware of his surroundings. It had been for just a moment, one tiny crack in his veneer. The foolishness of Mammon and Belphegor’s actions finally poked the right nerve. He wouldn’t hurt them, for Lucifer’s sake. That prideful demon would never forgive him if he did. But he could scare them. A quick look at his true self; a flash of the deepest bowels of hell. Enough to give them a reminder of their positions and standing in his court. He had expected their whimpers of fear, could taste the acidic tinge of it exuding from their pores. What he didn’t expect though was your blood curdling screams alongside.

Ironically, he would have to thank the second eldest later. His fast thinking is the only thing that saved you from complete damnation. His body shielded yours, taking the brunt of the stronger daemons hellish might for you. What little magic Mammon still had left used to protect you. Though, while your vision was blocked, you could still feel his oppressive presence. It racked your mortal flesh. Diavolo knew what affects his power had on humans. He spent years breaking and consuming damned souls with zeal after all.

The brothers had run from him after that, screaming for Simone. Barbatos following close behind, a look of consternation on his usually impassive face. You had been so limp in Mammon's arms. Diavolo could do nothing, shocked by his own weak will and realization that he might have ruined everything. You had been whisked away so quickly by his faithful servant and the brothers that he hadn’t had a chance to look you over himself. But the brief moment he saw will haunt him for years to come. Your eyes red from the sudden haemolacria, the blood staining your clothes and face. Your fingers digging away at your soft skin, black and purple blotches staining what he could see. Mouth opened wide on a silent scream. He knew what you must have seen. The souls of the damned trapped under his glamour breaking free to latch on to your unmarred soul trying to drag you back with them.

Against his butler's advice he stands at your door now days later trying to see you. He couldn’t sit around and just hear updates second hand. The brothers had been keeping guard most days in a valiant attempt to keep him away. But he could only be waylaid for so long before he used his rank against them.

He had arranged a full council meeting. Every one of the brothers knowing full well it was to get them out of his way. Yet, the order was absolute. This time none of the brothers could reject it. Barbatos would keep them in that room for eternity if he so wished for it. He hated using his age and power against them, but he saw no other way to get to you.

It was foolish now, standing as he was in front of your door. A part of him hoping you would turn the knob and let him in. Let him comfort you for once, instead of the asinine distractions the brothers offered. He could help too. Hells, he wanted to. He wanted to be closer to you. Power discrepancy be damned. The other part of him knowing it was for the best that you didn’t. Your guardian and tormentor all in one. He listens to your muffled sobs for a moment fighting with his feet to stay cemented to the floor instead of heading back in defeat.

"When my father was still around he took me down to the deepest depths of the kingdom. Where the worst of the traitors and sinners are imprisoned." His deep baritone rumbles through your door during a break in your crying. "It’s a place few seldom go; even now I have yet to return. Back then he told me ‘there will never be a human soul that is undeserving of punishment. Even the ones destined for the celestial realm are tethered to sin.’ At that time I believed him. The things I saw in your realm... " The prince chuckles wearily.

He remembers the ever present scowl on the old King's face. His dark eyes looking out at the sea of damned souls he controlled. Even as a young daemon, fresh into his wings and still sharpening his horns to impress others he could tell how much his father detested his position. How it had warped him, turning him bitter and cold, even to his mate and only child.

Diavolo never wanted to be like that. Not to the ones he supposedly cared for at the very least. "I think that is why he hated the other realms so much.” He continued. “Humans, for their ability to choose which realm they would eventually end up in after they pass. That even the worst sinners could find redemption enough at the last moment to get to the pearly gates. While daemons, no matter how well they served, or the duties they did for the good of their own would never be seen as equals to our celestial counterparts or yours. That this existence is all we'll ever be destined to have. Nightmares and monsters, stories to tell little human children to keep them in line.” He pauses, collecting himself. “I believed wholeheartedly that every human deserved the punishments only my kind could dowel out. But, in this past year I have spent with you, I find myself changing. You are so undeserving of such torment. Somehow you are understanding and forgiving beyond measure to us. You handle our ill tempers with such grace. For daemons such as us, it is staggering, and humbling. I regret that I have hurt you so deeply and have broken your trust. I swear it as the head of this realm I would never intentionally do so." He looks at the door handle willing it to open. " I am so sorry."

Your crying picks up again. Huge heaving sobs that rattle your chest. Great Father, he just keeps making it worse. Clearing his head Diavolo turns.

Rejection of this nature was new to him. No one had ever dared to ignore him, especially such as this. The royal in him- his father's blood- seethed that he would even stoop so low as to grovel to a short lived thing like yourself. Even deeper yet, it demanded another taste of your essences. You little soul kept safe behind your rib cage. He wanted it added to his collection, kept tucked away deep within his maws.

It was sick; it was wrong. He chokes on the idea. The intrusive thought burrowing deep. How deplorable was he? Perhaps the angels were right to keep him out of heaven.

You didn't show to class the following day, or the days after. Unsurprising to him and the seven of the inner council. He figured the other day wouldn’t change anything. But it was utter agony to him. These days trapped in his office only getting short and curt updates on your health from Lucifer. It had been a special kind of torment.

Today he sat once again at his desk staring at some godforsaken bitching of a royal cousin. He knew this whelp. Some backwater thrice removed eons ago. Yet he was demanding an audience? The gall. The ink of their eligible handwriting makes him cross eyed. Would this day ever cease? He looks to his hourglass, the sands within seemingly frozen in time.

"My Lord, perhaps you should take a moment to stretch your legs?" Barbatos moved from his corner. Gloved hand coming to rest on top of the same three lines he had been reading for the past two hours. "This work could wait another evening I’m certain ."

"Did I do the right thing my friend?" Diavolo doesn't even bother answering the question his servant posed. They both knew he wouldn't. "This program. Our human exchange students. Solomon is one thing, but-"

"Your will and path is absolute." Barbatos states. "There are no mistakes within you, merely stumblings onto different paths."

With a gentle push Barbatos moves the hulking demon out of his way to collect and organize the scrolls and letters scattered about the large desk. "You made the right choice bringing them here. Look at what they have done. They are entertainment to you are they not?"

The prince rose knocking his desk aside and descended on his butler. His true form out in all its unholy glory now. His highly condensed magic distorting the study as if he was a black hole. The axis of the room shifts. His priceless collection of books and toys disintegrating from the cold radiation he emits.

It was all for show really. There was nothing he could do to an ancient being such as Barbatos. So he lashed out, throwing a tantrum in the security of his office. The hopeless agitation he felt fueling the flames of his rage. His butler had only added holy water to his already festering wounds.

Barbatos had been by his side for time in memoriam. The crafty bastard had helped raise him. Had shaped him into the ruler he was today. If anyone could break and remold him it would be his oldest companion.

The dark haired daemon waited for the waves of agitation to dry up. Moving only when the prince was in his more presentable demonic form. Large barrel chest heaving as he reined himself in. “Are you back to your senses?” He asks coolly, already categorizing the items to replace and furniture to be mended.

"I had not meant for it to go like this." Diavolo croaks into his hands collapsing back on what remained of his desk. Building a bridge between realms, yes. That noble idea was the greater purpose of this program, but the rest of it. The classes, and dances. The parties where he threw his newest toys about to see how they would react to things other mortals worshiped? That had been for his own curiosity and amusement. Lesser beings navigating a foreign world blind to the dangers that were right under their very nose. Bring a mortal with no magic into his realm? Deep down he knew this was an inevitability. Especially with the freedoms he granted them. He just didn’t think he would get so attached.

“No one believes that you would hurt them on purpose.” His butler cuts off his downward spiral. “It would ruin the program. That is what you are so stressed about, right?” Barbatos eyes him skeptically. Diavolo, himself, and Lucifer had spent many sleepless weeks constructing and negotiating this program. If the Arch Angels heard a mortal was hurt down here it could very well end this little escapade. But the look in the prince’s eyes told a different story.

A warm glow emanated from his cheeks and he was unable to meet the old daemon’s gaze. Ah. "Or perhaps things have changed?" Barbatos smiles coyly up from beneath his bangs. "You are your mother's son after all. Neither of you were ever able to stem your bleeding hearts for long." Diavolo squawked indignantly but didn’t argue. Instead he merely turns a darker shade of red and curses under his breath.

He skipped out on court that evening. Not that he cared much. The other nobles would no doubt use the time to gossip about his whereabouts and uncouth behavior of late. Truth be told, he was avoiding the brothers more than anything else. They had made it expressly clear (some more then others) how they felt about him currently. He wouldn't doubt that Belphegor had a few more brothers on his side now.

Instead he stood at your door once more with a tea tray in hand. He had bumped into Simone on the way. The angel had come to bring you dinner and to check up on the last of your wounds. Celestial magic worked miracles on those who have been touched by the darker arts. Diavolo was grateful for his talents. And, by some miracle, Simone had made it abundantly clear he was not going to bring this to the higher ups on his end either.

Upon seeing the prince slinking up the house's stairwell the other man had simply smiled and offered him the tray. “I suddenly got a message from Luke. Could you perhaps drop this by our friend’s door?” Diavolo had accepted without preamble, large hands dwarfing the platter of little tea cakes and sandwiches. The young cherubs work no doubt. His cooking was a fine treat, and a great incentive to at least open the door.

“Hello again.” He knocks twice. “I just wanted to check in on you. I know I am the last person you wish to see but I was hoping to talk?” Silence greets him. Were you awake? He breathes deeply and focuses on picking up your vitals. You were up, your heart thumping steady somewhere in the room. That was good. “I also have dinner for you. Simone had an urgent matter to attend to so he- for better or worse- entrusted this to me.”

Diavolo searches hopelessly for something else to say. He couldn’t just leave the food and go. He needed to see you. “I don’t plan on staying long today. I understand when I am not wanted, but I cannot help myself but be worried for you. Perhaps this is just me contritioning, because I know I caused this. The amount of times I have been called a ‘ass’ by Solomon over this have been staggering.” He rambles. After another bout of silence from your end he coincides. “I see- I will leave the food by the door and let you rest.” Defeated he puts the food down and turns to leave.

The door clicks open slowly. One bloodshot eye peeking through the crack. “Oh mio piccolo mortale.” He loses his grip on your shared tongue at a loss. You looked- you must have been in the hall longer then he or the brothers had known. Such damage couldn’t be done in a few moments. Your skin was healing as nicely as Lucifer had said, but the deep purple scarring still remained on the surface. The burn pattern of it all was random. Twisting wounds that reflected an oily sheen from the light of the hallway. “I-.”

“I know-” You cut him off with a raised hand. “and I feel as though I owe you an apology too.” Your voice was so weak and shaky. A mockery of your normally strong and jovial tone. Hearing you laugh at school had brightened the dreary halls. He hadn’t realized it until you weren't there.

