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princessofcurses · 3 years

Text

[1] Take it.

Part 2 Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader Written from the perspective of Sukuna My first post! I wonder if anyone will read it? It's kind of long. The sexy stuff starts happening about halfway through. This is just one chapter so some things might not make sense. Let me know if you liked it and want more! Preface: A woman sorcerer challenged Sukuna. Her technique was able to nullify his, ending in a draw between the two. Frustrated at his inability to kill her, he decides to “take her” in “another way”. The cocky brat rejects him easily but he’s determined to win her over little by little when she visits him the next day.

She left quickly after our battle. I wanted to chase after her. She hadn’t even told me her name but the way she mocked me riled my soul up. A fire began to burn in my core and soon, I felt it in all of my blood. I was almost unsure if I wanted to kill her or fuck her. I hadn’t met a Jujutsu sorcerer as strong as her before, strong enough to go toe-to-toe with me. And strong enough to resist me. I couldn’t kill her so right now, I wanted nothing more than to fuck her. I can win in other ways. I wanted to earn her affection and make her mine. With her by my side, nothing would be able to stop me.

The next day, she came back to me. I was delighted.

“You thought about it, didn’t you? Did you rethink your stance?”

She replied to me with disgust.

“I’m here to waste your time and keep you from killing.”

I scoffed.

How can I win her over? After my ‘sex with hundreds of women’ comment last time, she obviously wants nothing to do with me. I can’t force her into submission because she neutralizes my techniques and she can use it against me. Should I buy her affection? Maybe gifts would do.

She noticed I was in thought and she used the pause to take a seat at the base of the mountain of skulls. She pulled out a book and began to read. She was bored with me again. She is so fucking infuriating. I wanted so badly to kill her but I couldn’t. So I thought I wanted so badly to ruin her and make her feel so good she submits to me. But she pretended I didn’t exist.

I jumped down from my throne to be closer to her.

“What’s your name?”

Without looking up from her book, she said just her first name.

“Akahime.”

“Oh? So you’re one of the heavenly twins. The red princess.”

“Mhm.”

Her one word replies irritated me. Women have died just getting too close to me and now there was one who not only rejected me but could stop me too. My usual approach wasn’t working so I tried being more direct.

“I want to talk to you.”

She immediately responded.

“I told you I’m not interested.”

“Please.”

She closed her book with both hands and put it down. I felt pitiful almost begging her just to speak with her.

“You’re annoying.”

I winced at her comment.

“What if we talked over dinner?”

“We wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without you being noticed. Plus, you might just try to kill everyone.”

“Then I’ll have one of my servants bring us something. You didn’t bring food, right? You’ll get hungry eventually.”

She put her index finger on her chin and looked up. She had a cute thinking face. If I could hear her thoughts, she probably cursed in her head that she forgot to bring something to eat.

“Okay, fine. I want an omakase from the most expensive sushi restaurant in Japan. I also want a bottle of sake. It better be warm too.”

This little brat. She’s a foot shorter than me but she treats me as if I’m the small one. I sighed in exasperation and I snapped my fingers for a servant to quickly appear. Akahime wondered where they came from.

“You heard her. Fetch. Quickly.”

They scurried out of the lair. I went to take a seat beside her. She looked uncomfortable and moved farther from me once I sat down. I sighed.

“I won’t bite. I just want to talk.”

She turned to me and smiled.

“Let’s talk over dinner!”

Ugh. She’s really cute, even when she’s nicely rejecting me. I was losing my composure. I was so frustrated that she wasn’t giving a single thing. I wanted to get on top of her and show her just why women come to me. But she might just leave altogether.

“Okay, looking forward to it then.”

I made my way back to my throne. I leaned my elbow against the armrest and held my head up with my hand. I wondered, what could I say to make her trust me? It felt like an eternity had passed once the food arrived. The servant laid all of the sushi out. Akahime and I sat on the floor. I poured her some sake and she took the small cup with a smile.

“Thank you, Sukuna!”

She could look so sweet. I was taken aback from it, considering how cocky she had been the entire time. She must really love this restaurant.

“Itadakimasu!”

We clapped our hands and she immediately went for a piece of salmon.

“I love this place! Oh, you ordered the omakase too? Wow, so you have money?”

Her personality completely changed.

“I’ve eaten at this place a couple of times. I like their omakase too. And yes, I have money.”

Maybe gifts were the way to go. I quickly wrote down some items for my servant to get.

She picked up a piece of toro and presented it to me with her other hand.

“This is my favorite.”

She plopped it into her mouth and she closed her eyes and smiled.

“Mmm!”

The way to her heart is through her stomach, I guess. We continued our dinner and I kept refilling her cup. She drank happily, finishing it quickly each time. Blush started to form across her cheeks and nose. We had just finished eating too.

She sighed.

“Ah. I feel like I ate too much.”

Her words slurred a bit and she put her head down on the table.

“I’m going to fall asleep right here.”

I helped her keep her head up.

“No, don’t do that. I got you something.”

My servant entered and set down a futon for her.

“I got you a futon to sleep on. It’s stuffed with goose feathers.”

She looked at me and then the futon with amazement.

“Wow! I have to lay on it right now!”

She finished the rest of the sake in the bottle and crawled over to the futon. I had the perfect view of her ass and I could see the outline of her panties. A chill went through me.

She laid out on the futon and cuddled the pillow, which was stuffed with goose feathers as well.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s really comfortable.”

Her smile was so charming and the way she looked up at me with sparkles in her eyes made me want to have her right at this moment.

“I got you something else.”

My servant handed her a white and flowy off-the-shoulder nightgown. She sat up and took it from the servant, who left quickly.

“I’m going to wear it now. Close your eyes.”

I covered my eyes but couldn’t help but peep through the cracks. She had stripped down to her panties and I could see her perky breasts and perfect ass. She clumsily slipped on the dress.

“Okay. I’m done changing.”

I uncovered my eyes and saw her unobstructed in the dress. She looked so dainty and was being so sweet. Was this the same girl I fought with? The same girl that I lost to? I examined her, thinking that she looked so innocent. I hungered for her. The off-the-shoulder part made her look even more enticing. I have good taste.

“It looks good on you.”

“Did you pick this out? I like it.”

“I did.”

We made eye contact for a few seconds and then she abruptly turned her back to me. She sat back down on the futon, swaying a bit from side to side. I thought for a second. Could this be my chance to close in? I didn’t want to respond. I might anger her and she’d tell me to leave her alone. I took a seat close to her instead.

“Did you enjoy the dinner?”

She was all smiles, not a hint of maliciousness or cockiness she had shown me before. My heart ached a little because of it.

“It was delicious and the sake is great! I feel good right now. Thank you, Sukuna.”

She said my name again and a chill ran down my spine. I wanted to make some contact with her. Just my index finger to her face or putting my hand over hers. I fucking hated this. I was doing so much to make her comfortable just so she wouldn’t push me away. Never in my life have I ever had to work for a woman’s affection. It pissed me off to no end. Why couldn’t I just have her already? The dress on her was making me lose my shit. The soft outline of her breasts in it. I didn’t want to take my eyes off of her. I just wanted to devour her.

She gave me a look of disapproval and then put her hands in my face to obstruct my view.

“Stop staring at me like that! I’m not a meal.”

Her hands were so small. I wanted to hold them in mine but instead, I grabbed her wrist. She had a surprised look which slowly sank to annoyance.

“Did you want something?”

Since she didn’t try to break free from my grasp, I kept holding her wrist up. I thought of the right words to say. What could I even say?

“I want you.”

She gently took back her wrist.

“I can’t help you.”

I brushed the hair in her face behind her ear.

“Why?”

A look of innocence took over her facial expression and the blush from the alcohol reddened even more from the blush of her reservations.

“I'm no stranger to foreplay but I want my first time to be with someone who’s also never fucked before.”

The way the crude word escaped her lips while she looked like an angel turned something on in me. I started to get erect and I wanted to let myself lose control. I don’t care what she does to me. I just want to touch her once.

“I have a lot of experience. I’ll figure out how to please you quickly.”

Her look had a hint of sadness.

“I won’t compromise on this.”

God damn it. Why did I have to be such a whore? I can’t even remember anyone I’ve had sex with.

“Can I just touch you then?”

I braced myself for rejection. Her head tilted to the side. I wonder if she was actually thinking about it.

“Sure.”

I was shocked. I wanted to jump her right then and there but I had to control myself. I was being given a little and I was more than happy to take what I could get. She let me choose what position I would touch her in. I had her lay back on my arm and I cradled her like a baby. My hand just touching her soft skin and shoulders made me want to shudder but I needed to keep my cool in front of her. I raised my hand slowly to caress her face. We made eye contact and her glossy stare at me made me want to see what other faces she could make.

Holding her face in my hand, I tilted it and leaned in to kiss her. She didn’t protest. It looked like she was going to keep her eyes open during it, so I kept mine open as well. Our lips met and it felt like the air was knocked out of me. Her lips were so soft and I tasted a bit of her. She’s so sweet. I looked up to ask her.

“How was that?”

“That was nice.”

I kissed her again, taking the pace slow. I put my hand on her back and gradually moved it down. I stopped at her ass to grab it lightly and I think I felt my cock twitch just now. As we shared another kiss, this time I lightly put my tongue in her mouth and brushed against hers. She stayed still at first but then she kissed me back, just the way her tongue moved said to me that she knows what she’s doing. My thoughts corrupted as I thought about my cock in her mouth. I imagined her tongue twirling around my head. I began to drool. Some of it spilled down her chin.

She pushed me up. I gasped a bit being separated from her lips.

“Ugh. You’re getting your drool everywhere.”

“Sorry.”

I wiped it off of my chin and hers. I then leaned back down to press my lips against hers again. I couldn’t get enough of her. She tasted so sweet. I grabbed and squeezed one of her breasts and then I pinched her nipple and rubbed it between my index finger and thumb. She gasped. She was so responsive to my touch. I moved my hand under her dress to play with her exposed nipple and she let out a soft moan. I stopped kissing her to see the look on her face. Her eyes stared back at me with a lusty gaze. I needed more of her right now.

I sat her in front of me with her legs draping over mine. My hand found its way between her thighs. It was so warm and when I rubbed her pussy through her underwear, I felt the wet fabric. I shivered. I kept thinking that I needed to be inside her right now. I swiftly slipped her panties off and lightly teased her opening, coating my fingers in her arousal. She was so wet and it was driving me fucking crazy. I moved up to her clit and began to rub it slowly. Her eyes widened and she let out a sultry moan. Fuck. That’s sexy.

I quickened the pace, making sure to rub every little spot on her clit. Her moans were more frequent and her breathing was heavier. It became hard for her to focus. I pressed the issue by leaning into her and kissing the nape of her neck. She was so warm and aroused. I loved seeing how submissive she became once I started pleasing her. She had little to no protests.

I moved my middle finger down to slowly slide inside of her. She yelped softly and it took everything I had not to take her right now. I wanted to bury my cock deep inside of her but you know she would never let you. I was a bit eager so I put my ring finger into her as well. Her walls were warm and soft and she was already so tight on my fingers. I was about to beg her for her pussy right now. Instead, I started fingering her at a leisurely pace. She clenched around my fingers and I felt her moan down my spine. I whispered in her ear.

“How does that feel?”

I faced her. She looked like she was in a daze. She was struggling to speak. I smirked. I had her exactly where I wanted her.

“What happened, brat? Nothing to say now?”

She tilted her head to look at me with scrutiny and I knew it wasn’t time for that yet.

“I didn’t mean that.”

We continued on and I used my other hand to rub her clit. Her moans were so loud and they provoked me. I pressed in different areas of her pussy looking for the perfect spot. Each time I had touched a new place, she moaned even louder. She was so sensitive and it excited me to no end.

We were face-to-face.

“Look at me.”

She tried to focus but she was too lost in the pleasure I was giving her.

I took my fingers out of her to snap them. We then made eye contact.

“Look. At. Me.”

She nodded and I put my fingers back in her. I was just about there. I pressed on that spot, what do they call it nowadays? I don’t know. Well, it’s the spot that evokes orgasms. I pinned the spot and her eyes widened.

“Sukuna…”

“What is it, princess?”

She gasped and she whined out.

“You’re so good.”

My heart stopped for a moment from her sweet comment. Fuck. What is she fucking doing to me?

I fingered the spot harder and rubbed her clit faster. The way her pussy sucked on my fingers alerted me that she was close. I had to see the look on her face once she cums. Then I would have won one of our little battles. I varied my movement to keep her engaged. I would switch from rubbing her clit up and down to rubbing it in circles. Then I would alternate from softly fingering that sensitive spot to playing with it roughly. The air was drowned in her moans and it was so satisfying to finally get her in my hands. This was the grand finale for her.

We made intense eye contact with each other. She was in ecstasy but she also looked a bit scared. She knew what was about to happen too. I wanted to establish a little bit of dominance right here.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“Huh?”

She didn’t hear me, she was too lost in the feeling.

“Say you’re sorry for being a brat.”

Her head perked up and she was a little confused. She looked a bit nervous and she seemed choked up. I touched her slowly and I gently smiled at her. She was struggling to speak.

“Or do you want me to stop?”

With a worried look on her face, she shook her head.

“Then say it.”

I gave her a cold and stern stare, and tears began to form in her eyes. I picked up the pace in my rhythm again, rubbing her clit agonizingly and fingering her pussy. I wanted to let her know this was just a preview of what I could do to her. I held her right there. I’d push her over the edge as soon as she says it.

“I’m… I’m…”

She stuttered but she was about to spit it out right now. Half a second before her orgasm hits, she bursts into tears and cried out loudly.

“I’M SORRY!”

She wails as her orgasm consumes her. I pulled her close to me and embraced her while she came. It started in her pussy and traveled in waves to the tips of her fingers and toes. She was shaking. She tried to catch her breath and I felt so fucking satisfied. I held her while she cried and whimpered. It must have been overwhelming for her.

I took a hold of her chin and tilted her head to give her a kiss on the lips.

“How was that? Has anyone ever touched you like that?”

She looked down, shy and embarrassed.

“Not like that...”

I gave her another kiss. Her eyes were still teary and I wiped the moisture from her cheeks. I wanted to take it further so badly but she looked exhausted.

“Are you going to bed now?”

I hoped she wouldn’t but she laid out on the futon.

“I think so.”

She yawned and squeezed one of the pillows tightly in her arms. I pet her head once then got up.

“Good night then.”

I walked away wondering if I should contact one of my concubines. I was dying for Aka’s touch but I wouldn’t get it and I desperately needed release. If she found out though, I might ruin the little bit she was giving me. Do I really have to jerk off tonight? Me? The King of Curses?

“Sukuna.”

She sat upright and her head was perked up, watching me leave. I turned to her in surprise.

“Yes?”

She wanted to say something but she was struggling. She looked a bit frustrated but then she shook her head.

“Good night.”

Drive a fucking stake through my heart why don’t you? I walked to my bedroom and laid out on my futon. My erection was poking through my kimono, trying to free itself. I rubbed my erection through my underwear and kimono and I thought of how soft her lips were. I let the garment drop to the floor and slipped my underwear off. I grabbed my cock and groaned, stroking it up and down. I closed my eyes and imagined her crawling over to me in her dainty dress. How she would look up at me with her hungry eyes. The face she would make as she slowly sits on my cock for the first time.

I stroked myself faster, focusing on the head for a bit and then going down the entire shaft. My breathing was heavier and I got closer and closer. I started to think that maybe I should have asked her for a hand or blow job. I knew releasing myself would leave me nowhere near being satisfied. I felt pathetic. I felt like I was stooping so low for some brat but just picturing her smiling at me steeled my resolve. In my thoughts, she asks me to cum inside of her. I think of coating her insides with it, her virgin pussy being filled up for the first time. I groan loudly and blow my load all over my thighs. I then picture her thanking me for fucking her and I breathe deeply, trying to catch my breath. My cock was still upright and unrelenting, aching for more. I knew this wouldn’t be enough. I sighed and went to clean myself up.

MIGRATING TO A NEW BLOG @baji-san

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bimswritings · 3 years

Text

Savage Opress x Reader

Request: Open

Warnings:Yandere Themes, canon-typical violence

Summary: On their conquest of the universe, Savage finds himself drawn to one of the newest captives in their spread of power.

A/n: The next chapter of ‘This is our way’ is up on my Ao3. It will be posted here after I finish and upload my current Armorer x reader fic.

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Your planet wasn’t anything special. Located out in the outer rim, it was little more than a moon compared to its neighbors. Its land was barren and cold, an almost ever present frost covering the ground.

Yet you and your people had made it your home, learning how to grow a small amount of crops and mine the rare metals underneath. A job you had yourself, providing enough money for you and your younger brother to live on until he was old enough to work as well. What was produced was enough to give your people an economy, yet remain under the radar and out of the war that ravaged the rest of the planet. The Republic and Separatist had limited interactions this far out at best, and you were able to enjoy a peaceful life, if not a bit exhausting.

Unfortunately, it was this isolation that had been your saving grace for so long that also proved your downfall.

Their ships arrived in numbers you had never seen before, landing on the grey dirt and unloading copious amounts of armored men and women. Your village didn’t even have time to put up a fight, overpower and subdued before you could even think of a weapon to protect yourself.

Soon you were corralled into the town center, separated into groups seemingly at random. Families were torn apart, mother from child and husband from wife. The entire time your brother clung to your leg, hiding as the armed guards shoved you along through the crowds. You tried to stay out of sight the best you could in an attempt to draw the least amount of attention to yourself, hoping, praying, that you could go unnoticed enough to keep him with you.

Above it all, standing out against the dull sky with their vibrant colors, were two Zabraks. Creatures you had only ever heard about in stories from the occasional trader that passed through, and had been just that, stories, until now. Their horns alone were enough to send shivers down your spine, each one protruding from the crown of theirs heads like a twisted version of a crown. Unlike a crown, you knew they weren’t for decoration. The damage they could undoubtedly do if provoked only solidified their threatening presence.

Now they stood above you all, tattoos illuminated in the light of the setting sun. The shorter red one stood in front, chin raised and chest puffed with pride as he looked over your people with another armored man, this one clearly human. He seemed to not even notice the cold, bare chest on full display for anyone to see the unique markings that marred his skin. Just beyond him stood the second Zabrak. His yellow markings stood out even more than his companions, only emphasized by his large size. None of the others even came close to his height, let alone the bulk you could tell he possessed under his armor. Even from here you could tell he could wrap a single hand around your neck and snap it easily with his strong fingers.

His gaze was just as impassionate, if not more so, seeming more bored than anything as he watched the proceedings.

“Come on! Move it!” One of the guards yelled, catching your shoulder as he pushed you forward, reminding you bitterly of Telik being led to slaughter. You kept Jay close, keeping your head down as you passed more guards, pace increasing. Just a few more yards and you would be with the others. Whatever the future had in store for you, at least you would still have each other.

“Hey, you!” A voice called, clearly directed your way, though you pretended not to hear. A cold sweat broke out across your skin as footsteps closed in, hand reaching out and stopping you in your tracks.

“Children don’t go in this area.” He growled, prying Jay from where he hid, ignoring his cries and your screams as he was pulled away. A guard stepped forward to hold you back, another coming to his aide as you fought to get to your brother, who was making it just as difficult for his own captor to drag him away. Even with the muscle gained from the mines you struggled against them, putting up your own desperate fight.

“Stop moving you little- fuck!” He yelped, pulling his arm away and out of Jay’s mouth, which had latched on to the only unarmored part of the hand holding him.

Immediately he turned and was running back towards you, tears streaming down his face and blue eyes wide with fear. In his panic to get back, his childish coordination caught up to him and his feet caught on one another, throwing him to the ground as he was left to scramble. All the while the guard he had bitten approached.

“You little brat!” He snarled. His hand moved to his hip, producing a whip from its depths. The long weapon crackled to life, sparking with energy as it extended to full length.

Your own stomach dropped in fear as you watched.

Jay, the one light in your life, the only person you had left, was in danger. You were his older sister. You were supposed to protect him, guide him into adulthood in place of your parents. Be there to kiss away every injury, wipe away the tears after every nightmare.

A new burst of energy flooded your system, giving you the strength needed to push past the guards, leaving them stumbling as you flew towards Jay.

The man brought his arm down, whip swinging in a wide arc aimed at the defenseless boy on the ground.

It didn’t even have the chance to hit him. You slid the last few feet on the rough terrain, body covering his at the last second and jolting as the electric weapon met your clothed back, ripping through the material like a stone through water. A pained scream tore itself from your lips. Not even when you had gotten a burn from a small explosion in the mines had it hurt this much. In fact, you would take a dozen burns before this. This was just pure agony, the pain not even limited to a single area as the electricity coursed through every part of your body, invading every nerve.

The man was far from done though, and he repeated the action again and again, turning your skin into a bloody mess as Jay continued to cry underneath you, struggling in your protective grip. Still you held tightly, biting your lip to muffle your cries with every lash.

No one lifts a finger to help, not even looking in your direction in fear of the same treatment as they continue to shuffle along. You don’t even have it in your heart to blame them, knowing your reaction would be much the same if the situation was reversed.

Unbeknownst to you, your little altercation has caught the eye of the golden Zabrak, a small twinge in his heart at the deja-vu feeling he gets from the scene. From your age, he can only assume that the boy is your brother. You look too young for him to be your son.

He has flashbacks to his own brother, giving himself to the cursed Nightsisters in exchange for his life, only to be forced to kill him in a cruel show of power.

Before he realizes it, his hand has fallen to his lightsaber, already taking a step to where you are. He only gets a step before Maul calls to him, pulling him away to the ships and leaving him to look back over his shoulder at you crumpled form.

“Come. We must set up camp. The prisoners will be dealt with later.” Maul chuckles. “Those that survive anyways.”

And so he follows, leaving your fate to the Mandalorian who has yet to relent in his cruelty. But out of sight doesn’t mean out of mind, and the memory of your form curled on the ground, taking every lash with little more than a jolt and muffled cry, sticks in the front of his mind and prevents him from having a single moment of rest.

It's hours before he’s able to slip away. Between his brother and Death Watch, it’s nearly impossible for him to make his way to where the captives are being held. They’re all gathered in one of the far corners of the camp, held in place by the ropes around the wrist and looking miserable as they huddle for warmth against the lightly falling snow. He feels no guilt for what their eventual fate will be. They’re nothing to him, mere insects in his brothers plans. Animals to the slaughter. All for the greater good.

The fear he can feel radiating off them feeds a twisted sense of pride within him. The Sith side of him. They know who he is. They know he could easily kill them with no consequence should he choose.

He’s not here for them though.

