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dreaming-tonite · 9 months

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Pairing: Eldrich monster!Jason Todd x f!reader

Warning: monster fucking, non-con, major size diff, unprotected penetrative sex, biologically unrealistic everything (if the warning for monster fucking isn’t enough of a red light already), don't come at me talking about how it doesn't align with canon I don't care—

Word count: 1.8k

Jason Todd died and came back, that one bit we all know.

But what if instead of coming back the way we know it, he came back wrong, so so wrong.

Whatever it was in that green, endless pit, it did not do for him what it was supposed to do. Instead, the fluorescent seeped into the pores, the lungs of his lifeless body and found all the fear, the bitterness, and the anger that its owner felt right before his last breath.

And it reached down, and it reached down until all that venom transformed Jason Todd's body into something else entirely.

The pit brought him back but without a soul, and a creature without a soul was no man.

Anger gave it glaring fangs and nails that were pointy and curled like fangs, bitterness warped its face, and fear made it grow and grow until it was as big as the shadows that lurked in nightmares haunting the empty hallway of the quiet manor where they mourn the lost of a son.

There were no traces of the boy it once was left in the eldritch horror it had become, nor did any of its vessel's memories, only an aching void in its chest, which it did not have a word for.

The only thing it remembered, was that it must return to this faraway dot on the map called Gotham, where it could taste the heartache on its inhuman tongue just to think about despite not having a heart.

The way back to Gotham was long but it managed to get there by travelling in the shadows no one knew to look at.

There must be something that called for it, but the more it tried to think about it the more it hurt.

Until night came and the light came on.

Somehow, even though there was only very little of it left, the littlest bit of soul left inside the creature still knew to respond to the bat signal that illuminated the Gotham sky.

And it was all sort of confusing emotions mixed into one, and the creature felt a sharp pain in its pitch-black eyes the longer it stared.

So it ran, through quiet alleyways and under broken lamps where no one would pass by, without knowing where it could run to.

And it felt fear, and rage, and grief over something they could not remember despite how hard it tried.

It stopped after running for god knows how long, in front of a window that emulates a warm, yellow glow.

The creature usually avoided light, after trying several times and realised that light irritated it to no end. But something about the white curtains flowing behind the window still beckoned for it to go closer like fire calling to the moths.

Something in it erupted when you appeared in the room, the sickeningly sweet scent filling its nostrils and tugging at something deep inside.

There was a strange sense of familiarity, and despite there being nothing about you in its empty brain, it just knew that you belonged to it one way or another.

It must have you.

Like the moths, the creature would stop at nothing just to feel warmth again.

You were too afraid to scream when the large, shadowy monster lurched from the corner of your room, and everything else was a blur from there.

You were stunned, completely, and it took you many seconds of your ears ringing to register the situation you were in. The fabrics that once covered your body were torn to shreds under its monstrous claws, the dull ache it left on your skin making soundless shrieks left your throat when it dug its fingers into your supple flesh. The back of your head hurt from when it knocked you onto the floor, the saliva from its glaring teeth dripping onto your face as its hot breath fanned your face, the puffs of air coming from behind its snarling mouth and long, long tongue.

Your heart was pounding inside your ribcage, fear and shock pulsing through your veins when you realised that you could not escape. It was massive, back hunched as it perched on top of you and caged you in without even trying. With each breath it took, the shadow on your walls grew bigger.

And its face, you could not bring up the courage to look at its face.

But when you fought back your primal instinct to shut your eyes tight and look, something in you clicked.

There was nothing alike between the person who appeared in your head and the monster in front of you. But something in its eyes, behind the darkness, reminded you of someone who you tried your hardest not to think about when the nights were late and you felt weak.

No, it could not be. Every single fibre of your being told you that it was impossible, but something in your heart, something that echoed through your brain past logic and reason, told you that it was him.

Blood receded from your face at the thought, hoping you were wrong more than anything else.

"Jason...?"

And to your dread, it let out a chest-ripping whale at the name that was so familiar yet so strange on your tongue like a dagger was stabbed through its ears just from hearing it.

You wanted to cry, not from knowing your own fate, but from thinking about what your dead lover had gone through to become this.

Seeing tears run down your face did something to it and it— he, paused for a brief second as something that resembled panic rose within.

But the roaring desire to mark you, to take you surpassed the budding humanity that was starting to appear, which it strongly disliked.

You bit back at the taste of acid in your mouth when it shoved its tongue inside your cavity, almost gagging at how far it managed to reach as it greedily took in your scent. It was near explosive in its head, and the more it got, the more it wanted. Large hands groped and dragged along your now naked torso, rough and merciless as it felt you all over.

Drool was leaking from the corner of your lips as you gasped for air, lightheaded and coughing when it finally pulled away from your mouth to lick a long strip up your vulnerable, exposed neck. If it bite down, it could break you in an instant, you were sure of it, yet the possibility of death was not even the scariest thing you could think of at this point.

The heat left your face when it grabbed you by the back of your thighs, pushing both of them up with just one hand until your knees were pressing against your chest.

You could not even see through your tear-stained vision, but the hardness pressed up against your cunt was unmistakable, and you could feel the angry vein as it rocked against your hips. You gulped, dreading the wetness you felt as it pushed your folds apart with its terrifying girth, the leaking head brushing at the inside of your thighs as it growled in animalistic fever.

You finally screamed when it pushed itself inside of you, your eyes seeing white as you were stretched behind your humanly limits by its massive, bulging cock.

Your back arched involuntarily, hitting the cold floor under you as it pushed, and pushed deeper and deeper inside. It hurt, and tears gushed out when it was still going deeper even though you thought it was not possible until it was resting deep inside your belly. Your stomach must be bulging from just his cock snuggling deep inside your womb, the shape prominent against your walls as you winced and sniffled.

It let out a beastly grunt at the tightness, with nothing but the sole thought to breed and fill up the tiny body under it. A loud smack followed with each thrust it took, heavy balls slapping against your ass every time it hilted deep against your cervix. The burning in your walls became numb after a few hard strokes, your insides accumulating it slowly to your surprise and against your wishes.

You tried to shut your eyes tight so you could imagine that it was him instead, but the monster left you no room to escape with each piston jolting your eyes open to acknowledge reality.

You had prayed for him to come back many times, but this was nothing but a sick joke fate had played on you if this was how they decided to answer your wishes.

It filled you with dread when it stopped being unbearable halfway through and you felt the heat pooling up in the pit of your stomach. "No, no—," you plead, not to the creature but to yourself, "I'm gonna... I'm— please... please!"

Your face flared up in shame at the unmistakable signs of your own climax, wetness gushing out and the sloppy noise filling your ears. To think that your body even reacted to this in the slightest was worst than the reality that you were having your brains fucked out by something so ghastly.

How would he have felt? To know that he was trapped being something so disgusting you could barely look at and yet, you still cum from its cock like some broken slut?

It howled when the sweet scent of your orgasm filled its head, panting and grumbling as thick strings of white filled up your spasming walls. It kept cumming and cumming, yet it did not stop. With each thrust into your abused hole, you could feel its length pushing out the cum from your cunt and pooling onto the floor.

Still sensitive from your high, the soundless moans stuck at the back of your throat while it kept fucking your overstimulated hole. At this point, you could only lay there lifelessly as it forced its way back in again and again, your stomach so full of its release that you might just finally break.

Your vision had turned black by the time it was done, head lolled to the side while your limbs twitched. Pulling out its half-limp cock, cum gushed out from your puffed-up cunt that fluttered around nothing, still so full the second before.

The creature stared at your fucked up body as it took in the salty scent lingering in the air. It felt warm in the chest for a brief second as it watched you, feeling something tugged at what was deep within.

It did not know what it was when it felt something wet running down its void-like eyes.

Only that hollowness that followed each heave of its chest hurt beyond measure.

#~oh the feminine urge to be fucked by something big and scary~#jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #red hood x reader #red hood smut

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happyhauntt · 1 month

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prologue, the burning sky — star wars.

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: prologue; the burning sky. some tragedies will always happen, like a story you've always been unable to rewrite. but you still try.

─── warnings: star wars au, canon divergent. character death, vehicle accidents, blood & injury (nondescriptive), child loss, grieving.

─── notes: this is the prologue to a series i'll be posting following my ocs. this is a whole rewrite of the star wars sequel trilogy featuring ocs and focusing largely on family, grief, what you would do / how far you would go for family, haunting the narrative. the whole point of this story is family. are there love interests?? yes. but the core of it is 'what would you for / because of family?' you don't have to like this, but if i receive any rude feedback i'll just block you because the star wars fandom already fuckin terrifies me, let me just post my sad shit.

─── word count: 2.5k.

━━ the beginning.

The sun rises, as it always does, a burning orb cresting over the horizon, painting streaks of pink across the silvery sky. Dawn leaks in through the windows of a newly-broken home, reaching across the room with long yellow fingers to raise a house full of heartache.

Dory wakes with itchy, saltwater eyes.

For a moment, she wonders why the skin around her eyes feels tight and sore, her nostrils stinging. She winces as the sunlight bleeds through the blinds, casting the room in a happy yellow glow. Her stomach twists violently as she remembers what happened the night before, each painful memory crashing back into her mind; bile burns the back of her throat, and she has to choke it back down.

A sob racks her shoulders, sudden and vicious. She presses a hand to her mouth, trying to keep it in as tears rise in her eyes again, blurring her bedroom into one sun-drenched mess.

Something heavy lays curled at the foot of her bed. Blinking her tears away, she peers over the edge of the covers, finding her younger cousin Marya sleeping there. She must've crept in in the middle of the night.