“You owe me nothing.” Diavolo says in earnest. He watches you contemplate your next words before throwing whatever you were going to say away.

“Would you like to come in?” Your eyes drop to the tray. “Luke always makes more than I can eat.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” He backs out. All his plans crashing and burning around his feet. His actions had been irreparable.

“Perhaps not,” You open the door wider taking the tray and heading to your side table, leaving him no room to argue. “But then again, being a lamb among such wolves as yourself and the brothers isn’t smart either.” You meant it as a joke but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle. It was true. Gods. “Dia-” You approach him again but falter at the last second.

As much as you wanted to be close to him again the memories were still so fresh in your mind. The cold hell fire of his magic ensnaring you, searing your skin. The whispered words of sinners long since past still echoing in your head, all in languages you’ve never heard before. The worst though had to be the screaming. Lost souls begging for help. Some sounded so familiar…You shutter involuntarily.

You wanted to hate him for this. Curse him for putting you through this pain. But how much could you blame him? Or any of them? They were daemons. Whether he meant to hurt you or not, it truly had only been a matter of time before it happened. It would be hypocritical of you to fear or hate him forever over this. Six of the seven brothers have threatened your life before, and you have forgiven them. Hell, one of them actually killed you. What’s more was that Diavolo’s wrath hadn’t even been directed at you.

Wrong place at the right time; seemed to be your forte. “Please, come in.” You repeat again firmer than before mustering up either courage or sheer human stupidity to order him in. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “We need to talk.”

He enters, following at your heel like a lost puppy. All air of princedom gone as you clicked the door shut. Diavolo fiddles with his hands, old habits from childhood coming with his nerves. He didn’t know what to expect anymore. Yelling? Some kind of beratement? A plea to go home and never look back? He would let you.

You pass by him, giving him a large berth of space to get to your seat. “Tea?”

Diavolo jerks his head to you. He had forgotten momentarily the plate of food he had used to get access to you. You smile sheepishly pushing it and a plate of sweets towards him with your unbandaged knuckles. He doesn’t move till your hand retracts back to your lap. You jerk your head to the open seat waiting for him. You weren’t going to take no for an answer.

“I- thank you.” The daemon sits making himself as small as possible in the straight back chair. He takes the porcelain and drinks mindlessly. The scalding hot tea doing little to help the tightness of his throat, but it did thaw some of the ice in his mind.

“Are-how…” He fumbles so unsure of what to do next. “I see you’ve been keeping up with your school work.” Diavolo closes his eyes, wincing internally at his words. That’s what he comes up with? Idiotic.

You smile anyway, eyeing the massive pile of books and paperwork spewn about your bed. “Yeah. I’ve taken to doing my school work with Levi in his room. Mammon and Beel are nice enough to drop it off to the teachers when they are due.” He nods. He knew this of course. But it was nice to hear it from you. But yet, you don’t meet his eyes. Far too afraid to see what hid behind them.

The thought of being dragged back into those dark depths again makes your pulse quicken. You instead stare at your nail beds, finding them more interesting. They were purple now. The nails stained black by the contact with his magic. “Will- will that go away?” He asks. Demonic curses or taints were nigh impossible to remove fully. Disgustingly, he hoped they didn’t. Then your nails would match his. The darker depths of his soul coo at the idea, happy that in a small way every daemon would know your his. Not as good as a pact, but as close as he could get to being a part of your little mortal life.

“I’m not sure.” You reply honestly bringing your hands up to place them on the table. “Simone and Solomon have done what they could. But, it is as good as it’s going to get for now. They say it could fade with time.” You look up at him, eyes gazing to the left of his face. “Luke thinks I should see a stronger angel.” Diavolo winces, the thought stung, and terrified him. “I told him no.”

That surprised him. This was your chance. The celestial realm had been skeptical from the beginning. If they knew, it would be a perfect caveat for them to step in. “Why?” Finally you look at him. The fear was still there. Hesitation evident in your eyes. Yet you forced yourself to look at him, fighting through your trepidation.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About your father and what you think of me?”

“Of course.” He replies without hesitation reaching for your cold hands. You flinch but don’t move away. It felt-nice. His warmth chasing away the perpetual chill that covered your fingertips. Idly you stroke his strong hands with your thumbs.

“Then, I think we can work on this privately.” Slowly but surely you felt like you could fix this. Not for the program, but for yourself.

#obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me headcanons #gods have mercy I wanna smooch him so bad

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thebadboyfanclub · 3 years

Text

Protect The Queen Pt.1 (Geralt x Reader)

This is just becoming addictive at this point, I love writing about this cause there are so many different scenarios and possibilities you could write about. Also there might be a part two for this so please let me know if you would be interested in it. Enjoy!

She looked at herself in the mirror once more, it was almost time for her to take her future in her own hands, to rise to the occasion and take back her life. Her gaze fell to the ring she was wearing, it was passed on to her when she married the king of Orkney, she barely had taken a step into womanhood at the time her parents announced her marriage to her, such a shame that she spend such youthful years in a castle with a man that didn't even think about her, it was pure and also embarrassing for (y/n) to look back at her naive and selfless younger self.

“Oh, you are awake”

“I was waiting for you my dear”

She answered to her husband, her voice dripping honey for the first time in years. Their marriage was far from happy, (Y/n) had thought since she was to become his wife he would treat her with kindness, unfortunately that was not the case, he saw her just as a vessel for his children, when that seemed to not happen he fell to the arms of concubines and commoners, making her become this cold, distant wife he deserved. Sometimes she would wonder if maybe she had given him the heir he craved that maybe his behavior would change, that however was crushed by gratefulness she felt for her womb for not bring a child in this loveless household. She would have never forgiven herself if she raised a child that did not see their parents share at least one hug.

“What’s the cause of you lingering in our room (y/n)?”

“To celebrate, here my king”

She offered him the glass of wine she was holding on her left hand, it was filled with his favorite wine. Her husband took it and gave her a puzzled look, whenever he would sleep in the same room with her- which wasn’t often- he would find her asleep.

“What are we celebrating?”

“My birthday dear”

He was left confused at her smile and statement. It couldn’t be, they held a public celebration for her birthday every year, it was protocol for the queen to allow the public in the castle for her special day. The clink of the glasses echoed around the room, she brought the glass to her lips and took a light sip

“Come on dear, drink up. You were never one to shy away from a glass of wine”

She pushed the glass from the bottom up to his lips. He did not understand the cause of all this, yet whatever the case was she was right, the moment he tasted the delicious wine he took three gulps and the glass went from full to half empty.

“Excellent, I’m glad you enjoyed the wine my king, careful,.. the choking will probably start any minute now”

“My queen, we have been waiting for you to... rise for so long”

“Perfection takes time”

She answered to her most trusted confident,her coronation was something that would remain in history for centuries, she was adored by the public so when she inherited the crown after her last husband, everyone knew they were in safe hands. That does not mean the rumors did not arise to the situation, the late king was a healthy young man, it was very suspicious how he fell to darkness overnight.

She meant what she told him when she mentioned her birthday, that day she shed away her foolish acts and was reborn, a woman that stood strong in the field of womanhood, ready to take what’s hers whether people liked it or not.

She looked around the room, seeing her people enjoy their night and drink to her name felt so natural to her, she was meant to lead.

“Excuse me just for a moment, I want to get closer to my people”

“As you wish my queen”

As she started going around at a slow pace she did her best to observe her people, they seemed to enjoy themselves, they acted like the king never existed, like the soil on top of him had been thrown decades ago, she smiled at herself while thinking that she acted in a way her people wanted, pleasing them and herself with just a few drops of that special liquid.

It was then that she noticed the back of a tall man, his long white hair and his armor stood out from the others, she also took note that he was accompanied by a much smaller and probably younger man that was holding a lute. It couldn’t be? The infamous white wolf and his barb at her coronation?

“What are we doing here Jaskier?”

“Celebrating the queen officially getting the crown after her husbands oh so sudden death”

Jaskier was fascinated by her history, a princess known for her noble nature and beauty, he reminisced of the song he had heard about her, she was the master of horses, the late king had met her when she rode the most stubborn and difficult horse in the royal stable, married to the king at her prime and failing at giving him an heir.

He was surprised she got to kill him first before the late king did, not only that but she is now the one sitting on the thrown after the kings death under some suspicious circumstances.

“sudden death? hmm, I believe the king found out that his destiny was a woman in a harsh way”

“Every mans destiny is a woman.... Witcher”

As he heard the voice from behind him he turned around to see to whom it belonged to. Jaskier’s mouth formed a big “O” when he was met with the queen, Geralt figured out who she was by the crown sitting on her head. The first thing she noticed was his yellow eyes, she found them so captivating, unique, she had never seen a witcher from up close, it was also just her luck that brought her the most handsome one.

Geralt didn’t know what to say, he was at her celebration, talking badly about the queen herself, he knew the consequences he just didn’t know if the queen would choose torture or immediate death as the penalty

“Queen (y/n), my apologies, Geralt has had a bit too much to drink, please spare him”

Jaskier might be a bit overly giddy at the wrong time, however that did not mean that what Geralt ha implied could make the queen want his head right then and there. As Jaskier bowed at her, she only let a small smile appear on her lips, softening her features towards the men that both looked distressed, she had to admire that she felt a bit of pride of making the witcher eat his words, judging by his reputation that did not happen every day.

“It’s alright, I know what the people are saying about me, it’s understandable”

“Understandable? Shouldn’t the queen rush to protect her reputation?”

“That’s what kings do when they feel their ego getting bruised, look around you Geralt, what do you see? The same people that have spread those accusations are dancing and yelling “long live the queen”, if anything my new found reputation is more promising”

Geralt was immediately interested, it wasn’t often that a queen would be alright with rumors and of such kind being passed around, as well as taking it as an advantage and being pleased about it.

“Elaborate please”

“The kings of other towns will hear those rumors, now who would dare come and threaten the woman that killed her own husband for power? Only a mad man would risk coming to my home”

She was smart, cunning. Geralt had met people of royalty and understood exactly what she meant when she talked about fragile egos. On the contrary, she stood tall and proud, took advantage of the people that gave her a new source of power without them even knowing it. The essence of her as a human being could only be described as being royal, a woman of luxury that men would probably kill for just a glimpse of her naked skin

It only made him question the late king, how could he have wronged such a woman? was maybe her standards that were two high? or was it an act of revenge? Geralt felt the need to puff out his chest as an act of bravery, she was a quite tall woman and if you match that with the way she carried herself, it was a death mix, the late king was already one of the victims of it

“You mean that you are going to become other kings destiny?”