A dozen yards away, your body is still laying in the same spot as before, more lifeless than when he last saw you. This time there’s no Mandalorian enforcer above you. Instead, he’s replaced with the small boy from earlier. What remains of your shirt is peeled back from the skin and even Savage, who’s used to many grisly sights, grimaces at your wound. The skin that isn’t lacerated is red and swollen, and he now notices that the young boy has shed his own shirt, using ripped strips to clean the blood away and form a crude version of bandages. He’s busy fumbling over himself, fingers clumsy and stiff from the cold as he does his best to care for the wound with no medical supplies.

So focused on your wounds, he doesn’t even hear the large Zabrak approaching, not until it’s far too late. To his credit, and Savage’s amusement, the boy refuses to leave you, placing his body in front of yours. His bare chest is rapidly moving up and down with fear, thin body on full display. Not an ounce of muscle on him, Savage muses, moving closer to your body. If he doesn’t get you proper medical attention soon the wounds will undoubtedly become infected and kill you, if the blood loss hasn’t already damned your fate.

When he goes to pick up your limp body however, he’s stopped by your brother. Well, stopped is being rather generous. It’s more like he’s latched himself onto Savage’s waist, small fist beating at him with the strength one would expect of a child. He might not have even known he was hitting him if he wasn’t watching it happen.

It’s times like this that he’s most grateful for his cursed strength, easily detaching the boy from him and holding him by the back of his neck, tucking him under one arm as the other reaches for you. It's almost concerning how cold your body is against his own skin, and he’s more careful as he lifts you over his shoulder. His brother would surely find it laughable if he saw how gentle he was being with you.

Without hesitance, he turns back to the main camp, ignoring the looks the others cast his way as he carries your unconscious and broken body over his shoulder, your brother still fighting under his other.

Let them gossip. There’s none that will stand against him.

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The first thing you’re aware of is warmth. Surrounding and enveloping your form, begging you to stay as it threatens to drag you back into the land of dreams. That in itself is enough to alarm you. The heating was always turned off at night to save energy, replaced in favor of thick blankets made from the local TekTek wool.

That’s your second red flag. TekTek wool is warm, yet coarse and scratchy. The fabric currently piled on top of and under you is significantly softer, having a slight musk to it.

Finally managing to drag your eyes open, the sight that greets you is not one you were expecting.

Dark fabric makes up the majority of the tent you find yourself in. It’s clearly worn, yet does a surprising job of keeping the wind outside from entering, slight ripples waving across the fabric yet never entering. A fire sits in the very center, smoke curling up and through a hole in the ceiling. It’s glow provides the only source of light in the space, illuminating the few objects scattered around, including the cot you currently find yourself residing on. Buried under layers of blankets, your hands travel to the bandages wrapped around your chest, the only thing covering your upper body and providing little warmth in comparison to the blankets you were previously under.

How did you get here? Where was Jay? The last thing you remember was the invaders arriving, then nothing. So the question was, how had you gotten from there to here? Alone in an unfamiliar tent.

Your questions are soon answered, a shuffling from the front of the tent drawing your attention. From between the flaps emerges a large figure, his horns nearly catching the fabric as he enters.

You both freeze, eyes locking on one another, equally surprised. There’s a moment of pause, each of you trying to determine your next move. It’s only broken when he takes a step forward, cautiously, but still sending you into a panic. Ignoring the nearly debilitating pain coming from your back, you scramble to the edge of the cot, pressing your back against the fabric and you can feel it straining against your weight. Trying your best to look intimidating, you send a glare his way.

“Where’s my brother?”

He says nothing for a moment, and you almost repeat yourself, cut off as he begins approaching. He’s there before you know it, long legs easily eating the space as his arms reach for you, forcably turning you around despite your resistance. He lets out a grumble as he inspects your back, scoffing about how you’ve ‘reopened them’.

The next thing you know, his hands are worming their way under the wrappings, loosening them as he goes to remove them.

The panic you had felt before was nothing compared to now, knowing where this scenario was going all to well. The stories of what you had heard from other village girls filling your mind, darkening your thoughts as you could only imagine what this monster was about to do to you.

“No! Stop!” You sobbed, knowing full well that there was nothing you could actually do against his strength. The bandages become looser, only held up by your hand as you wildly swing out with the other. All the while you try to distance yourself from him.

“Please!”

To your surprise, he pauses. His first sign of even showing he heard you since entering. His gaze never leaves you, and you can see the debate going on within his eyes. About what, your guess was as good as any. All that you cared was that he had stopped for the moment, allowing you to cover yourself with one of the many blankets in an attempt to preserve any decency you had left.

Growling, her turns and storms out the way he came, a wisp of freezing wind invading the tent as you're given a glance at the dark night sky outside before you’re once again left on your own. Not for long though, and you think he’s returned once again when the flaps open, only to reveal a young woman in similar armor that you had seen earlier. Not the person you trusted the most right now, but you still preferred her over the large Zabrak from earlier.

She approaches slowly, setting a medkit down on the bed as she smiles your way. “I’m here to change your bandages.” She extends a hand your way, which you only look at, neglecting to come out of your little corner.

“Please. You’ve opened your wounds again. If you don’t come out now, I’ll just wait for you to pass out and change them then.” she sounds a bit exhausted, and it takes a few more minutes of coaxing before you allow her access to your back, keeping your back towards her as she slowly unwraps the bindings. She deposits them into the fire, leaving you to watch them burn to ash as she retrieves a small container from the medkit.

Inside is a blue gel, surprisingly warm as it touches your skin and leaves a pleasant numbness. You can almost feel her gaze burning into your skin as she applies the gel, eyes skittering across old scars, fingers even tracing them when visible underneath the new wounds. Seeming to sense your unease, she rushes through the rest, quickly wrapping new bindings around your torso, apologizing with every small grunt of pain you let out.

Far too quick for your liking she’s done, packing up her things as she prepares to head out. If she’s leaving, then that means there’s more of a chance that he’ll come back. In fact, you have no doubt that she’ll go and tell him once she’s out of here.

Snapping the case closed, she turns back to you and hesitates for a moment.

“I don’t know what you did to gain Savage’s attention, but believe me,” her green eyes lock onto yours, holding a sense of severity that chills you to the bone.

“, he’s your best chance of surviving.”

With that you’re alone once again, left to your own thoughts and the crackling of the fire, which has gone down a significant amount since you first woke.

What did she mean by that? Gained his attention? And he was one of the ones who lead the attack on your home. Why would he be your saving grace? If anything, he would be the most likely to kill you.

Once again the flap opens, and you almost want to groan about the number of people going in and out, letting the heat out of the tent.

It’s the Zabarak. Savage, you remember the woman from before calling him. This time he has some additions. A cloak draped over one arm and a plate in hand. He moves slower than before, almost cautiously approaching you as he sets the items on the far end of the bed.

“Eat.” His voice is a deep baritone, rich yet monotone as he speaks, nodding towards the plate before moving towards the fire. Your eyes never leave his form as he tosses more wood onto the flame, moving them about without a fear of burning himself. Despite the fear still gripping your nerves, the food is tempting and only now do you realize how empty your stomach is, almost turning in on itself as it lets out a low rumble.

You grab the plate cautiously, picking at its contents as the man continues to poke at the fire. When you do finish, you find yourself wishing you had taken more time with it, no longer having the small distraction from your current situation. Despite the desire to throw on the warm looking cloak, you don’t. While he had directed you to eat, he had said nothing about the cloak. The last thing you wanted to do was make him angry, especially after he had shown how easily he could manhandle you earlier.

“You’re going to travel with me from now on.” He spoke, his back still towards you, yet it still carried loudly through the air, leaving no room for you to mistake his words. “If you have any objections, your fate will be the same as the rest of your village.”

You have no idea why he’s saying this, not when he could just direct you without any information. There’s only one thing on your mind though, present from the very beginning and still burning on your tongue.

“Where’s my brother.” You ask once again, praying to the maker you’ll get an answer this time. “What about him?”

His shoulders tense for a moment. The first emotion he’s shown besides anger.

“He will be allowed to come along given that he trains as a Mandalorian warrior. This is the best option for him.”

You let out a sigh of relief. While being forced to train with the ones who captured him wasn’t an ideal situation, you could only be thankful that he wasn’t fated for something more unfortunate. The only thing that worried you was his size. He was never much of a fighter, too kind to want to cause others pain. You would need to be there for him.

“I...I can still see him.”

“Yes.”

You bit your lip, trying to decide if you should ask another question. He already seemed to be wearing thin with his patience, but you had to know. You would never get a moment's rest until you knew.

“Why am I here.”

He doesn’t answer right away, throwing a few more logs onto the fire before turning to face you. His face was nothing but shadows, eyes standing out in startling contrast. His footsteps were slow and heavy as he made his way over to your form, unable to back away any further as you already find yourself in a corner. He grabs the cloak as he passes, the article almost ridiculously small in his hands.

As soon as he’s close enough, he lifts his arms and you flinch, expecting him to strike you out of annoyance and anger. It never comes though. The only feeling was that of heavy fabric settling on your shoulders, only there a moment before it’s clasped and you feel yourself being pulled forward.

Savage’s hands are wound tightly into the fabric, forcing your face to nearly touch his. This close you can see every detail of the markings splashed across his skin, the black only making his amber eyes burn even brighter, nearly suffocating with the intensity with which they stare. Almost like molten gold themselves.

His breath fans across your skin, lips nearly brushing yours as his forehead grazes your own, making you whimper as his horns roughly scrap the skin.

“You’re mine now. You will never leave my side, there at my every beck and call no matter what I may need. If you even think about trying to leave or betray me,” he pushed further, forcing you to lean back onto the bed. His weight pushed down enough to keep you in place without being crushing, one hand releasing the fabric of the collar to travel up your face. It brushes the hair away, catching the tear you hadn’t even realized had escaped.

“I’ll force you to watch as I kill your brother in the most painful way imaginable.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans forward, baritone voice speaking lowly in your ear as his lips tickle the skin.

“You’ll wish, beg, that I had killed you as well instead of what will happen to you after.”

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #savage opress x reader #savage opress #x reader #tcw #fanfiction #darth maul #tcw x reader #star wars the clone wars

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fumingspice · 3 years

Text

kiss me hard before you go

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Reader

Angst because someone (not naming any names) *cough* @lilypadscoven is too happy to write angst. Such a strange excuse, i know. Like whose even happy anymore? That’s so 2014, Freya.

Warning: Angsty as shit! I think. Idk im usually a happy person. Mentions of cheating, mentions of smut etc.

Requests are open!

taglist: @sarahp-stan @jumpoffabridge-t @sarahpaulsonsoftie @definitelynot-a-writer @bottom4delia @delias-bitch-craft @creepingwolfberry @thesapphictimelady @goodeday2u @that-fucking-error @saucy-sapphic @sarahp-stan @winters-witch-bitch @rainbow-hedgehog @pearplate

You frowned to yourself, flicking through the endless posts on Instagram. It was some godforsaken hour in the morning and no matter how hard you tried or how deeply you tried to ease your restless mind you could not fall asleep. You scrolled on social media endlessly.

God, what time could it even be? 04.27.

You gave a defeated chuckle. Even time was in on the universe’s cruel joke. She exited Instagram and went to messages. You couldn’t count the number of unsent messages and thrown out speeches you had started and couldn’t bring yourself to finish.

Billie Dean Howard.

The contact had found itself hidden deep in the archives of old messages. You hadn’t contacted her since December when you had walked away.

Walking away was better that being the one left behind, or so you had tried so hard to tell yourself. In hindsight, the truth was that Billie Dean was going to end up leaving you anyway. Was it courage of conviction or just the simple knowledge that you couldn’t live knowing that the only person you had ever opened your heart to was going to leave you?

What was the last thing she said anyway?

Goodnight :(.

Always with those stupid text faces. Those stupid, adorable text faces. How did she have such a powerful effect on you that you could see Billie’s face in a colon and a bracket? Why hadn’t you blocked her yet? What was left to hold onto other than movie-like memories that had slipped away like the changing of seasons.

You slipped from beneath the covers, Your hair tickled Your shoulders. There was no one beside you for you to reach for in your infinite loneliness anyway. It wasn’t infinite. Why did it feel infinite? Why did you allow one person to waltz into your heart and make you home there? You reached for an unopened bottle of wine and paused. Billie had left this bottle there. You never drank unless it was around Billie.

“Dom Perignon,” Billie told you. You were never interested in the details of fine wine. All you knew was that the older it was the more people liked it.

“Isn’t that expensive?” The brunette asked, reading the label.

Billie nodded with a throaty chuckle. “Only the best for my girl. I thought I would save it for a special occasion.”

A special occasion. You chuckled in spite. The occasion in question was supposed Billie’s birthday. A party with many guests. One too many. The house was brimming with sets of both of your friends. You could recall reaching for the same wine all too well before being stopped by your friend’s girlfriend. Erin took you by the wrist and guided you out to the garden.

“No one’s out here,” you protested. Erin’s face was almost forlorn.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Sorry for what? You snapped out of your confusion. You could see the side of Billie’s body. Pressed against the wall beneath someone else. The anxiety had somehow eased when you watched Billie kiss another, fading into nothing because you knew that there was quite literally nothing that could get even worse than what you were watching.

You pursed her lips. When you imagined these moments, you had always imagined screaming bloody murder. You imagined punching and yelling. You couldn’t move. No tears. Hell, you couldn’t even feel. Erin grabbed your arm and trailed you back, but not before the sight of you, heartbroken in a red dress. had registered in Billie. She barely had time to pull away from her kiss and have the shock of what she was actually doing register.

It was always a red dress. Red dresses end up in heartbreak. A goddamn blaze in the dark.

Now, you found yourself standing at the window that looked out into the garden. Looking at the spot where you had seen her lover betray every bit of trust that you had. What would have happened if you didn’t see? What if you had seen but Billie didn’t? Would you have said anything? Would Billie have said anything?

It doesn’t matter anyway.

Billie was wine. Aromatic, warm in her stomach. She was a magnificent swirl. She was the impossible to hide stain on your favourite white dress.

Every inch of this house had Billie in its essence. She was inescapable.

It got even worse when a buzzing noise brought your attention to your phone. “Who the fuck could that be?” you asked yourself. Your heart dropped at the contact.

Billie Dean Howard is calling...

Your world collapsed for a moment as you stared at the phone buzz. Your head told you not to answer, your heart launched for it like a desert oasis. You let it ring a moment too long. You barely managed to blurt out a cracked, “Hello?” when Billie hung up. Presumably giving up.

You bit your lip. Your thumb hovered over the redial button as you fought with yourself. Maybe she’ll call again. That’s a huge maybe. Your finger jolted down unintentionally. Billie picked up on the third ring.

“Y/N?” Her breath hitched. “Y/N, can you hear me?”

You swallowed hard. “I’m here,” you stated flatly, “I can hear you.”

“I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“Honestly,” you replied. You felt no need for warmth. “I don’t think I meant to.”

“Oh. Uhm, how- how are you?”

“What do you want, Billie? It’s five in the morning,” You cut off. You could hear Billie’s breath falter a little.

“To be honest, I just wanted to see if you would pick up.”

You shook your head, cursing how well you knew the medium. “Don’t lie to me, Howard.”

Billie chuckled. “How can you tell?”

“You were the medium, but I was the human lie detector.”

“You’re a lawyer with an Irish mother and Scilian father. It would be more shocking if you weren’t one.”

You smiled, before catching yourself in an eyeroll. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m in town. I wanted to see you.”

“It’s five in the fucking morning.”

“You’re telling me that I actually woke you up? You were sleeping when I called?”

You bit your lip. “Yes.”

Billie chuckled again. Like it was a fucking game to her. “Well, now who’s lying?”

“What do you want, Billie?” You scoffed.

“I already told you. I want to see you.”

The audacity of the last sentence. The fact that you knew Billie Dean would come whether or not she was invited boiled your blood.

“Why.” It was more of a flat remark than a genuine question. Why. Why now.

Billie was silent for a moment. “I just want to see your face.”

Your groaned internally, another eyeroll coming into play. You scoffed. “You know the address. Find your own way over.”

And she did. The door knocked almost immediately.

You opened the door so quickly that it creaked aggressively.

“You have some fucking nerve. You know that right?” You snapped. The medium’s eyes widened in shock.

“Nice to see you too.”

You stepped aside and ushered her in, cold from the whipping air. Refreshing if you weren’t standing in shorts and a cardigan.

Billie turned around to face her. Tension grew, like insulation keeping everything in. You could choke on all the words you never said.

“You look beautiful.”

“Je vais te tuer avec mes mains nues et dormir comme un bébé après.”

“I’m flattered.”

You groaned and walked away from her and into the kitchen. You didn’t know if you would slap her, kill her, or kiss her. You were just as prepared to strangle her as you were to fuck her hard on the kitchen floor then and there, kissing every single freckle and mole on her skin. “You have three minutes,” You muttered, pouring yourself a cup of coffee to stop yourself from looking in Billie’s direction. Your heart raced at a thousand miles a second.

“I just dropped in to say hi.”

“Hi.”

You were unamused. “Is that it? Are you going get out of my life again?”

Billie frowned. “Am I? Y/N, you left me.”

“Because you fucking cheated on me, Billie Dean! What? Did you want me to pretend I didn’t see it? Pretend nothing happened? Do you want me to pretend that you didn’t rebuild my ability to trust people just so you could knock it down yourself?” You shouted. The words were coming out thick and fast now apparently.

“I was so drunk, Y/N,” Billie whimpered, her eyebrows furrowed. She was in genuine pain, you could see the guilt right in her brown eyes.

And you couldn’t give a shit.

“I’ve heard this a hundred times.”

“How many times do I have to say sorry for this?”

You raised your mug to your lips. “You can say it until I’m dead.”

You met the medium’s gaze. Brown eyes waterlogged with tears. Billie dipped her face in her hands. “I don’t know if I can go through with this again.”

You snapped again. “Good,” you said. “Because I’m done.”

“You can’t be serious.”

The pair met, closer than you had in months.

“No matter what stupid, thoughtless, selfish, idiotic, drunken things you said or did. No matter how many times. I have never stopped loving you. I’ve never fallen out of love no matter how many times I told myself I had. I haven’t gone to sleep without imaging your goddamn mouth on my lips and hands on my body and I fucking crave to hate you for it,” you spat, venom on you tongue and tears spilled down your face. “I don’t sleep, Billie. I don’t sleep because I know your arms aren’t there to hold me when I’m still awake at four in the morning. Because I can’t reach across the bed no matter how angry I am at you and feel your hair. I fucking love you goddammit. You threw that away. Not me.”

Tears streamed down Billie’s face. “I regret what I did every. Single. Fucking. Day. I miss coming home and seeing you writing those stupid fucking reports that I know you hate writing because I know you hate your job. I miss seeing your face when you’ve won a case that has been scratching you for weeks,” she inched forward once more, her hands close to Mallorie’s face. “I miss seeing you reorganising the goddamn silverware every few weeks to keep the Fair Folk happy in the same way I miss seeing the way your mouth curls when you come.”

You scanned Billie Dean, searching despreately for a bluff, something that would give way to the fact that this was all a lie; a gimmick for a one night stand so that you could just shut her out and go back to hating her. Hating the person you love is so much easier than having your heartbroken again. You couldn’t find that bluff. Even your gut-instinct that panged you when someone lied to you wasn’t alerting anything. Billie’s words were as genuine as her tears and it was killing you to see that Billie loved you. The lawyer had hoped- prayed even- that the medium’s words had been bullshit, sweet nothings that could be whispered into the ear of any lover that had fallen into her bed. But you weren’t just a one time fling that had walked into a casual meet. You had walked into her long-term girlfriend with her tongue down another’s throat. You had stashed that little red box with a diamond engagement ring inside even further into the closet that night, and that’s what had hurt you.

A raw truth in her words soaked into you. Refreshed you. They were the words that the ocean screamed back at you when you stood on the cliffside begging for a reason to go on.

And so you gave in. Almost, at least. You stepped forward into Billie and allowed her storm to engulf you. There was no calm here. There was a raging appetite for destruction and creation. What was that lyric? A tornado has met a volcano. Her lips ravaged yours to the point of being rubbed raw, the type of sting that bothered virtually every moment of your waking day, one that went on for days. You bit down on her lips, her tongue, her chin and cheek. Whether in was in spite or the desperation to seek and find every single piece of her that you could was unclear.

Those fateful memories crept back, and you pushed hard against her chest. Billie’s lips, now red, white and swollen, pressed against yours again, retracting when there was no return.

“I’m sorry,” you lied. “I think there’s a possibility that I don’t love you.”

Billie’s eyes resembled a broken mirror, or maybe the view of a dying star. The thing about dying stars is that they died a very long time ago and you only notice years later. She nodded with a weak smile. “I understand,” she whispered, pressing her head against yours. She picked up her bag and turned to leave.

You stopped her. What on Earth were you doing? Let her leave so you can hate her in peace.

“Kiss me. Before you go,” you pleaded. “Hard.”

Billie shook her head, her face scrunched before throwing her face at you. The force drove you into the counter sending a glorious shock of pain up your back. Billie was doing what you had asked.

“Fuck you,” you pulled away and muttered, as if she had gonr too far in teasing you.

“What did I do?”

You raised your hand and slapped her face, lightly. “Fuck you for proving that I still love you.”

A rush of relief knocked Billie, visibly. She returned to your lips, much more gently this time, as if she were savouring every part of you.

“I told you to kiss me hard,” you whispered, although not necessarily opposed to Billie’s touch.

“I’ll do anything you really want,” she replied.

You paused for a moment. “Anything?”

Billie smiled. “Anything.”

You kissed her once. Soft. Tentatively. “Fuck me. On the table.”

#billie dean x reader #billie dean howard imagine #billie dean howard x reader #lana winters #billie dean howard #lana winters x reader #Cordelia Goode #cordelia goode x reader #sally mckenna #sally mckenna x reader #ally mayfair richards #ally mayfair richards x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #sarah paulson x reader #i was drunk when i wrote the last half #so maybe i'll drunk write more often

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doreamu-san · 3 years

Text

An analysis of SolKy

Hello! Thank you so much for clicking on this. A while ago, I was asked to do an essay explaining why people ship SolKy other than the whole rivals/opposites attract reason, and I got a lot of feedback stating it was useful for newcomers to the ship! As a result I’ve decided to post this on tumblr, but just on the ship’s tag as to not bother uninterested people.

A couple of disclaimers before I begin. This is firstly just my own opinion, so whilst it makes sense for me, other shippers may disagree with my points. I’m also not claiming they are canon because they are not. But I do hope it’ll give some insight into why some people like me enjoy them together.

Even once you’ve read this essay, you can still dislike SolKy. This isn’t an essay stating you have to ship them.

This will be extremely long as I basically cover every single interaction they’ve ever had with each other since I know some people sort of gloss over their dialogue, so grab yourself a drink, get comfy, and I hope you enjoy reading!