Gently, she nudges Mare, and the younger girl stirs. Dory pulls back the covers and pats the space beside her. Blonde hair stuck to her face, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, Mare pushes herself up onto her elbows and crawls into bed beside her cousin. Dory pulls the blankets back up over their heads, and wraps her arms around Mare, pulling her cousin as close as she can.

"My room was too quiet," Mare whispers into the fabric of Dory's shirt, fingers curled and clinging tightly to it. "I wanted to stay up to hear any news, but I couldn't stay in there."

"That's alright." Dory's voice comes out cracked; she runs her fingers through the tangled strands of her cousin's hair, trying not to wince as Mare hugs her, pressing into the bruises that are spread across Dory's torso like a gruesome abstract painting.

She has never been the most affectionate person, not even to her own sister ━ but things can change in the blink of an eye, and people get lost when you thought they would live forever, and things bleed when they aren't supposed to, and Dory just wants to hold onto Mare for as long as she can before she has to let go again, no matter the pain it causes.

"Mum hasn't slept, has she, Mare?" asks Dory.

Mare shakes her head a little. "Not since I last checked. She was sitting in the kitchen when I left my room earlier... my mum was sitting with her. Uncle Luke went to be with mama in case something happened with Rion, and I don't think they've come back yet..."

Dory swallows at the mention of her other cousin.

When she stumbled in last night, stained with blood and reeking of smoke, with Mare hanging onto her arm, her father had folded them both into his arms. He'd sat with her as she screamed and raged for hours, held her when she sobbed until there were no tears left, and never said a word.

No one else had been there waiting for them; her mother had gone straight to the medical centre with Aunt Ashka and Aunt Leia when she heard what happened, and only returned in the early hours of the morning, pale as a ghost and clinging to Ashka as if she were the only thing keeping her standing.

Dory had never seen her parents like that before. Yve Cybele was the strongest woman in the galaxy, and Han Solo was always smiling, laughing as if everything were easy.

Last night, though, Dory watched her mother shatter into a million pieces, and her father had no way of pressing them back together again.

Last night, her sister died.

When Dory closes her eyes against the sunlight, it all comes back to her in sharp, jarring flashes.

She recalls the events leading up to the accident with perfect clarity; she, her parents and her little sister, Clarya, had come to visit their family for a month, as they had done every year for as long as Dory could remember. The visit, at least, had gone reasonably smoothly ━ she always worried about growing apart from her cousins, when they spent so much of the year on separate ends of the galaxy. She and Rion, especially; Rion had been absent their last few visits, training at their uncle's re-established Jedi temple, and this was the first she and Clarya had seen him in such a long time.

But it had been fine. Clarya and Marya, both fourteen, had stuck together like glue from the moment they arrived. Dory and Rion, too, had gotten over their initial awkwardness and bonded once more. Rion, one year younger than Dory at seventeen, had delighted in showing off all the things he'd learned at the temple. Clarya had laughed and wished she was Force-sensitive, and Rion had lifted her in the air, saying that flying was far better than being a Jedi, anyways.

Last night, Clarya had wanted to go racing. Rion had a landspeeder he'd hardly had the opportunity to use since getting back from the temple, and Clarya desperately wanted to try it. She was their father's daughter entirely ━ with the wind in her hair, she could do anything, be anything.

And nobody had ever been able to say no to Clarya.

Memories of the accident are more fractured, flashes of blinding light and sickening noise. Dory and Mare had gone along with their siblings, not wanting them to get into any trouble. Rion had been driving... too fast, Dory had thought, but she'd never been a thrill-seeker like her little sister, so she hadn't been too concerned.

Until Rion lost control of the speeder.

Dory woke up on the ground. Mare was screaming, covered in blood that didn't belong to her, clutching Rion to her chest. He'd been unconscious, too, the jagged cut across his head leaking crimson into his hair. The air crackled around them, heat from the speeder rolling over them in waves from where it lay burning nearby.

Clarya had been lying next to Rion. Her eyes, wide and blue as the dusk sky above them, stared blankly at nothing at all. She'd been impossibly pale, her leg bent at a strange angle, her hair stained pink. Dory had dragged herself over there, an unbearable pain digging claws into her chest, and only after a moment had she realised that her sister was dead.

Mare holds tighter to her now. It is too warm beneath the blankets, and her lungs ache for fresh air, but salty tears flow silently down her cheeks and Dory cannot bear to face a world without her sister in it.

"Where's dad?" she asks, careful to hold her voice steady, so she doesn't upset Mare anymore than she has to. Last night, Dory had been a howling beast, pounding fists against her father's chest, a cataclysmic explosion barely-contained within a fragile teenage girl.

But Mare's brother, her closest and dearest friend, is still unconscious in the medical centre. The doctors fear he may never wake up. While the cruellest, most spiteful parts of Dory pray he never does ━ he took her sister with his recklessness, and Dory has always seen the world in -black-and-white, and eye for an eye, his life for her sister's ━ she knows it would destroy her aunts the same way it has destroyed her parents, left them a burnt-out wreck the same as the speeder that crashed.

It would destroy Mare like it has destroyed her.

Gently, Mare shrugs, sniffling. "He wasn't with Aunt Yve and mum. I think he left... Maybe to check on mama and Uncle Luke? I hope he comes back with news..."

Dory has to fight to bite her tongue.

Later, when the sun is higher in the sky and Dory is done being angry with it ━ how dare you rise on such a dark day? she wants to spit at it, bloody fingernails grasping for the sky in a bid to tear it down ━ she peels herself from her bed, showering away all the blood and smoke from the night before, though the pain remains.

She passes the guest room her aunts had made up for Clarya during their stay. The door is cracked open a little, and peeking inside, she sees the room is exactly the way Clarya left it. Clothes strewn across the floor, a pile of her favourite books on her bedside table, the ones she brought just for this trip, in case Aunt Ashka and Aunt Leia didn't have any she wanted to read.

Reaching out, she pulls the door closed sharply, as if she can trap her sister's ghost in there forever.

Her mother and Aunt Ashka aren't in the kitchen, but the living area. Yve looks as if hell descended on her in the night, and left her nothing but a living corpse; her blonde hair, patches of silver creeping in at the roots, is a tangled mess, her eyes bloodshot. Ashka looks little better, her own blonde hair kept in a long braid thrown over her shoulder. She smiles at Dory as she enters the room.

"Mare is sleeping in my room," says Dory quietly.

Her aunt nods, hands folded carefully before her, every inch a politician. "I don't think she slept a wink all night, worrying about her brother."

"I don't think any of us slept, really," Yve says. Dory's eyes dart to her mother, who pats her knee. Soundlessly, Dory pads across the room and curls up in her mother's lap, in a way she hasn't done since she was a little girl. Her mother wraps thin, strong arms around her, stroking her hair back and rocking her like she is a baby again, and Dory doesn't mind.

Quiet sobs wrack her body as the tears flow once more. Her sister is dead. Sweet Clarya, her little sunshine sister, born in the summertime. She used to weave flowers in her hair and dance on the balcony when she could, and their father would let her stand on his toes even when she grew too old for it, just so he could hear his little girl laugh.

Her sister wasn't an angel. Clarya could be a brat when she wanted to be, when she didn't get her way, but she was the brightest flame of them all, and in the end, she was only a flickering candle, snuffed out far too easily when she should have been a star, burning forever.

Her mother is crying, too. Her tears flow into Dory's hair, making it damp, but she doesn't mind at all. There is enough ache here to drown the whole room, if they truly wanted to. Dory wants to open her veins and let it all spill out, let her ocean of hurt drown the world. She wants to take everyone down with her into this agony. She wants everyone is the galaxy to feel as awful as this.

It was her fault.

She should've tried harder to stop them going. Clarya wanted to go, and Rion wanted to show off for his cousins and sister, but Dory had known it was a bad idea and she'd let them do it anyway. She was the oldest. She should've stopped them. She should've known better. She should've told Rion to slow down, to stop...

It's Rion's fault, too.

"Have we heard anything?" she wonders aloud, her raw throat burning.

There are a million other questions she'd rather ask. Like why did this happen, or how did this happen, or where has dad gone? All of them feel like ticking bombs, each designed to inflict maximum damage, so she sews them into the lining of her tongue and keeps quiet.

Asking about Rion is normal, and safe, even if she doesn't care at all.

Her mother's arms stiffen around her. Aunt Ashka frowns, the gentle lines of her face deepening slightly. When Dory looks properly, she sees her aunt's eyes are bloodshot, too, and there are dry tear tracks staining her cheeks. Her too-thin fingers weave together.

"We didn't want to wake you," she says quietly, her gaze falling to the ground. Her shoulders droop slightly. "Leia called and told us about an hour ago... Rion woke up in the night."

Dory swallows her bitterness like poison. It festers in her gut. She wanted him to die instead. If she could trade her life for her sister's, then she would, but she would trade Rion's first. Her cousin is lovely and good, and she hates him still for what he did. For what she let him do.

It's his fault, and your fault, too.

"Is he alright?"

Ashka picks at a loose bit of skin on her thumb. She seems so unlike herself that Dory has to blink, in case she is dreaming. Her politician aunt, a former princess, married to another politician and former princess, has always been the smiling kind. Even so, Dory has always been able to pick out the similarities between Ashka and Yve, aside from their shared blonde hair and shining blue eyes.

She sees the similarities in the harsh edge to their smiles, the mischievous glint in their eyes, the sadness that settled into their bones over thirty years ago which hasn't ever gone away. Ashka may be a politician, but she has always been easy-going in equal measure, determined to balance her stoic facade with something happier.