“I don’t believe in destiny, what destiny is varies depending on the people you ask, for my parents my destiny was to become an obedient queen and give birth to the heir, a child that shared the same blood with my late husband”

She said mildly disgusted, as a widower she would probably have to grieve, linger in her room and cry behind close doors at the loss of her love. It seems like nobody even noticed how she did none of that, like it was normal for her to through a celebration a few weeks after his death in her name, not only that but the people seemed to love it. Geralt gave her a smirk at her smart and a bit intriguing answer.

“Then what do you think is your destiny”

“To be in charge of my and my peoples future, destiny and fate are nothing in front of the power of a woman”

The way she talked about destiny showed how she truly embodied confidence and stability, she feared nothing, not even her future self, she only relied on her power. As she talked to him he couldn’t help but let his eyes look mostly towards her lips, her painted lips that moved in such hypnotic way, he felt compelled by her.

Jaskier just stood there watching the two people talk like they are long lost friends. The queen so many people felt uneasy just by her presence was now having a casual conversation with the witcher. Geralt was slowly but surely gaining respect for her, she was a woman of power, a woman that used her brain and situations to her advantages and held herself accountable for her future, she was a true queen.

Geralt smiled at her genuinely, he had met her late husband in the past, he recalled him being stubborn and stuck up, raising his nose at others that he thought were less than him. If he was alive there was no way he would find him walking around commoners

“hmmm, Well queen (y/n), I am sure your people will be safe with you leading this land”

“I hope that in the future I can count on you for aid”

“About what?”

“Danger of course”

She took one step closer to him, still keeping eye contact with Geralt. As he took in a deep breath he could smell the scent of lavender off of her, her hair shined underneath the light of the flames and her eyes glistered with confidence and pride, she was the definition of strength, just her look brought Geralt into defense mode, waiting for her words and thinking how should he respond correctly to her before she even opened her mouth.

The skill of demanding attention and respect so silently was one that the very few of people that did had it were considered blessed, even though he was aware of that skill, still he had yet to meet one... until he met her.

“Loneliness can be an awfully dangerous thing”

She whispered just loud enough for only him to hear, as the other villagers laughed and sang around them, not even noticing that their queen was standing a few inches away from them, as well as being promiscuous to a witcher.

“I would be honored to protect the queen”

“I’m glad you feel that way, I’m sure you could be a great ally for me, geralt of rivia”

PART 2

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icequeenbae · 3 years

Text

Desert Flower (m) Ch. 3 | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader x Baëkhyun

Characters: EXO and X-EXO (not all of them mentioned)

EXO vs X-EXO dynamics, complicated relationships, angsty, action, smut (as usual)

Warnings: sorta mingling with your ex’s ‘evil twin’, mentions of blood/ violence (nothing too graphic… I suppose), Y/N gets teary a lot(?), explicit content, rough sex, unprotected sex

Word Count: ~13.5k (full), ~4.5k (Chapter 3)

Summary: Baekhyun, your beloved boyfriend of three years, suddenly breaks up with you and disappears from the city in an attempt to protect you. But leaving you alone and clueless means trouble will surely find you. For it is easy to spot a flower in the desert.

Masterlist >> One >> Two (m) >> Three (m) >> Four (fin)

Author’s Note: Heyy! How’re you guys doing so far?^^ Sooo, this chapter is the longest of all since the story begins to unfold here! The next one is the finale already, and it’s going to be pretty epic, dare I say;) Let me know what kind of plot twists you’re anticipating! 💥

Tags: @blahblahblah-boo @baeklightsx @wooya1224 @baekklove

Chapter 3. The little birdie told me

For an entire week after you first had sex, you’d stayed away. You felt guilty and foolish for letting that happen. Was he a rebound? Was it even acceptable that you did it with your ex-boyfriend’s twin? Could you live with yourself, knowing what he tasted like, or how his voice became gruff as he really got into it? And, worst of all, you wanted to experience that again. You were virtually ashamed to recall the night you’d spent with him, his roughness that left bruises (not entirely unpleasant), his bossiness that made you come out of your own shell to take what you wanted, what you needed, from him. Thinking back to the way you slammed yourself onto his thighs, or how he then folded you in half and made you come, or the name-calling… It was unbearable because despite believing that you’d made a shameless mistake, you wanted to make it all over again. You wanted to feel his prickly touch on your skin, and his prurient eyes not missing a single curve of your body. You wanted to be pushed by him, and you couldn’t understand the nature of any of those desires. Was it because you’d developed feelings for him? Or because he offered you such a pleasant way of self-destruction?

In his hands, you fell apart and reassembled. Not entirely the same, but then how could you be? The person who broke you had left for good, taking pieces of your puzzle with him. It seemed like a better option than to stay depressed and waiting to be fixed, ending up never achieving completeness.

Baëkhyun wasn’t a perfect fit for you, nor was he someone to heal your pain with the tenderness of his own heart. But only with him, you felt these strong emotions again. Only with him your heart was not aching but fluttering again, excited by the dangerous smirk he was wearing, and the predatory eyes that promised to devour you in the most delectable ways possible.

You stayed away, contemplating your decision and the rationale for it. The questions in your head seemed never-ending. Were you subconsciously trying to get back at Baekhyun? Were you replacing him? Or maybe you were just this quick in finding someone else to hand your still-broken heart over to? Baëkhyun did not seem like the guy who’d want it. He was kind of a bad guy, if you could even be the judge of that. Yet he had never actually hurt you, and he did not like to see you upset, even when it was over someone else.

Or because it was over someone else.

And although you didn’t consider him to be boyfriend material, you decided to give it a try. Not at all expecting it to be a relationship – you weren’t ready for a new one anyway. Still, you wanted to continue this unusual arrangement. Or so you’d been telling yourself when you texted him to come over after a week of radio silence.

As easy as it was for you to grow attached to him as your strange relationship quickly progressed, it should have been a warning sign. Baëkhyun kept asking you about the boys, the time you spent with Baekhyun at their base, and the stuff they’d told you about. And it wasn’t like you just spilled all the secrets – he usually asked about completely random stuff that seemed quite harmless to reveal.

But he was also a strategist. And you had no idea how powerful his mind was.

***

You laid your head on Baëkhyun’s chest, still hot and sweaty after the hours spent roughing up the bed. He stayed with you this time, arm wrapped around your waist intimately.

‘I didn’t expect you to be a natural,’ he hummed out of nowhere.

‘Hm?’ You turned slightly in his hold.

‘You’re getting pretty good at going after what you want. Will suit you well, being a little bad, birdie.’

‘Birdie?’ He met your curious eyes and chuckled, pressing you closer into his side.

‘Ain’t it accurate? You’re like a baby bird that I’m teaching how to fly.’ He stared for a moment. ‘You shouldn’t be down because of anyone anymore. I’d take personal offense if you are,’ he accentuated.

The uninvited warmth seeped into you, and you nuzzled his neck in a fit of affection.

‘Maybe you have to teach me more,’ you teased. ‘Scratch that. Teach me more.’

‘Now you’re just greedy,’ he sneered. ‘But I don’t mind.’

He allowed you to place a few kisses onto the side of his neck, before catching your hand, tracing his V-line down.

‘As much as I enjoy wrecking you, I don’t think you can take any more today.’

‘Aw, worried about me?’ You mocked, biting onto his collarbone playfully.

He squeezed your ass cheek in response.

‘Don’t test me. If you like a little more pain, it can be arranged. But not like this. It’s not what you truly want.’

‘How do you know that it’s not,’ you whined, as he patted your ass.

‘I know you, birdie. And I have a feeling that you’ve learned more about yourself in the last month than in the years prior. Care to give me some credit?’ His icy blue eyes gleamed in the dim lighting.

‘I really wanna blow you right now,’ you deadpanned. Baëkhyun was so, so alluring with that sexy hoarse laugh of his.

‘Wake me up with it tomorrow. If you want it that much.’

But the morning of slow lustful awakening didn’t come – instead, you awoke in an empty bed, alone. Brushing your teeth and washing up quickly, you headed to the kitchen to find your lover... And froze on the spot as soon as you caught bits of the hushed conversation.

‘I’m aware it’s been weeks but building trust takes time, you know? She’s already told me so much-’ Baëkhyun stopped mid-sentence, supposedly interrupted, and sighed. ‘Don’t. I’ll bring her in myself. Yes, I got it, Suhø. I’ll drag her in if I have to.’

You felt anxiety rise at his words, cold sweat breaking. Was he- talking about you? Or was he ‘building trust’ with some other girl? No, that was bound to be you. And who was he conversing with?

Everything was unclear, but your intuition had you tiptoeing back and walking from the bathroom to the kitchen a little louder this time. He finished his call as soon as you entered the kitchen.

‘Hey,’ he beamed at you as if the previous conversation did not take place.

‘Morning,’ you forced a little smile. ‘Were you talking to someone?’

‘Just now? Yeah,’ you feigned curiosity and wrapped your arms around his waist to avoid raising suspicion with your weird behavior or the slight nervous tremor in your hands. ‘Actually, I wanted to take you out today. You can meet some of my friends.’

‘Today?’ He nodded and you blinked, trying to come up with an excuse and fast. ‘Where?’

‘You’ll see. It’s not exactly in the city, so don’t dress all fancy,’ his hand settled on the small of your back.

It was clear now that earlier he had been talking to someone about bringing you in. And having your trust, which, obviously, was his goal from the very beginning. You realized that you needed to slip out carefully.

‘Um, about that… My friend from uni just called. She woke me up, actually. Asked to meet up today, and I already said yes, so…’ You trailed off.

‘Can’t you reschedule? We really should go tonight, while everyone’s in the neighborhood.’

‘Oh,’ you chewed on your lip. ‘She’s going through a rough time, so I have to meet her today. Sorry,’ you added, acting guilty.

He frowned, deep in thought.

‘Can we go after?’ He suggested. ‘I can pick you up in the evening.’

Biting your tongue, you weighed your options carefully. You did not want to alert him as to your attempt to shake him off your tail.

‘Yeah. Sure,’ you forced a smile on your face. ‘I’ll text you when I head back home for a change of clothes, and then we can go.’

‘Perfect,’ he smiled again, before pecking your lips. ‘I’ll head out for a few hours then,’ you nodded, walking him to the door.

Before Baëkhyun opened it, he turned around, catching you by surprise, and kissed you properly. The way he rarely kissed you outside your sex marathons. Deeply, full of… some kind of emotion? You couldn’t really grasp it, but your mind blanked out for a few seconds and you responded. Whimpering into his demanding mouth as his arms hugged you tightly to his body, you felt so tiny and defenseless, almost needy for his protection. But that was a deceiving sentiment.

‘Stay safe, little birdie,’ he whispered into your lips. ‘I’ll be waiting for your message. Don’t make me wait too long.’

‘Okay,’ you promised, and he finally walked out.

Closing the door, you let out a shaky sigh.

You were fucked.

At first, you almost had a panic attack, breath growing shallow and erratic. Having no idea what to do or how to get yourself out of this, you grabbed your phone and dialed the only number you could think of in this situation.