(Last edited: 09/05/2021. This will be updated again when Strive releases!)

How this all began

If we’re starting right at the beginning, it’s common knowledge that Ky and Sol weren’t exactly on great terms and often clashed most of the time due to their conflicting beliefs. Ky saw the world in terms of black and white, and had very strict rules on what constituted as right and wrong. Sol seemed to think differently and went against that, which was a stark contrast compared to the other Order members at the time.

Considering that they were in fact, in the middle of a war, you would think that generally people would be willing to put their differences aside and work together.

But Sol wasn’t like everyone else, going off and doing his own thing instead of actually listening to orders, so it’s understandable why Ky found him rather irritating.

However, Ky did grow curious of Sol. Obviously curiosity does not equate to love, but it is the basis of Ky wanting to become more friendly with and know more about Sol. There seemed to be something that Sol knew but Ky didn’t, but how was that possible..? As a result, despite how infuriating he could be, Ky sought to seek out the truth and so fought him for answers.

In regards to why exactly they fight (aside from the fact that this is a fighting game), Ishiwatari wrote something called ‘Hostility is Akin to Love’ right above a picture of them fighting:

Hostility is akin to love Thinking of your opponent’s actions to fight, Reading your opponent’s inner thoughts to fight, Planning attacks that will hit your opponent to fight, And then transmitting your thoughts with those attacks, The more you think of your own advantage, at the same time you think of your opponent, In the instant you mix with your opponent, a passionate feeling arises, and blood boils, Reality is hurt, and you wound your opponent, Hostility is akin to love. — Guilty Gear Isuka Mook

It states how fighting someone can be close to feelings of love because you have to think about what your opponent is doing, as well as how you’re going to respond to your opponent. Overtime, you start to memorise how your opponent thinks, and as a result you’ll know them on a deeper level.

So considering the above, this explains how even though they weren’t on friendly terms, they still formed a bond with one another.

Now we’ve established how exactly their relationship started, and why Ky was curious about Sol in the first place, let’s look at things from Sol’s perspective.

Sol’s attitude towards Ky

We know that Sol was also pretty annoyed by Ky, which was totally justifiable given the extreme way in which Ky thought the world worked. But Sol didn’t exactly dislike Ky.

In order to provide some evidence that Sol cares about Ky, let’s cover that infamous scene everyone likes to reference which shows Sol crying over Ky’s dead body:

Sol: "I came to pick you up." Ky: "Always coming late... you never could fix that..." Sol: "You..." Ky: "As to be expected... until the very end... I could never beat you..." Sol: "Don't say anything!" Ky: "I have... a request..." Sol: "I said shut up!" Ky: "After Commander Kliff... carry on... the Holy Order..." Sol: "Stop it... that's your job!" Ky: "Please... promise me..." Sol: "Dammit..." Ky: "If it's you... you can do..." Sol: "Hey.... what's wrong. Hey! KYYYYYY!" — Guilty Gear XX Drama CD Side Red, Battle of Rome — Deathmatch

A lot of people bring this quote up when discussing SolKy and yes, it does show Sol cares about Ky considering how Sol never really cares about anyone in general, but the fact that Ky’s death managed to make him emotional shows what an impact Ky had on him. There are however more quotes that show Sol’s feelings.

There’s this scene in the GG Xtra manga, Ky and Sol get attacked by a mountain-sized gear. In order to save them, Sol rips off his limiter and Dragon Installs. This scene is very poignant when you take into consideration what Sol said in After Story A:

Sol: "Back during the Crusades, before we met... Kliff told me this rumour about a prodigy swordsman." Sol: "If you couldn't guess, that was you. I didn't give a shit at the time..." Sol: "But then I saw you on the battlefield." Sol: "I saw someone out there who surpassed all of my expectations. Or perhaps I should say 'something.'" Sol: "No openings, no wasted movements, no carelessness, no hesitation, no embarrassment, not even any honor. No chivalry or mercy. A being unaffected by emotion." Sol: "You were a killing machine. Taking down gears with brutal efficiency." Ky: "...That was a long time ago." Sol: "I'm not done talking. I've seen the face of the 'serious' Ky." Sol: "Then one day, you challenged me." Sol: "You wanna know what I thought right then?" Ky: "..." Sol: "I was afraid. Hell, I was scared shitless." Sol: "'He figured out that I'm a Gear, and he's come to kill me.' That's what I thought." — Guilty Gear Xrd -REVELATOR-, After Story A

Sol admits that he knows just how scary Ky can be. Since Ky was extremely against Gears, if Ky found out that Sol was a Gear, then Ky would have most likely attempted to kill him. But Sol knew this and was willing to die for Ky’s sake, and transformed anyway:

Ky: "Sol..." Ky: (Really... that's really..) Ky: (That's really you!?) Ky: "SOL!" Sol: "Shut it..." Sol: "I didn't do it..." Sol: "To help you out—...." — Guilty Gear Xtra, Chapter 5: Unspeakable Thoughts

Going off on a bit of a tangent from Sol’s feelings, but I just want to point out Ky’s state of mind at this point. Ky in this time period was still very anti-Gear, as it was only through this moment and his encounters with Solaria and Dizzy later that made him change his way of thinking. It took a long time for Ky to accept Gears, and he still had the remains of that mindset in him when he had Sin, as he refused to make eye contact with him because Ky was ashamed of having a Gear child. So the fact that Ky knew Sol was a Gear, believed all Gears were evil, but still decided to accept Sol into his life and wanted to support him regardless of that, is interesting.

Back to Sol, another small quote that manages to show Sol’s feelings towards Ky is this:

Sol: (Maybe I'll finish them off while I'm at it...) Sol: (But that would mean breaking my promise to Ky...) — Guilty Gear XX Accent Core Plus R, Sol Badguy Path 2

Now, Sol doesn’t care about 99% of what other people do as long as they don’t get in his way. The fact that he intends to keep his promise with Ky suggests that he holds Ky in somewhat ‘high’ regards compared to others.

There’s also this quote that shows Sol is thinking about Ky in Overture:

The frustrations of the man wielding a giant sword were piling day by day, and a familiar face appeared in his head. What’s he up to right now? “Hmph, whatever…” With a feeling of self-contempt, Sol Badguy shook his head. What am I getting sentimental for? — Guilty Gear 2: Overture, #0 “Noise”

And when Sol encounters Raven later on after seeing Ky incapacitated, Raven points out how he can tell Sol is upset, meaning Sol’s not really doing a good job of pretending he’s still indifferent to Ky.

Raven: "You're as ruthless as ever, huh, monster?" Sol: "Look who's talking." Raven: "Can you not put down your sword and talk? I understand you're upset with Ky Kiske defeated." Sol: "I'll ask your corpse for answers." — Guilty Gear 2: Overture, #5 "Gaze of the Chronicle"

Sol’s thoughts about Ky become even clearer during his confrontation with Sin when he’s under the influence of Valentine, where Sol defends Ky’s actions and tries to make Sin understand Ky is not 100% at fault:

Sin: "Can you see it? Can you feel it? This is my real power. This is my mother's strength." Sol: "But it's light. It must be from your father." Sin: "Shut up! Don't ever mention him!" Sin: "He abandoned my mother and me using justice as an excuse!" Sin: "Who cares about the King!? Who cares about the people!? That man, and that Kingdom, not one of them can protect a damn thing!" Sol: "I don't give a damn about your family." Sol: "But you know what, Ky may be a stubborn idiot, but at least he's true to his beliefs." Sol: "A punk like you is still alive thanks to his justice." — Guilty Gear 2: Overture, #15 "Roaring Compass"

Okay, that’s the pre-Xrd era for Sol done, now to focus on Ky’s pre-Xrd’s emotions.

Ky’s attitude towards Sol

We’ve established earlier that Ky was annoyed by Sol and disliked him in the Crusades. However, afterwards it seems as if Ky saw himself as friends with Sol:

Ofc1: "All of them seem to have been destroyed by... fire?" Ofc2: "Yeah... why could that be?" Ky: "........" Ky: "Change our course!" Ky: "Head towards the Eastern United States!" Ofc1: "May I ask why, Chief Ky?" Ky: "To meet an old friend." — Guilty Gear Xtra, Chapter 4: Former Friends

We know that Ky outwardly expressed his first signs of liking Sol when Sol stole the Fuuenken and Ky chased after him, only for Sol to win in their duel, and Ky says this:

Ky: "Promise me one thing..." Sol: "..What?" Ky: "We'll meet again." Sol: "Hmph... Well, if fate brings us together..." Ky: "..That's fine." — Guilty Gear XX Accent Core Plus R, Sol Badguy Path 1

It’s pretty interesting that Ky wanted to see Sol again despite how Sol never used to listen to his orders, and how Sol never even tried to act like what the Order expected their men to act like (chivalrous, putting the people first, etc). It at least shows us that Ky saw possibly the potential of becoming friends with Sol. And Sol didn’t even say straight up ‘no’ or ‘in your dreams’ or whatever Badguy-esque notion he usually would’ve done, so we can assume he doesn’t mind seeing Ky again either.

Then they don’t speak to each other properly for 5 years until the tournament that Testament holds, though they have probably ran into each other a few times within those years.

A common misconception people have is that during those 5 years, Ky was obsessed with Sol and would constantly try to find him. Obviously, this is not true. Ky was busy with IPF stuff and Sol was hunting Gears down.

However, it’s not as if Ky completely forgot about Sol — he was just probably at the back of his mind, and Ky does admit that he has been chasing after Sol the most more than anyone else:

Ky: (Waiting outside for me when I left the ship... burning red flames. Soon, they seem to take the shape of a man... and he appears before me. Yes... it's him. The one I've been after the most... it's him.) — Guilty Gear X Drama CD, Vol. 1: Track Seven — Crater

There’s also these two other quotes:

Ky: (Sol...) Ky: (Why are you so stubborn about doing things alone?) — Guilty Gear Xtra, Chapter 5: Unspeakable Thoughts

You can interpret this in two ways: either Ky wants to help Sol out and/or he’s curious as to why Sol always does stuff alone.

And then there’s this:

Ky: "Maintaining peace, law, and order. That is my duty." Sol: "Whatever..." Ky: "You and I, we are cut from the same cloth." Ky: "How long are you going to keep that facade?" Sol: "..." Ky: "Answer me Sol!" — Guilty Gear Judgment, Sol and Ky Ending

Being ‘cut from the same cloth’ is quite a strong statement. The phrase means that Ky thought he and Sol were similar somehow, and that he shared something with Sol. Regardless, the ‘how long are you going to keep that facade’ at least shows that Ky knows Sol is intentionally acting distant/rough/etc. and that its not actually who he is.

Jumping to pre-Overture, just before Ky gives Sin to Sol, Ky is in a really depressive state due to all of the stress he’s been going through. This leads Dizzy to contact Sol. The fact that Sol is called means that Dizzy knows that Sol is possibly the only person who can help Ky at that point, which puts some emphasis on just how much Sol means to Ky or at least affects him.

Before I move onto Xrd, there’s this part where Ky gives his son to Sol. This proves he trusts Sol so much considering he was asking him to take care of Sin for a long period of time.

Ky: “Sol....I want to request something...” Sol: “...hnn?” Ky: “My son....Sin..can you take care of him for a while?” Sol: “...what did you say?” Ky: “I know it’s unreasonable but...I still want to ask...” — GG2: Overture Story, Sol's Story

The Xrd era (because it is so long, it needs its own section)

The Xrd era is extremely interesting to me, because Sol and Ky have some more in-depth conversations, and boy, do they have a lot of conversations.

Focusing on Sol first, theres a scene in REV where Sol asks Ky why he isn’t interested in his past:

Sol: "Why don't you ask me already?" Ky: "Ask you what?" Sol: "About my past." Ky: "I can ask you?" Sol: "I guarantee, it won't be interesting." Sol: "Every other word that came out of your mouth was 'Duel me,' or 'I challenge you!' You were so eager to fight and..." Ky: "........" — Guilty Gear Xrd -REVELATOR-, Story Mode: Chapter 03, Sense A

Given that Ky was constantly pestering Sol about his background in the past, it makes sense why Sol is suddenly a bit confused about Ky’s sudden change in behaviour. But it also shows that Sol wants Ky to know about his past. After ~170+ years of being alive, Sol wants to finally open up to someone again, and he specifically chose Ky for this. It shows in the very least Sol trusts Ky and knows him well enough to decide to let him know about who he used to be.

And then Ky says this, which is basically him just showing Sol how much he cares and understands him:

Ky: "Sol. Of course I have an interest in your past." Ky: "But wanting to understand someone and trying to understand everything is completely different." Ky: "Right now, Sol Badguy's future matters much more to me, than Frederick's past." — Guilty Gear Xrd -REVELATOR-, Story Mode: Chapter 03, Sense A

There’s also this scene in SIGN:

Ky: "I don't know your history." Ky: "I don't know if you had friends once, or if you fell in love, or why you burn with such hatred for That Man and the Gears..." Ky: "I don't even know your real name." Sol: "..." Ky: "But I do know a great deal about a man named Sol Badguy." Ky: "Blinded by vengeance, he lost sight of himself, and now he runs from the truth that frightens him." Sol: "...Say that again." Ky: "Tomorrow always comes, Sol." Sol: "..!" Ky: "If tomorrow promises to be cold and dark, I cannot stand idly by... even if I know my efforts will come to nothing." Sol: "... The self-righteous apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Ky: "I don't expect the world to change tomorrow, but I do hope that, today, perhaps my words will reach you." Ky: "Sol..." Ky: "I'll be waiting for you. We'll all be waiting for you. Sin, Dizzy..." Ky: "Once all this is over... come home." — Guilty Gear Xrd -SIGN-, Story Mode: Chapter 04, Kaleidoscope B

Three things to take away from this:

Ky admits that he doesn’t know anything about Sol’s background, but that he knows a lot about the current Sol, and then goes on to explain how Sol acts. Which to expand on, means that although Ky used to care about Sol’s past, he doesn’t really mind about it anymore because Sol’s past won’t really change much who Sol is to Ky now. Also, the part where Ky explains how Sol was ‘blinded by vengeance,’etc. shows that Ky knows Sol’s current personality well enough in order to be able to distinguish his behaviours. Which is interesting because nobody has been around Sol long enough to be able to know him really well unlike Ky (Aria and Asuka count too, but they were around Sol when he was Frederick, and Sol seems pretty adamant on the idea that he’s a separate person from Frederick.)

‘Come home’ is pretty significant, as it implies that it’s almost like Ky is saying home is with Sin, Dizzy and the Valentines, and so when Sol is done getting revenge on That Man, instead of letting Sol just wander off alone, Ky wants Sol to be a family with them.

The fact that says Ky says ‘I’ll be waiting for you’ separate from ‘we’ll all be waiting for you’ implies that either Ky’s want to wait for Sol is somehow different from everyone else’s or it’s just for the sake of being dramatic. I interpreted this in both ways, as it seems like Ky knows that Sol treats him differently compared to others. So in a sense, by Ky emphasising that he’ll be waiting for Sol, it might make Sol more likely to ‘come home’.

There’s also a scene that shows Ky knows Sol’s personality well:

Ky: "When I look at you, Sol, I see a man who is afraid." Sol: "... What?" Ky: "It became clear when I watched you caring for Sin." Ky: "You work very hard to keep everyone at arm's length." Sol: "..." Sol: "I got Gear blood in my veins, and it ain't friendly. It's always there in the back of my head, whispering that I oughta just destroy all of this." Sol: "The only way I'm gonna get some closure is tracking down That Man and beating some answers out of him." Sol: "And if he doesn't have 'em..." Sol: "Then maybe there really isn't a good way to live." Ky: "That's why you close your heart off." — Guilty Gear Xrd -SIGN-, Story Mode: Chapter 08, Hope A

There’s also this:

Ky: "Not all people have the strength to stand on their own." Sol: "..." Ky: "If only life were simple, and the right path was laid out before each of us..." Ky: "But even then some would leave it, and some would struggle with walking it. Such is human nature..." Ky: "The truth is that no path will ever be 'right' for all people. Each of us must find the one we are meant to walk--and sometimes that is where none exists." Ky: "That is what I learned from you." — Guilty Gear Xrd -SIGN-, Story Mode: Chapter 08, Hope A

This just shows that Ky actually learnt something from Sol. Which I think is important because Ky is someone who always used to be very strict to his ideals. The fact that he learnt something from Sol that had an impact on his mindset means that Sol actually managed to have a great impact on Ky.

There’s this scene where Sol finds out that Aria isn’t dead when he confronts That Man, and he has somewhat of a mini mental breakdown. So Ky excuses them from the room, and goes outside to talk with Sol:

Ky: "Sol. The grudge you hold is certainly not something that can be taken lightly. And, whatever answer you think you've found, I doubt any of us will be able to stop you from seeing it through..." Ky: "But we have very little time left. Right now, we need the Gear Maker's help." Ky: "So, I'm begging you... Just for now. Why don't you stay outside with me." — Guilty Gear Xrd -REVELATOR-, Story Mode: Chapter 06, Cause A

The last line that Ky says is interesting because it’s obvious that he’s just trying to calm Sol down, and Ky thinks that if he stays with Sol outside for a bit, he’ll be able to help him calm down. Furthermore, Ky thought it was more necessary to pause everything and help Sol out rather than keep listening to the plans of what their next course of action would be.

Ky does have the habit of comforting Sol. One of the more significant moments is whenever Sol refers to himself as a monster:

Ky: "Yes, he took away some of what makes you human, but that doesn't mean he altered your mind or your soul." Sol: "So what?" Ky: "I want to believe that you'll fight for the people of this world." Sol: "Are we seriously having this conversation?" Sol: "Look, kid. I'm a monster. I'm here to do two things: Destroy That Man, and kill all the other Gears." — Guilty Gear Xrd -SIGN-, Story Mode: Chapter 04, Kaleidoscope B

To expand a little on Sol’s mindset, it’s common knowledge that Gears were generally in the past regarded as akin to monsters. Now we don’t have any solid proof Sol is referring to himself as a monster because he’s a Gear, or because he feels guilt about the whole Gear Project, etc. But we do know it’s something he’s affected by given that he constantly refers to himself as one.

So the fact that Ky constantly reassures him that he’s not one, and that Ky didn’t treat him differently after finding out he was a Gear, must be comforting to know.

Then at the end of REV, there’s the scene where Daryl is about to shoot Sol, because he (quite rightly) doesn’t trust the fate of the world to be left to Sol. And so, the kids get beamed up, but Ky asks to be left behind:

Ky: "But, if you plan on targeting Sol, then you must leave me behind, as well." Daryl: "What!?" Zappa:"60 seconds until impact..!" Sol: "What the hell are you doing?! Stay with Sin!" Ky: "I am well aware that this is a one in a million chance..." Ky: "But, if I survive at the expense of my dear friend, then there is little reason left for my ruling this world as king." — Guilty Gear Xrd -REVELATOR-, Story Mode: Final Chapter, Fireworks

This was a really odd moment because Ky’s life was never in danger at that moment. If he had been sent on board Daryl’s ship as originally planned, he would have been safe. But Ky intentionally chose to risk his life, and its kind of startling because Ky has always put his people above everything. There were times when he put the people above his own family, like when he kept his family a secret instead of coming out with the truth about them in order to remain as King to protect his people.

So Ky suddenly going ‘I would rather die with Sol than take care of my people’ is really extreme. Also Ky was willing to leave his family behind, which is even more extreme. So this just really proves how highly Ky regards Sol considering how he would rather die with him than live without him.

Some concluding notes

I think Sol and Ky’s personalities do work really well. Perhaps not in the Crusade era, but if we take a look at the Xrd era, they have shown to get along and have deep conversations with one another that they both enjoy. They know each other extremely well; they know how to support one another when life gets a bit too much and they’re also capable of telling one another when the other is wrong.

Sol teaches Ky that life isn’t as simple as it seems, and that (figuratively speaking) he shouldn’t stick exactly to the textbook. He’s able to see under that perfect image Ky puts up about him being able to cope with everything, acting as a source of stability when you consider how Sol has been the only person who’s been around Ky since the very beginning.

Throughout all of Ky’s life, he’s been under so much pressure. From being Commander in the Crusades, to becoming the Head of the International Police Force, to becoming King. In every situation, people are constantly relying on him, and his environment is changing rapidly. But despite everything, Sol has always remained the same. He looks the same, acts the same, etc. Ky can rely on Sol and trust Sol. He’s like a source of stability for Ky in those hectic times.

And Ky provides something similar to Sol too, given how often he ran into Sol time and time again. When you’ve been alive for so long, it’d feel reassuring in the very least to see a familiar face. And Sol does seem to get less annoyed each time they meet each other again, considering like how in Overture he voluntarily went to go see Ky after seeing himself on a wanted poster.

Ky also gives Sol the chance to open up to people again and form connections with them, something that Sol has been reluctant to do. Sol needs someone to care about him, and Ky proves that by constantly reassuring him and never giving up on trying to help Sol, even though he kept getting pushed away.

They may not be canon but I really do love how they work together. Yes it’s true some people may like them because they are ‘rivals’and seeing rivals get together and bicker is great, but actually I think when people focus more on how much they support and rely on each other, as well as the fact that they do get along, them being in a relationship is more convincing.

Whilst this essay focused on their canon interactions, there’s plenty of other great material out there. For instance, the Guilty Gear 4KomaKINGS manga provides plenty of great SolKy interactions (like the time Ky wanted to have a friendship diary with Sol, only to get rejected and start crying about it. Of course, take these interactions with a pinch of skepticism considering the frivolity of the source material.)

And that, was my very long SolKy essay. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading! Though you may not have agreed with everything I have said, you still continued reading, and I am grateful for that. Thank you for showing such enthusiasm and loving this franchise.

#solky

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junosartsthetic · 3 years

Text

Patching Things Up

Wordcount: 3846

Character(s): Dabi, (Y/N)

Warning(s): Innuendos. Swearing. Mentions of sex. Angst.

Note: This is an updated version of a one-shot I originally posted on my Quotev account.

You snuggled deeper into the blankets surrounding you, your feet tucked under you as you leaned against the armrest. Your eyes fixated themselves onto the T.V. as you flipped through the channels with one hand, the other holding a mug of hot chocolate.

A sudden knocking at the door caused you to pause your channel surfing and look towards the door a little ways away from the living room. You could see the rain pouring outside the window but spotted nobody.

You raised an eyebrow and set your mug down on the side table before standing up, the remote being placed on the arm rest. Your socks slid against the wooden floor as you made your way to the door, covering your robe against your body to keep warm.

You peered out the window and saw a figure, though it was too dark to make out the specifics. You flicked on the porch light.