Today, Dory isn't seeing Aunt Ashka. She is seeing Ashka Cybele, the politician, sharp-angled and cool, channelling her emotions into being someone else, to control the situation.

"He's alive." Ashka offers a small, slightly-relieved smile, but Dory doesn't take the bait.

"And?" There's something else. Dory can tell.

Ashka hesitates for a moment, and then sighs. "He doesn't remember what happened. The accident. Or..." Her lower lip trembles. Something inside her breaks free, and a single tear rolls from her eyes and drips from her chin. She doesn't bother swatting it away.

"Or anything at all."

For Dory, her fragile world, held up with cracked pillars and broken columns, comes crashing down in that moment. Her damned cousin, Rion, who caused the accident and killed her sister, gets to blissfully forget about what he did. Her lovely cousin, Rion, whom she still loves because that's how awful the world is, gets to forget.

And she has to remember. If, in that moment, Dory had known what would come for them all ━ what the memory of Clarya would make them become, how they would fill the void she left, how they would take the ache and learn to make it feel like home ━ she would wish to forget, too.

#star wars fanfic #star wars oc #poe dameron oc #poe dameron x reader #rey star wars fanfic #* fic: beautiful ghosts.#* chapter update.

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myfavouritelunatic · 1 year

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The Blacksmith

The penultimate chapter. What will Halbrand do? And will Galadriel face the consequences...?

Pairing: Halbrand/Sauron x Female Reader; Galadriel x Female Reader; light Haladriel/Saurondriel.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Violence, minor character deaths.

Links to Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty-One, Twenty-Two, Twenty-Three, Twenty-Four, Twenty-Five, Twenty-Six, Twenty-Seven, Twenty-Eight, Twenty-Nine, Thirty, Thirty-One, Thirty-Two, Thirty-Three, Thirty-Four, Thirty-Five, and Thirty-Six!

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Halbrand felt you go limp in his arms. Pulling back from the kiss, and upon seeing your lifeless expression, he surrendered uncontrollably to his grief. The screams of lamentation that roared out of him were unmatched by all that had gone before him and all that would come after. He pulled you closer to him, clinging to you hopelessly, rocking back and forth. No other sounds filled the air. Even the wind fell silent to let the king grieve. The longer he cried out, the worse it got. For his voice started to change. And not just from heartache to rage. But from Halbrand... to Sauron. Slowly but surely it happened, little by little the darkness crept into his sound, fusing together with it, to reforge a voice the dark lord had not used in almost an age.

The wind that blew past him suddenly blew from him. Each being was affected by it, fear sweeping over the city. Even your brothers could no longer hold onto you, and they stumbled back on the road, filled with terror. Power began to pulsate outward from Halbrand, wave after wave of it crashing through the air. The only one unaffected by this change, was Galadriel. Her grief was cascading from her eyes still, as her blonde locks fanned out behind her. But she did not move. She dared her sight to leave you and find Halbrand. The moment she did, she was greeted with a familiar face. The face she remembered from her own visions: wrath personified. A pallid veiny face. Eyes with red edges. Black slits for pupils. Pure evil.

Halbrand was no more. Sauron had returned.

Suddenly the sky boomed with roaring thunder, nature screaming for the dark lord now, and the sunlight was swallowed up by twisted swirls of menacing cloud that were darkening by the second. The wind from Sauron picked up in speed, becoming a gale of grief that threatened to level Pelargir itself. Galadriel turned her head to watch as the masses behind her struggled to stay on their feet, with dirt, dust, and leaves breezing quickly through them, stinging their eyes and filling their mouths. The fear now was enough for them to run, scattering away as fast as they could, hoping to escape the malevolence of the being who was once their king.

Though Sauron had other ideas. Lightning shot down from the storm overhead, striking hard the people who fled, incinerating the unfortunate struck soul on the spot, and setting alight those in the immediate vicinity. Soon, dozens of people were on fire, running and screaming in agony. Arondir did not hesitate, launching an arrow aimed straight for the dark lords head. Sauron caught it with ease. And the next one. And the next one. Still, Galadriel was controlled by her pain, her shock. She did nothing, for she did not know what to do. All hope was lost.

Sauron gazed back down at you, and slowly, placed one final kiss upon your forehead. In feeling the cooler touch of your skin, tears silently escaped him, landing on your face once more, just as the rain from the sky began to fall again, the storm manifesting his lament. Galadriel saw smoke begin to rise from the corpses of the burnt, as their flames were extinguished. No other people had dared to run, their fear now holding them in place in the town square, lest they die horribly. Though, their chances of remaining alive were not high. As Sauron removed his lips from you, he whispered words in black speech into your ear. Words you would never hear. These words caused your body to catch fire. Your love stood, the wind from him slowing, and all who were present watched as your corpse burned, a funeral pyre on the street of the city you had wished to call your home.

The rain from above did not put out this fire, despite the droplets falling into it. Sauron ensured the flames endured, watching with his snake like eyes as your body was quickly reduced to ashes. The fire had been so powerful, so searingly hot, that not even your bones remained intact. All that was left of you and your mark on this world, was your crown, your dagger, and your wedding ring. Galadriel's sobs entered the air as the image of you destroyed now before her broke her out of her shock. Sauron leaned down, taking the circular symbols of your queenship and your love into his hand, sliding the smaller object on his finger to join it with his own. Raising his right arm, his palm over your ashes, the dark lord whispered more black speech. The wind picked up again, though this time, it lifted your remains up, and they whirled in a spiral around your love. Sauron smiled, and it was not of evil. It was of love, as he felt your spirit around him. Then he watched as you were carried along on the air, in the direction of your home.

Galadriel's eyes darted to your blood that had stained Sauron's tunic, all that was left of you now in the place where you died. Where she had taken your life. Another clap of thunder roared overhead as the loving smile disappeared from Sauron's face, replaced with an expression of pure fury. "The city of Pelargir has decided it's own fate," the dark lord's voice boomed, not a trace of Halbrand's tone to be found within it. "If you will not have me as your king… then you will have me as your enemy…" Galadriel turned her gaze back to the citizens, watching a small group of them congregate, with Arondir seemingly discussing a plan of attack. This was the moment she finally decided to act.

Picking herself up from the wet street, she hastily ran to Arondir's side. "We cannot best him. We will die trying. Our only play is to convince him to let us retreat." the she-elf implored. "You saw what he did to those that attempted to retreat!" Arondir exclaimed, "We will not survive this day, Galadriel. And we will not die whilst fleeing in fear."

Galadriel cast her eyes on the people around her. Bronwyn matched Arondir's resolve, Theo was trying desperately to imitate it, but Olwenna, Padrig, and the few others… the terror was clear in their eyes. Nothing would abate it. "Understand this… if you do stay… your fate will be extraordinarily worse. Sauron will not just kill you. He will maim you. He will torture you. He will strip you limb from limb, separate the skin from your flesh, and keep you alive as he does it. Do not let your pride interfere. If we are to die, I do not wish you to suffer that fate."

Sauron began to cackle in amusement. "Galadriel… my sweet… don't ruin the surprise. Why must you insist on draining the fun out of everything?" This caused the she-elf to sigh in frustration, as her mind was cast back to the feeling of his body trapped within hers, your dagger to his neck. One simple slice then and perhaps all of this would have been avoided. Perhaps you would still be with her.

"I will wait for death no longer." spoke Olwenna abruptly, sprinting towards where the dark lord stood. "No!" protested the she-elf, but the lady ignored her. She picked up your dagger from the ground, holding it aloft in the air as she charged towards him, and he did not flinch at her approach. Sauron effortlessly grabbed her forearm as Olwenna began to bring the weapon down, holding her in place, his slitted eyes staring menacingly into hers. "I am glad my love is not here to see this… in fact… she would likely have ended you herself." A wicked grin slowly crept upon his face, and he brought down Olwenna's arm so that your dagger embedded itself in her gut. "So I suppose it is rather fitting that it is her blade that takes your life now."

Padrig cried out in the distance and ran fast towards his aunt. Sauron moved his hand to cover Olwenna's ensuring her grip remained on the hilt as he then moved the blade up through her torso, stopping in the centre of her chest. The fair auburn woman was now a ghost as her body collapsed to the ground, the dark lord removing your dagger from her flesh. Padrig arrived in that moment, hysterical, his adolescent voice breaking and squeaking as he cried. Sauron could not stand it, and without hesitation he swiped the blade across Padrig's throat with such force that the poor boy was almost decapitated. He now lay lifeless on the ground beside Olwenna, and no remorse was to be found in Sauron's eyes. He was done with such pitiful sentiments.

The storm continued to rage on, the rain intensifying, droplets landing hard against the skin of every being left alive in the town square. The darkened clouds overhead were illuminated with consistent lightning strikes, igniting the sky, the thunder now so loud Galadriel felt as if her eardrums might burst. She looked over at Sauron, who was drenched like the rest of them, as he stood over his freshest victims, watching as their blood flowed into the rainwater on the road. The she-elf was unsure if you would approve of what your love had just done. Then her eyes were caught by your brothers, who stood together but alone, in the distance off to her left. The two men of Númenor had yet to choose a side in this war, and Galadriel hoped now to reach them.

"Azrahin… Târikun… your sister chose the light… she would want you both to do the same." They both looked at Galadriel, stunned. Târikun burst out laughing. The noise was unsettling and empty. "Light… dark… what does it even matter anymore? All three of you chose 'the light'… and now none of it remains. The only light in this world was our sister… and you snuffed it out, elf!" Târikun hissed at Galadriel, a man consumed by his loss, now devoid of reason. The she-elf knew in that moment your brothers were not to be saved. At least not yet. Azrahin limped towards Sauron, his younger brother following, the dark lord turning his head slowly to look upon them. No words were exchanged, but an understanding came between them. Sauron nodded his head slightly, and let the two men walk away alive.