‘Please, Baekhyun,’ you whispered. ‘I’m so scared-’

But he was unavailable again.

Almost sobbing at the automatic answer, you dropped the phone and looked around. There was no one to help you, so you had to save yourself now. Wiping the tears, you grabbed your backpack and started shoving the most important items in it. Your documents, phone, wallet. A change of clothes. A pepper spray you found on your roommate’s shelf, which, you supposed, would be useless against someone like Baëkhyun. But did you have any other option? You had no powers and you would definitely not stand a chance against him in combat. Baekhyun used to train you a little, but you couldn’t even touch him in sparring unless he let you.

It was apparent that your only option was to run. So you did.

You jumped into the first cab you could get and asked the driver to head to the railway station. Making a mistake of not looking at him, you got onto your phone to try and figure out where to go from there. You didn’t notice that the car wasn’t even going in the right direction – not until it was taking a sharp turn right, off the main road, and onto the vacant plot of land, shielded from the road by a line of trees.

‘Excuse me, where are we going?’ You asked, looking around in confusion, finally paying attention.

‘I think we should take the quicker means of transportation, don’t you, Y/N?’ You saw a pair of oddly colored eyes in the mirror, and then the driver turned to face you.

‘J- Jongin?’ You gasped. ‘What’s wrong with your-’

‘It’s Kāi, darling,’ he chuckled, reaching for your arm.

Operating on instinct, you dodged his hand and attempted to open the door. It was locked.

‘Tsk. I thought we’d do it the nice way. Hyung asked me, after all,’ he tutted. ‘But I don’t think you’re willing to work with me here,’ he gritted that last part, suddenly pouncing at you through the space between the driver’s and passenger’s seats.

You screamed and struggled, and then…

It was a blur.

Like movie scenes, your surroundings were changing around you rapidly, too fast for you to catch anything. It may have lasted a split second, but made you so dizzy that you shut your eyes to battle it. When you finally opened them again, your vision was still foggy – the entire surroundings spinning. Kāi let go of your arm, allowing you to stumble forward and barely get a hold of a vertical surface before releasing the contents of your stomach onto the ground.

‘I told you to be gentle with her. She’s not used to teleporting.’ Unmistakably, it was Baëkhyun’s voice.

‘I brought her here in one piece. See arms or legs missing? No? That’s about as gentle as I get.’ The taller one rolled his eyes.

Baëkhyun approached you, a frown on his face, and helped get your hair out of your face despite your weak protests.

‘Let’s get you inside,’ he said, holding you up by the shoulders when your insides were finally done doing flips.

‘Don’t touch me,’ you coughed, pressing your side into the wall to get away from the physical contact.

‘Y/N, please. Just do as you’re told if you don’t want to be hurt.’ You looked up at him, angry at yourself for being this dumb, but also upset because your trust was again broken.

And even though you kept telling yourself that you and Baëkhyun only had ‘a casual thing’ going on, it did hurt. It hurt like a motherfucker, because you were used by a person you... fell in love with. You didn’t understand much of their plan yet, but something told you that it was all meant to hurt another person you loved.

Your feelings had always clouded your judgment. And now you’d gotten yourself into a completely lose-lose situation.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Baëkhyun pursed his lips. ‘You shouldn’t have tried to run away.’

‘Right. Bad little birdie for thinking of self-preservation and for once seeing someone for what he is,’ you mocked frustratedly.

‘I’m truly wondering how you restrain yourself from slapping her.’ You heard Kāi muse from behind Baëkhyun. ‘Maybe you should head in, and I’ll teach her how to cooperate, hyung.’

‘Let’s go,’ the blonde one grabbed your wrist and nodded to his crude green-haired companion. ‘Lead the way.’

You had no choice but to allow him to drag you into the building. Only then you noticed that it was somewhere you’d been before – the base previously utilized by Baekhyun and the boys. Before they abandoned it, of course. It looked different and foreign now, the hallways long and dark as you were taken to the bigger room with a round table, where the others were waiting.

At that point you saw their faces, struck by the similarities all of them bore to the squad you used to know. Your head was spinning again.

‘H- how? Who are you?’ You managed, taking in the unfamiliar variations of familiar faces.

‘So, I take it he didn’t educate her on the clones?’ Chanyeol, or at least someone who looked like him, sneered.

‘What clones? I thought-’

You were interrupted by Baëkhyun, who cleared his throat and announced.

‘She’s here, let’s begin.’

‘Don’t act like we’re not the ones who had to wait while you played with your target,’ someone scoffed from the farther side of the table.

‘Shut up, Chën.’ The silvery-white head shot a glare in his direction, eyes going from grayish blue to a darker shade. ‘Suhø,’ he turned to the red-haired man.

‘Well, well,’ he got up from his chair. ‘If it isn’t the Y/N. To be honest, you should thank Baëkhyun for having so much patience – our first idea was to kidnap and torture you for intel.’

Your eyes flicked back to Baëkhyun’s profile, but he didn’t spare you a glance.

‘Oh, I see you’re still looking for comfort in a familiar face. That’s not part of the plan. Baëkhyun, step out.’

The strategist’s head turned at the leader’s words.

‘What?’

‘Get out of the room. I don’t need her to think she has someone to count on here.’

‘But-’

‘I told you we’re not going to kill her, only use her.’ You swallowed, realizing your heart was beating somewhere in your throat at this announcement.

‘Suhø,’ he pressed again.

‘You shouldn’t be so fond of your little toy, you know,’ Chën piped up, cracking his knuckles theatrically.

‘Just lay a finger on her,’ Baëkhyun growled in response, rays of red light escaping from his now tight fists.

‘Yah, we don’t have time for your bullshit,’ Suhø interrupted their bickering. ‘The sooner you get out, the sooner we’re done with her.’

Baëkhyun pursed his lips and gave him a curt nod. Not meeting your despairing eyes, he left you in the room. Alone. With these monsters.

‘Fucking finally,’ Kāi clapped excitedly. ‘Let’s get this show on the road!’

‘Sit her down in that chair,’ someone said and you were pushed down forcefully.

The men started rearranging the room, moving laptops and phones and other stuff closer to you.

‘Hold her down, Sehūn,’ the leader ordered, then gave a nod to Chën.

You barely managed to sit still as he approached, even your knees shaking with panic.

‘What do you want from me?!’ You blurted.

‘Nothing much. We simply need your voice,’ Suhø shrugged and looked at another one of his accomplices. ‘Whenever you’re ready, Xiümin.’

Swallowing hard, you took in his words. You were the bait. To lure out the EXOs, perhaps? Or simply… Baekhyun?

Your heart faltered.

No, no, no. This was a trap, you should’ve known all along. Nevertheless, you allowed them to fool you, giving these men the leverage they needed. You weren’t going to make a sound! Anything to keep the boys away from trouble. Your mind was made up.

‘I have the line. But you have to catch his attention quickly, he’ll hang up fast if you don’t.’

‘No problem,’ the leader affirmed.

Xiümin nodded and used the keyboard to type something into a weird interface. Then turned the speaker on.

A ring sounded, then another one. You prayed that no answer would come, but after the third ring, the call was taken. For a long second, there was silence.

‘If you hang up, Y/N is going to die,’ Suhø began.

You blinked, feeling the angry tears form again, as you pursed your lips to keep your pitiful sobs in.

‘Talk,’ the speaker responded in what you realized was Minseok’s voice.

‘We have her now. At your old base. Come by sunrise if you want her alive,’ Suhø was concise in his demands. Minseok was silent for a few moments.

‘Why should we believe you? Let her talk if she’s there.’

Everyone turned to you, and you kept chewing on your lip.

‘You heard him.’ The leader referred to you, but you shook your head.

A brutal hand landed a slap across your face and then grabbed you by the hair.

‘Use your voice,’ it was Chën.

You only looked down at the greyish floor, not even blinking when you tasted blood.

‘Y/N, if you are really there, please say something,’ you jolted at the voice.

It was him. It was Baekhyun.

Breathing accelerating and heart racing, you couldn’t help the tears anymore. Wanting to scream and beg for him to come back for you, you kept shaking your head and refusing to make a sound.

‘I guess she’s not willing to make it easy on herself. Chën,’ Suhø tilted his head slightly, and you felt hands on you.

Sehūn had you in a headlock now, and Chën grabbed onto your arm with a cruel chuckle, jerking it so violently that you could not contain a wild yell. They let go of you, and you wailed, grabbing onto your numb lifeless limb in horror. You had never broken any bones, so you had no idea if he dislocated it, or fractured it, or worse. The pain was so immense that you couldn’t even register your name being called from the speaker.

‘By sunrise,’ Suhø reminded before they finished the call.

At that very moment, the door flew open.

‘What the fuck?!’ You heard Baëkhyun roar.

Red sparks fell around you as Chën was blasted away from you by a red ball of light.

His eyes were completely black, with red sparks – like those you witnessed attacking your abuser just now – floating angrily in there.

‘Stop this circus!’ Suhø raised his voice as Chën got up, something resembling little bolts of lightning appearing and disappearing around his forearms. ‘Stand down, the both of you. She was being stubborn, and we had to extract a reaction quickly. Your little human will be fine,’ he huffed, as if this was a normal course of action.

‘I’m taking her now,’ Baëkhyun answered firmly, stepping towards you.

‘Not so fast. She is to stay here until they arrive. As leverage.’ Suhø cleared his throat when their strategist wanted to protest. ‘You can keep watch over her yourself, in your room, or we can throw her in the dungeon downstairs and the boys will.’

‘She’ll stay with me,’ he gritted, helping you up gently not to disturb your hurting arm and walking you out of the room.

As soon as the door behind you slammed shut, he gathered you into his arms to carry you to the next destination. You didn’t try to resist, legs too wobbly to walk anyways, so you just cradled your arm and sniffled, at first not even noticing the room he took you in was quite familiar, as Baekhyun used to stay in it.

Baekhyun.

You sobbed, replaying his voice in your mind. The way he said your name, and how he pushed for you to let him know if you were there, if you were in danger… The stinging in your chest reignited because now he was going to walk right into this ambush because of you. Beginning to cry even harder, you forgot about your damaged arm, and the hurt, and the person who sat you down on the bed and kneeled in front of you.

‘It shouldn’t have been like this, Y/N. They wouldn’t have hurt you-’ He began, touching your hand.

‘Stop it!’ You slapped him in the face angrily. ‘You played with my feelings all this time, and now you’re just using me to hurt people I care about. Do you expect me to believe that you meant no harm? I hate you, Baëkhyun!’

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered before raising his voice too. ‘But you shouldn’t have been stubborn! Why didn’t you just speak up?’

‘You really don’t understand?’ You asked in awe of his question. ‘You would if you ever loved anyone.’