A young man with jarring purple blotches of skin all over his body held together by staples slouched forward, his hands gripping his side. Blood dripped from it.

You let out a gasp. You recognized him as one of the members of the League of Villains— Dabi.

Your hand went into your robe pocket and you pulled out your phone, getting ready to dial the cops before a harsh knock stopped you. Your eyes met a bright teal as you stared at his face through the window. His gaze was soft, softer than you’d seen from his pictures on the news. It looked strangely familiar.

You slid your phone back and put a hand against the window, tilting your head. What was he doing here? Why your house?

His mouth began to move, and you made out the words, ‘open the door.’

You shook your head.

He frowned. ‘Please.’

You bit your lip before reaching for the handle and opening it. Now, only a glass door remained between the two of you.

You reached out to grab the handle to the glass door, and pulled it open slightly. ‘What the fuck am I doing?’ you thought, now holding it open wide enough for him to step inside. ‘He’s a murderer. A Villain. And I’m letting him inside because of some weird nostalgic feeling. God, I’m an idiot.’

He grabbed the edge of the door and used it as a brace as he limped inside. He was soaked to the bone and blood began to drip onto your door mat.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, closing the doors behind him. “I don’t even know you.”

Dabi let out a breathy laugh which quickly devolved into coughing. His eyes held a certain spark to them, and you squinted at him. He shrugged his leather coat off and hung it on the coat rack before kicking his shoes off. “Yes you do,” he replied, now beginning to limp towards your kitchen.

“Hey!” you said, stomping after him. “I don’t know what came over me to let you inside, but you don’t get to prance around my house like you own the place.” You caught up to him and pulled on his arm to get his attention as he was now digging through your medicine cabinet. “And I have never met you before in my life.”

He turned his head to glance at you, flashing you a cocky smile. “C’mon, you really don’t remember me, princess?”

“Princess— ” you shot him a glare— “For, the last time, I’m a knight, not a princess— ” you stopped, flashing back to a vivid memory.

“Okay,” he said, his six year old self pointing at your five year old self with a wooden sword. “Now, you go and be the princess, and I’ll slay the dragon for you!”

You shook your head, crossing your chubby arms. “No! I wanna be the knight in shining armor!”

“But then who will be the princess?”

You smiled. “You!”

He shook his head. “I don’t wanna.”

“Okay, then you can be the dragon, and I can be the knight, and there can be a pretend princess!” You tilted your head, wondering if that would be alright. “How about that…”

“Touya,” you suddenly said, your body freezing up as you backed away from the male who was now taking his bloodstained shirt off in the middle of your kitchen.

He paused, his arms partially behind his head and his shirt halfway off, and let out a soft chuckle. “It’s been a while.”

Your heart began to race as your eyes fogged up with tears. “I- I thought you were dead! What the hell are you doing with your life! A villain, really?” You shook your head, wetness now rolling down your cheeks. “Why, Touya?”

He finished pulling his shirt off, revealing the true extent of his scars, and began to dab a cotton ball doused in rubbing alcohol on what looked to be a bullet wound on the side of his stomach, his other hand holding a pair of your tweezers. “The name’s Dabi now.”

“I don’t care.” You wiped your tears away and grabbed the cotton ball and the tweezers before gesturing for him to sit on one of your bar stool chairs. “I need answers. You can’t just— ” you let out a tense breath— “just show up here after all this time!”

He sat down on the bar stool and turned his wound towards you. “Fine, but I’m currently bleeding out, so maybe we should focus on that first, aye, princess?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, nose scrunching up as you examined the wound. You assumed the bullet was still lodged in there somewhere, which meant you had to use the tweezers to get it out. “You’re lucky I care about you, or else I’d throw you back out on the street.”

“Even after all this time, huh?” he said, looking at you as you slowly moved the tweezers towards the hole. “I thought you’d be pissed as hell and punch me in the dick or something when I showed up here.”

“Oh trust me,” you replied, shoving the tweezers in the wound rather harshly before gripping the bullet and yanking it out, making him flinch and curse in pain, “I am definitely pissed and will not hesitate to punch you in the dick.”

You placed the bloody bullet in the sink and quickly grabbed some gauze and cotton balls, wrapping the wound and creating pressure on it. You had to wrap your arms around his torso to properly secure the gauze, and fought the urge to blush. ‘I shouldn’t be this close to a cocky shirtless villain.’

He laughed, but said nothing else as you finished tending to his wound and proceeded to back away, putting your hands on your hips. “Alright, I doubt you’ll die, so now tell me what the hell is going on.”

He stood up from the chair and began heading back towards your bedroom. “Let me take a shower first, then we’ll talk.”

You let out a groan. “Fine, don’t get blood on my white towels, moron.”

He turned back to flash you a stupid grin before opening your bedroom door and shutting it behind him.

You sat on the loveseat to wait, and eventually heard the water kick on from the master bathroom shower. It took another fifteen minutes for it to kick off.

You turned towards your room door, ready to scold him again for showing up out of the blue, but the words got caught in your throat.

He opened the door, a towel in his hands as he rubbed the water out of his hair, his lower half sporting a towel skirt and nothing else.

You tried your best not to pay attention to the way droplets of water rolled down his chest, and made their way between each and every muscle before disappearing into the towel wrapped around his hips.

You attempted not to notice how attractive his hair still was, despite being dyed black now, or how hot you still found him despite his new scars. They simply added more character to an already completely one of a kind person, and you bit your cheek. ‘God, why did I have to fall in love with him, and why am I still in love with him?’

His voice broke you from your thoughts. “Are you done staring? I’m fuckin’ freezing. You got any clothes that would fit me?”

You cleared your throat and patted your cheeks in an attempt to quench the redness. “In the bottom drawer of my dresser should be something. Just put your old clothes in the washer in the bathroom.”

He gave a mock salute before walking back inside, a water puddle now on your floor from where he once stood.

Standing up, you moved to your kitchen to grab a rag before wiping up the water, going to clean the blood off your entryway, as well. ‘God damn it, Touya.’

After another five minutes, he walked out in a familiar pair of sweatpants and a band tee, a smirk on his face. “You kept my clothes? D’aww.”

“Shut up and sit down,” you muttered, face flushed as you gestured to the couch across from the loveseat you sat in.

“Okay, fine,” he replied before heading to the loveseat and picking you up bridal-style, sitting down and proceeding to set you on his lap. “There.”

You let out a vaguely offended noise, flustered. “Hey! Just because we dated way back when we were teens doesn’t mean you can come in here and pretend like you didn’t disappear for years!”

“Why not?” he replied, leaning back in the chair and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against him. He was warmer than you, despite just taking a shower, and you assumed his quirk kept him rather hot.

You shook your head and attempted to lean forward, only to get pulled back once more. “Because, how do I know you’re the same person you were back then? What happened, Touya? Last I remember, you were nineteen and living with me, and then you suddenly vanish and never come back! You can’t do things like that!” The tears you shed in the kitchen returned full force, choking you up.

“I told you, the name is Dabi now,” he mumbled, placing his chin atop your head and letting out a sigh. “And I have no excuses for what I’ve done. There’s nothing I can say to change what happened. I— ” he took in a breath, his normally cocky exterior shattering to reveal the true pain underneath— “I’m sorry, princess— no, (Y/N). I’m so fucking sorry.”

You heard his voice crack, and felt drops hit the top of your head. Neither of you spoke, just letting out all the bottled up emotions of the past few years.

Eventually, you managed to stop crying long enough to pull your head away from his chest and look him in the eyes. He was already looking at you. You reached up and gently cupped his cheek, rubbing the purple skin which covered the lower half softly. “Does it hurt?”

He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

You began to tear up again. “Is this my fault? Did I push you over the edge?”

He immediately placed a hand atop yours, his other one hugging your waist tightly. “No!” he yelled, before clearing his throat. “No… You had nothing to do with this. I just— I snapped. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take him. He constantly reminded me I wasn’t good enough and I didn’t— ” he heaved out a breath— “I didn’t deserve anything, much less someone like you.” You knew exactly who he was.

“Touya…”

“I told you— ” you used your other hand to hold a finger to his mouth.

“Hush. You’ll always be my Touya.”

He gave you a half-hearted smile which turned into a playful smirk. “Your Touya?”

You flushed. “Yes. You never broke up with me so technically we’re still dating, and you’re still my Touya.”

He let out a soft snort. “God, I missed you,” he muttered, rubbing his thumb against your hand before leaning forward.

You moved the finger against his lips to cup his other cheek, and copied his movements.

Despite the roughness of his lips, the kiss was soft, and you could feel the old spark between you re-ignite.

When you pulled away, his eyes were closed and he had a smile on his face. “I missed that, too.”

You laughed.

The beeping of a cell phone brought you both out of the moment, and he looked towards his jacket still hanging on the coat rack. “I need to get that, it’s probably that dick Shigaraki.”

Your expression dulled. ‘Right, he’s a villain now.’

He gathered you up in his arms before standing up and placing you back on the loveseat. He trudged to his coat, pulled out a phone and read the lit up screen. He glanced at you.

You looked at him. He turned away, typing out a response before heading back towards you. “Are you leaving?” you asked, voice strangely monotone.

“Not yet,” he replied, picking you up again to return to his original spot. “I told him to shove it for now.”

“Won’t you get in trouble for that? I don’t want you getting punished because of me,” you said, voice now conveying your sadness.

He shrugged and cuddled you closer, one of his hands reaching for the cup of hot chocolate on the side table to take a sip. “I don’t care. I’d go through the worst of whatever the world has to offer to stay like this,” he said, voice honest and content and sounding much like your Touya.

The person before you now wasn’t quite like the Touya you knew, nor the Dabi, he was an odd combination, but you didn’t care. Your long lost lover was now back, and that was good enough for you. Sure, it might be wrong to still be in love with him, despite all the awful shit he's done since he's been gone, but you can't help it. When you love someone, you never really get rid of that feeling.

You closed your eyes and began to drift off to sleep, but not before feeling a goodnight kiss against your forehead. You smiled. ‘Yeah, definitely good enough for me.’ You awoke to the smell of something burning, and your eyes quickly shot open as you tumbled out of bed. Your back hit the ground as you let out a groan, rubbing the sleepiness out of your eyes.

Flashbacks of last night flashed in your mind and you shot up from the floor and ran to the kitchen.

Smoke filled the kitchen, and you slid open the window above the sink for some fresh air.

You spotted Touya amongst the fog, a pan filled with bacon and eggs sizzling on the stove.

You nudged his shoulder and gestured to the smoke-filled room, coughing. “What the fuck are you making over there, fire?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve made you breakfast, alright? Give me a break,” he said, turning off the burner and sliding the bacon and eggs onto two different plates.

You closed your eyes for a moment. “You didn’t have to— I didn’t ask you to. Honestly, I thought you’d have left while I was asleep.”

He grabbed both plates and set them down on the bar counter before sliding into a seat. “Do you want me gone that bad?” he asked, smirking.

“No! I— ” you cleared your throat— “I mean, I just assumed you had villain things to attend to and such.”

He let out a laugh. “Villain things? What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” you replied, puffing your cheeks out in anger. “I just meant I didn’t expect you to stay. It still doesn’t feel real. I— I thought you were dead!” Despite you trying not to, you started to sniffle, making him frown. “It feels like you’re back from the dead! I attended a funeral for you! I said my goodbyes and yet here you are!” At this point, tears streamed down your face as you held your arms against your chest. “I can tell you want things to go back to the way they were, but that can’t happen! Things have changed too much…”

He stood up from the stool and walked over, wrapping his arms around you. He smelt like burnt food, and you let out a small laugh. He was trying his hardest to win your affections back, but you couldn’t help but hesitate. “Nothing I can say will ever make what I’ve done okay— I know that. I just— I can’t just walk away now, either. You’re the only person I have left who knows I’m still alive, and I’m still in love with you, (Y/N).”

You buried your face into the old band tee he was wearing, moving your arms to wrap around his waist tightly. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up. I’m happier than I’ve been in a while, but what if you leave today and never come back?”

He moved a hand to softly grip your chin, and brought your head up to make eye contact. “Look at me, princess, I won’t abandon you, not again. Not ever again.”

Your lips formed a hesitant smile. “How can you say that? You could die and I wouldn’t know. I hate the fact that you’re a villain, Touya. I hate it so so much and I— I wish you could stay with me forever instead of going back there.” You shook your head, pulling away from his grasp and taking a seat on a stool. “But I know that this is a choice you made for valid reasons, and I couldn’t ask you to drop everything. Let’s just— I guess, enjoy the time we have now, and figure everything out later.”

He took a seat beside you, and you two ate in silence. Everything tasted vaguely like smoke, and you let out a sigh. He still sucked at cooking.

“I moved you to your bed, by the way,” he spoke up in between bites. “I slept on the couch.”

You glanced at him, rolling your eyes. “My bed is more than big enough for two, moron.”

“I see your caring nicknames haven’t changed,” he said, grabbing both now-empty plates to bring them to the sink. “Would it hurt to call me something nice for a change?”

“Oh sorry,” you said sarcastically. “What names should I be calling you?”

He looked over his shoulder, hands still scrubbing the dishes. “Oh, I don’t know, your knight in shining armor, babe, sweetie, the best sex you’ve ever-”

You interrupted his monologue by throwing an apple from the fruit bowl at him, face red. “Shut up… moron.”

He frowned. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be, now stop cleaning the dishes like you live here. I can do it.” When you got up and attempted to push him aside, he didn’t budge. “Would you just sit down, moron? I got it!”

“No.”

You let out an exasperated sigh before grabbing him by his shoulders and looking him in the eye. “Would you just sit down, babe? I got it.”

“Better, but no.”

You smacked his chest before crossing your arms. “I’m not saying the last one, now move.”

He opened the dishwasher before placing the dirty dishes inside. “Too late, I’m already done.”

You simply threw your arms up in surrender before trudging to the living room and taking a seat on the couch.

Within moments, a body was next to you. You glanced beside you to see Touya sitting with his elbows on his knees, staring boredly at the black television. “What now?”

“I’m assuming you now have to leave, being that you told your superior to shove it last night and they’re probably a bit pissed.”

“You just can’t wait to get rid of me, huh?” he said, annoyance lacing his tone.

“Okay, fine, get in trouble, see if I care.” You pouted, bringing your knees up and wrapping your arms around them.

You felt him wrap his arms around you. He kissed your ear. “Let’s do something. I’ll leave soon, just not yet.”

You pushed him away. “Like what? By the time we figure out where to go you’ll have to leave.”

“Who says we can’t do something here?”

You rose a brow, which prompted him to pull you into his lap, his lips quickly meeting your neck. You flushed red, a shiver going down your spine at the coldness of the staples against your skin. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and your first idea of something to do is fuck?”

He pulled away. “Uhh, yeah?”

“Wow. Classy.” You stood up, despite his grip on your waist telling you not to, and turned to face him. “We should go on a walk.”

His face fell. He blinked at you. “Seriously?”

“Yes!” you grabbed his hands and pulled him up. “Like we used to do! I miss walks.”

He sighed, but nodded nonetheless. “You sound like a dog, but alright. Only for you.”

You smiled and went to put on warm clothes.

Eventually, you two made it outside dressed in fall clothes. After last night’s rain, puddles formed on the sidewalk and you stepped in them as you walked, observing the falling leaves.

Your arms were wrapped around one of his, one of your hands holding his. A sense of Deja Vu washed over you, and a light blush permanently dusted your cheeks. Having him back, even for a day, made you happier than you’d ever been before, and you weren’t ready for him to leave.

After walking only three blocks, a ping sounded from his pocket, and he looked at the screen of his phone before scowling. “Damn it.”

“Hmm?”

“I gotta go.”

You stopped walking, giving him a sad smile. “Oh. Do you know when you’ll be back? I’ll sorta miss you.”

He laughed, leaning forward to kiss your forehead before smiling. “I’ll sorta miss you too, princess. I’ll be back as soon as I can, just don’t assume I’m dead, alright?”

You smacked his arm. “That was one time! And being you were gone for years, I had a right to!”

He grabbed your wrists, pulling you in for a hug. “I know. Just— wait for me. I promise you I’ll be back.”

You slipped out of his grasp and stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You better be, moron.”

After a last kiss goodbye, he shot you a wink before beginning to trek forward, leaving you standing on the sidewalk with a soft smile and tears in your eyes.

‘God damn it. I just had to go catch feelings again. Stupid Touya. Stupid me.’

You crossed your arms, shaking your head. “If he doesn’t come back alive, I’ll kill him.”

With those words, you turned to walk back to your house, leaves crunching underneath you.

#I wrote this like two years ago and honestly its better than anything i could write now #lmfao #fanfiction #more than 3000 words #mha #my hero academia #dabi #touya todoroki #also the funny part about this fic is that i wrote it before it was confirmed in the manga that dabi was a todoroki lmao #also im behind in the manga so dont roast me #x reader #fanfic #mha x reader #dabi x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha x reader #reader #my writing

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ghostofstudentspast · 4 years

Text

Obligatory (part 3)

Series masterlist

Warnings: a panic attack in the first half.

I am BACK! I finished this baby up this morning and while I won’t be posting as frequently anymore because of college I’ll still be posting/finishing up all my wips!

For the first time in your life, you would have given anything to stay at Hogwarts during the Holidays. Your house had lost its warmth and instead every shadow started to look like a ghost to you. Your father only left his study for dinner, where the three of you sat in uncomfortable silence as knives and forks scraped fine china. Your mother seemed light years away. She could often be found cleaning things unnecessarily, staring off into the distance and only ever casting you soft smiles that didn’t reach her eyes.

You could feel how the weight had shifted in the Pureblood community. Everyone was on edge and keeping secrets from each other. Christmas was a lackluster event in your house this year. Your mother had insisted on a tree and family dinner, but things felt strained. Not at all like the laughter filled Christmases you remembered growing up. Your mother had purchased an absurd number of expensive gifts, as if that would make up for the lack of holiday spirit. Clothes and jewelry and expensive quills littered the dresser in your bedroom and you didn’t want to touch a single item.

“Darling?” Your mother’s voice broke through your absent thoughts. “We’re expected at Malfoy manor in thirty, are you ready?”

You were perched on the edge of your bed, hands clasped in your lap to stop them from picking at the dark red material of your dress. You were vaguely aware of your mother coming to sit next to you on the bed and taking your hand in her own. Her fingers were warm and helped pull you back down to earth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t think-“she took a breath and didn’t continue.

All you could do was nod numbly as her thumb stroked the back of your hand. You hadn’t noticed your hand had been shaking until now. Raising your head to meet your mother’s gaze you saw how red her eyes were, how the purple bags were still prominent despite the makeup covering them, how she had faint tear tracks running down her cheeks.

“I know.” Your voice cracked as you nodded again, this time stronger.

“He’s going to be there tonight.” There was no need to say much more, her eyes betraying the fear that could never be voiced out loud.

“I’ll be good,” you offered her a lifeless smile, “I promise.”

The terrifying thought of seeing the Dark Lord in person hung over you all the way to Malfoy Manor. Stepping into the cold atmosphere of the ballroom did nothing to loosen the knot in your chest. Where once the parties thrown here had been lively, full of music and wine and chatter, now it was filled with hushed whispers and something stronger than wine.

“Can we talk?” Draco had appeared at your side like a shadow.

“No.” You didn’t meet his eyes and made to step away from him when a hush fell over the room.

There he stood, dark robes and snake slithering around his feet. The Dark Lord.

“My children,” his voice was high and sharp, “I’m so happy to see so many of you here tonight, proving once again who is loyal to our cause.” you doubted he had ever been happy in his existence.

As if he’d heard you speak his eyes locked on yours. A horrendous red colour, eyes like a snake, bored into your very existence. Your skin crawled and you felt like you might throw up at any moment.

“And our lovely bride and groom to be,” a smile creeped its way onto his face. It was less a smile and more a grimace. “The first in the new generation to follow in their parents’ footsteps. Wise.”

His eyes bored into yours and you could feel his magic pouring into your head. Pushing through your thoughts forcefully. Your heart rate sped up and your breathing hitched. The only thing that reminded you where you were was Draco’s hand resting on your lower back. You pushed all of your thoughts towards the back of your mind and focused on his finger tapping ever so slightly against you. You shot a glance at him and thought you saw his head shake the tiniest bit.

Legillimency, you could feel the Dark Lord prying at your memories. You knew he couldn’t go there, couldn’t know how disgusted he made you feel. You clenched your teeth and thought about the contract, you thought about marrying Draco, pushed the idea of loyalty forward with bile rising in your stomach.

“Continue with your festivities,” he finally broke eye contact and turned his eerie smile to the other guests as your shoulders drooped.

You felt exhausted. Like someone had just ran a bulldozer over your brain. He’d walked through your mind, through your thoughts. You’d never felt more exposed then at that moment.

“Excuse me,” you muttered to Malfoy and turned on your heel to slip away through the crowd of people.

Walking faster than normal you tried not to break into a run as your breathing became unsteady and panicked. You threw yourself into the large bathroom down the hall and threw the door shut before sliding onto the floor and letting out a painful sob.

Tears were streaming from your eyes as you desperately tried to control your breathing. He’d violated your mind. What if he’d seen something dangerous, you’d be endangering not only yourself but your family and friends. You sobbed pathetically, drawing your knees up to your chest and moving into the farthest corner of the room, away from the door. A soft knock at the door only added to the panic filling your veins. You shook your head and covered your ears, unable to breathe. Unable to tell them to leave you alone. Not even your sobs were audible anymore as you fought with your thoughts.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, he’s gone.” the voice was soft and kind and broke through your thoughts. You shook your head and kept your eyes squeezed shut. “Breathe Y/N. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” the voice repeated until you did what it said. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.

Your breathing was shaky and didn’t quite fill your lungs but slowly you managed to control your air flow. Tears still running down your face and falling into your lap you uncovered your ears and opened your eyes. Across from you sat the last person you would want to see you like this.

“You’re okay.” Draco spoke softer than you’d ever heard him speak. You nodded, and he offered you a sympathetic smile. It wasn’t pity, instead it held understanding. “I get them too.” He confided without meeting your eyes.

“It’s new for me,” your voice was hoarse and sounded foreign to your ears. He nodded in understanding as you closed your eyes again, rubbing them with the palm of your hands, makeup smudged across your cheeks.

When you opened your eyes again Draco was gone just as quickly as he’d came in. The bathroom floor felt just a bit colder as you dropped your head back against the wall.

When you arrived back at Hogwarts the following week Draco made sure to give you space. You were grateful he hadn’t brought up the Christmas incident again and from the lack of pity in his friend’s eyes, you didn’t think he’d told them either. You did notice that he spent more time looking at you these days. He always wore an unreadable expression and his eyes still held a sharp calculating look but this time he was observing you.