With their backs fading into the horizon, the dark lord returned his focus to his enemies before him. Galadriel could see his eyes from across the square, as they had begun to glow as if on fire. His skin had become so pale it was almost translucent, the veins within him not only visible on his face, but on his throat, and his hands. Sauron began to stroll slowly, deliberately towards Galadriel who was at the forefront of the group of would be rebels. "I must know… elf…" he began to speak, that sinister voice piercing the air over the sound of the rain on rooftops nearby. "You love me… do you not?"

The she-elf felt all eyes burn through the skin of her back, their judgment was palpable, and sadly, deserved. She could not bring herself to reply to him, yet that was all the admission the dark lord needed. Sauron snickered, enjoying making Galadriel squirm under the glare of her allies. "You loved my wife…" he uttered, still clutching tightly to your dagger and diadem. Each step of his boots on the wet pavement were like notes of a dark symphony, building to a crescendo as he edged closer to where the she-elf stood. "Yet you betray us… you dare to end my life… and you end that of my love, our love instead. Before I steal your light from this world… I ask you… why?" He came to a halt, his body mere inches from Galadriel. She stared up at the dark lord defiantly from under her brow.

"Because despite my feelings, my love for you both… I have a duty that is much greater. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one." "You have failed your duty. You and I are now back where we started. Drenched and anguished." Galadriel's lips trembled. "I… I did not wish to kill her-" "AND YET YOU DID!" The dark lord's voice was like a sonic boom as he screamed at her, the wind blowing fast from him once again. Though still, Galadriel stood her ground. The only thing moving about her was her hair cascading out behind her back, and her tears that fell silently down her cheeks. "I wanted to save her. Care for her, after you were gone. I do love you, Halbrand, but I was right, you are beyond saving."

"If you love me, elf… stay with me. Rule by my side in my queen's stead. Take up the offer I once gave you. Bind me to your light. Save me." He was practically begging Galadriel to accept him, and her face became marred with confusion. For she swore she could hear the honourable tones of Halbrand emerging in Sauron's speech. In a split second she made a choice, and it was one that she made selflessly. "Let these people live, let them go… then perhaps… I might consider it." The rain finally began to ease, and sensing his calm, she raised a hand to the face of the dark lord, cupping his damp and pale cheek, staring unwaveringly into his eyes of flame.

Time stopped. In this moment it was only Sauron and Galadriel, small smiles creeping into their expressions as they thought of you. The one they had both loved and now lost. They still had each other, and with your spirit to strengthen them then perhaps their bond might be enough to stave off the darkness for good. As Sauron had put it, rule by his side in his queen's stead. The two of them shared an understanding in this timeless instant, as Sauron mimicked Galadriel's gesture of affection. The she-elf closed her eyes at his touch, the sensation seemingly restoring her to the reality of what had occurred, and what would occur should she not act now that she had the chance.

She had a duty. Greater than her own desires.

Moving with speed like the flashes of lightning Sauron seemed to control, Galadriel took hold of your dagger from within his hand and jammed it deeply into his chest. The face of the dark lord went even paler if it were possible, his evil eyes widening with shock at the sudden violent blow and the betrayal with which it had been struck. "Run! Do it now!" Galadriel shouted at the dozens of people still behind her. The wet footsteps of the survivors slammed across the ground as they took off as fast as they could. One thing the she-elf did not expect, was footsteps coming towards her.

"We shall not leave you, my lady." It was Arondir, his loyalty everlasting. "Now is the time to escape, not fight, dear Arondir. Sauron is mine, and mine alone." she hissed, not removing her gaze from her wounded enemy. "Galadriel-" Theo attempted to no avail. She turned her head to look at her allies, hoping the urgency on her face would reinforce that in her tone. "Please. My life is forfeit, you have the chance to win again someday." Reluctantly, Arondir nodded, accepting he would not sway his elven commander, and he, Theo, and Bronwyn left Galadriel's sight, which now returned to Sauron. Her hand was still on the hilt of the dagger buried within him, almost mirroring the fatal blow she had struck you only minutes ago. She twisted it, slowly, causing Sauron to cry out in pain, letting a little bit of her own darkness come out in the process. "Fool." she spat at him through gritted teeth. "It is as I said when I rejected you. I will never be at your side."

Galadriel removed the blade from his torso, blood spurting outward and onto her dress. Then in one final strike, she aimed your dagger directly at his heart, penetrating it with all the force she could, Sauron gasping as if short of breath. He raised shaky hands to hold her face in a final caress, as she watched the flame dwindle in his eyes, fighting back her tears. Galadriel had wished there could have been a way to save him, another option for her to choose that could keep him alive, keep him with her. For part of her did feel as if she was truly betraying you now by ending Sauron's life. By ending Halbrand's life. Though despite the unhinged rapture she had felt being tangled up in your bodies last night, she knew all roads lead here. The three of your destinies were indeed entwined, the light had been chosen, and Middle-earth had indeed been saved.

Sauron could not speak, and losing his strength, collapsed helplessly onto the pavement beneath him. His eyes, like yours, were now shut. The rain completely stopped, and slowly, sunshine peaked through the clouds as they began to lighten and disperse overhead. Galadriel trembled, overwhelmed by the plethora of emotions she was now feeling. Disbelief, heartache, relief, joy, grief… it all washed over her simultaneously as the defeat of the dark lord at long last finally sank in. Closing her eyes, she pictured her brother, Finrod, and his smiling face, beaming with pride. "It is done." With that, Galadriel removed her eyes from the body of Sauron, and strode away in the direction of the people of Pelargir, her mind now on healing them and repairing the damage that their king and queen had wrought. She did not look back.

If only she had.

For she would have seen the blood of the dark lord pool no longer on the ground, but return back into the flesh where it belonged. She would have seen his slitted fiery eyes open once more, and his body, very much alive, rise from the ground. She would have seen him smile wickedly as he turned to walk slowly away, heading out of the town square. She would have seen him transform his physical self into a black winged creature, clutching your crowns between its jaws, flying up and over the city of Pelargir.

She would have heard his malevolent cackle on the wind.

Tagging: @denzit @heronamedhawks @pursuitseternal @coraleethroughthelookingglass @hikarielizabethbloom @restless-tides @vaguelyvibin @imjustsuperweird @gil-galadhwen @somebirdortheother @lady-of-imladris @princessfantaghiro

#halbrand x reader #sauron x reader #halbrand/sauron x reader #galadriel x reader #haladriel #saurondriel #halbrand #sauron #galadriel #charlie vickers #the rings of power #trop #trop fanfic #lord of the rings #lotr

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greenteaandtattoos · 2 years

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Hold. The. Phone.

Someone just mentioned to me a theory that Fearne is a hag-in-training, taking after Morri, and my thoughts are racing with the possibilities this opens up.

I could see Fearne turning on the Hell’s, I do. She’s loyal by nature, true, but she chooses who she puts her full loyalty in, and that’s Orym. Would she betray and leave Orym, who would go through hell and back for each other? Unlikely but consider...

She’s also chaotic by nature, too, and that chaos may very well overtake that loyalty if given just the right nudge. And what would that be? Well... remember how many of us believe that the coin landed on Laudna, but Fearne chose to revive Orym instead?

If this is the case, and Orym learns of this... he’s going to be pissed. The other Hell’s, especially Imogen, are going to be pissed. But does Fearne actually care about the others? Sure, but not nearly as much as she cares about Orym, and his opinion.

He confronts her, they fight, words are exchanged, emotions explode, and Fearne is hurt, because why can’t Orym understand why she did it? She had already been left by her parents, why should she lose another of her loved ones?

She doesn’t take into consideration that Orym, too, has lost loved ones. And the difference between their rage is that Orym’s is fueled by survivor’s guilt, he’s lost his family already, he’d rather die and be with them than see another suffer as he did, while Fearne is fueled by selfishness, loneliness and a feeling of abandonment. She has been lied to her whole life, her purpose as merely a piece in an exchange of business.

It pushes Fearne over the edge. She can’t stand not to be supported by the one person she has given her heart and soul to. She runs. If Orym doesn’t want her, then she doesn’t want him.

She lets it all loose, her rage, her grief, all concentrated into pure chaotic havoc. It takes the Bell’s some times to get her back to her senses, or at the very least, calm her down enough to talk again.

Because, hey, look! Fresh Cut Grass, Imogen, and Chetney have all had their “sudden violent outburst”, but they still love them. They love her, too, even if they’re upset. Imogen and Fearne are sisters through the light of Ruidus, after all! She of all people understands Fearne’s heartache, just as Orym understands Imogen’s.

They just need time, but Fearne is wary of time. Time messed up her life. She doesn’t even know if she’s 20 or 200. In that regard, Ashton knows better than anyone what it’s like to have time stolen from you.

Still, she’s calmer now, after destroying some buildings. She decides she needs some alone time, but promises she’ll come back. She just needs to think. Reflect. The Bell’s agree, promising that they’ll figure out a way to move forward.

Fearne comes back after a while, she seems her normal self. Orym is the first to be suspicious. If Fearne does anything (beyond stealing), it’s cling. Cling to feelings, cling to habits, cling to memories, cling to ambition, cling to people.

He keeps watch on her through the corner of his eyes. Something’s not right, but he doesn’t want to mention anything yet. He’s still upset, but he doesn’t want to cause more strife between the Hell’s, him, and Fearne.