‘So,’ he looked down at your lap, nudging his cheek with his tongue. ‘Is it Baekhyun? It’s because you still… love him?’

‘Why does it matter? I’m sure you guys, whoever you are, didn’t invite them here to have tea. What are you planning to do with them anyway? Is it about the Red?’

His eyes shot up to yours.

‘You know about the Red Force? He’s seriously dumb – telling you about them and leaving the clone part out!’

‘Yeah, and you’re so smart. Fooled a clueless girl with your great strategizing, well-fucking-done!’ Your words had plenty of bite, and Baëkhyun reacted.

‘Damn right! The only thing I didn’t do well to keep you safe is leaving your stubborn ass in the room with my crew, and it’s still so much better than the initial plan the Red had for you! I’ve kept you alive this long, haven’t I?’ He snapped at you, and you scoffed.

‘The only thing you didn’t- My arm was nearly ripped off, and it hurts like a motherfucker!’

‘Oh, does it now?’ He mocked, and you noticed how his fingers pressed onto certain spots of your arm, easing the pain significantly. ‘Chën could’ve done so much worse to you, Y/N. But this time he just used his knowledge of pressure points responsible for acute pain. And some of his power to shock you through them.’

He removed his fingers and you felt the pain subside, becoming almost irrelevant and foggy.

‘What- So it’s fine? My arm is fine?’ You asked, rubbing it in shock.

‘You’re fine,’ he breathed out, looking away.

For a while, you just sat like that, in complete silence.

‘Baëkhyun,’ you called, voice hoarse from all the crying. ‘Are you- going to kill them?’

He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, thinking your question over.

‘I don’t know. The plan is to capture and hand them over to the Red. There’s no telling what they’ll do to them this time.’

‘Shit,’ you swore, hiding your face in your palms. ‘This is all my fault.’

‘It isn’t. We were on their tail for a while, you just became our bargaining chip.’

Huffing, you hit the mattress with an open palm in a fit of annoyance.

‘Had I not trusted you so stupidly, this wouldn’t have happened!’

‘Oh, birdie,’ he tilted his head to the side, as if talking to a capricious child. ‘The way we met… sparked my interest. And when it was discovered that you used to be… his girlfriend,’ he paused. ‘Suhø wasn’t kidding – the Red suggested that we torture you. But I came up with a different plan, because I-,’ he looked away as if he struggled to continue. ‘I didn’t want them to hurt you.’

The way he stuttered drew your attention. But you weren’t willing to let him in again. Not about to make the same mistake twice. Instead, you kept questioning him.

‘Did you find ways to contact them through me, too?’

Baëkhyun nodded, and you gave him an expectant look. He sighed and elaborated.

‘The strawberry necklace. You told me it was from someone important to you, so I assumed it was Baekhyun, especially since he likes the damn thing. Checked it out when you were asleep because I know what I would’ve done.’

You were still confused as to what he meant.

‘He was tracking you live, so we managed to hack into it and trace the line back to a burner phone. We could not access the location without establishing a direct connection, but we got the number.’

‘I just gave you this one,’ you chuckled bitterly, and his blue eyes dropped to your knees again. ‘And now we’re freaking doomed.’

He shook his head to this. ‘I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but I promise I’ll keep you safe.’

‘You think that’s what I want?! When the person I love gets murdered or worse, all thanks to-’

‘Stop saying that!’ He raised his voice again, hitting the mattress with a fist, red sparks flying everywhere without hurting you. ‘Why do you love him all that much? Didn’t he leave you?’

‘He’s walking into a trap to save me. And he’s a strategist like you, he clearly knows the odds. Are you really asking me why?’

Baëkhyun stared at you, chest heaving, and nostrils flared. It seemed like he wanted to argue, tell you that you were wrong. But instead, he looked away. His voice sounded hollow when he spoke again, eyes a dim shade of blue.

‘Get some rest. Tomorrow’s gonna be a tough day.’

Lying in bed wide awake most of the night, you prayed for a miracle that would somehow save your EXO boys.

>> Chapter 4 [fin]

A/N: Meet X-EXO ✨ So... What do you think of Baёk at this point? Is he a bad guy or worse? Is Y/N going to make it? Just one chapter left, we’re almost there!! Let’s hope that EXO show up on time yes I'm evil

#baekhyun smut #byun baekhyun smut #exowritersnet #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x you #icequeenbae fics #Desert Flower #exo smut #baekhyun #x exo #baekbaёk #baekhyun scenario

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

By the king’s hand 🐍 XIII

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence, trauma, allusions to torture, mentions of suicide.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You struggle with the past, present, and future.

Note: So now that the holiday rush is over and my province is in lockdown, I can write so yay? But also, stress anew hahaha. Anyways, I’m enjoying it so it’s not too bad. :D

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your stomach curdled as you walked between the guards. For whatever foolish reason, you’d assumed Loki would accompany you. And even more foolish, you were disappointed when he did not. He was king and had much more pressing matters; his usual excuse. As true as it was, you were still irked by your task.

Your thick winter wool had been replaced by your former satin. The gown was not so sultry as before but it offered little protection against the chill of the palace corridors. You were allowed a cape woven in the king’s green, though the hood was to be kept up until you reached your destination. As before, you were the royal shame.

The further you descended, the more your nerves stormed. You remembered your first journey to the dungeons; the night felt long ago. Like many of your memories, it had faded since your time with the prince and his heartless accomplice. It was fragments but still sent a shiver through you. You could, at least, recall, the fear, the anger, the helplessness of your time in the capital.

Your slippers whispered over the stone floor as the gaoler showed you past the cell doors. The stink of unwashed bodies mingled with that of stale blood. There were coughs, some murmuring, and the occasional maddened shout from down the row. The cell you’d been left to was empty and open as you strode by and you refused to look within. It was at the next, that you were stopped and the thick key was shoved in the slot.

You touched your stomach, a thoughtless habit forming as each day saw you a little rounder. Your middle could still be hidden beneath loose fabric. Birger said not yet halfway through your time; maybe for months and with over a month of deprivation, you weren’t so big as you could be.

The door opened and the shriek of the hinges made you tremor. One prison to the next. You were no different than those locked behind these doors. You were kept and controlled. You had no voice, no will, no wants. You only did what was needed to survive.

One of the guards entered first as the gaoler stood with arms crossed beside the door. You heard a scramble within and you were ushered through by the other armored man. He grabbed a stool from against the far wall before he followed. You pushed your hood down and closed the cloak around your body as the frigid air nipped at your gown.

Gilla was dragged away from the wall where she huddled. She didn’t struggle as the guard brought her to sit at the center of the cell and the other planted the stool behind you. You sat and your hand dropped away from your stomach. Her hair was dirty and her face smeared with tears and grime. She was terrified and sniffled quietly as she blinked away the fog of her imprisonment. Your name on her brittle lips made your heart knot.

You recalled what Loki said and cleared your throat. This girl was not your friend.

“Gilla,” you said flatly.

“Have you come to save me?” She clutched her hands. “They found you! Oh, I’m so happy you’re safe--”

“And do you know who took me away?” You challenged. She shook her head in confusion. “So the man you sold yourself to never mentioned me. You never spoke in those times he came to you? Were you so easy to roll over to him?”

“The prince? Oh, if you send for him, surely he can get me out--”

“Do you have no idea why you’re here?” You sneered, “Even if the prince could, do you think he would save a peasant?”

“The king… the king took you from the dungeons…” she batted her lashes.

“He did and what did he make of me but a prisoner elsewhere,” you looked away from her.

“I don’t… understand,” she lowered her chin. “I don’t know why they’ve brought me here.”

“Well, you best think on it and figure it out. The prince cannot help you for he is a criminal himself.” You looked down at her. How had that little girl you’d grown up with become this? How had you come to this point? “He plotted against the king, surely you must’ve known.”

“How could I?” She babbled as her tears began to fall. “He never spoke to me of such things. He only wanted… love.”

“Love?” You scoffed and stopped yourself from laughing at her naivety. “Do you truly believe these noble men could feel anything for us but the basest desires? That their favour is little more than fodder for their egos? That they delight in our degradation rather than our pleasure?”

“Thor was always kind--”

“Thor used you.” You insisted. A lump rose in your throat. “As he did me. He… as he gave you jewels you have no use for, he got his use off me. He would have worn me until I was dead.” You inhaled and quelled the flurry of emotion inside. “But you never truly cared for more than your own self, eh?”

“What? I… we’re friends.”

“Are we?” You bit down. “I remember my time down here.” You looked around. “I remember how I was even dumber than you. To have begged the king to spare me. You left me behind that night and I was locked up like some animal. Whipped like some braying donkey.” Your mouth was bitter as you spoke, “Bred like a mutt. And when you saw me, still alive, what could think of but the silks and the gold and the crown?”

“I didn’t--”

“You must’ve been so worried for me to have fallen into the prince’s arm’s so easily,” You snorted.

“We all thought you’d run.” She squeaked.

“Oh? Yes then, I suppose it was easy to forget about me.”

“I never did. I…”

“This is the last favour you will have from me, Gilla.” You declared. “And I pray you are smart enough to accept it.”

She blinked, confused, and quivered as she stared back at you.

“Do not lean on your ignorance. The prince is a traitor and you laid with him. Who would believe that in all your time together, he never mentioned his intent against his brother?”

“He didn’t--”

“Listen to me.” You hissed. “The prince will be brought to trial for his crimes, but a whore like you can be cast away and forgotten by all. If you did abet him in his offenses, you will be dealt a cold steely justice. You will not be afforded the same hearing or the same grace as his highness. You are just another commoner fed to the jaws of the rich and their squabbles.”

“But I don’t know anything.”

“Think. Hard.” You stood as you snarled, “And perhaps by the time the inquisitors come to you, you will recall.”

“But--But I--”

“If it had been you that night, I wouldn’t have left you behind. Even if it was your stupidity which led us to trespass. I would have stuck by you.” Your chest tightened as you spoke, “I wouldn’t have abandoned you but I realise now, Gilla, that you never did care for anybody but you.”

“I love you, I do.” She pleaded.

“No,” you uttered, “I don’t think you do, but I did love you, my friend.”

“Please…” She sobbed.

“I will not see you again, I expect,” you said as the guard retrieved the stool, “So let us part without hatred. Take this last generosity from me and save yourself. Perhaps you might live to learn from it.”

“I didn’t know he… I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you,” you backed away. “You’re not sorry for me, only sorry for yourself.” You turned and bent your head. “Goodbye, Gilla.”

You strode through the door and the guards followed, signaling the gaoler to lock up behind them. You raised your hand and bit into your knuckle as you were overcome with despair. Your old life was over. The last remnant of your former existence was extinguished.

It was your final surrender. You belonged to the king completely. Your body, your mind, your child; every part of you was his.