It took a few days of him watching you for you to get fed up and resolve to talk to him. This is why you were currently following him out of the potions classroom and down the hall farther into the dungeons. He stopped about halfway to the Slytherin common room and rounded on you, arms cross and one blond eyebrow raised.

“Stalking me Y/L/N?” his lips almost quirked up into a smirk.

“Christmas, you said you wanted to talk to me,” you raised your chin, so you could look down your nose at him, “so talk.” If you kept up your snooty pureblood persona around him, it was easier to pretend he hadn’t seen the most vulnerable side of you.

“Right,” he let out a short laugh and shook his head, “I was going to tell you that I found something interesting in the Manor library over the break. It’s definitely not something we want to try as a first option but if you’re this desperate,” he dug through his bag and fished out an old leather-bound spell book.

“You found something to break the contract?” Your demeanor perked up and your eyes zeroed in on the book in his hands.

“Maybe,” his voice held an unspoken warning, “again, this is very much a desperate man’s last resort. Or in this case desperate woman.” He added seeing you fidget with your sleeves as he held out the book. “Don’t try anything without me.”

“Yeah, no of course not.” You snatched the book from his hand and immediately opened it to where Draco had folded the corner of a page. Skimming the title quickly you found your stomach rolling in unease, “This is blood magic.” You looked up at him with a frown.

“Yeah, which is why I don’t have high hopes for two underage wizards working it out safely.” He grimaced, “read it for yourself.” He motioned towards the book and turned to keep walking to the common room.

“No wait, Malfoy,” you chased him, still holding the book open to the folded page.

“I have bigger fish to fry Y/L/N,” he kept walking, his long strides taking him much faster than yours, “if you’re desperate enough to try blood magic, you know where to find me.” He sighed and left you standing by yourself clutching the book between your hands like your life depended on it.

Finding a free spot on a windowsill near the common room you began to read. The cold frost on the window had your wrapping your robed around you tightly as your eyes flicked between the pages. Blood sacrifice for magical contracts. No. Blood bonds and magical contracts. Also no. Breaking magical contracts with blood. Ah, that’s the one.

Magical contracts are rarely breakable. The witches and wizards who enter in a magic bound contract will be tied by said contract for the remainder of their lives. The only way to exit out of such a vow is for either party to pass on (ghosts cannot be held to a magical contract).

“I don’t want to kill him,” you rolled your eyes and kept reading.

It is therefore possible to trick the magic bond by imitating death. First, one or both parties must provide a vile of blood to be spilled on the original document. Second, one or both parties must take a dose of Draught of Living Death (instructions on pg. 66) and a half dose of calming draught (instructions on pg. 80) note; the users blood must be infused with both potions. These two potions will bring the user into a two-day long death-like state. This along with spilled blood on paper will render the contract useless as ‘one party will have passed on’ very briefly.

WARNING: taking too much of these potions or using too much blood can result in irreversible damage including but not limited to; loss of memory, narcolepsy, weakened magic, blood clots, death, etc.

You closed the book and stared at the cover as you tried to process what you’d just read. Basically, there was a very slim chance that you’d be able to pull this off and a very large shot at accidentally inflicting lifelong damage. Or death.Unfortunately, in all of your time spent researching, this was the only viable option you had come across.

How much are you willing to risk to break this contract?

Series Taglist: @xkonpinkx @detroitobsessed @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @pointlesscoconut @irlkell @thehumanistsdiary @mo-onstarrs @summer-writes @aplaintart @jjjmaybank

#Draco malfoy #Draco x reader #Draco Malfoy x reader #harry potter #hp fanfic #hp writing #Harry Potter au #obligatory series #Obligatory #Draco Malfoy writing #Draco series #hogwarts #fanfiction #writing

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once-upon-a-pirate-ship · 3 years

Text

How Restlessly the Stars Do Gleam 3/?

Chapter 3: Moments Long Remembered

read it on AO3 here | from the beginning

chapter 1 | chapter 2

story summary: Princess Emma isn't the princess of much anymore. It's been months since her parents and brother were taken, and she's been on the run with her godmother Red. When Emma and Red board a merchant vessel to sail to Arendelle, Emma quickly finds that the captain is not to be trusted. After helping two slave brothers, Emma takes over the ship and begins her journey to save and rebuild her kingdom.

what's in store for chapter three? New characters (not new new, but new to this particular world)! Some background! Pining & tension!

thank you all for reading and staying with me even when I am too busy (just for this one week and a half time period) to post on schedule

Moments Long Remembered

On the worst day of her life, Princess Emma rode out far beyond the castle walls. She was alone, as she preferred solitary rides on her trusted horse, and the cold air was nothing to her as she raced through the snow covered forest. For a few hours each day, she got to feel entirely free. All responsibilities could wait, every forced smile was just a distant memory. She had no one to try to impress, no one who expected anything from her, no one who needed her to be someone she was not.

It wasn’t the excursion, nor the weather, nor the steed that made this day so horrible. Rather, it was the enemy who had breached the castle walls in her absence.

The most poignant part of this particular memory, for her, were the moments directly before she was made aware of the events inside the castle. She was at ease, content, blissfully happy and oblivious to the screams that tore through the halls she called home. She wasn’t worrying about her parents when they were stolen and taken far out of her reach. She didn’t consider her brother, her little lion cub, as he was yanked from the joy he knew and shown the truths of the world she’d wished he’d never have to learn.

Her happiness was shattered when the Evil Queen appeared before her, the black gown cutting across the crisp white snow in her path. Terror as she’d never known it dropped into her stomach as her hands gripped the reins and her horse skidded to a stop, and the fear that sliced down her spine was colder than the shards of ice that hung from each tree branch.

The Evil Queen’s mouth was curled into a wicked smile, white teeth framed by the wine color of her lips as she moved them to speak.

“Emma.”

But it was not the Evil Queen who stood in front of her now and called her name. It was her most trusted friend, her ally, her godmother, Red. The memory, as vivid as if it had only just happened, dissolved into nothing, sizzling in the early summer air as Emma blinked it away.

“Yes?”

“Liam and I are leaving,” Red told her, “I doubt we’ll be gone more than a few hours.”

Emma could’ve counted on one hand the number of times that she’d been separated from Red in the last months, and no matter how irrational it was, she couldn’t stop her muscles from tensing as if bracing for pain. But they needed some new crew, and Red was more than capable of the job.

“Good, good,” Emma said absently. She wished she had something more intelligent to say, but her mind was still fixated on moments long gone. “I’ll be here,” she added.

“Yes,” Red grinned, “you and Killian.” She didn’t give Emma time to inquire after the tone she’d used before Red turned and called, “Liam!”

Liam stood across the deck in conference with John Terry, but at the call of his name, he excused himself from his fellow sailor and joined Red and Emma where they waited by the gangplank.

“We shall return shortly,” Liam promised his captain. “I hope Killian won’t give you too much trouble,” he added in good humor.

“We’ll be just fine,” Emma told him. The trouble Killian Jones gave her was of a different nature, and she wasn’t about to disclose those particulars to his older brother.

Emma watched Liam and Red until they disappeared into the crowd past the docks, forcing her thoughts from straying to the fear that was an ever-present buzz in her blood. Instead, she planted herself on the steps leading up to the quarterdeck, her mind occupying itself with whatever it could latch onto.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Killian appeared from below, offering Terry a few words as he passed on his way towards her.

“Swan!” he called, and her eyes immediately met his. He’d called her that three times that morning, and it hadn’t seemed unusual once. But perhaps that had less to do with the moniker and more to do with who had said it.

Killian dropped onto a step below hers, a gentle and genuine smile spreading across his lips. “Terry’s gathering his group and then they’ll be off,” he told her. “I double checked the list with the storeroom, and it seems that everything’s in order.”

“Perfect,” she replied, willing a coherent sentence to present itself as she looked away from his striking eyes.

“Tell me, Swan,” he began, his voice low, “do you always dress in a layer of knives, or do you save that for special occasions?”

She laughed, and it made her realize how long it had been since that had happened. Her head thrown back like that, the bounding joy in her chest—weeks, at least. Probably months, probably before that morning ride that featured the Evil Queen.

Emma leaned back a little, her hand going to the edge of the vest to pull out a blade and pass it to him. “Eight in total, four on each side,” she explained. “And yes, I’ve fixed every garment I have with some sort of weapons holder.”

Killian’s eyebrows shot up, glancing up at her from the knife he had been examining. “Isn’t that dangerous? How have you not injured yourself?”

“Not any more dangerous than being unarmed and running into some Black Knights,” she said with a shrug, glancing away to avoid his concerned gaze. “But each blade has a metal casing. That’s what keeps it from hurting me or tearing the fabric, and it snaps into place to stop it from falling out.”

His dark brows furrowed, his eyes flitting from the knife to where she’d pulled it from. “The casing, is it tricky?” he wondered. “Does it get stuck?”

“Only when I forget to clean them,” she replied. Without pausing to consider what she was doing, she reached for his free hand. “Here, try it,” she said, guiding his fingers to the spot on the other side of her vest.

Killian moved slowly, hesitantly, but he allowed her to line his fingertips against the hidden pocket. His eyes locked with hers, and that familiar tug and snapping of electricity surged between them.

“Just, um, push up a little until you feel a click, and then it’ll slide out,” she explained, slightly breathless despite the fact that she’d been sitting for several minutes.

His gaze didn’t stray from hers as he followed her directions, the thin handle of the blade dropping into his hand. She could feel his body heat like this, his hand against her waist, and it seemed like he was both too close and not close enough.

“Captain?”

Emma and Killian broke apart at the sound of Terry’s voice. She stood, brushing back some of the hair that had fallen out of place. “Yes?” she asked, glancing quickly at Killian who had returned to an upright position and was currently examining the two blades closely. The tips of his ears were red.

Terry smiled, and Emma pretended not to notice anything but politeness in it. “With your leave, Captain, we’re off.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” she replied, looking between him and the several crew members gathered a few feet behind. “I look forward to receiving your report upon your return.” It was best that she maintained the pretense of captain with the crew, according to Red. Something about safety or respect or concealing her identity from newcomers. She could hardly remember now.

Emma waited until they were out of sight before returning to her previous position, and Killian had recovered enough that the blush had even faded from his cheeks when he looked at her. He passed her the knives without a word.

He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes back to hers rather than where her fingers secured the blades. “You mentioned Black Knights,” he said, “have you fought many of them?”

It wasn’t that surprising of a question, honestly, given that she’d mentioned them off-handedly before. She just couldn’t figure out why she had mentioned it in the first place. Perhaps it was the same reason she showed him how her vest worked.

“Can you define ‘many’?” she asked, her voice calm and soft and not at all befitting the subject.

Killian’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening to restrain some emotion she couldn’t place. “It’s been…months,” he murmured. “You’ve been fighting them all this time?”

“Fighting them, running from them, gathering information from them,” Emma answered. “Until I figured out that she was tracking me with magic, at least.”

“What did you do?”

“Red got her hands on some potion,” she said, trying for a smile that ended up a little sad. “So that’s why we’re here now. And that’s why there’s not a single Black Knight searching this port.”

Killian was quiet for a moment, and it wasn’t until his jaw released its tension that he spoke. “What information?”

“At first, we tried to get them to tell us where my family was, but they’re not particularly talkative,” she explained, hoping she sounded more unaffected than she felt. “Eventually, we started following them, finding their camps. We spent weeks combing the forest, tracking their movements, and making maps of their locations.”

“Did you find them?”

The ghost of a smile on her lips was revealing. “We discovered where she’s holding my father. It’s remote, not to mention protected by battalions of Black Knights. Red and I are good, but we’re not that good.”

“That’s where Arendelle comes in,” he concluded. “You’re hoping they’ll help you to free him with magic.”

She sighed, her eyes trailing away from him and fixing themselves on the gangplank. “That’s our hope,” she said. “If I can get to my father, he’ll be able to find my mother. And I have no doubt they’ll make quick work of locating Leo.”

“You and your brother,” Killian continued after a moment, “are you close?”

The question was enough to bring happier, lighter memories to the forefront of her mind. “Very,” Emma replied. “He’s like light personified. Always overly enthusiastic, always making me laugh. But he’s driven, too. Spends all day in the practice yard unless I convince him to do something else.”

“He’s probably just trying to keep up with his sister,” Killian said, the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

“Maybe,” she allowed. But thinking about her brother fighting made her think about her brother losing, and then the guilt that had lived in her chest since that day slammed against her heart. “I wish I’d been there to protect him when he really needed me,” she confessed, and the words were almost shocking for her to hear. She’d thought about it again and again, but never had she voiced it, as if keeping it to herself made it less real.

“What happened, exactly?” Killian asked. “If you don’t mind sharing,” he added quickly.

“I used to go for a ride every morning,” she began, “and that morning was no different. Until the Evil Queen showed up and outlined her perfect plan to destroy my family one curse at a time.”

“She cursed all of you?”

“No,” Emma replied, a bitter laugh on her lips, “not me. Because the knowledge that my family is slowly dying while I am powerless to stop it…that’s a curse in its own right.”

“Swan,” Killian breathed, and the emotion in his voice was overwhelming. “I don’t pretend to know the specifics of the Evil Queen’s magic, but you must know that it wasn’t your fault. If your parents, your brother, your numerous castle guards couldn’t stop her, why do you think you’re to blame?”

He paused, shaking his head as he gathered his thoughts. “I have no doubt that you will defeat her, love, but it’s not only your combat skills that are going to take her down.”

Killian believed in her. She’d known it since the very beginning, but her doubt had been strong enough to convince her it was a misled belief. But now, with his head bent in reverence and his startling eyes that wouldn’t waver from hers, she had no choice but to accept his words as truth.

The guilt and the doubt didn’t evaporate into nothing, but their power over her waned.

Emma nodded—acknowledgement, gratitude, something else, she wasn’t sure—and they ventured into safer, less dramatic topics that allowed for a lighter atmosphere to settle over them.

Watching the ship, as it turned out, was not the most interesting job. There was very little for them to do except wait for the others to return, though Emma was relieved for something unexciting for a change. She needed the respite much more than she’d realized, and though the absence of constant panic was almost jarring enough to cause panic itself, she convinced herself that she was secure for the afternoon.

The first interruption to her temporary peace came when a figure appeared on the dock a few steps from the gangplank. Killian and Emma stood, their hands reaching for their swords in a synchronized motion that made the stranger chuckle softly.

“Exactly as Red described,” the woman said, pushing her hood back to reveal a heart-shaped face and blonde hair that was piled atop her head. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?” she asked, looking expectantly at Emma.

Emma relaxed at the mention of her godmother, but she did not alter her posture to show it. She nodded sharply, and Killian stepped forward to put himself between her and the stranger. The action wasn’t shocking or offensive to Emma’s pride; instead, it asserted the rank she held and the loyalty of those who followed her.

The woman was petite, but she moved with the surety of someone who had seen hardship and battle. “They call me Tink,” she informed them once she’d boarded. “I was told I could find you here.”

It took everything in Emma’s power not to revert to her diplomatic training. She could not smile politely, could not offer refreshments or entertainment. Here, she had to appear coarse and immoveable like the captain she was supposed to be, at least until they knew Tink could be trusted.

Killian, following her lead as always, did not falter to play his part. “What is your business here?”

“Friends of yours—Red and Liam—told me you’re looking for a few additions to your crew. I’d like to offer my services,” Tink said, unshaken by their front.

“Why?” Emma asked, and her gut pinched at the rude tone in her voice.

A smile spread across Tink’s face as she paused before speaking. “Well, they’d hardly tell me, would they?” She laughed at her own joke, and then continued, “But they seemed significantly more interested once they learned about my dislike for the Evil Queen, so I suspect that’s got something to do with it.”

“You have a personal vendetta?” Killian asked, though it didn’t quite seem like that much of a question.

Tink’s arms folded across her chest, the smile disappearing from her lips. “I’m an ex-fairy,” she replied, “and let’s just say that before I met Regina, I was not an ex-fairy.”

“And now you’re looking for revenge,” Killian offered.

“Justice,” Tink corrected. “But yes, I’d like to help in the fight against her.”

Emma glanced at Killian just as he was turning back to her, and their eyes locked for a moment. Had Red and Liam been there to witness the silent conversation that passed, there would have been a hushed discussion between them later. Without them there, the only acknowledgement of the event was Tink who smiled to herself.

“Joining this crew would guarantee a death at her hand if we’re caught,” Emma warned, her demeanor nearly returning to normal with Tink’s objective revealed.

Tink cocked her head slightly, her wide eyes studying Emma with a level of perception neither she nor Killian could comprehend. “You’re not just a captain, are you?”

“No.”

“You’re someone special,” Tink added, “I may not be a fairy anymore, but I can still feel it. Who are you?”

At this question, Killian tensed, his eyes scanning their surroundings. Once he’d determined that there was no one close enough to become a threat, he looked back at Emma, another silent inquiry.

Emma moved, a hand on his shoulder to calm him as she passed, and when she stood directly in front of Tink, she almost felt like the princess she hadn’t been in months.

“My name is Emma, and I am the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming.”

The shock on Tink’s face was less than Emma had anticipated, but the grin that replaced it eased her worries. “I knew you weren’t just running,” she said, “and I would be honored to join you in saving your kingdom and your family. Beating Regina is simply a bonus.”

Emma offered her hand to shake, and Tink accepted both the gesture and the wordless accord that came with it. “Welcome aboard,” Emma said.

Emma returned above deck from checking the storeroom with Terry, finding Killian speaking with Tink and the other sailor who had been sent by Red and Liam before the suppliers had made their way back.

August Booth was a man who could be charming when he wished to be, but the scowl that had overtaken his expression upon the mention of the Evil Queen left Emma with no doubt of his loyalty. He asked fewer questions than Tink, but his curious eyes were revealing to anyone who cared to look.

To any passing observer, Killian looked relaxed as he stood before the two crew members. His shoulders were back, his left hand resting casually against the hilt of his sword. But Emma could tell by the angle of his neck that he was watching the pier for unexpected visitors, and the set of his feet prepared him for a fight.

“It’s definitely a step up from the last ship I sailed on,” Tink said, her nose wrinkling at a distasteful memory.

“I’m afraid my sailing experience is limited to what I’ve learned in the last few months,” August said with a glance towards Killian, “but I’ve been told that I’m a fast learner, so I hope the captain won’t throw me off at the next port.”

Killian chuckled, “So long as you follow orders, you’ll be fine.”

Emma was pleased to find that Killian had warmed somewhat to August, as he’d been uncharacteristically sharp upon meeting him. While Emma had eased into the topic of the Evil Queen, Killian had been skeptical and quick to determine August’s exact beliefs regarding Emma’s family. August’s father had been murdered when Regina had torn apart the village outside the castle, and though Emma read his grief and anger as nothing threatening to her, Killian had bluntly asked if August found the former king and queen at fault in the tragedy.

Now she leaned casually against the mainmast, neither announcing herself nor bothering to hide to effectively eavesdrop as she watched the group while they talked.

“I’ve heard that the princess is quite the fighter,” August added, studying Killian carefully as he spoke.

It was not the sun that brought red to Killian’s cheeks and to the tips of his ears. “Aye, I have yet to see her equal,” he admitted, making no attempt to mask the pride in his voice.

“Do you suppose she’d agree to a demonstration later?” Tink wondered.

“We could prove our worth with a sword,” August offered, grinning at the prospect.

“You’d have to ask her yourself,” Killian replied. “I’d be happy to spar with you both if you’d like. I don’t pretend to be as skilled as the princess, but I can manage well enough.”

Before Emma could interrupt to agree to the demonstration, a creak of the wood and a flash of movement from the corner of her eye brought her attention away from them. Her defensive instincts sputtered when she recognized Red and Liam, though the third person to step onto the gangplank was a stranger to her.

Killian reacted as she’d expected him to, turning away from Tink and August to meet his brother. They exchanged a nod that held unspoken words, and when Killian stood before the potential crew member, his body language conveyed his reserve. Tink and August fell back, acknowledging Red and Liam without moving towards the man.

“This is Will Scarlet,” Red announced, not meeting Emma’s gaze though she was aware of her presence.

Will Scarlet had no scabbard to hold his sword, but rather a knife that was secured in a leather casing along his belt. His lips were pressed into a tight line, his gaze traveling from each person until it settled on Emma, and she had a feeling that he knew more than he should’ve with a single glance. It was the kind of thing that one learned when forced to, the ability to read a person’s intentions by their movements and everything they did not say.

“I suppose you’re the captain,” he said, causing every eye to shoot towards her. His tone was casual, unaffected, but there was a gravity in his posture that revealed something much more intense.

Emma nodded slowly, but she didn’t move from her position as she leaned against the mast. Her gaze drifted from Will to Killian in a flicker, but she focused back on the stranger before a second had passed.

“I hope our choices have been acceptable thus far, Captain,” Liam said, more a question than a statement. The tone was unfitting of the camaraderie they’d achieved, maintaining the pretense of rank in front of Will.

“Indeed,” Emma replied. She paused, testing the bounds of their attentiveness and therefore respect. No one moved, no one breathed, all waiting for her to speak as they knew she would. There were many differences between acting as a captain and acting as a princess, but commanding the attention of a room, or a deck, was a similarity.

“I was about to consent to a sparring exercise—a demonstration, if you will—for our new recruits when you arrived,” she continued. When her eyes landed on Will, she made a show of studying him. “I assume that you carry no sword because you have no need of one,” she added.

The corners of his lips twitched, his hand patting the leather case that held his knife. “They’re a waste of metal, if you ask me,” he told her, “I prefer to keep things simple.”

She hummed, gauging his expression to determine if he boasted a skill level that he did not possess. “And you believe that you deserve a place on this ship?” she asked, pushing his temper, his pride, to see if she could find a weak spot.

“What I do or do not deserve isn’t important, is it?” he replied, a grumbling sound that came from his throat that revealed either a mild irritation or anger directed towards a third party. “The way I see it, it’s what the Evil Queen deserves that really matters,” he nearly spat, though there was no lack of control in his voice.

Emma, though she couldn’t admit it without first determining Will’s loyalty, was impressed. His eyes burned with a familiar enduring rage that she had seen each time she’d looked in the mirror.

“I’m guessing you’re aware of the risks you’d be taking should you join us?” Emma asked, measuring each shift in his expression for anything alarming.

“I’d hardly be here if I couldn’t face the consequences,” Will said. “And you’re not the first crusade against the Evil Queen that I’ve joined, although Red seems to think you’d give me a better chance than that lot ever did.”

“We beat her or we die trying,” Emma told him as she pushed herself off the mast and moved a few steps towards him, all the ferocity she’d been attempting to hide away behind the sadness and the guilt leaking out in her voice. “Are you ready for that?”