And in the dead of night, when everyone is sleeping, Fearne’s face flickers, her furry hindquarters shifting from soft spotted brown to opalescent skin, her ears shrinking and become round, her sea-foam green hair draining of color until it is the color of snow, her wide eyes filling with an ocean of ink. The flowers adorning her body wither and drop to the floor.

A grin crosses her face, but not the mischievous grin the Bell’s are used to. This one is sly. Ashley gets up silently, leaves the room without a word, and in walks a familiar face, just as an equally-familiar face stands where Fearne once did.

#critical role #cr #fearne calloway #orym #orym of the air ashari #laudna #imogen temult #ashton greymoore #yu suffiad #critical role theory #critical role meta #critical role analysis #orringinal rambles #long post

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teakookssi · 1 year

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Before I Leave You [Eren/Levi x Reader FF]

[ curated playlist ][ full story can be found here or here ]

[Overview & prologue]

➺ pairing: levi ackerman/eren jeager x fem!reader

➺ status: continuous

➺content: mafia au, crime, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, angst, lol so much angst

➺warnings: SHIT. IS. DARK. YO. violence, blood, strong language, guns/weapons, and illegal activities are all mentioned but hey, that’s attack on titan for you, so if you can handle that, you can handle this (:

Chapter 1: what a young girl should not know

They say some memories never leave you. That if you carry them with you long enough, they become a part of you forever, haunting you until you can no longer remember who you were before them — if you were ever you at all.

As you draw your eyes open and feel the faint traces of your memories from that day still lingering through your mind like a dream refusing to fade, you entertain the element of truth behind such words.

You try to blink away your sleep, but fragmented images of that day continue to flash through your head. A blue, cloudless sky overlooking your eight year old self, purple bellflowers dancing against the breeze as you pick them out of your family garden’s estate, armed men with police badges raiding your home, your mother’s face morphed in horror as she runs to protect you, and her blood, splattered across the bellflowers in your garden as her unmoving body lands with a sickening thud at your feet.

Your memories of that day harbor only pain and heartache, yet you refuse to let them go.

As a child, they tormented your dreams. You’d wake up screaming, with tears in your eyes, calling for a mother who would never come.

But your father was quick to take care of that, refusing to let his first and only child succumb to such crippling behavior.

By the age of ten, he had taken all those tears of yours and turned them into rage. He had rid you of all your soft edges and forged you into a weapon, replacing your grief and sorrow with a hungry need for vengeance.

He’d armed you with purpose.

Your half-lidded eyes slide over to your gun waiting patiently for you on your bedside table, along with your knife and blades. All weapons he had gifted you over the years.

Throwing your covers aside, you move to get up, noticing how strong the sun’s rays are already peeking behind the emerald green curtain from your window. You make it as far as the side of your bed before you are forced to hunch over with a groan.

“Fuck,” you hiss as you press a hand against your head, the morning hangover finally settling in.

In honor of Sasha’s birthday the day before, you’d treated her and the rest of your team and bought out one of the most luxurious restaurants in town for the night, where you’d divulged in more than your fair share of drinks with them in celebration.

You knew your cadre were still mourning for Marco, but this life didn’t allow you time to grieve. You either carried on with it or you let it consume you. And your team was damaged enough as it is so neither were acceptable choices for them. So you offered them an outlet to help drown their sorrows, ordering bottles and bottles of rum, whiskey, bourbon, vodka; and by joining along with them, they could not refuse.

You sit on your bed for a moment with your elbows resting on your knees and your head in the palm of your hands, waiting for the throbbing headache to subside.

For a brief moment, you feel the weight of exhaustion lie heavily over your shoulders. The temptation to rest against it, alluring and sweet like poison.

But that image of your mother’s blood spread out all over the flowers in your garden still burns vividly in your mind and you raise your head. A steely look of determination visible in your eyes as you stand and reach for your gun.

You pop the barrel open and give it a spin as you check your bullets before locking it back in place with a satisfying click. You tuck it into the holster under your arm and move on to your blades, placing them discreetly throughout your person.

Every morning you revisit that day in your memories, sharpening them as you would your blades so they don’t dull and fade. All the pain, and fear, and suffering they wake inside you, you latch onto like an anchor. You let it fuel you. Serving you as a reminder of what was done to you all those years ago. Never letting you forget that there would be no rest for you until you made every last one of those men responsible for your mother’s death suffer the way you suffered.

This is how you carry your mother’s memory of that day.

This is how you survive.

For ten long years you’ve let them feed your vengeance, keeping your seething rage burning and alive. But there are days — more frequently now than you care to admit — where you wish you could just wake up and not feel anything at all.

—

By the time you make it out your room, your headache still hasn’t ceased, and that’s as far as you’re willing to put up with it.

Had Levi been home he would have made you one of his special tea’s he prepares for you for mornings such as these, always leaving it at your bedside table for you to drink when you wake up. But seeing as how there was nothing there for you this morning is enough to tell you he isn't here.

So you go in search of the next best thing.

Making your way down the stairs, you remain grateful for the dark wood paneled walls and dimly lit hallways this place provides. Though it’s nowhere near as grand as your family estate in the countryside, it’s spacious enough to room Levi, his two most trusted guards, your cadre and you.

Originally, your father had gifted the place to you and your fiancée as an early wedding present. And, given the townhouses from Trost Lane were one of your father’s many owned properties across town, he’d provided the house next door to Levi’s men and yours as a means for them to keep a close eye on you both, while still granting you with a fair amount of privacy at home.

But with you and Levi always out conducting different business meetings for your father, you hardly ever see your fiancée. You spend more time with your cadre over the course of the day that they’re the ones practically living here instead.

As you reach the bottom of the wooden stairs and pass the foyer, you overhear Sasha and Connie arguing from the main dining room table over the last piece of leftover cake from the night before.

Their bickering abruptly stops the second you step into the room, but when you pay them no attention they resume their squabbling.

Albeit, under more hushed tones.

Jean and Historia sit at the far end of the table, talking amongst themselves with — based on the overwhelming smell coming from the kitchen — a freshly brewed coffee in hand.

Jean notices the way your hand presses against your head and grins.

“Morning, sunshine,” he teases.

You flip him off and walk past them to cut through to the adjacent room where your mini bar is located and where Mikasa stands on the lookout by the window.

“I need a drink,” you grumble. “Where’s Levi?”

“With your father,” Mikasa informs you, leaving her position to report to you. “His meeting with the suppliers from Marley was this morning.”

You hum under your breath as you faintly remember Levi mentioning something similar a few days ago, and of course, as CFO of Ymir & Co, his presence was mandatory.

You’re about to take a step towards the bar when Historia appears from the other room carrying a cup of coffee in hand.

She offers it to you with a warm, shy smile. “Drink this, you’ll feel better.”

You wrinkle your nose at the smell, and wave it away with a flick of your hand. The strong roasted smell of it upsets your stomach, but Historia hasn’t been with you long enough to know that coffee is the last thing you’d ever drink to get over a hangover.

Turning back to the mini bar, you start rummaging through your collection of scotch, whiskey, and bourbon.

Only to find them all empty.

You slam the doors to the shelves shut with such force you’re surprised they don’t fall off their hinges.

“Stupid brat had one job!” you exclaim in frustration.

You had told Sasha to find a kid adequate enough to keep tabs on your stash of alcohol and make sure it never ran low. Clearly that was too much to ask of them both.

“I better not see that kid’s face here again, Sasha!” you shout over your shoulder, knowing full well that with Sasha’s impeccable hearing, she knew exactly what you were talking about.

The clashing of kitchenware goes quiet at the dining table with a soft whimper at your warning.

“No, Miss!” comes her muffled voice from the other room, no doubt from the amount of food stuffed in her mouth.

Surely enough, seconds later, you hear Connie scolding her and patting her on the back as she starts choking. “Oi! Sasha! Chew your damn food first!”

Historia and Mikasa run to go check on them and you let out an exasperated sigh.

You don’t have the energy to deal with them like this so early in the morning with the state you’re in so you strut for the front door just as Jean walks into the room to join you.

“Where are you going?” he asks as you walk right past him.

“To get a bloody drink!” you exclaim, snatching your coat lying on a chair on your way out.

He follows you to the door. “It’s nine thirty in the morning. Don’t you think you had more than enough to drink last night?”

You ignore him and slide into your coat as you open the door to step out. You’re about to shut it behind you when you meet resistance.

You turn with a frown and see Jean’s hand holding back the door, preventing you from closing it.

You glare at him before releasing the doorknob. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

The pub you and your cadre like to frequent, Red Rose, is literally just around the corner. Everyone in town knows this, which is why many people steer clear of it, so as to avoid stirring any kind of trouble with you.

But Jean simply shrugs and gives you a grin. “Need to stretch my legs.”

You notice his tone is chipper, but the light in his eyes is still not quite there, and you know, the grief he carries for his fallen friend, he’ll carry forever.

Over his shoulder you see Mikasa silently adjusting her coat and closing the door behind her.

You roll your eyes in annoyance but know better than to waste your breath on them. The two of them were going to follow you anyway.

So you walk off with a huff, hating how since the moment you woke up this morning, things have not been going your way.

It serves as a great indication; today is not going to be a good day.

—

“I still think you should have brought along the rest of them,” Mikasa sulks behind you as you lead the way down the street in the direction of the pub.

You bark out a laugh, gesturing to the way the townsfolk are quick to clear a path for you at just the mere sight of you. “And tarnish my reputation as their beloved Reaper?”