🐍

You returned to the chambers exhausted. Those days, you were always tired. You hung your cloak and stood by the fire to warm your numb fingertips. You undressed quietly and retired to the bedchamber. You sat in your shift before the hearth and watched the embers beneath the tent of logs.

You thought of the baker’s daughter and that first day you’d met her. She had been sweet, once. When had she grown so… greedy? How could one raised in simplicity come to want what she had never known? You closed your eyes and refused to cry. She would not break you; if nothing else had, she could not.

You floated in a haze as the orange glow of the fire shone against your eyelids. There was much yet to worry for. Would the king’s men arrest the prince before he could evade them? Would the kingdom overcome the rent caused by the royal siblings? Would your child survive the months before you?

Hours passed and you did not move. You stayed as you were, held by the moment. A taste of solace you hadn’t known in ages. No anxiety of your tormentors’ return, no fear of what was to happen in the next instant. It was just you and the hearth; you and your child in what could be the only peace you had together.

When at last you were disturbed by the gentle open and close of the door in the next chamber, you still remained. You listened to the king as he moved around and sensed his shadow as he appeared in the door frame behind you. He was quiet as he neared.

He said nothing, as if he believed you were asleep. You knew he didn’t but he let you think so. You listened to the rustle of his clothing as he shed each layer. As stubborn as he was, as much as he insisted nothing had changed, something had. You were both afraid of it but would not admit it.

You felt a tug at the bottom of the blanket spread over your legs. You tried to ignore it, thinking perhaps he had passed too closely. A rush of air flew up below the wool Loki’s fingertips tickled your ankle. You opened your eyes and looked down at him as he reached below your shift.

“Your majesty,” you yawned and shifted but he caught your knees and kept them apart. “What--”

He hushed you with a soft his and dipped his head below the blanket. You braced the arms of the chair as your body went rigid. He wore only his undershorts as he bent and plied kisses to your thighs in a torturous trail towards your pelvis. You grasped his head as he rolled your shift higher and higher and his breath grazed your cunt.

“My king,” you begged. You were trembling. You knew you could not stop him.

He ignored you still and kneaded your thighs as he pushed closer. His hands slid up your sides as he nuzzled the patch of hair between your legs and you gasped. You weren’t ready. You never truly were. His tongue surprised you as it flicked along your folds and he purred. He cupped your tender breasts as he delved into you, your core alight at his command.

He dragged his tongue along your bud and lingered on it, teasing it with small swirls and hungry suckles. Your arms flew back to grip the back of the chair and he rubbed his thumbs over your nipples as they stood out beneath your shift. He groaned as he lapped you up. His gentleness was disarming though he remained as adamant as ever.

“Please,” you begged as your body responded against your want. “Please…”

He purred and kept on, his head moving against your bunched up skirt and bobbing beneath the blanket. You arched in your seat, unable to resist the bloom deep inside. You felt the release and suddenly you needed it. All your stress, all your fear, anger, and hurt, bundled up and brewed inside you as ecstasy muted them.

You cried out as every muscle in your body tensed and eased in a split second. You moved your pelvis against Loki’s mouth as you rode out your climax and he didn’t relent until you were limp and breathless. He sat back on his heels and let the blanket drop to your feet. His hair was tangled and askew, his lips glistening as he grinned at you.

He rested his hands on your thighs and came closer so that he leaned against the front of the chair.

“My brother has been arrested,” he said.

Your lashes fluttered and you nodded, speechless. He bent and the tip of his long nose met your stomach. He slid his arms to hug you as he turned and pressed his ear to your middle. You froze as you watched him, as if he was listening for the stirring of his child. You were startled by his tameness. He kissed your stomach as he drew back to look at you again.

“I need you.” He murmured, “I ache. Badly.”

You felt the stone set in your skull. Ever as you were, his plaything. You knew his meaning; it never differed. And he never asked, only demanded,

He took your hand and stood. He pulled you up and you let him. You hadn’t the strength to deny him. There was no denying him. You didn’t want that Loki; cold and callous. So you would cede to his needs and hope they were met quickly.

He let you go as you neared the bed. He rolled down his shorts and his desire stood up before him. He lowered himself across the mattress and beckoned to you. You lowered your eyes and chewed your lip to keep from showing the turmoil raging inside you. You lifted your shift over your head and dropped it.

He guided you over him and stroked his cock as he did. He pressed his tip along your folds, his hand on your hip as he urged you down. You sank to his hilt and he sighed. He stilled you and looked at the joining of your bodies. The silence enshrined you and you closed your eyes. He took your hands and placed them on his chest.

He gripped your waist and moved you atop him. Slowly so that your clit rubbed against him. You hated how good it felt, hated that you couldn’t stop, hated that he was being so… nice. You dug your nails into his flesh and sped up. He held you tighter and forced you to slow. You grunted and opened your eyes, frowning down at him.

“No,” he spoke at last, “Not like that.”

You shook your head. When had he ever wanted anything but hard, fast pleasure. You pulled your hands from him and he forced them back as they were. You struggled with him for only a moment as he squeezed your wrists in warning.

“Slow,” he bid as he stared into your eyes.

His hands returned to your sides and he rocked you again. You shuttered as the tide began to roll inside of you, swelling as it grew. You moaned as you began to quake. Loki’s deliberate stride had you confused. His pace matched your pleasure, quickening only as your voice rose louder.

You came again. You twitched atop him and he moved you as your wits left you entirely. His own voice filled your ears and his thick breaths intermingled with his lurid groans. His hand snaked around to your back and the other spread over your stomach. He stilled you and tilted his hips into you over and over from below.

He exclaimed as his orgasm struck him and impaled you entirely. He slowed and eased you down against him. He embraced you as he laid you over his chest and cradled your head as his chin rested against your head.

What was that? You wondered as your heart raced with his. His petered out but you couldn’t help as your mind struggled against your body.

When you calmed enough to move. His arms fell away and you parted from him, his seed spilling down your thighs. You fell back on the mattress, your flesh still buzzing. You couldn’t look at him. Why would he do that? Like that?

You were his whore, he’d told you time and again. You rolled onto your side, your back to him and crossed your arms. He ran his fingers along your spine.

“Are you unwell?” He asked.

You didn’t answer. Why would he even ask that? Your eyes tingled and you fought to hold back your tears. He was just torturing you. That’s all this was.

“Speak to me, mouse,” he grabbed your shoulder and forced you flat on your back.

You gritted your teeth and stared at the ceiling. “Why?”

“I was gentle…” He said, his voice tinged with confusion.

“Yes, why?” You repeated.

“I…” He paused and the silence was thick as it choked you.

“When your wife arrives, what will she think of me, your whore, and the bastard inside of me?” You spat.

He sat up and leaned on his arm as he watched you. You refused to look at him.

“I’ll deal with my wife.” He said, “And I’ll deal with you. Don’t forget yourself, mouse.”

You scoffed and tried to turn away from him again. He held you down and let out a long breath. His hand came up to frame your face. “I am heartened, mouse, that you do remain so stubborn.”

🐍

Sleep did not come easy that night. Not to you. Loki was hardly bothered as he snored beside you. His arm was across you as if to remind you of his power over you. Your thoughts strayed back to all your worries. Gilla, Thor, the man beside you, the child in your stomach.

Your life was not your own. It had never been. As you thought, you realised you had only ever been used by others. You had only ever been a footnote to someone else’s will. You had nothing, not even your own body, your own mind.

You slowly slipped from beneath Loki’s arm. Your thighs were sticky still with his cum and you were sickened by the sensation. You stood and went to the bath chamber and cleaned yourself with the cold water of the basin. You saw yourself in the looking glass. You looked hollow; you felt it.

You went back to the bedroom and covered yourself with the silken robe allotted you. You bent, awkwardly, to feed a log to the ashes and stirred it until you found ember. As the flame began to lick at the pale bark, you stood with a groan and passed into the front chamber.

You wandered around the space; it was smaller than the king’s former residence. You neared the table placed against the wall and stared at the peculiar object left atop it. Careless, you thought as you pulled the leather-sheathed dagger towards you. Or deliberate?

Loki had a wife coming and brother to be tried. You were trouble for both. He was ever a trickster, ever deceptive, and perhaps, you had been dumb enough to believe him. Again. He didn’t want you back, didn’t want a bastard to muddy his inheritance; he’d only wanted a reason to be rid of Thor. Surely, he was so intent on keeping you hidden so that none would notice if you were gone.

Had you been foolish enough to think he felt anything towards you but the need to sate his own lust? That he had any loyalty to you beyond a warm cunt? That you had any place here once he married? That your child would be welcomed as anything but a nuisance?

You sat and freed the dagger from its cover. You held the blade up in the dim and felt its sharp edge with your fingertip. It sliced easily into your flesh. You turned it in your hand and thought of bringing it to your throat or plunging it deep in your chest. Your eyes welled and at last, the dam was broken.

You cried into your palm as your other hand gripped the dagger. You trembled and peered down at your stomach. Would he care? If he found you in a river of your own blood? It would be a favour to all.

You wept until your eyes were swollen and your throat was hoarse. You were a coward. Why couldn’t you just do it? What did you have to live for?

“Mouse,” Loki’s voice was cautious. “What are you… give me the knife, mouse.”

You dropped the blade and flinched as it bounced between your feet. You shook your head and mopped up the last of your tears from your cheeks. Loki neared slowly and bent to lift the dagger. He took the sheath and replaced it on the silver. His jaw squared as you avoided his gaze.

“What were you thinking to do with this?” He growled.

“Nothing,” you croaked. “I was only curious.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He hissed. “Whatever you were thinking, I don’t want it to ever cross your mind again. Understood?”

You nodded and hung your head. He moved away from you and opened the chest atop the side table. He tossed the dagger within and locked it.

“I told you. It is treason to spill king’s blood.” He stomped back to you. “Death cannot save you from my wrath.”

“I didn’t--”

“You thought to.” He snarled. “Get up.”

“Your majesty--”

“I will not tell you twice.” He barked.

You stood and he seized your arm. He turned you and marched you back into the bedchamber. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and you expected him to tear open the robe. You expected the same as he had been. You were certain he would be atop you in an instant.

But he passed you and went to the cloak hung beside your own. He fished around the pocket sewn into the lining and took out a bundle. He returned to you and held out the folded linen, bound with a length of hide lace. You frowned and he dropped it into your lap.

“Go on,” he loomed over you.

Your hands shook and you pulled free the bow looped atop the bundle. You unfolded the linen and revealed a pair of green booties, winding snakes sewn into the soles and golden ribbons woven along the top. They were small, meant for an infant. You cradled them in your hands as your throat tightened.

“My mother sewed them,” he said. “I found them after she died. I had almost forgotten them before I moved from my own chambers.” He sat beside you heavily. “I don’t know what else to do with them.”