Will grinned, his eyes darkening. “You can count on it, Captain.”

Emma didn’t wait more than a moment before she turned to face the others. “Red, fill him in. Liam, make sure Terry’s ready to set sail and get us going. I want us in the wind before sunset, and we’ve got a prisoner to hand over before we can leave,” she ordered, though her tone had dropped the unforgiving command as she surrendered her facade. “Killian, show our newest allies to their quarters once Scarlet has been briefed, and then I’d like you and your brother to join me in escorting Silver off this ship.”

No one hesitated to obey the second she finished speaking, and though Killian lingered to hold her gaze for a long moment, he said nothing. Emma could not regret this, because there was no lack of communication in his sparkling eyes.

Violence had always been a part of her life. It was a byproduct of her existence, a necessity, a simple truth. But before her last ride from the castle, she had never considered herself a violent person. True violence was always accompanied with a driving force beyond rationality, perhaps a hatred, a passionate fury, or bloodlust. Those particular feelings did not promote impartiality or decorum, and they had certainly never been a part of her training. But as Emma walked behind the Jones brothers, watching Silver stumble and fight against his restraints and the firm hands of Killian and Liam, she felt at least two of those three feelings.

He hadn’t come quietly, neither physically nor verbally passive, and the bit of cloth preventing him from speaking had been a necessary addition. He had swung at her and at the brothers, he had tried to kick and scratch at them before the rope had limited his movements, but none of that had affected her the way his words had.

It was not his insults towards her that had stirred the violent feelings she felt now, but rather it was his cutting remarks aimed at Liam and Killian that had led to the swelling cheek he now brandished.

She had known cruelty—hell, she had looked it in the eye and watched its wine-colored lips smile at her—but she had never known it quite like this. Because Silver held no power. He would hang, he would die, he would never be seen by any of them again, and yet he still attempted to slice at the brothers and prod every wound he believed they had. He was a desperate man, she knew. He was a coward. He was a fool.

Silver was defenseless, hopeless, powerless, and yet Emma still wished to draw her sword and cut him the way he’d tried to cut the Jones brothers.

Her hand curled around the hilt of her sword, her grip so tight that it nearly hurt her to hold it. She focused on her steps rather than the anger that swirled in her chest, the hatred that shuddered in her stomach and traveled up to her shoulders and made them tremble as she restrained herself.

Liam spoke quickly and efficiently with the jailor when they arrived, and Emma kept herself three paces behind them to prevent her violence from pushing her to interfere. There were a few formalities that took some time to sort out, some documents to sign verifying witnesses, and the only thing that held Emma back was the look on Killian’s face.

It didn’t lack the anger she felt, but his was the expression of a man resolved. He accepted Silver’s fate and wished for nothing more. His fists did not clench in preparation of beating him, his lips did not part to issue his sentence or even a parting taunt that bragged of flipped roles or lost and gained freedom. If Killian could watch the man who had carved lines into his back with near equanimity, what right did she have to act on her desires?

She signed her name Emma Swan, gave Silver one last pointed glare, and then she led the brothers back towards their ship, eager to put as much distance as possible between them and this port.

#How Restlessly the Stars Do Gleam #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #once upon a time #ouat #ouat fanfic #cs fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #chapter 3 #cs ff

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sanktnikolais · 3 years

Text

Weather The Storm

A/N: Second piece from the three-year gap series (my house of stone, your ivy grows) of the trilogy and King of Scars lashkljhas another argument bc they have the trope of reluctant allies to lovers pining idiots and I want to explore that more ohoho

have this mess

Word count: 1996

Zoya's boots crunched in the snow as she tore through the crowd of bustling soldiers in the camp. She ignored the curious stares she got from the First Army men, her mind focused on one thing that was driving her feet faster.

The King is an utter fool.

She grit her teeth as another wave of annoyance hit her, threatening to make her lash out at anyone around. If it weren't for the hushed chatter of a few Grisha from the other side of camp, she wouldn't have known that he was here.

Didn't you hear? The King came along with the First Army to lead the attack in the left flank.

We would have lost the bigger part of the boundary if it weren’t for their surprise attack.

He wouldn't have been recognized if his disguise hadn't faded.

It was actually a good cover, but I would have recognized the redheads among our men.

Her jaw twitched, the wind picking up around her. She breathed deeply and calmed her powers. But the coldness only became worse. Annoyance had already clouded her reason. The wound in her right arm stung, and she was sure it had opened again, but she didn’t bother checking on it.

Zoya should have known he would pull off something like this. If she had, she would have chained him up in his chambers and locked him in there. She figured she had underestimated his stubbornness.

Ahead, the biggest tent that she recognized as the makeshift infirmary loomed, with people coming in and out restlessly. A small part of her worried that the King could be one of the wounded inside, but her irritation told her there was no way he would be there if he just hadn't come. That idiot.

She was almost by the tent flap when a familiar figure emerged from the inside.

"Well, isn't it the Commander?" Tamar was smiling brightly as she approached Zoya, completely unaware of her inner turmoil. Behind her, Tolya came out from the tent as well. They were unharmed, at least, and Zoya felt relieved at that. But unlike his sister, Tolya’s face looked grim at the sight of Zoya.

She appreciated the tall man's ability to read facial expressions.

"I still can't believe—"

"Where is he?" Zoya cut her off, voice low.

Tamar went silent for a moment. Then she sighed, her smile fading. "He insisted," she said, shaking her head. “I would have locked him up if he hadn’t become all too authoritative.”

“Then you should’ve tried harder!” Zoya’s voice rose. Some of the soldiers stopped to listen, and she fought the urge to berate them about being nosy and to mind their own damned business. “Do you realize the danger you let him walk into?”

“Woah, Commander.” Tamar straightened, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she had been challenged to a duel. “Just because you go against him doesn’t mean I would too.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Unlike you, I am loyal to the throne. You could—”

Tamar stopped abruptly, and Zoya’s anger flared. The winds howled atto her will. “Go on. I dare you,” she said. Thunder cracked in the sky despite the snow, making Tamar flinch slightly though she immediately regained composure and set a hand on one of her axes. Zoya knew she would regret this later, so she tried to calm herself down. But something inside her had been ticked, and the rage just overwhelmed everything. “Go on. I could what?”

It was then Tolya stepped forward and got in between them, his towering form almost intimidating Zoya. Almost. “Alright, that’s enough, you two,” he said, his deep voice more gentle than she had expected. He looked at her, then turned to his sister. “Let’s not do this now, or ever, if you may. We’ve all had a rough fortnight, and besides, we have a victory to celebrate.”

A tense silence washed over them, neither of them wanting to back down just yet. But Tolya's words seemed to get to them because their stances slacked, Tamar letting go of her axes and Zoya willed the wind to calm down around them.

The people around them were still watching, so she sent a glare to their way that had them scurrying back to whatever it was they were doing. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Not the time to lose control.

"Where is he?" she asked again. Her voice was much gentler this time, though it took all she could to make it sound like that.

Tolya inclined his head to the side. "There, by the edge of camp near the cliff," he replied. “He went there just now.”

Zoya turned to the direction he was pertaining to. True enough, she could make out a small figure through the still falling snow.

"Let me guess, he wanted to be alone this time?" she said, tone a bit mocking. The King was out in the open, and he didn't even care about the worst case scenario. "Out there in the open? Good saints."

She didn’t let them say anything else as she stomped over her king. The title sounded funny to her, with the way he was acting. He definitely had to live up to his name if he wanted the people to trust him. Or if he wanted her to trust him.

Lantsov was in a First Army soldier’s uniform, the olive drab looking black against the weather. The golden double eagle on his shoulder indicated an officer’s—a Major—rank, and Zoya was left wondering how he had gotten such a high place in the military despite being young.

He was near now, and if he noticed her, he didn’t acknowledge her presence. Zoya was already ready to call him out had he not moved and buried his rifle in the snow in front of him, its stock pointed upwards. She stopped in her tracks. Her eyebrows furrowed as she watched him take off his helmet and put in on the gun, along with a bunch of tags he was holding. There was a long silence, nothing but the sound of the wind could be heard. His head bowed, letting his hand linger on his helmet, and then he was standing straight again, the poise and stance of a well-respected leader.

She eyed him for another moment, noticing the slump on his shoulders as he clutched at the tags on the helmet, and she was left wondering who owned them. Were they his friends? Mere soldiers he wanted to grieve for? The questions lingered in her mind, but she didn’t voice them out.

Another beat passed, and then he trained his eyes forward. “Come to give me an earful, haven’t you, Nazyalensky?” he said, a rueful smile on his lips. If it were some other time, Zoya would have sympathized with him. But now she was just angry. “Worry not, I think I deserve it, anyway.”

Zoya almost laughed. “I am indeed glad you know your mistake, Your Highness,” she said. She considered her next words, but she couldn’t find a way to make it lighter. “You should not have been here.”

Lantsov huffed incredulously, as if he were insulted. “And what, my dear Squaller? Sit back pretty on my throne and watch as my men give their life to the country I have sworn to protect?”

“As much as I hate to break it to you and your ego,” she said, “it is the only way for you to be able to protect Ravka.” She stepped closer to him to emphasize her point. “You have to live.”

“I don’t think watching your people do things for you could be called living.”

“You fool,” Zoya said through gritted teeth. “You’re missing the entire point. You’re the king. If you died in battle, who would have replaced you? Some distant relative who had no care to the throne? A pretender? The Triumvirate?” She shook her head in disbelief. “You’ve chosen us to steer this forsaken country alongside you, so don’t try to make any more reckless decisions that would lead to the nation’s and your own demise.”

Lantsov became silent, a flash of hurt passing over to his face. It was gone in a blink, and Zoya questioned herself if she had just imagined it. His expression became stoic, the usual one he gave when he was wearing the mask of the monarch again, instead of a boy that had too much on his shoulders.

“Sometimes I wonder if you knew how it felt like losing people close to you to this country,” he said. His eyes were hard, grief-stricken, and she realized that he had been through wars too, just like her and countless others. “Maybe then you would realize why I am willing to put my life on the line.”

“We all lost people. And don’t you dare tell me that I do not know how it felt like,” she said. Her aunt’s kind smile flashed before her eyes. She blinked the image away. It wasn’t the right time to grieve, but the pain of losing her rekindled in her chest. “Because I do.” She paused, mustering up her strength to speak. “The only difference is that I don’t let grief consume the logical part of my mind.”

She expected Lantsov to get angry, or leave, or even remove her from her post. But he just smiled ruefully. “No,” he said. “The only difference is that I am a royal and I am not permitted to die. Even if I wanted to save them, I couldn’t. But you could.”

Zoya stilled. The words hit like knives to her heart, and suddenly she was fifteen again, crossing the Fold on her own in hopes to see her aunt again. But she never got to her in time.

She tried to shove the memories away, but it kept flooding. Her aunt and her niece weren’t just the ones who perished in the war barely a year ago. Sergei, mutilated by the Darkling’s nichevo’ya. Harshaw, struck by a bullet to the chest. Fedyor, thrown from the roof of the Little Palace and down to the waiting monsters. Marie. Paja. And countless others. Friends and companions, lying dead in the pool of blood in the hall they had been staying before the attack happened.

She had seen the Second Army on the brink of annihilation. He was aware she had been through the same war, and yet he still asked her if she knew how it felt losing people?

Her eyes stung, fists clenched. Her hands twitched at her sides, ready to summon the winds and even lightning to her will if it meant making her point to the king. But she chose not to. It would only make things worse.

Zoya breathed deeply, letting her anger pass before she spoke again. She hated this. She hated herself. But above all, she hated him because he was right.

She knew to herself she wouldn't have sat back too, waiting until her people made a difference. No, she would be with them and fight alongside them, and try to see the change with her own eyes.

But she wasn't the leader of Ravka, and she never would be. So she would do everything she could to protect its king, even from him himself and his own foolishness.

She straightened then, slipping her own stoical mask on her face. “That may have been the difference, Your Highness, but I am not the one who chose your fate. It was you alone, and you would stand up to it.” She started to turn, wanting nothing more than to get away from him. “And your fate is to live. For Ravka.”

With that, Zoya left the king standing on his own in the cold, the weight of her own words heavy on her shoulders. But she locked them away and continued on. She only did what she knew was right.

For Ravka.

#zoyalai #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #tamar kir bataar #tolya yul bataar #king of scars #my writing #hMMM #zoya being quite temperamental in the start aslfj;la #MORE TENSION #bc i love reluctant allies to lovers ohohoho #zoya canonically said she didn't trust him at first #let's take advantage of that #no softs until the seventh piece i think #HJALSFH #it's just them being insufferable and rough with each other #stay tuned #will write the next one asap ;-;

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unholyhelbig · 3 years

Note

part 2 of the mitchsen journal au? where aubrey feels confused as the beca in the journal is different than the beca she's meeting?

[A/N: Ah, this isn’t exactly what you asked for, and I’ve also lost my touch because I haven’t written Mitchsen in a very long time. Apologies!]

Read the first part here

Beca Mitchell woke up to the scent of eggs and the sound of bacon pushing grease into a pan. There was an even stream of light moving through the house and she fought the urge to stretch her feet to the edge of the bed, her fingers against the headboard. It would cause more pain than pleasure at that point.

She could feel the cold heat of the bullet wedged against her ribs. Beca always imagined it carving into the bone and creating a secret language that only she and the gunman could understand. This code meant she couldn’t’ do regular stuff like stretch or lift anything over twenty pounds until she got it removed.

But Beca didn’t’ want to see the inside of an OR for a long, long time; Not those neon lights that bred discomfort or the sharp stinging scent of antiseptic. She could see the worry in her doctor’s eyes as they tried to keep the blood inside of her where it belonged.

As long as it didn’t shift, and it hadn’t, she could keep it inside. She could wear it like a battle scar, a reminder- a symbol.

Emily was making breakfast and Beca flinched when the toast popped. She kept her breath silent and hugged her shirt closer to her body. Her roommate hadn’t whipped up anything stronger than cereal for the past four months. There must have been an occasion, or a change in lifestyle- or something that had the girl humming over the stove.

“I have a present for you on the table,” She said, not turning around.

There was a little journal in the center of the mahogany circle, expertly placed between some mats that echoed the Fourth of July, because that was the closest holiday and she let Emily decorate for anything and everything, knowing it brought her simple joy.

“What’s this?” Beca asked, picking up the book, the leather was cool against her palm.

“that is a journal, you know, to write in and stuff.”

Her roommate had a worried smile on her lips as she divided the eggs and set the plates respectively in their claimed seats. They hadn’t eaten a meal together in about a month, but even that wasn’t more substantial than a pizza shared over a cheesy film.

“I figured… but why are you giving it to me?”

She was grateful for the food and the kindness, and the way Emily had been trying to get her out of her shell again after the accident. She had tried, she had always tried, to entertain the idea. The idea of a therapist and a court-appointed lawyer that went after the man who had done this. But she sat quietly in both scheduled meets and nodded along.

“I think it would be a good idea to get your feelings on paper,” She loaded her fork up with steaking potatoes and eggs, “Not saying that you absolutely have to. You can burn it, or you can draw or, I don’t know, I think it would help.”

“I appreciate it, really, I do-“

Emily reached across the table, fingers warm from cooking and eyes warmer still “I want you to be okay, Bec’s. Just give it a shot. For me?”

Beca grabbed a piece of bacon, the heat residual from the pan pressed against her fingertips. She used her other hand to turn the journal around and look at its expert crafting. She supposed it could help, and if not, at least it would humor Emily.

“Thank you,” Beca settled “For breakfast, for this.”

She had an appointment later that day. There was a little annoying reminder in her phone that buzzed at the start of her day and then again an hour before she had to be at the office. It was downtown and took half an hour to walk, only ten minutes to drive, but Beca chose to walk. She always walked to Doctor Mallie’s.

The clinic tried its hardest to be warm, with its hand-painted pictures of the mountains and its smiling receptionist who grabbed her insurance each time before going back to filing her nails with that unsettling scratch. Beca picked up a random magazine each time and waited while her stomach dropped. She never registered the words, or the pictures, for that matter. But she wanted to look like she did.

She would get weighed and be reminded of her height before a cuff was put around her arm and an unfamiliar pressure lasted for a few seconds. And then she was waiting again. The tips of her boots would touch the linoleum and the lights overhead were buzzing. There weren’t any magazines for her to pretend to read here. Nothing but a photo of the inside of the human heart.

“Beca, you look well,” The woman said as she entered the room.

She was older, with salt and pepper hair that reached her shoulders. She forbade the classic white lab coat and went for a nice pink blouse instead. She never went straight into it, she asked her about life and about Emily, and about the diner before asking Beca to take her shirt off so they could get a good look at the bullet.

Her gloved hands were warm and cooking all at once. “It looks good, really, it does. You’ve been healing nicely and your vitals are steady. Blood pressure is a little elevated but I’ll chalk that up to white coat syndrome.”

“Thank you for that,” She started to rebutton her shirt “it’s still okay to keep it in?”

She got a hard look from Doctor Mallie, the steeliest one she could muster. The woman had been in children’s medicine before retiring and picking up a few extra shifts at a local clinic. It still made Beca want to shrink, so she focused her numb fingers on buttoning her shirt.

“You know I advise you to take it out. Anything that’s not naturally supposed to be in the human body should be removed. And before you make a crude joke about that, I’m referring to a chunk of lead.”

Beca sighed, but not too deep because it still pinched and pulled. “Five out of five doctors recommend removal.”

“Then maybe you should listen to one of us five, huh?” Doctor Mallie smiled weakly “Look, Beca, I know that this is important to you, a reminder of what happened. But I think… I think it would be a good idea to take it out. Physically it won’t harm you, but mentally, well, that’s a bit out of my expertise.”

She nodded and finished with the last button, considering the woman’s point. There was no blood, no russet paste moving against her skin. That feeling of stark coldness as it spread against the tile and she heard the popping of the gun- it had all been momentary.

Maybe she should listen. To Emily, to Doctor Mallie. To anyone but herself, because what did she know?

Beca checked out with the receptionist, who was being cautious with the fresh coat of paint on her nails. She tried not the breathe the chemical scent it, tried even harder to walk the next few blocks to the diner. Her stomach rolling with the thought of food and the memory of something more.

Alice greeted her with a steaming cup of coffee and a broad smile. She would spend hours there, sometimes full days, just watching as customers walked in and out and the pie spinner kept up its slow crawl. Today she pulled out the journal, today she started to write about the appointment and the way Emily had stuck post it’s all over the kitchen to get her to remember. Today she wrote until her hand throbbed and the ink left little black spots on the page.

She did that for days, that April. Sometimes stopping at the office to make sure metal hadn’t soaked into her blood (Mallie explained that to her a few times, and she let herself get stabbed every once in a while) But she didn’t understand at all.

The journal helped, and she spent more time with Emily. She got nearly to the end of the leather-bound book before she had lost it altogether, and a dull ache ate away at her. But Beca didn’t admit that she missed it, or that her thoughts had been compromised by the darkness of the world.

Instead, she ordered a slice of cherry pie from Alice, ran her fingers over the bullet in her ribs, and resounded to the fact that she would start over that she would buy another journal and keep moving forward.

That day, her eyes flicked up each time the door opened. It had started to rain, but the sun still shone oddly through the thin grey clouds. But the scent of the spring day seemed to follow the patron in. She worked her fingers through damp blonde curls and flashed a startling green stare directly at Beca.

Out of all the seats in the small little diner, she chose the one next to her, accepting a cup of coffee and sliding a familiar leather-bound journal across the counter. Beca could feel her heart in her throat. “You uh, you should be mad, but I thought you would want this back. It seems important.”

It was so very important. She took three even sips of coffee, not caring much for the way it bit at her throat. “You got it back to me,”

The woman let out a breath and the floral scent that pulled at her was warming and captivating and Beca smiled into her cup as she took another sip to hide her pleasure in the closeness. Alice watched the interaction with a knowing gaze but when to tend to the only other occupied booth in the place.

“I’m Beca, by the way.” She said.

“Aubrey,” the woman switched into business mode, grabbing her hand in a firm shake “You have quite the story to tell.”

“Nice to meet you, Aubrey” Beca lifted a brow and tapped the cover of the leather book “Want to see a cool scar?”

#Beca Mitchell #Aubrey Posen #Mitchsen #mitchsen fanfiction #emily junk #pitch perfect #pitch perfect fanfiction #requests

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starlordsandrockets · 4 years

Text

My Babysitter’s a Guardian

summary: (Star-Lord x reader) Y/N had fought alongside the Guardians and watched as they slipped away after Thanos snapped his fingers. But watching Peter slip away was the hardest of all. When Tony tells you there’s a way to get Peter back, you butt heads with the strong headed Stark.

a/n: i tried so hard to write a quick fluffy imagine that was requested. also i’m not sure if i will start taking requests but my brain created this plot & it was all i could think about. i hope you enjoy (even though it’s a little sad)

“Pew pew, pow,” You shouted to a giggling Morgan Stark. The two of you had found yourself playing Guardians for the second time today, “How are you so strong,” you call out in your best villain voice, your tone was nasally and irritated.

“Because I’m the legendary Star-Lord,” the small brunette beamed as she pretended to fly around the lakeside cabin’s living room.

The sound of rocks under tires directed your attention off of the mini hero and onto the familiar silver car that waited outside. Your eyes found Tony’s as you both gave each other a look. Confirming that both of you knew exactly who would be on the front doorstep, “Oh, Star-Lord, you win,” you shifted, back into Morgan’s make believe space battle, “let’s go retrieve your prize from mommy in the kitchen,” you coaxed her into your arms, scooping her up. Nodding, you left Tony alone in the living room. The large armchair he sat in felt small under the cabin’s high ceiling.

Five years ago you would have told the world your hostility towards Tony Stark. How out of all the Guardians, you and Stark butted heads since the moment he met you.

After Tony, Nebula and you had almost perished in the Milano, your relationship with the hard headed Stark had changed. But you guessed that any near death experience could make you see the good in a person and that same logic applied to the, small, heart of Tony Stark. At times, the two of you still find your way into many arguments, but you push it aside for his daughter.

Morgan Stark was Tony’s cliche ray of sunshine in the looming years of darkness that sat over your and Tony’s heads. Tony had asked you to help out around their new cabin when they moved in and not long after he had asked you to babysit their new daughter. Tony finally found his purpose and hoped to give you some purpose as well.

“Time heals all wounds” Pepper would tell you night after night with a nervous smile, knowing that she was lucky. Her and Tony did not lose each other to the snap. They did not have to watch each other slip away, to feel their loved one physically leave their touch like dust in the wind.

You could still hear your desperate voice playing in your ears like a bad recording as your hands grabbed at Peter Quill’s worn jacket, pulling him close to you. Almost hoping to escape with him, unable to fathom a world without him in it.