Mikasa frowns at your flippancy, but you don’t drop the smug grin from your face, because not even she can deny the strong reaction you elicit out of people.

You have a naturally piercing, siren-like gaze that evokes fear and intimidation with ease, but it is not the main reason the townsfolk cower at your presence.

People do not lay a finger on you because they fear what your father, the most dangerous crime boss in the underworld, would do to them.

They fear what you would do to them.

And given all the various nicknames the people of this town have coined you over the years — Dark Reaper, Angel of Death, Death’s Messenger — and the rumors that preceded you, it was more than understandable.

The amount of times you’ve heard people whisper your name as you pass them by, wiping the blood of your enemies clean from your hands, saying you sold your soul away so you can’t be killed... Or that you serve as Death’s messenger, bringing death and destruction wherever you tread, with your guns, your blades, your bare hands.

They say you fear no one. That Death fears you.

As the daughter of a power-hungry and vicious man, who has trained you amongst the most lethal and ruthless of killers since you were a child, they’re not too far off.

Unfortunately, Mikasa is immune to your threatening charm. Just as you’re about to turn the corner, she steps in your way, forcing you to come to a halt.

You roll your tongue against the side of your cheek in open annoyance. People were really testing your patience today.

“Oi, Mikasa,” Jean chides, tensing at her abrupt behavior and trying to pull her away, but she resists and holds her ground.

She uses her two inch height difference to her advantage, forcing you to drag your steely eyes to meet her unflinching gaze.

“You just declared war on two crime gangs less than forty eight hours ago,” she reminds you under her breath, eyeing the people walking by suspiciously. “Not to mention the long list of enemies you already had before. You can’t keep strolling across town out in the open like this.”

You rest a hand on your hip impatiently, scratching your brow idly with the other. “Mikasa,” you caution carefully, “you really don’t want to be standing in front of me right now.”

As much as you understand why she’s on edge, you don’t want the townsfolk to notice things are tense amongst the crime bosses of Paradis. The people here treat your family like royalty because they know there are worse people out there, and it’s your family—not the Crown and its police force—willing to protect them from these dangerous outsiders. And the support of the people, as your father had once said, was imperative to his growing power and influence amongst the privileged and elite.

It’s why you’d made such a show of the dealing with Bertholdt the other day. You wanted the people of this town to see that House Ymir remained as strong and untouchable as ever. That if anyone dared oppose you and your family, they would be punished accordingly and without mercy.

But either Mikasa does not hear the measured sound of your voice or she chooses to ignore it. “Everyone knows you favor this pub,” she presses on. “At least go to Hart Sina for today while we assess any potential threats around town. There’s more of your father’s men stationed in that area who can—��

You take a menacing step towards her.

“If you think I will cower away and hide from my enemies,” you say with narrowed eyes, “than you don’t know me at all.”

You move to step past her.

“Anya—”

“Enough, Mikasa,” Jean cuts her off in warning. “Stand down.”

But the desperation in her voice makes you pause.

You turn to glimpse at her over your shoulder. “Every day I wake up with Death looming over my shoulder,” you say in reminder. “Today is no different.”

The amount of frustration radiating off Mikasa would have any sane person running, but you don’t acknowledge her further and continue forward. You’re in a foul mood as it is. You don’t need her testing your patience with all her incessant worrying.

You hear her follow after you reluctantly a moment later and when you arrive in front of the pub, she eyes the rooftops above.

“I’ll scout the area,” she announces curtly before turning to Jean. Don’t leave her side, her eyes seem to tell him before parting.

He nods in understanding and joins you close behind as you enter the Red Rose.

The buzzing ambience of the bar goes momentarily quiet at your arrival. It isn’t until you make your way to the counter for a drink that conversations resume as the men drinking at their tables nod respectfully to you as you pass.

You hardly notice them, though. Your attention is elsewhere.

A young man, not much older than you, with short brown hair and bright green eyes stands behind the counter. He appears overly smitten by you, following your every move like a love-struck school boy with his mouth partly open as you take a calculated seat in front of him.

He’s a face you don’t recognize. And neither does Jean, based on the way his body goes on alert the second he spots him. But it's the look beneath that infatuated gaze of his that unsettles you the most.

He’s looking at you in a way you have never been looked at before. So tender and pure… like you can do no wrong. A look without fear or hatred. And it hits you harder than it should. The realization that he doesn’t know who you are.

“A bottle of whiskey,” you tell him as you look around for the owner of the pub. “Where’s Hannes?”

When the bartender doesn’t move or speak, your sharp gaze cuts to him dangerously. You’ve waited this long for a drink. Just how much more did you have to bloody wait?

Your piercing eyes are enough to snap him out of his daze, but he grows deeply flustered, most likely embarrassed that you have caught him staring at you so openly.

“Oh! Uh, sorry,” he stumbles out. He fidgets with the cup of glass he had been holding, as if unsure what to do with it. “Um…”

You and Jean exchange dubious glances as you both watch him nearly drop it a couple times and then turn to run his eyes over the many bottles behind him.

You curse under your breath and rest your elbow on the counter to massage your temple, feeling the throbbing ache in your head return the longer you go without a numbing drink in your system.

“Whiskey, mate,” Jean grits out impatiently. “She asked for whiskey.”

“Whiskey, yes,” the bartender repeats, reaching for the bottle you requested. He places the empty glass in front of you and pours the drink for you, though you don’t miss the way his hand shakes nervously in front of you as he holds the bottle.

He sees you noticing. “I’m fairly new,” he admits sheepishly. “This is my first week.”

“You don’t say,” Jean comments dryly.

You down the drink in one go, feeling the burn run down your throat and letting it overpower the headache.

You gesture for the bartender to hand you the bottle, not at all satisfied yet, and you pour yourself another shot. You feel his eyes on you as you drink, completely mesmerized by your presence, before you catch him flickering his gaze over to Jean standing beside you, who has turned away to scan the crowd.

“Is your boyfriend —” the bartender begins gingerly, trying to identify your relationship with your male companion.

But at the word boyfriend, Jean turns to him with a frown and the bartender clears his throat, diverting his question.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks Jean instead.

Your guard scoffs and turns away, already annoyed with him. It's obvious this new bartender fancies you so Jean knows where this is going, and would much rather have you do the honors of putting this hopelessly love-sick boy in his place.

But there’s enough alcohol in your system now. The agitation has worn off. You’re all but mellowed out.

You trace a finger around the rim of your glass mindlessly, feeling playful.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you tell the pretty green-eyed boy in front of you, watching as his shoulders sigh in relief at the news.

Beside you, Jean studies you curiously from the corner of his eye, but makes no comment about your behavior.

You don’t usually entertain a man’s interest in you, mostly because many are too afraid of you to even try. Or because they know you are already spoken for—Levi is as dangerous and intimidating as you, after all. But there’s something about this boy that refuses to let you walk away just yet.

“What’s your name?” you ask him.

His lips break out into a bright smile that lights up his whole damn face. It almost makes you falter as you fight back a flinch.

“Eren,” he tells you. “Eren Yeager.”

“Eren Yeager,” you repeat, mulling over his name.

You serve yourself another glass, wanting to wash away the inexplicable amount of pain his wholesome presence is doing to you.

“Tell me, Eren Yeager, have you ever killed anyone?”

The smile on his face immediately fades, taken aback by your question. He wants to think you’re joking so he lets out a nervous chuckle. But your face remains blank and a tense silence follows soon after.

You almost lament the moment it happens as he begins to realize there is something off about you as he glances over at Jean and finally notices the gun peaking out of his coat.

His wide eyes flicker back to you, noticing you’re waiting for a response. He swallows.

“No…” he answers you warily.

“You an outlaw, then?”

Eren slowly shakes his head.

“A thief?”

He lets out another nervous chuckle, as if still wanting to believe you’re just messing with him for some reason.

“No.”

“Perhaps he pissed off someone he shouldn’t have?” Jean offers.

You shake your head ruefully and answer in Eren’s stead. “No,” you say as you take another swing at your drink, his answers only depressing you even more despite you having already predicted them. “No, he didn’t.”

Eren’s eyes dart from you to Jean with apparent confusion. “I’m sorry? I don’t —”

Just then a man with short blond hair and deeply defined lines across his forehead appears from the backroom. His eyes widen at the sight of you and quickly shoos Eren away, sending him off to clean some tables on the other side of the room.

Eren leaves, but not without stealing a glance back at you with a warm, charming smile.

“Anya!” the man greets you over-enthusiastically. “You’re um—you’re here early.”

Your expression is calm, but your voice is strained as you revert your attention back to the owner of the pub. “Who is he, Hannes?”

Hannes grimaces. “Was hoping you wouldn’t notice him.”

You give him a pointed look. Eren stuck out amongst the crowd like a lone hare inside a den of wolves. ”He has no business working here.”

Hannes scratches his head nervously. “I know, but I felt bad for the kid. He just moved into town and needed a job. No one else will hire him ‘cus he doesn’t really look like he’s gonna last them very long—so I figured it wouldn’t be so bad. I can keep an eye on him until then.”

You play with your empty glass absentmindedly.

Hannes had been a close friend of your mother’s growing up, and when she died, he’d looked after you when your father was away on business and you were too young to join him. To repay him for his trouble, your father had gifted him with this tavern a few years back. Hannes had declined at first, but when your father told him he wanted to name it after your mother, well, there was no going back for him then. He likes to tell you he only accepted because he wished to live his life comfortably. But the man had grown overly attached to you over the years, always telling you you reminded him a lot of your mother, and considering you were as deeply rooted in this line of work as your father, he knew this was the only way he could remain close to you.