You peeked over at him. You lowered them back to the linen and set them aside. “They’re meant for a prince.” You muttered.

“No, only for my child,” he said, “Prince or no.” His cheek twitched and he stared at the carpet, “Don’t make me hide them again. I couldn’t bear it.”

You were quiet. You’d never seen him so vulnerable. Angry, annoyed, longing… but never so solemn. Despite all your loathing for him, your heart squeezed. You took his hand, he winced, but let you move it. You put it to your stomach.

“It is my child, too,” you said softly. “I couldn’t…”

He nodded and pressed his palm firmly to your midriff. You sat, silently, the crackle of the fire the only noise. Loki did not move, nor did you. A wordless pact forged between you. The child would live. It had to.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #fic #dark fic #loki x reader #dark!fic #series #thor #au #medieval au #mcu #marvel #by the king's hand #king!loki

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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Lan Qiren is in Qinghe for whatever reason, and hears JGY playing for NMJ. He recognizes the melody, but now what? They just came out of a war, the Lans are still weakened. He cannot go against the Jins alone, he learned that his nephews are as stubborn as their fatheir in their love and doesn't want LXC stuck in the middle, the Jiangs are still weak and recovering. There's only one person who can help him save his nephew's brother/boyfriend/soulmate/fiance/something? LQR visits Yiling.

Lan Qiren had once wanted to be a travelling musician, before his elder brother ruined both their lives.

He’d always been sensitive to music, even more so than most of his clan. When he was very young, he’d told his mother about the music he could hear all the time, in his head, the good music and the bad, the harmonious and the discordant, and she’d gently stroked his forehead and told him that one day he would learn to play something so beautiful that he could drown it all out.

He never had.

She was gone now, his mother, heart-broken and aged faster than she should have – another casualty of his brother’s selfishness, that he called love. Lan Qiren never denied that his brother’s song was a love song, the pure notes of the xiao calling out to a dream lover, beckoning but never summoned in return; it was only that long before his brother had met his wife he had already heard the way the high treble of his song was unstable, straining, powerful but without foundation. The direction of the music was the wrong way around, however beautiful: too many high notes, untethered to reality – untethered to anything, really.

Not to family, not to duty, nothing.

He didn’t care about anything, his brother. Only himself.

Lan Qiren still played, of course. He’d never been especially good at fighting – that had been the specialty of the mighty Qingheng-jun, noble and above it all – and it turned out he was a fairly good teacher, of music and cultivation and morality. That worked out for everyone: it meant he could stay home, where it was safe, and govern the affairs of the Lan sect to ensure that there was something there for his nephews to inherit.

He was never allowed to go travelling.

Still, it wasn’t all bad. Even if his brother renounced the world, he had given Lan Qiren his nephews. Beautiful children, both of them: the simple song of cleansing for Lan Xichen, the child who smiled as lightly as the breeze; the complex chords of Inquiry for Lan Wangji, the serious child who thought too much.

Lan Qiren tried to do his best by them both, however clumsily: he tried to teach them duty, to teach them the importance of family, he tried to teach them compassion – he tried to try to stamp out his brother’s instability and inability to recognize the damage his actions could do, and did, to others. His brother had been a genius, and his children inherited his talent, but Lan Qiren would not let them become arrogant, as he had become, to think that because of their talent the road before them would always be smooth – such that the first stumble would be enough to cast them down into the abyss.

The war, and their father’s death, taught them that better than he could ever have.

Lan Qiren was not a very good fighter, and an even worse general, but he did whatever he could. He had prepared Lan Xichen as much as possible for the position of sect leader, though he’d thought there would still be years and years before his nephew would have to take it up; in the end, Lan Xichen inherited it too early but still excelled, keeping his head and remembering to think things through.

Lan Wangji was earnest and hardworking, as Lan Qiren had once been; he protected what he could, did what he could, and never sought fame instead of helping the helpless.

Lan Qiren was very proud of both of them.

He only hoped he had done enough for them.

It was usually Lan Wangji he worried about, both in the past and today: he had the family stubbornness, their tendency towards blind faith, and he too often associated with bad company, which made Lan Qiren afraid.

His brother had loved a murderess, and sought to help her escape her punishment no matter what justice required – how dare you pardon her, he’d screamed at his brother all those years ago, don’t you remember that the man she murdered was my teacher too, that I loved him, that his wife grieves for him, that his children are orphaned, who cares if you love her, she still needs to pay for what she’s done, and his brother had shrugged it all off and said I have decided and because he was sect leader there was nothing Lan Qiren could do about it – and Lan Wangji is altogether too fond of Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch, who reminded Lan Qiren very much of her.

Lan Qiren had taught himself over the years not to hate her, his brother’s beloved with blood on her hands, for the death of his dreams and the cage of duty that had come down around him; those could only be ascribed to his brother. He still felt justified in hating her for the death of his teacher, who had been kind and strict and perhaps a little silly, overly moral, a stickler – he had only tried to stop wrongdoing, as he always had, and she had killed him in the defense someone she had believed was in the right without a shred of evidence, based on nothing but her belief that they wouldn’t lie to her.

Foolish.

That was the true tragedy of it. For all the damage she ultimately wrought upon his life, she was in the end little more than a stupid little girl who was, in her own way, deceived by love.

Friendship, too, was love.

Lan Qiren had brought her the signed confession of her dear friend, the woman she’d called her sister, the proof that that ‘sister’ of hers had in fact committed the crimes that the teacher had accused her of and that her counter-accusation against him had been fabricated purely as a distraction – you killed an innocent man, he had told her, voice cold, because you couldn’t be bothered to think for yourself – and that had been the thing that had made her finally realize that she would spend the rest of her life in a prison for what she had done. That there was no rescue, no reprieve; that this was the consequence of what she had done, the penalty she would have to pay, and she might as well make the best of it.

He’d finally had a nephew, the year after that.

It had been the only thing he could think to do for his brother, who despite everything he loved to the bone. They were all fools for love, in his family.

At least Lan Xichen had found himself a good love.

His childhood friend, who was as honest and upright as he was: Nie Mingjue was solemn and sincere, in need of someone to cheer him up, and Lan Xichen had no greater pleasure in life than trying to coax out his rare smiles.

Lan Qiren enjoyed ‘accidentally’ bumping into the Nie boy whenever he snuck out of the hanshi at odd hours, if only because it consistently made the other man look as though he was regretting being born. They were so shy about it, even though Lan Qiren had made it clear that he wouldn’t stand in their way as long as they did their duties to their respective families in regards to children.

Perhaps it wasn’t him that they were worried about. The rest of the world might not be so understanding; he couldn’t blame them for treasuring their love between them as if it were a tender flame that might blow out if exposed to the fierce wind.

He still enjoyed teasing them both.

This evening, though, it had been different.

Nie Mingjue’s face had been flushed red, as it always was, and he made his excuses as if they pained him – he’d never enjoyed hiding, would tell the world if Lan Xichen would let him – and that was all quite normal, but there was something wrong with his song. It was usually a steady beat, militant and powerful and inspiring, but it was oddly out of tune, another melody forcing its way in.

It wasn’t the gentle strains of two songs merging, each one yielding to the other, two songs joining together in harmony to become one – this was a clash, one melody suppressing the other and knocking it out of joint. Dangerous, disharmonic –

It sounded like poison.

It sounded like – Lan Xichen?

Lan Qiren bid Nie Mingjue a hasty farewell, forgoing his usual gentle mockery, and retreated to his own home, breathing hard. It was impossible, what he had heard, utterly impossible.

Lan Xichen would never – he loved Nie Mingjue.

Though – he loved Jin Guangyao, too, who presented himself as polite and gentle but whose inner tune was always a step off beat, sometimes too slow, at other times too frenzied. With such uneven music in his heart, it was always a surprise to Lan Qiren that Jin Guangyao could play instruments as well as he could, manipulating them with his clever fingers until they did what he wanted them to.

Lan Xichen loved Jin Guangyao, and Nie Mingjue did not, and…

There were always ways to resolve that sort of thing.

No. Lan Qiren knew his nephew, or thought he did. Lan Xichen was sincere in his affections, honest and righteous, and more than that he was caring – he would never, never, never murder one lover to more easily replace him with another.

And yet.

Lan Qiren recognized the song that was stealing into Nie Mingjue’s body, leeching away his self-control and pushing him slowly towards an agonizing death. It was Clarity, a song he had taught Lan Xichen with his own two hands, and the invading song was Turmoil, a collection in the Forbidden Library that no one but the sect elders could access – though such a restriction did not apply to the sect leader.

He hadn’t thought Lan Xichen had looked at those songs, but he had been the one who had taken their collection of books with him when he fled the Cloud Recesses. There would have been plenty of time to look over them, to learn them, to –

No.

Lan Qiren couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it. Even if the portions of the song that were Clarity sounded like a perfect replica of the way Lan Xichen played the melody, each pause and each start characteristic of his nephew – he would not believe it, not for nothing.

Not until there was proof.

He’d spent so long trying to save his nephews from his brother’s mistake – he would not now allow them to fall into their mother’s: of being too quick to judge, too trusting, too blind.

He would find out what happened first, and only then decide.

But how could he investigate? Lan Qiren knew himself: he did not have the power to take the journeys that would undoubtedly be necessary to find out what had happened, still healing as he was from the wounds of war; the strain on his heart would likely kill him. Lan Wangji had the musical talent to do it, and do it well, but it would break his heart even to ask him to consider his brother a suspect. But there was no one else so skilled in music, who lived with it day in and day out, who used it even above a sword –

There was one.

He wants to bring someone back to Gusu, uncle, to hide them, Lan Xichen had told him, his eyes troubled; they had both known without saying who that person was. I don’t know what to do. The things they are saying about him…

At that time, Lan Qiren had opposed any attempt to reach out to Wei Wuxian, that troublesome brat. He had still hoped that by putting distance between them, Lan Wangji would eventually learn to forget or at least learn to think clearly, but that was clearly not working.

He would write a letter, he decided, and send it off at once. There was no need for an introduction: Lan Qiren had been the boy’s teacher once – a teacher for a day, a father for a lifetime, no matter that they’d never one gotten along – and anyway, Wei Wuxian had been planning on leaving his mountain soon in order to attend his nephew’s first month’s party, to which he had been invited.

Lan Qiren would ask him to come to Gusu first, instead of heading to Lanling directly through the Qiongi Path. He would offer him the protection of the Lan sect in the event that someone in the Jin clan thought to make trouble, a safe harbor to go to Lanling and to return unscathed, and in return he would ask Wei Wuxian to help him figure out what had happened.

He would prove his nephew’s innocence, even if only to himself.

And perhaps he could even use the same occasion to explain to Wei Wuxian why he should let Lan Wangji go, or at minimum why he should exercise the greatest caution in the future, knowing that if he dragged himself down he would be dragging down another with him…

Yes, that was what he would do.