“Where’s Tony,” Pepper’s voice brought you back to your post-snap reality. You found yourself studying a small vase of forget-me-nots that you and Morgan had picked by the lake. Morgan was sitting by your side, a cookie entering your vision as it sat in her small hands.

“Natasha and Steve are outside,” you spoke under your breath as you stared at the baby blue flowers as if they were Peter’s blue eyes, “and I think,” you paused as you tried to recall the third individual that stepped out of the car, “Ant-Man, maybe,”

“What about Star-Lord,” Morgan giggled as she pretended to fly your cookie around the kitchen from where she sat. You felt your heart sink as the small girl spoke of the man you missed more each day that he was gone, “I want to meet Uncle Star-Lord,” Morgan whined before she was cut off by her mother’s short voice.

“Morgan H.,” her tone made the girl jump, “why,” her voice softened as she met your eyes, “why don’t you save your father from Aunt Natasha and Uncle Steve,” she smiled, “and Scott,”

“But, Aunt Y/N,” Morgan frowned, her bottom lip plumping and her brows furrowed. She watched her mother point her finger and she obeyed. Setting down the cookie that sat between her fingers, she climbed out of the adult kitchen chair and headed outside.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Pepper started to speak, unable to meet your gaze, “you’ve filled her head with stories about the Guardians and she’s ecstatic,” Pepper smiled as she folded a stray towel that sat on the countertop, “I even caught her trying to turn herself blue, I’m lucky she didn’t try shaving her head,” she laughed, allowing your lips to attempt a smile.

“You’re a lucky woman, Pepper Potts,” was all you could muster, jealousy laced each word that fell from your lips. The Starks had it all and they had each other, and part of you hated them for it.

“I know, Y/N,” Pepper spoke, her hand setting down the towel on the counter with force, “how many times do I have to say I’m sorry,” she was tired of your stubbornness, “I’ll say it as many times as you need me to Y/N, but it won’t bring him back,” she almost shouted, her eyes finally meeting the blank expression that sat on your face.

Placing your hands on the table’s cool wooden surface, you pushed out the wooden chair. Without a response, you left Pepper alone with her lingering words that still seemed to bounce around in your head.

Making your way into the living room you heard Tony close the door as Morgan’s small feet tapped against the wooden floor, “They didn’t even stay around for a hello,” you asked Tony, meeting his tired eyes. His hand traveled down his face from where he rubbed his temples.

“Time travel,” Tony laughed as his eyes found Morgan as she ran to your side, “those idiots want to mess with time travel,”

“Idiots,” Morgan snickered from behind you, making you smile.

“And it’s possible,” you asked with a spark of hope. Hope that began to claw its way up from the pit that weighed down your heart.

“I can’t risk it,” Tony whispered, his voice tense, “risk, this,” he gestured towards you and Morgan, “This was my chance,” he watched as you placed your hand on Morgan’s back, pushing her towards the kitchen, which she ran to willingly.

“Where’s my chance Stark,” your voice matched his tone but rang a little louder in the silent cabin, “my chance was left behind, when we let him snap his fingers,”

“Really,” Tony laughed, “because last time I checked, your chance,” he emphasized, recalling Peter’s outburst that he claimed was responsible for your loss, “did this to himself and half of the population,” Tony watched as you ran your fingers through your messy hair. Approaching him you almost laughed.

“You should be damn glad that you have Morgan,” you spoke through your teeth as you looked up at him, closing the space between the two of you that stood in the large room, “because if not, I’d kill you,” Turning, you left Tony and put on your best act for Morgan, telling her an early goodbye.

He did it.

You stared at Tony over an early cup of coffee by the lake. Tony Stark, the man who was famous for not having a heart made your heart begin to race.

“And if it doesn’t work,” you blurted, words spilling into your coffee. You met Tony’s tired eyes, his dark circles kept the two of you company.

“Well I can only hope you die trying,” Tony toyed. A pause fell between the two of you. The still lake rippling by your feet, “then again Morgan wouldn’t talk to me if you did,” he smiled against the thick rimmed mug, “so it looks like it has to work, because if it doesn’t,” Tony took a deep breath, the natural air filled his lungs, “she’ll never get to meet Uncle Star-Lord,” he breathed out, “and thanks for that,” Tony spoke cockily, brows furrowed. He had lived through countless months of Star-Lord’s name spilling out of Morgan’s mile-a-minute mouth.

“That’s just karma, Tony,” you smiled, this time your smile was genuine.

***

Suddenly your world came crumbling down.

Wiping your arm across your broken nose, blood stained your skin as tears began to wash it away. For once in your life, you were tired of fighting. Letting out a scream, you squeezed your way out of the building that came crashing down, and that is when you saw him. Standing besides all that was left of the Avengers, your eyes locked onto Thanos as he sat on the battlefield, almost looking defeated.

Tony took in your current appearance. Your black shirt sporting more holes than usual as it sat under your black leather jacket. You had ripped the right sleeve in your attempt to free yourself from the Avengers Compound that had been destroyed around you, by Thanos, trapping you all inside. Your bare skin was covered in blood and bruises, “Where’s the stones,” Tony heard you ask, your throat trembled as you met his eyes.

“Somewhere under all this,” Tony gestured, “All I know is he doesn't have them,” he watched your chest heave, a sigh of relief flaring your bloody nostrils.

“Let’s keep it that way,” you told the three men that stood by your side, “are the others,” you swallowed, not wanting to accept the loss of anyone else you surrounded yourself with.

“Clawing their way out, they’ll be okay,” Steve assured you, attempting a smile as Thor placed his hand on your shoulder.

“They’ve seen worse,” the god spoke as a thunder crack echoed his words, “and I know for a fact, so have you” he joked, attempting to lighten the mood.

You and Thor had always gotten along since he struck the Milano. His charm and way of life captivated you, filling endless nights with interesting conversation. Nothing would have ever come between you and Thor, you were Peter’s and his alone. But something about the god sparked all of Peter’s insecurities.

“Let’s kill him properly this time,” Thor spoke, his cape draped against his armored skin. Heading towards Thanos, you were right by his side.

“As long as there are those that remember what was, there will always be those that are unable to accept what can be. They will resist,” Thanos laughed as he met your eyes, his head shook in disagreement.

“Yep. We're all kinds of stubborn,” Tony spoke, glad to have you by his side.

***

“On your left,” a familiar voice breaks the ringing of your ears. Lowering your shaking blaster, you turned your head to meet Cap’s eyes.

Behind Steve a golden portal appears. Its glowing motion captivates your attention as three figures appear through it. Okoye, Shuri, and Black Panther meet your eyes with relief as their gaze rises to Falcon who flies above their heads.

Falcon is illuminated by dozens of opening, golden rings. Tears sting your eyes and cut skin as they search desperately for your Star-Lord. Locking eyes with Doctor Strange as he descends through a large portal, and suddenly you feel your feet dragging you across the battlefield. Joining Strange, Drax, Mantis, Spider-Man appear, followed by Quill. Stumbling forward, you trip over your own two feet as your tears cloud your vision.

“Is that everyone,” Doctor Strange announces before a giant Ant-Man erupts through the fallen Compound. The ground shook as you looked up to find Professor Hulk, War Machine, and Rocket safe in Ant-Man’s grasp. A relieved laugh broke through your tears as you rose to your feet, your body and heart aching.

Your eyes found Tony as he approached Peter Parker. The two of you locked eyes as you smiled at him, tears cleaning your face of blood and dirt. Tony returned the smile as Parker began to ramble to him, but Tony’s gaze was still locked onto you. As if the world around you slowed down, you watched as Tony pulled Peter Parker into a tight hold.

Turning your head, you watched as Quill’s head turned in every direction, searching for any sign of you, dead or alive.

Slowly, you backed away from the warm embrace that unfolded feet in front of you. Turning on your heels, you ran towards the back of the fight, forgetting about your aching limbs. The world around you turned into blurred shapes as your eyes stung from dirt and tears, “Peter,” you muttered, out of breath, only loud enough for you to hear. As if he could hear you, his blue eyes found yours.

Your pace slowed as Quill flew towards you, dropping to his feet as he neared your shaking figure, “Y/N,” he shouted. His words rang like a question, as if he was making sure this was not all a dream.

“Peter,” you cried, but for the first time in years, the tears you cried over him were filled with joy. His name was pushed out of your lungs as he embraced you, his body knocking you backwards as he held you in his strong arms.

His hands traveled across your body, as if he was making sure you really stood in front of him. His palms rested against your bruised cheeks as he took in how broken you really were, “Oh sweetheart,” he sighed as he peppered your skin in delicate kisses.

Each kiss hurt more than the last but your heavy heart lightened as you felt Quill in your grasp once again, “Please don’t go,” you whispered as you looked at him. The battlefield around you began to stir, danger approaching the two of you with every passing minute.

“I’ll be right by your side darling,” Quill whispered, planting a kiss on your bloody lips. He felt as you relaxed in his hold, your body melting against his own, “I’ll be fighting by your side, like always,” he assured you. Releasing your cheeks, he raised his hand. You watched as his blue eyes smiled at you before they were concealed by his mask, the glowing red eyes illuminated your face. This time, as Quill stared back at you, all of your wounds disappeared under the red lighting. He felt as you still tugged on his jacket, afraid to once again let him go. You wanted nothing more than to leave the others and to run off with him. Then you remembered all that Tony risked for you to have Quill standing before you after half a decade of him being gone.

“Okay,” you smiled, tears once again clouded your vision. You would stand your ground because in the end, you would be able to see Tony’s face as Morgan met Uncle Star-Lord.

***

You held Morgan in your arms as she buried her head in your neck, the black lace of your dress tickling the small girl’s face. You rubbed her back as Pepper spoke about the legacy and family Tony Stark had left behind, and how he had saved those who he had brought back. Turning your head you found the Guardians who stood farther back on the cabin’s lawn, meeting Quill’s eyes he gave you a soft smile.

On the day of Tony’s death a range of emotions flooded you. Being reunited with Quill fell short as soon as Tony snapped his fingers. Quill’s strong arms held you back as you watched Pepper pull Peter Parker away from Tony. Turning, Parker had found your eyes, falling against your chest he let out heavy sobs.

Watching as Pepper spoke to Tony with a smile, regret replaced your sadness, Pepper Potts was no longer a lucky woman.

The clearing of a throat brought you back to reality, making you jump, Morgan bouncing in your grasp, “Peter,” his name escaped your lungs in a nervous tone, “sorry,” you smiled shyly, a few tears threatened to trail down your cheeks, “Morgan,” you whispered at the shy girl, her face still hidden, she was confused and almost too young to process what was going on, “Someone’s here to meet you,” you laughed, the threatening tears began to fall, “It’s Uncle Star-Lord,” you whispered in her ear. Suddenly, Morgan perked up, her head escaping your neck.

“Uncle Star-Lord,” Morgan questioned as she met Quill’s blue eyes, her hold tightening from where her arms draped around your neck. Shyness fell over the girl once again as Quill smiled back at her, approaching the two of you, knees bent, meeting Morgan at eye level.

“I heard someone has been pretending to be me when I was away,” Quill huffed, “it wouldn’t be you, now would it,” he watched as Morgan gave him a shy nod, a small smile pressed her lips closed, “so Star-Lord’s your favorite hero, huh,”

“Uhuh,” Morgan smiled, “Y/N’s the villain, and Star-Lord beats her,” she spilled, pretending to shoot her blasters.

“Y/N, a villain,” Quill asked with a smirk, his tone was sarcastic, “how did Star-Lord manage to get caught by a villain,” scooping Morgan out of your arms, you smiled, “Well if you’re Star-Lord, I guess I’ll have to be my favorite superhero,” Quill teased as he held the girl in his strong arms.

“Who’s that,” she asked, desperate to know her new Uncle’s interests. You sighed, knowing now that Quill was around, Morgan had a new favorite.

Quill looked at you, his eyes soft, a whisper left his lips, “Iron Man,” he spilled, “he’s the best superhero, no one can beat Iron Man,”

Morgan pouted her lip, “I want to be Iron Man,” she watched as Quill shook his head, “Uncle Star-Lord,” she whined.

“You win Iron Man,” Quill smiled, “Come on, let’s go get some snacks,” adjusting his hold on Morgan, he led her towards the house as Morgan pretended to fly. You watched as Quill disappeared, along with the others who stood on the cabin’s lawn. Suddenly, you were alone.

The cabin sat quiet as you stood by the lake, remembering the moment Tony told you that saving everyone might just be possible. The moment he told you that Morgan would not know what to do if you did not make it back alive. Tears clouded your vision as you sat by the lake’s edge, at your feet floated Tony’s arc reactor.

In the distance you could hear Morgan and Quill’s voices as they called out for you.

#marvel fanfic #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #star lord x reader #star lord fanfic #star lord fanfiction #star-lord x reader #star-lord fanfic #star-lord fic #star-lord fanficiton

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kerra-and-company · 3 years

Note

Hey there, I hope you're having a great day! I'm probably late to the party, but for the planet asks - would you want to give us Pluto for one of your characters? ^w^

I am in fact having a pretty good day, thanks! And I hope you are too! :) Don't worry, you're not that late, and I'd be happy to--I saw that you enjoyed my Cio post yesterday, so let's give these a shot for her! (Thank you by the way!! <3)

𝟏𝟎. 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐎 !

( 𝗌𝗒𝗆𝖻𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾𝗌 : transformation, power, death, rebirth, evolution. )

what does ‘ power ‘ mean to your muse ? and how important is it to them ? is death something that frightens them ? how do they handle death ? do they believe in reincarnation ? rebirth doesn’t necessarily mean dying and being reborn as another person or thing, it can also mean something as simple as changing something drastic about themselves, so do they believe a person can truly change ? transform their flaws and be reborn as a better person ?

Cioffi:

Power can mean many different things, but the most relevant to Cio are these: control over your own life, control over others, magical power, and political power (there's a bit of overlap there, but yeet). As for how important it is to her, she has yet to meet a politician she trusts (Cio is not a fan of the Arcane Council), and she's wary of those who openly claim to have great magical power. Some of them are mostly fine, if arrogant, but better to be safe than sorry, in her experience. She has fought hard for control over herself and her life and values that very highly, but she doesn't crave a leadership position in the Priory or the Pact, which, funnily enough, is partially why she ends up with one.

On the topic of death, Cio's parents died in front of her--rather violently, actually--but she was only about two years old and was too young to remember. She grows up recognizing death as loss and as something that hurt her older brother, but she's not personally scarred by it. The first person she truly loses is Sieran, at Claw Island, and it cuts very, very deep. She handles it as well as she can, which isn't particularly well, and "deals with" reminders of it during HoT by pretending she isn't phased by any of the deaths there at all. It takes a bit for her to learn how to grieve in a way that's healthy. If she lost someone now, it would still cut deep, but she'd deal with it at least a little bit better.

Cio's view on change comes from a very scientific source--reactions are transformations, not erasures. She believes it's very much possible to change, but you'll never become an entirely different person. You're still you, you're still a person who has done XYZ things, but you can learn from that and grow more until that's more your starting point than anything else. (This doesn't mean she's always going to forgive people who make mistakes, but it does mean that if someone's put in the work to do better she'll take that into account and consider it.)

Also, sorry in advance but this prompt is forcing me to write a tiny Cio on Claw Island drabble thingy, so if you want angst, check under the cut. Claw-Island-typical warnings for it.

Cio hammers against her friend's arms with her fists. She can feel them glowing, glowing, burning--a distant part of her recognizes that she must be hurting Nisha, but xe doesn't let go, and she can't stop.

"If we have to run, come with us."

Her throat is already sore from screaming, and it tangles with the moans and shuffling of Risen on the docks. Nisha ducks and spins around the dragon minions as their companions' blades and arrows cut them down, unable to fight but unwilling to let her go.

"There's too many of them. We have to stay. You have to get back and warn the Priory, the other orders, Lion's Arch."

Cio's eyes are fixed on the gate. It's closed, it's closed, but she could get it open, she could blow it open, it's not that far away, she could go if she ran if she was let down she could save--

She's unsure which words she's yelling and which she's thinking. She doesn't care.

"Let the others stay!" It's selfish, she knows it as she says it, but--

A hammer flies toward her face, covered in muck and dirt and blood. Nisha moves away just in time for it to catch xem on the shoulder instead. It must hurt, but the tall sylvari is silent, the only sign of pain a stiffness and a shudder that shakes Cio's entire body.

"Three have a better chance, and you know it, Ci."

"Let me go," she hears herself plead, rough and broken. Her throat hurts. She opens her mouth again. "Let me go, Nish, let me go--"

An arrow flies past her face, burying itself in the Risen's head, and it collapses with a rattling exhale of air.

"Whether it's one, two, or three, you have no chance, please, I--"

"Let me go!" It's a hoarse cry rather than a scream. Her voice failing her, she thrashes and thrashes and thrashes, but Nisha holds her with both arms, and xyr grip stays strong.

"I always wanted to fall in love just once before I died."

Somehow they've reached the boat, now, and Nisha flings the two of them onto the deck, curling up in a corner around Cio and holding her as still as xe can.

Their companions follow, faces Cio will identify later--Trahearne, the Firstborn, dragging an injured Lionguard soldier; the young Warmaster, with tears streaming down her face and a staff that looks too big for her; and the Lightbringer, the other sylvari, whose eyes are fierce and angry and broken as she shoots Risen after Risen with arrows like targets at a firing range.

"Sieran, please--"

The ship pulls away from the docks. It's too slow and too fast all at once but whichever it is, Cio can feel it, and the toes of her boots thud against the deck in a last-ditch escape effort.

"I'm so glad I got to love you."

"SIERAN!" Cio's voice shatters on the name. A breaking. A letting go.

She stops struggling. She'll notice later that she's left scorch marks on the deck planks.

I love you too, she whispers to a ghost.

#gw2 #cioffi #my fics #medical-unprofessional-rat-man #thank you so much for appreciating her i'm sorry i repaid you by writing her being hurt askjdfa #but hope you enjoy some cio fun facts #and thank you very much for the ask! :)

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finnofamerica · 4 years

Text

Lioness - Fili x Reader

Summary: You and Fili are a warrior duo to be reckoned with, but what happens behind closed doors?

Word Count: 417

Date Posted: 05.05.2020

Note: Kisses 30 “as comfort” and 41 “because the world is saved”

|| Masterlist || Requested by @angellcora

You were a force to be reckoned with, fighting with a ferocity unmatched by man. Dual wielding swords you stood on the battlefield as orcs surrounded you. Up on Raven’s Hill, you fought for your life and the life of your lover. Too long you’d been sneaking around with Fili and pretending not to love each other over these past six months.

Fili stood at your back, matching your ferocity with every blow. Fili was magnificent in battle, living up to your nickname for him - your Lion prince. You moved in sync, matching each other step for step as your enemy fell around you. Just a little ways away, Kili and Tauriel were fighting together, using each other’s strengths to their advantage.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Thorin facing off with Azog. Your gut wrenched.

“Thorin.” You said to Fili, braking your formation to stand with Thorin on the ice, swords held in front of you while you growled.

“You think you can help him?” Azog laughed, “Your life will mean nothing.”

“Come and get me, you ugly bitch.” You taunted. You didn’t fear death, blocking Azog’s mace as he lunged. Thorin fought next to you, the two of you gaining ground against the pale orc. When the pale orc drifted over the waterfall under the ice, you knew the battle would soon be over. Fili ran to you, dropping his own swords to embrace you, cubbing your face with his blood cover hands to press his lips to yours.

You didn’t realize it, but you’d saved Thorin’s life that day. You’d often woken in the middle of the night, hearing a sound that seemed slightly off - praying it wasn’t a sneak attack. Many of those nights you’d woken Fili as you paced around the room, waiting or trying to convince your mind that it wasn’t real.

“Amralime,” He whispered into the darkness, gently luring you back to bed, kissing the scars on your shoulders. “It’s okay we’re safe. I’d kiss away all your scars if I could, but I can’t do anything about your mental scars.”

You let out a breath as you turned to look at him again, just looking into his eyes. You loved his eyes.

“What?” Fili pushed your hair away from your face, letting his fingers follow the shape of your jaw.

“I can’t admire my Lion Prince?” You joked.

“Only if it makes you my lioness.”

Wrapped up in his arms, you finally slept easy for the night.

#fili x reader #The hobbit x reader #fili durin #finn writes #drabble #05/05/2020

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punksarahreese · 3 years

Text

Accident | 4 mg Ativan

Nosdecember day 9 | @neworleansspecial

Anxious!ava; Ava oversteps by accident and Connor’s reaction causes problems

CW: fighting, panic attacks, cognitive distortions

Repost because I’m a clown who accidentally deleted the original post

***

"Ava," Connor was mad, Ava could hear it in his voice even before she saw his face. She was just trying to make coffee, back turned to the door as she fought with the machine that wouldn’t cooperate. The way the door closed less than gently and the footsteps coming up behind her made her stomach drop a little. She hated that tone, hated the way her name sounded when someone said it with hostility. It made her want to run, but this was real life and she couldn’t do that.

"Connor," Ava tried to keep her tone level, pretending her voice wasn’t trembling a little as she turned to look at him.

He was mad, tablet in hand as he glared daggers at her. Ava hated that look, when his ego was clearly seeping through and one little thing that didn’t go his way made him act like this. He was about to throw a tantrum, she was sure, and usually that would make her more annoyed than anything. However, the way he had her borderline backed up against the counter made her feel more intimidated than she liked.

"Why was my surgery postponed and my patient allowed to break her fast?"

Ava raised an eyebrow, "Latham asked me to cover your pre-ops since you didn’t bother to show up for rounds this morning."

"That doesn’t answer my question, Ava."

"I’m not here for you to demand things of me, Connor," she retorted as she forced herself to stand her ground, "She’s diabetic."

"So?"

"So her white count and blood sugar were low," Ava rolled her eyes, "A bloody med student would be able to tell me why we had to postpone her surgery."

"We didn’t do anything! You ruined my operating schedule."

"She would have gone into hypoglycaemic shock, Connor. She definitely wouldn’t have made it off that operating table and if she did her risk of post-op infection was too high!"

"That’s not the point, Ava!" He spat and the anger in his voice made her jump a little. He was overreacting, she knew that, but this was getting to be too much. She had been overwhelmed all morning, after sleeping through her alarm and having to rush through her routine to get to work on time. This was proving to be yet another change in her schedule that was only stressing Ava out more.

"Then what’s the fucking problem, Connor?"