It frustrated you sometimes. How soft-hearted he was.

“So now you’re just hiring all the helpless strays that come your way?” you ask, beginning to take out a handful of bills to pay for your drink.

“No, no,” Hannes protests quickly, shaking his hands in front of you to put the money away. “It’s on the house.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. Establishments like the Red Rose and other shop owners around town are grateful for your business because they know that as long as they abide by your rules and remain loyal to your family, they remain under your protection. And under a country with such an unstable future, protection from strong and powerful people like that of House Ymir is a way for them to keep their businesses from falling into ruin. Thus, many of them tend to express their gratitude by not charging you and your company for their services.

But no matter where you go, or for however brief a service, you always pay your share.

Jean suddenly leans forward to whisper in your ear, his voice tight. “We should go. Something’s not right. Mikasa doesn’t usually take this long,” he points out, looking around for her. “She should have been back by now.”

You obey without protest and stand up to go and grab the bottle of whiskey—which is still more than half full—for your empty stash back home.

You raise the bottle to Hannes to show him it’s coming with you and leave a roll of bills on the counter that count for more than what your drink is worth.

“Get rid of him,” you order Hannes with finality before heading out.

But dismay runs through his face and he quickly tries to dissuade. “But I can’t just—The kid’s got nowhere to go. What am I supposed to say to him?”

You throw him a warning look and point in the newbie’s direction. “Get rid of him.” You point to Hannes. “Or I get rid of you.”

Hannes shuts up after that and you let Jean, who is looking rather tense and on high alert beside you, take the lead.

From the corner of your eye you catch movement and see Eren making his way towards you.

“Wait!” he calls after you. “I didn’t—”

But Jean quickly steps in before he can reach you and keeps him a safe distance away so he can’t get any closer.

“I didn’t catch your name…” Eren finishes faintly, taken aback by Jean’s abrupt stance.

For a moment, Jean’s shoulders relax as he rolls his eyes in exasperation at the same time you hear Hannes slap his hand to his face behind you.

Only you are capable of keeping your face free of emotion despite the strange wave of sadness gnawing at your chest as Eren looks to you brightly, wearing his whole heart on his sleeve.

You can’t remember the last time you ever saw someone like that, so full of hope and with that much light in his eyes, as if life hadn't quite broken him yet.

If he stays here any longer, that will most likely change, and the reality of it is more than you are willing to bare.

Your next words come out cold and cruel.

“You don’t belong here,” you say to him before turning away. “Leave this town while you still have the chance.”

What happens next is a blur. Partially blaming the alcohol in your system for dulling your senses. And partially the pretty bartender for holding your attention longer than you should have allowed.

One second you’re turning in the direction of the door, ready to follow after Jean, and the next you’re being pulled to the ground by Eren from behind as the glass window to your right shatters, and the sound of gunshots firing in the distance is heard in retaliation.

Broken glass falls around you, and you raise your hand to shield your face, but small shards of glass make it past and cut the side of your cheek and eyebrow facing the window. You’re disoriented for a split second, but one look in Jean’s direction as he hovers nearby with his gun out, pointing and shouting to all the armed men at the pub to follow and pursue, and you quickly deduce with mild irritation: you were just the target of an attempted hit.

You glance beside you where the boy who just saved your life is staring at you with a pale face and eyes wide in shock.

Staring, not at you. But at your arm. The one you raised to shield your face from the broken glass.

Your sleeve has lifted, revealing the tattoo of the centipede, your family emblem, across your forearm. And you know. As soon as he locks eyes with you, you know he’s figured out who you are.

But before he can say or do anything else, Jean stands over him and yanks Eren by his collar before knocking him out with the side of his gun.

You groan and lay your head on the floor, closing your eyes and covering them with your arm.

Curse this wretched day.

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dxncingxnmyown · 11 months

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@rcmcntique | Javier and Nicola, Two Days after The Explosion, A Tavern in Versailles

He remembers that it hurt - losing her hurt. An inexplicable feeling that is almost lost, between his late parents' rage and Javier's embarrassment. A lion among men was not meant to run about Europe with a splinter in its paw. Yet it is the fate Javier was resigned to. The pitiful, then-Prince that could not keep his betrothed. Much less his parentage alive, or their legacy proud. It is hard to say where heartache ends and the feeling of failure begins. But just as he's prepared to go ten more rounds on himself, with the help of generous drink and dance, Nicola De Medici arrives at the Wagner's Apartments. A stollid look in her eye, a too-dark bruise on her pale skin. In place of anger, something else emerges... A quiet honor, so unlike Javier's larger-than-life persona that it dares eclipse it altogether.

They do not speak for the first two days. Javier is too busy, minding the urgency of issues with his cousin's, the Bourbon's. His family, too, as the dust barely settles on the grief between the Wagner's and the Qajar's. But it is all a means of denial. A way to run from the conversation, that he and Nicola must have. He decides, then, that the best place to talk is away from the Palace walls. Comfortably slotted in the corner of a local tavern, with a glass of wine in hand. It is know he drinks to excess. This time, however, he drinks to achieve answers. Staring back at Nicola - his former fiance, the wreck of his existence, the once-apple of his eye. Javier licks his lips, and lowers the wine glass to the table. "Does it still hurt?" He begins, raising a chin at her arm.

#muse: javier #(nicola and javier)#rcmcntique #abuse tw

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alecmagnuslwb · 2 years

Text

Final Girl

Read on AO3

Maia stands on one side of a long span of grass the axe that’s become her best friend gripped tightly in both hands. It might be her actual best friend now since she’s fairly certain all her friends are dead.

It was supposed to be a fun, wild weekend at Tito’s uncle’s cabin. She’d swim laps in the lake with Bat, kick Jace and Gretel’s ass at cards deep into the night and have slightly voyeuristic sex in the woods with Clary.

Then the man in the plastic old school Frankenstein’s monster mask showed up seemingly out of nowhere and with no real motive and started hacking her and her friends to pieces. She’s the only one still standing now, Clary’s alive, but barely so slow slumped over at the base of a tree behind Maia. She’s lost a lot of blood and Maia doesn’t know how much longer she can last.

This showdown now will be the life or death of the two of them.

The man in the plastic mask catches up just like she knew he would stepping out of the bushes on the other end of the grass. He stops when he sees her the cutlass sword that’s already taken so much from her tonight hanging loosely in one of his large hands.

She takes a single step her leg that he’d slashed as she crawled her way out the window of the cabin bleeding more at the movement. She thinks she might be starting to get a little woozy, but she’s running on nothing but pure adrenaline so she pushes the wooziness to the back of her mind.

She’s getting out of this. Clary is getting out of this. And this fucker is going to pay for what he’s done to them, for the future’s he’s stolen from four of her favorite people in the world.

“Hey, motherfucker!” Maia shouts across the field stretching out her arms readying herself for a fight. “Let’s finish this!”

Frankenstein mask seems to be welcome to the idea taking his first step forward holding his sword tight and bouncing it on his other hand. He picks up his pace nearly jogging at her. She smirks taking off in a run swinging the axe out.

They collide damn near in the exact center of the field. He swings his weapon out first but Maia ducks it perfectly. She’s seen the way he moves enough this night that she’s got a good read on what moves he might make.

He grunts at her swinging the cutlass from the other side she raises her axe up blocking it just as it’s about to make contact with the skin of her neck. She’s already got a nice gash there that’s going to scar and she’s not about to have another.

She grins at him, a no doubt crazed looking thing as she uses all her force to push him back. He stumbles just a bit as Maia raises up stepping back a few paces.

She screams, a rageful unhinged sound coming from deep in her gut that still aches from where the masked asshole had kicked her in the stomach earlier. She uses the sound as a battle cry running at her assailant with every bit of rage and heartache she’s built up tonight. She pushes into him knocking him back off his feet landing directly on his back. He lets out a strained huff having the wind knocked out of him.

His sword is still gripped in his hand and he swings it forward at her slicing her already battered, cut up arm. Her favorite jacket is long gone tattered and bloodied somewhere back at the cabin. She barely feels it, numb and angry and ready to kill this man for all the grief he’s put them through.

He swings his sword again, but this time she’s ready swinging the axe out and embedding it into his wrist. He screams a gargled thing dropping the cutlass from his tight grip. Maia pushes a knee into his chest hard pressing the axe down until his it goes clean through the killer’s hand completely separated from his arm.

She grabs his dropped cutlass sword and raises it high.

“This is for my friends you piece of shit,” she growls at him as she plummets the sword down into his chest hard. He grunts when she does, so she does it again and again and again until his grunting stops. She pulls it back out of his chest and raises it one last time landing it directly in his throat. He won’t be coming back for one last scare, not on her.

She lets out a shaky breath when she’s done her adrenaline high coming down as her fingers uncurl from the sword. She lifts a shaky hand to the killer’s mask gripping the edge tight. It takes a few tugs the thing tightly wrapped around his head before she can fully remove it.

She tosses it to the side once she has and looks at the man.

He’s no one. Some non-descript man she’s never seen before in her life. It gives her none of the closure she’d hoped for. She wanted it to be the teacher’s aide they all drove insane freshman year coming back for his revenge or maybe that angry guy they’d rear ended on the way to spring break two years back.

But no one he’s just some guy. Some guy who was out here with a need to kill and found them.

Well that just sucks.

She shoves herself up from off the ground and off of him stumbling over to where she left Clary resting.

“Clary,” she says brushing her long red hair that’s matted with blood off of her face. “Come on, baby. Wake up.”

And because she’s going to get one break tonight, she does.