#mdzs #nielan #nie mingjue #lan xichen #lan qiren #wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #you know that feeling when you're indifferent about a character and then you write them and suddenly you have feelings?#that's this fic #amethystshipper #polyphonic

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years

Text

Prompt List #8 - Lines from love letters

All Prompt Lists

All these lines come from a book called ‘The Love of an Unknown Soldier’ which is an antique book that’s essentially a series of love letters from the Great War that were found in a dugout and published. All unsent from a British Officer to an American Nurse he met in Paris. He never told her that he loved her and presumably died before he had the chance.

I was so many times on the point of telling you - every evening after I had left you I accused myself and spent half the night awake planning the words in which I would confess when next we met.

I wonder if you have guessed. Surely I could not have loved you so much without your knowing.

What right have I, who may be dead within a month, to speak to you of love? To have done so would have been the act of a coward.

You, all the time you would have been lonely. All the time you would have been worrying about my safety.

And yet there is still time to tell you. I have only to unhook the receiver and to telephone to you.

Perhaps it was fate; I prefer to think that it was something else.

You’d never guess how long I spent in polishing my belt and buttons. Yes, men are like that.

And my emotions! Shall I be frank? They were awfully muddled. They were made up of longing, hope, doubt and the terror that I might appear absurd.

The longing was all for you.

The hope was that you might share my longing.

The doubt was lest I might have idealised a memory which, when I saw you, would fade into reality. Oh, the heresy of me!

I have spoken of the touch of your hand, but I think it was the sympathy in your eyes that touched me.

I suppose you’ll never know how proud I was to be seen beside you.

I felt so keenly aware of you; your beauty was almost painful.

The paths were slippery; I took your arm at times to help you over places and laughed within myself at its reluctance.

She does care for me a little, I told myself - that thought kept my heart singing after we had parted.

One never hears you coming; you are absent - one looks again and you are there.

You trusted me so much from the very first; is that a good sign from a lover?

Strange, that I should have conquered fear in the front-line, should have lived for days quite calmly with sudden death, and yet should tremble before a girl.

The letter I shall send you will be strictly conventional and not too lengthy - it will be the kind that I might write to any acquaintance of either sex. And yet - yes, that is the thought that troubles me - we may have met and parted for the very last time.

Since you will never read this, I will play a game; I will not send you what I write, but I will speak the truth to you on paper.

I can at least carry the memory of these things back; they are unspoilt by any sadder knowledge.

We stopped so long talking over dinner that by the time we reached the opera the first scene was ended.

I am glad I met you. I am glad of the pain I shall carry back with me.

Your face will be with me, the sound of your voice and the memory of your gentleness.

I shall be a better soldier because we have met.

If I die, I shall die satisfied.

I didn’t have much time to catch my train, but managed to stop long enough to order you some flowers. They were roses, deep red, the colours of the ones you wore at the opera on our last night. I bought far too many for good taste - I bought the way I felt.

How far away you seem - how far everything seems that I have loved.

You’re a captain in rank, aren’t you? Then you’re my superior, for I’m only a subaltern.

There must be more in you than I have guessed; to have left luxury and come into danger just to look after other people’s babies, that took courage.

There’s a sacredness of devotion, which goes deeper than mere beauty.

Do you begin to understand why it is that you seem so far away?

You can weave all kinds of fancies out of our nights if you’re in love and have an imagination. Those white flares, appearing, racing, vanishing, seem to me a phantom-city and make me think of Paris.

The boys came in intending to buy something; they hardly noticed you at first. Then they saw you, stared and tried to spin out an awkward conversation...they’d returned to buy something else. They really returned to get another sight of you.

You fascinated me as well.

What are you? You are drifting away from me, becoming unreal already.

Did you care for me at all, even for a moment?

Did you ever picture the life to which I was going?

Was I only an incident - some one transiently amusing, and perhaps a little pleasant?

For me there was always poignancy in our happiness. The thought was constantly with me of our parting. Something within me kept warning, ‘it is the end - the end - the end.’/

If I had only met you earlier, in the days before war started, I could have made love to you honourably. But not now.

And yet - “I wish I had married my man,” your friend said. It’s a problem. Self-interest dictates that I should tell you. That choice might be more righteous than silence; it depends on you. But because the choice would be selfish I distrust it.

Had you stayed a moment longer I might have spoken the words which were better left unsaid. I think you knew that.

At the cry ‘mail up’ I forsook my dignity and went out on the pretence of seeing that the teams were clear of the position.

For a little while memories travelled back to affections and quiet.

You mean more to me than anyone in the world, yet I have never seen your handwriting. That brings home to me vividly how much we are strangers.

I never knew a man more in love with anybody.

Why didn’t you write to me? I had counted the days and made allowances for delays. A letter might have come yesterday; to-night it seemed certain.

I form so many conjectures...you were busy. You did write, but forgot to post it. You posted it, and it’s held up in transit. Then there are other conjectures of another kind: that you do not care; that the knowledge that I care would come to you as a surprise; that it is the knowledge that I care that keeps you from writing.

When I remember you like that I feel your kindness. You may not care, but you are not careless.

To have known you as I have is more than I had counted on - more than I deserved.

To have had love come to one in the midst of a war, was more than could have been expected.

All my life I had waited for that; then, when one had sacrificed so many human affections, it happened. It was a gift from the gods. Though you may never know, I ought to be contented.

I must not entertain hopes about you. To do so would be weakening.

You have happened in my life - that should be sufficient. To have snatched one last glimpse of loyalty should make me braver; it should be like the sacrament pressed against the lips of those about to die.

I don’t think I will write to you any more, my dear. These unposted letters, written out of loneliness are becoming a luxury which is dangerous. They make the future seem too valuable.

I begin to realise how sweet life is - how glorious we could make it.

A letter from you! Such a jolly letter, so full of yourself! It’s just as though you were at my elbow and I could hear your voice.

I’ve read it how many times? I can’t count. I think I know it all by heart, and yet keep on turning back to my favourite passages.

To save France, Joan of Arc charged on horseback into battle. You go with less drama, but with an equal heroism.

You would laugh quietly and say that I make too much of what you are doing - that it’s really very ordinary.

You can’t love a woman and not gaze into the future. You can’t feel the need of her and be resigned to die.

I wish I knew that you felt the need of me. In the loneliness of this existence the knowledge that there is one woman who cares supremely helps.

I mustn’t think of you too often.

But this is foolishness - one can’t get rid of memory. Since I can’t forget you, I must make your memory a help.

I write you letters which you will never receive, recording the fact that I love you; but I fail to tell you.

I persuade myself, as Benham would have persuaded himself, that it is honest and fine not to confess.

I don’t do the passionately human thing - the thing that Jack Holt did when he won his wife. I act idealistically but, God knows, i’m by no means certain of my motives.

It’s easy to be brave for one’s self, but to have known that you were in danger would have been intolerable.

Could I see you I should find you changed, you say; the sleepless nights have done their work. I expect I should find you changed - as metal is tried in the furnace.

Like every man who loves a woman, the desire of my heart was to shut you up in a cage of unreality.

I beg you to take especial care of yourself. Don’t run more risks than you can help.

My mind is full of you to-day. I have been trying to remember your face, the tones of your voice - all the things that make you you so essentially.

At first, when I feel in love with you, I almost resented your intrusion

I used to mistrust love as a kind of sickness, and yet all the while - I must tell the truth - I longed for it desperately. Love always avoided me.

I wanted to have something so worth giving to a woman: perhaps that was why I was willing to delay.

Then a quaint little picture forms in my brain of you and me alone in a darkened room. There’s a fire burning. You’re sitting in a great armchair; i’m crouched on the floor beside you, my head against your knees.

But one grows weary of being strong; one wants to be loved so badly, just once while there is time.

It’s the feel of you I need, the protection, the security - the sure knowledge that I am yours, whatever happens.

It’s you that I want - the feel of your hands touching mine in the darkness and your arms about me.

I’m afraid i’ve been acting like the traditional Englishman; you’re the greatest pleasure I have and i’ve been taking you sadly. It isn’t much of a compliment to you and I must stop it. Unhappiness is a form of disloyalty.

You came upon me so suddenly; you awakened such longings; your very presence spoke so loudly of a future which, perhaps, I may not share; you offered all that I had once hoped for before I put hope behind me.

Your presence to me was like St. Peter’s shadow to those sick men; it healed me, but it made me long for more than the shadow. The thought that you would walk through other cities where i could not follow, filled me with emptiness.

I realised then what a gaiety would fill my world if I had the assurance that you loved me.

In a vain attempt to make you a part of my world I lie awake imagining half the night. What a foolish heart I have!

How sick I am of my own pose of spurious manliness! What I want is to feel your arms about me and your lips against my eyes, whispering, ‘Mon petit.’

I know at last for certain that I am nothing and you have forgotten me. And yet there was a time when - or do I deceive myself? You could not help writing to me if you have ever cared. You are breaking the news to me slowly by your silence. Perhaps that is the kinder way to do it.

I know that love in one who is not loved, must always seem absurd. I know that I ought to smile and bow in a gallant sort of fashion, excusing myself for having been so mistaken as to have troubled you with my affections. But the men who used to love like that loved lightly; they had scores of years before them to seek their love elsewhere.

I love you as a man loves only once, and I may have but a few hours.

If I come through to-morrow safely, I’ve almost a mind to write you a real love letter. I can picture you reading it, if I were to send it. Those straight brows of yours would draw together. The more impassioned I was, the more puzzled you’d become, It would all be so sudden after my carefully proper letters.

I think of you, as I shall think of you to the end, if the end comes. I do not want you less. I want you more perhaps, only not so selfishly.

And yet there is always you, you, you, to lure me back from death. You with your grey eyes and your intense atmosphere of rest - you with your unconscious womanliness.

Aft4er such a long wait, two nights ago I received your last letter. You hadn’t quite forgotten me. You hadn’t forgotten me at all. You have been ill, but you’re better now.

I dreamt of you last night. It was the first time that this has happened. We were in a garden full of sunshine and roses. You were learning on my arm. We must have been married for some time, for there was no strangeness in our being together. We cam to an old stone summer-house and sat down. You sank your head against my shoulder, gazing up into my eyes, and brushing my lips with your hair.

My heart cries out for you and hears only the silence.

If I come through this, I have made a pledge that I will tell you. The last few months have educated me in taking chances.

I shall never know now whether you would have loved me, or could have been made to care for me. Perhaps you did care, and were waiting for me to give the sign.

It’s the touch of live hands, of lips pressed to lips that counts.

I want to hold you and to say nothing. I want-

#a bit of tragic history that pulls at the heart strings #prompt list #writing prompt list #prompt lists #history #ww1 #world war 1 #wwi #world war i #the great war

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