“You are,” he was clearly referencing more than just her meddling with one surgery, even if she had good reason. He was mad at her, for whatever reason, and was using this as an excuse to lash out at her. Ava just stared at him, both because she was waiting for him to elaborate and because she did not know how to respond. Usually an argument with Connor was no big deal, since they argued on the daily, but since she was already overwhelmed this was way too much already. She wanted to run, to leave and go find Sarah because she would be able to keep her calm, but she couldn’t. Ava never backed down from a fight, especially not when Connor and her job were concerned, and she definitely was not going to let him win now.

“All you ever do is get in the way,” Connor spat, “I have a system and this was an important surgery, now you’ve gone and messed it up. You meddle too much, Ava, and it’s getting ridiculous.”

“Excuse me?” her tone was incredulous because, really, he was making no sense, “Since when do you have a system? You’re the most erratic and trigger-happy surgeon I have had the displeasure of meeting.”

He didn’t validate that with a response, choosing instead to glare at her more, which only made Ava more upset. Him and his goddamn “holier-than-thou” attitude would drive her crazy one day. He was being entirely unfair too, since she had, in this case, done just was what required for the patient’s safety.

“Why are you on my ass about this all of a sudden? Last time I checked you were the one on Latham’s bad side today because you didn’t show for your pre-ops. Besides, I was thinking about the patient here.”

“Were you, Ava?”

The accusatory tone did not sit right with the other surgeon at all, “What are you insinuating now?”

“Were you thinking about the patient?” his question must have been rhetorical because he didn't let her answer, “Or where you just trying to get me back in the doghouse with Latham?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Connor, what the hell? Why would you even accuse me of that?”

He just scoffed, as if her shock was ridiculous to him, “I wouldn’t put anything past you, Ava.”

Ava stared at him in confusion, honestly hurt that he thought that lowly of her. They may have their differences but they have worked together long enough to know when the other was joking or just being difficult. Connor was serious now and it was so frustrating, he knew Ava would not put a patient in danger like that just to mess with his surgery.

“Just stay out of my way, Ava,” he turned to leave and only looked back at her dismissively, “Don’t mess with my surgeries.”

When the door to the CT lounge slammed shut again, Ava found herself shakily letting out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She set her coffee cup on the counter again, realizing her knuckles had turned white from how tightly she was gripping the mug. Her head was reeling, trying to take in everything that had just happened. Connor’s accusations were ringing in her head, making her question where the hell this thought that she would sabotage him like that for no reason even came from.

Before she was even completely aware, Ava found herself sliding down the cabinet and landing less than gently on the floor. The ugly hospital linoleum was cold through the thighs of her scrubs, making her shiver both out of anxiety and the temperature drop. Her mind was racing, all of Connor’s words hitting her way too hard all of a sudden. She could usually brush off his comments with an eye roll and a reminder that he was just being egotistical, but this time they stung.

Maybe it was because she was already overwhelmed, the morning had been too stimulating and too many things were out of place. Whatever the reason, Ava’s anxiety decided to hit full force the second she was alone. She couldn’t breathe, it was all too much and guilt was hurting her like a rolling wave.

Why was she even guilty? There was no reason for her to feel this way, because she had absolutely done the right thing. She even clarified with Latham afterwards and he agreed that he would have done the same. Ava did what was in the patient’s best interest, Connor’s accusation was completely misplaced and ridiculous.

So why was this hurting her so much?

It was his anger, the way he yelled at her and had her cornered like that. Connor wouldn’t hurt her physically, she knew that for certain, but it still scared her. Her anxiety was never rational but when it came to conflict it was inconsolable. She could only hold on to her façade for so long before she broke, which is what this was. She didn’t mean to upset him, didn’t mean to make him angry. It was all an accident; she didn’t mean to.

“S-stupid Connor,” she muttered, “S-stu...stupid God co-complex.”

Her breath was coming out in ragged gasps by this point, short nails digging into her arms to ground herself. Mind racing, she tried so hard to focus on something, anything, but she couldn’t. His words were ringing in her head like a shrill shriek, not letting her ignore them. They began morphing too, into other distortions her brain insisted were real.

All you ever do is get in the way.

You meddle too much, Ava.

You’re the problem.

You.

You’re not worth it.

You’re selfish.

You did this.

Fraud.

Nuisance.

Disappointment.

Her hands clapped over her ears like she could block out the intrusive thoughts from the outside. She was shaking like a leaf, panic overtaking her completely. Stomach rolling, Ava felt like she was going to be sick with how overwhelmed she was. The fluorescent lighting made her feel way too hot and brought tears to her eyes along with the panic. Her head was reeling, too much going on and no Sarah or Ativan or any of her comfort objects to calm her down.

All of her coping mechanisms went out the window in that moment, slumped over knees and breathing rapidly. Her hands were over her ears or on her neck, nails digging in deep because it was the only way she could ground herself. Pain stims aren’t healthy, she knew that, but in that moment all she knew was she felt like she was suffocating. She deserved this, her brain insisted, the pain was the least she deserved in that moment.

All you ever do is get in the way, Ava.

#ava bekker #connor rhodes #4 mg ativan #anxious!ava #my aus #my-writing #userglow #mutuals #neworleansspecial #nosdecember

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frumfrumfroo · 4 years

Text

I wrote a thing (Leia and Ben reunion angst)

Lamentations

Leia Organa hadn't really planned on getting old.

Not that she’d particularly expected to die young, either. The possibility (even probability) was certainly very real considering her tireless campaign to put herself in the thick of imminent danger, but logical reasoning about the likely outcome was never any match for her ambitions in life. Sheer bravado and the arrogance of youth had always been more than adequate to the task of pushing the reality of death from her mind. Even when fear or doubt got a grip, she had taken for granted that her rude good health and unshakeable self-assurance would continue in perpetuity as long as she managed to survive.

She hadn’t counted on a day dawning when she could no longer take matters into her own hands if need be. When tenacity might not be enough.

Now, hobbling down a corridor with the cane she hated but couldn’t yet do without no matter what her pride said, finding it slightly hard to catch her breath, she felt the years like anchors on every limb. She felt the weight of her choices pressing her shoulders down from their habitual imperious uprightness into an aged stoop.

She was on her way to meet her own son for the first time as a grown man and the harm she had done him, her failures as a mother, trailed her like a colossal shadow. She sensed the cold presence of the past looming over her, its encroaching guilt nipping at her heels, and it made her feel more ancient than the deepest rivers of the Force. As if her bones were formed from brittle primordial rock, apt to shatter with a touch.

If Han were here he’d cut her down to size for thinking she was the one keeping the whole universe together, for trying to bear every burden, fight every good fight. He’d depreciate himself and distract her from her navel gazing, bounce her back into reality and remind her not everything depended on her. But small things did. Smaller things than she ever remembered to notice. He’d kiss her on the forehead and forgive her for her self-importance. Han had kept her human when single-minded, hotheaded determination threatened to turn her into some kind of overbearing political droid.

But he wasn’t here and never would be again.

When the girl, Rey, repeated her story of what had happened on Starkiller Base, this time after her sojourn on Ahch-to, and in much more detail than before… It was the first time Leia wondered if she ought to blame herself a lot more personally than she ever had, if it were her fears and hurts, her emotional retaining wall which created an opportunity for Snoke. Perhaps it wasn’t so inevitable, the enemy wasn’t so crafty, and she had simply abdicated her post as guardian. Every far-flung, bleeding heart responsibility she’d voluntarily taken on in her life- some she’d deliberately snatched out of other, more cautious hands- and she’d shunned the one which had the strongest, most natural claim on her. It was the one job she was worried she couldn’t do.

He’d been so small when she’d pulled his childish, clutching fingers away from the folds of her dress and pressed him firmly towards his uncle. He’d been only just as tall as her chest, gangly and skinny in the aftermath of his first growth spurt. His eyes had looked huge in his slim face, enormous and soulful pools of hazel gold and brown. Pleading. She remembered putting her hands on his shoulders and smoothing back his hair as she looked at him and tried not to notice the sheen of unshed tears, the trembling of his lower lip. She’d decided this was best for him and so she had turned a deaf ear to any potential entreaties, unwilling to be swayed from wisdom by sentiment. It had to be done. For his own good, she had to pretend this didn’t hurt. She couldn’t waver.

All her life she hadn’t had time for her sorrows, all her life she could ill-afford the luxury of indulging her feelings. When was it time? When had she fought for long enough?

When she won. That was always the answer. She’d rest, she’d have a life, when she had made a universe worth living in. When she’d made things right. What could be more important?

“There’s always some new crusade, though, isn’t there, sweetheart?”

Han’s voice, sharp on the endearment which he’d always used equally often in chastisement as in affection, laden with barely concealed hurt. She heard his pain, but she chose not to listen to it.

She’d thought there’d be time to make it up to him. She thought they would wait for her, her family, that her life would wait for her.

Her step faltered when she found herself standing outside the room in the med suite where Ben was recuperating. He was mobile now, his wounds were closed and his ribs were healing. He’d needed a lot of rest, more for mental and spiritual exhaustion than physical damage. He’d become a conduit in the Force the like of which was only heard of in legend and there had been some question if he would survive. She’d kept abreast of his condition since she’d been told of his arrival three days ago; he’d been in her every thought and breath and prayer, but she couldn’t visit. There was too much to do, too many people to oversee and decisions to make. She had plenty of excuses to keep avoiding the reckoning.

Reportedly Rey hadn’t left his bedside once, never further from him than the fresher in the corner of the room. Poe said she was like a wild animal with a cub, hovering protectively over his prone body and questioning anyone who wanted to get near him. She’d maintained a death grip on his hand which only loosened slightly when she fell asleep in her chair at his side. Her own injuries were tended by a droid, under protest and without anaesthetic.

Leia leaned against the corridor wall and tried for what felt like the latest in several trillion attempts to come to terms with what Rey had told her about Luke. About Ben.

And she knew she deserved to blame herself. She knew. If he’d thought he could come home, he would have, and who had made him think he couldn’t? Han had fought for him and she’d have to tell him that no matter how painful it was to admit, she’d have to make sure he understood it wasn’t his father’s idea that Anakin’s blood flowed with latent corruption- not until she’d convinced him it did. Not until her secret festering fears clouded over the dawning love and hope they’d sacrificed so much to have.

The supreme necessity of forgiveness, of giving it and receiving it both, had become the hardest lesson she would ever learn. Her famously indomitable righteous anger had perished with a whimper, suffocated itself in weariness and despair; it was only fear that lived forever. It was fear which chained love, shackled hope, and bound the soul in darkness. And forgiveness drove out fear.

If Ben could forgive her, it seemed a mere pittance to forgive him.

When she rounded the corner the kids were silent but clearly communicating, the power of their connection like a subtle crackle in the Force which raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Rey was sitting on the edge of his cot, their heads very close together and her hands clasping both of his. Leia absorbed Rey’s mood first because it didn’t hurt nearly so much to look at Rey. The smile on her lips and the contentment in her eyes spoke of a peace the girl had never shown before. There was a confidence about her now, a knowingness. Leia had sensed she was searching for something from the moment she’d first seen her, noticed the void she was trying to fill. Leia had an eye for pressure points in people. She’d made use of Rey’s in hope that it would help her reach Luke. There might be an apology owed in that quarter too, but all thoughts of Rey vanished when Ben noticed her presence.

His head turned towards her and his face froze in an expression between horror and anguish, his pleading eyes just as she remembered them. He had a lot of his father in him, so much that it was striking, and a stab of agony lodged itself between her ribs that felt like her heart being pierced. But there was also so much of her in those eyes, in the slope of his jaw and the shape of his chin that she almost felt as if she were looking into a kaleidoscope reflection of her younger self. The certain, unshakable self she still half expected to see in the mirror before she turned on the vanity lights. He was a perfect marriage of her features and Han’s, with his broad cheekbones and regal profile, his full mouth and deep set eyes.

It was probably because he seemed in that moment somehow both a mirror and the spitting image of her husband that it was the shame which hit her first. She couldn’t help but spin around and cover her mouth to try to swallow a cry.

There was a tiny gasping noise from behind her and then Rey’s voice murmuring something. She couldn’t focus on the words, couldn’t understand what was being said, but she knew the sound of pain was from Ben. He thought she couldn’t bear to look at him.

And she couldn’t, but not for the reasons he must be imagining.

She gathered her dignity and forced herself to look again. He was clutching his blankets where they pooled at his waist, his long black hair falling in soft waves which framed the drawn pallor of his face very starkly. He looked ill and frightened. Vulnerable, a child again.

“Ben,” she choked out. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, my darling boy. I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t know how long she’d been weeping into her hands when someone began to gently pry them away from her face, but her cheeks were wet and her eyes stung. She raised her gaze only to be confronted with a wide expanse of chest covered in the soft, oversized hospital smock which was standard issue for checked-in patients. She looked up, and up, and up to meet his eyes and couldn’t remember ever feeling so small in her life.

Leia was a short woman and used to fighting to get the world on her level, but this was her baby. She’d carried him in her belly, held him in her hands, she’d last seen him when she still had to crouch to speak to him eye to eye. His once little fingers now dwarfed her entire arm where he was holding her wrist and he towered over her to such an extent that the top of her head barely reached the middle of his sternum. Her baby was grown up and she hadn’t seen him in person since he was ten. Since their heights had been the inverse of this tableau. He’d become a man and she’d been there for none of it. She’d chosen not to be.

Ben was leaning down, studying her with trepidatious concern, and she couldn’t help but reach up and touch his face. She put his hair behind his ear and cradled his cheek in her palm, feeling the living warmth of his skin and the tickling sensation of a hot tear which rolled down from the corner of his eye and under her thumb.

“Look how beautiful you are,” she said, almost without meaning to.

He ducked towards her hand, hiding behind his hair.

She wrapped her arms around him and he folded into her, dropping nearly to his knees so he could hug her back, so tightly that it almost hurt. He was very strong, the harsh conditioning of a footsoldier obvious in the broad muscles of his back beneath her hands, and it hurt to think how badly he must have needed to be, how much he’d needed to rely on himself and his ability to fight. How he’d never been safe anywhere from the moment he was born.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. He sobbed hard into her shoulder, as if the words had broken a dam inside him. Deep, wracking sobs that shook his whole body and made her hold him as close as she could and whisper to him the way she had when he was a fussing infant, when the nightmares she never dared to tell her brother about had gripped him in their malingering claws. When the fear of darkness which ended up swallowing their little family encroached too close. “Shhsh, shhsh, it’s all right now.”

His voice cracked when he finally managed to tell her, “It’s me- I'm sorry; it’s me, it’s me, it’s me. How can you stand it, how can you stand it?”

Leia suddenly found herself meeting Rey’s penetrating gaze over his head. If there was judgement there, it was less harsh than it justly could have been.

“I should have protected you. I didn’t protect you.”

“Mother,” he croaked with enormous difficulty, “I killed him.”

Her stomach rolled over and her vision blurred with fresh tears, but she held him with her, gripping the fabric of his shirt with white-knuckle intensity. “He loved you. I love you. I’m so sorry.”

His face collapsed like wet linen and he slid to the floor at her feet, burying his head in her skirts. There was a mantra of apologies and self-recriminations amongst the desperate sobs and she lowered a shaking hand to stroke his hair.

“Ben, don’t. Please. Please don’t. Your father knew, he understood.”

Red eyes peeked up at her, his chin was trembling and those same fingers were clutching her skirts again and she wished she could go back to that day and tell herself her child needed her more than the galactic senate ever would. He needed honesty, his mother and his family, not a comfortable lie, a Jedi master or a carefully constrained destiny. She wished she’d seen him as clearly then as she did now, that she hadn’t been too afraid to look. She wished Han could be here to celebrate beating the odds one last time.

“If he could, he’d tell you this was the fairest trade he ever made.”

#basically a companion piece to my earlier fic #because fuck tros Leia didn't need to die and everyone killing her all the time is bullshit #this really isn't what I wanted? I don't know that the voice is right at all? idk angst because I'm mega depressed #is it cathartic at least?#fanfiction

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sparring-spirals · 4 years

Note

Please do a meta on how absolutely awful trent is and how the nein oppose him if you are willing. Please, thank you

Alright, anon. Sorry for the delay, caused by, among other things:

1- Every time I tried thinking about Trent my brain kept saying "Get FUUUUUCKED IKITHOT" and absolutely nothing else, which doesn't make for a great meta.

2- Related, every time I did actually try to answer it, it spiralled into multiple pages of extremely detailed and tangent-ing rage about the 3 million and one things Trent sucks for, with great detail in why things suck and are horrifically harmful and I, personally, should get to fistfight Trent. Eventually I realized that a- i don’t have to extensively cover everything Trent has done wrong (not physically possible) b- i shouldn’t (bad 4 my blood pressure probs)

3- I kept randomly tangenting into specific pedantic/moral shit that Proves Why Trent Is Wrong, and it’s basically the equivalent of, idk, trying to use calculus to win an argument with a squirrel; it might be relevant, I might be correct, but that squirrel does not give a single fuck about the calculus when making decisions.

After many attempts this has come out to more of a bullet point list that gets more incoherent as you travel down. I’m not sure I got to the second half of this ask. Tbh my first thought was this post (A GREAT POST), although I’m assuming you meant more in a narrative-foil kind of way. Maybe someday.

For the sake of not bombarding people with Ikithot bullshit, a read more. Feel free to not look if you think it will incite Bad Feelings in ya.

- The things Trent did /to/ Caleb, Astrid, and Eadwulf were bad. I’m hoping I don’t have to extrapolate on that. For my own sake I’m not going to.

-> ok i said i wasn’t going to but i just want to say that: intentionally targeting youths, who have allegedly/specifically limited opportunities in life due to circumstance, knowing that “devoting your whole life to blank cause” is going to sound amazing to them, and taking that as free range for you to Fuck Up Their Lives and phrase it as “ah but without me you would still have No Opportunities” is so, so, so deeply fucked. Both in fiction and in real life.

-> fuck

- The general highline stance of “i do things for the greater good” is Deeply Fucked for various reasons. To avoid pedantic tangents (as mentioned above), I will simply point to Caleb saying “I believe we can do better. I believe we can do this with a little less blood.” ily caleb. you’re doing great caleb.

-> [deleted rant about the inherent issue with tossing innocents into woodchippers to weigh against a nebulous greater good that is meant to Help Someday] [deleted rant about You Motherfucker Don’t Get To Be All Cruelty Happy And Pretend Its All About The Future]

- Phrasing the losses FUCKING MURDER as soldiers dying valiantly for a greater good/cause DOESN’T COUNT WHEN THE PEOPLE DID NOT KNOW/DID NOT AGREE/ DID NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT CAUSE THEY WERE DYING FOR, you fucking

-> THIS DOES IN FACT COUNT, THE CHILD SOLDIERS YOU RECRUIT, IKITHOT. Because they don’t know! They don’t! They didn’t! You don’t get to pretend that the rose tinted vision you sold them at the start lets you count as “informed consent”, you don’t get to keep piling sins onto them and say they knew what they signed up for at the start because they fuckin didn’t-

- and it is SO SHITTY, that Trent knows and uses this against them. Caleb is still fighting this, Astrid repeated the sentiment. They’ve done unforgiveable things. They were necessary. They were unforgiveable. As a result, they need to keep doing them, they have to have been worth it, because what if they weren’t? What then? What if those awful things weren’t worth it, but perhaps they are not irredeemable and marred for the rest of their lives?

Trent can’t let them think that. So he ties their sins and their tragedies together, because as long as They Have Lost So Much, It Has To Be Worth It, They Have Done So Much, It Can Never Be Forgiven, both reign true. They can’t leave. They can’t leave. Caleb is fighting his way out of this, step by step, but it is awful that we still see it in motion, in Astrid, in Eadwulf, in every new recruit whose life he’s going to burn, whose sins he’s gonna tally and use to bind them closer.

- And this fucker, this fucker, tries to pull back in Caleb’s growth to him. Tries to take credit. This is. Absolutely a thing! That abusive people do and it makes me so deeply, overwhelmingly furious.

-> Caleb made himself, Caleb grew, Caleb rebuilt. It’s a Mighty Nein made Caleb. It’s a Caleb that has taken lessons of love and forgiveness and learning, of awkward apologies and bakeries and dick jokes and families. Caleb who fought so hard for every inch of growth, of forgiveness, of being able to see fire and trying to say his regrets without letting them burn him alive. And this asshole-

-> “You had to break to regrow. You’re welcome.” christ. christ. I’ve been trying to pick apart a good way to phrase this all week, and I’ve decided on this: Pain is not the only way to grow strength, to grow resilience. I think pain, and strife, and struggle are, perhaps, the easiest ways to test these qualities. But pain is not the only way to create a strong person. Loss, and fear, and grief, and suffering, are not. People can have an immense capacity for strength and resilience without needing to be burned to the ground first. Trent is looking at someone who came through a trial by fire and acting as if he is responsible for the outcome and not just the experiment. You ““““breaking him to rebuild”””””” wasn’t necessary. Even if you were a definite part of the path that Caleb took to get to where he is? You don’t get to claim credit for it, you geriatric fishstick motherfucker.

- *lies facedown for a bit*

- also i KNOW astrid and eadwulf both are like. very much in a space of their own right now. and not necessarily even in a space to start recovering from trent. and the Nein very well might have to fight and/or kill them. but god, i want so badly for them to get out from Trent’s influence, and befriend the Nein, and befriend Caleb. i want so badly for things to get better for them. even if they don’t see it that way at first.

- i think i should just leave this on my generalized anger at him trying to uproot Caleb’s general sense of security by claiming guidance on how he got there, trying to insert himself as all knowing and constantly in control. I don’t even care if its true. I don’t care if he did make a plan for Caleb to escape, because no matter what Trent planned, he didn’t fucking plan for the Mighty Nein, no one can plan for that shit, so things are not gonna be under his control the way he’s pretending they are.

- i hope Veth superglues his ass to his chair somehow. Not his robes. His ass.

#i did not rewatch the dinner scene because at some point you have to say No to subjecting yourself to inner rage demons #critical role #c2e110 #trent ikithon #character meta #meta #this was a neat exercise in why i spend 90% of my time talking about things i /like/ from CR. my system. was not meant to function otherwise #related: i never wrote a meta about/rewatched the thoreau confrontation for very similar reasons!#every time i tried i just ended up with multiple pages of rage and a desire to personally confront thoreau #which. i cannot do. because he isnt real #tragic #(i do appreciate the anon that asked this though. this is not shade towards them. ty for the ask)#ALSO I FEEL OBLIGATED TO SAY THAT OBVIOUSLY THIS IS NOT ALL/THE WORST THAT TRENT HAS DONE its just what i could immediately #pull. articulate. and whittle to a more decent length.#spar speaks #ask away!#wow this is a real angry post. incredible. :D #im deeply interested if tumblr is gonna hide this from searches because of the profanity in it #its a lil much #tumblr IS hiding it from the tags/searches.#saucy tumblr. i suppose ikithon is repulsive enough i can understand

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