“Maia?” she says groggily her eyes blinking rapidly.

“Yeah, baby it’s me. We’re okay, but we gotta get you up and back to the cabin so we can get the car,” she whispers. She thinks Tito had the keys; she’s not looking forward to picking over his body for them. She pulls Clary up from under her arms; it takes a lot of effort the adrenaline has well and truly worn off this time.

They manage stumbling holding each other up all the way back to the cabin, to Tito’s body and then to the car. Maia finally let’s herself breathe when she’s settled Clary in the passenger seat hopping to the driver’s seat on her good leg aching as she does. She turns onto the road driving away from the forest, from the hell she’s survived tonight.

#my fic #clary fray #maia roberts #claia #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fic #claia fic

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moonlit-imagines · 3 years

Text

Father of the Year (Part 5)

Tony Stark x child!reader

Quentin Beck x Stark!reader (platonic)

Peter Parker x Stark!reader (platonic)

warnings: death, blood mention

a/n: im running out of timeline lmao. again and again, dont come at me for this bc its just an alternate take on dad!tony

prompt:

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 6

You obviously skipped out on Tony’s funeral. If your absolute contempt for his existence didn’t stop you, the Avengers would. “You caused him too much heartache,” they’d probably say. “Pepper is scared for her safety and the safety of her child,” they’d probably say.

You just wanted him to be there for you. To be your dad. The fact that he had actually been a dad to your stranger of a sister didn’t sit right with you, but you tried not to dwell on it.

Only, you did. Tony Stark was a lot of things, but you’d never consider him to be a good father. He never showed up for anything. No graduations, no doctor’s appointments, no parties, nothing. It was like you didn’t even exist to him. So what changed? He went through trauma when you were both alive and well, but it never changed his perspective. You might have even thought for a moment—just a lingering moment—that he’d tell someone, maybe Pepper, “I miss y/n, I should have been a better dad while I still had the chance. Maybe I could have prevented this.”

The reason why you doubted it was because the moment Pepper got the chance, she filed for a restraining order. Good luck serving you, though. You were a ghost once again, just you and the team.

“Y/N…y/n…” Quentin snapped his fingers in front of your face, leaning down beside you. “Still taking everything in?”

“Just thinking.” You sighed and chuckled, rubbing your eye with your palm as if your eyes were just watery from an itch.

“You know, you can still be upset that he’s gone. Whether it be because you didn’t get revenge or closure.” He assured you with a light hand on your shoulder before he took a seat beside you and stared at your favorite wall. “I know that I hated the guy with every fiber of my being…and you’re just about the same way, but grief is a weird thing, y/n. Don’t bottle it up because your ashamed of it.” He paused for a long moment, no longer distracting you or himself from your loud sniffles. “When you dusted, we used our grief to work even harder. God, you should have seen us the day Tony came back from space three goddamned weeks later. We couldn’t keep it together, and the rage and sorrow just…took over us.”

“And now he’ll forever be known as a martyr. The man who gave his life for the lost half of humanity…how selfless.” You winced at the facts that would live in the history books for years to come.

“…I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you this, but I might as well get it over with.” Quentin and you each turned your heads to face each other as you cocked an eyebrow. “Do you remember your combat drones? The ones used originally for your ‘PSA?’” He asked you with a mischievous grin.

“I do, yes.” You squinted at him through your still-blurry eyes.

“Well, I have a similar model that I’d really like to replicate, and you’re just the person to do it.”

—————

“He’s giving your tech to who?!” You were already hot in the face again, Quentin was nearly about to make you take five.

“You heard me, y/n.” He placed his hands on each of your shoulders. “But this is where the plan comes in. We have your brain, we have the drones, we have a story, we can pull this off.”

“Just how stupid do you think Nick Fury is? That man can smell a lie from a hundred miles away.” You’re eyes were stuck wide open and your faith in the plan had already left your heart and mind.

“It’s an airtight plan, y/n. Obviously, you’ll need to keep some distance, right? But I’ll no doubt let you in on the action. I know you have problems with this ‘Parker’ kid.” Your eye roll didn’t bode well with his claim.

“That’s an understatement.” You huffed. “To this day, I don’t know what was so great about him. We’re practically the same person, yet my father decided he was good enough for all that attention and all the affection that I never got.”

“And that wasn’t fair at all. Tony never deserved you, y/n.” You stood there silently contemplating his plan, and he was right. You guys needed to do something about this. “This is our chance, the chance to get back at your shitty father postmortem. He left his legacy to a stranger, I can’t—I won’t let him get away with that. It’s not fair to you.”

“I’m in, Beck. Behind the scenes.” You watched his eyes widen and a smile begin to grow on his face. “But we have to be super careful about all of this. I never hung around with the Avengers, but I know all about Fury. He was the director of SHIELD for a reason.”

“Tell me everything. If I’m gonna have to get close to him, I’ll need all the intel I can get.”

—————

Although you were on edge about his plan, it went off without a hitch. It wasn’t long before Peter wanted the pressure off of himself and when it was, Quentin was right there, ready for the taking.

When Quentin returned to base with his prize and former tech, you celebrated as if you were your father in the 90s. It wasn’t every day that you got a real win, especially against someone that you could consider your arch-nemesis.

“There were so many times I wanted to punch that kid for you. He’d bring Stark up and say all the wrong things, it drove me nuts.” He clenched his fists in the air with a solid laugh to accompany and you shook your head and laughed with him.

“Maybe someday.” You replied while resting your head on his shoulder. “I didn’t even think we’d get this far.” Quentin sort of got silent, stiffening his body some. “What? I didn’t mean it like that, Beck. I still believed in you.” You tried to defend yourself.

“No, no, it’s not that.” He assured you. “No, I just…I may have left apart of the plan out.”

“Oh, god. What is it?” You buried you face in your hands and awaited an explanation.

“Well, okay. So, when you were gone, we went through some of your files—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, we didn’t think you’d be back. But we found out that you were working on your own suit! It was good stuff, I have to admit.” He sounded super excited telling you this, and you knew exactly where he was headed. “I know you, y/n. You could create this suit in a couple hours, and I know you want to make a statement. Show the world that y/n Stark is still alive and well. Maybe even try to stop the Elementals with one ‘Mysterio?’”

“You want me to be a hero?” You asked him with a dry chuckle. “The world isn’t gonna buy that, Beck. Tony dug himself out of his self-righteous hole and buried me in it instead. To the people, I’m a spoiled brat and a menace to society. One day I just snapped and my ‘dear old dad’ had to go on without me.” He picked up anger in your voice, but he knew that what you were saying wasn’t entirely true.

“There are still people on your side, y/n. Not just us but normal, everyday people. They’ve knew what Tony was capable of, he was heartless. Sure, maybe he did a few good deeds, but he’s responsible for more destruction than good.” Quentin was good, you’ll give him that. He knew how to talk you into anything, but you already knew you wanted to do this. “You were a product of that destruction if you think about it. Neglect and distain, all for nothing. The greatest destruction one can inflict, especially on a child. “Don’t let him be remembered as a martyr. It’s your turn to take the spotlight away from him, show the world that you can be better.”

“You are impossible, you know that?” You glared at him with a stifled smile and finally broke into laughter.

“But you’re buying into it.” He nudged you with his elbow and you stood up from your seat.

“Yeah, yeah, you win. Go ahead with the plan, I suppose I’ll start on that suit.” Your words excited Quentin enough for him to jump up and bring you in for a hug, then a little celebratory fist pump.

“Let me go tell the team the good news! Call me if you need anything—you need food? Or water, maybe? Just let me know. See ya!” He sprinted from the room and you heard the boom of his voice not even five seconds later. “Y/N’s in!” Cheers from the team brought tears to your eyes, it just felt so good to be wanted. So you cleared your workstation and pulled up the old plans, ready to rework them just a bit and get right to it.

Now, it wasn’t an Iron Man suit, but it shared some similarities. You weren’t interested in carrying on his legacy, you were here to make one for yourself. This suit was not as clunky as his others, it barely even looked alike. The power source was still stored on the chest, an important feature that just works. You employed a bit of nanotech for weaponry, but you decided against a full suit of it. Personal preference for the moment. It wasn’t going to be perfect, this was like a trial run, but it would work because you were the one that built it. And the moment you were done, you were ready to put it on display for the world.

“Are you ready, Beck?” You called to him from another room as he suited up in preparation for the London demonstration.

“Am I ready? I should be asking you that.” He remarked with a smile just before you stepped in the room in your newest creation. “Wow, it looks perfect. Please…tell me everything about it.”

“Well, encased on the shoulder blades are a whole lot of nanobots capable of whatever I want, so long as I program them for it. They’re currently extra armor and weaponry that will evacuate from the chamber and cover me in any position. Also they can be tentacles, how cool is that?!” You ranted along to him, eyes glistening with hope and a mouth that beamed with pride. Quentin hadn’t seen you with this expression in many, many years. “And then I have these hologram projectors on my shoulders, they’re somewhat like the drone ones, but mine are going to be used to project messages, scan objects with lasers and project, or throw enemies off. The possibilities are endless!”

“Y/N, the suit—it’s, it’s better than I could have ever imagined! The people that you’re going to show up today, or inspire, they won’t know what’s coming. I just—god, I am so proud of you.” Quentin, your mentor, was biting his lip as if he were trying to stop himself from showing stronger emotions, but you were too caught up in the euphoria of this masterpiece to even notice.

“Right, and like, I didn’t have time to program myself a personal assistant, but I do have basic voice commands slash controls that are ready to go. And the suit will fly, that’s a given. Boosters on the feet and hands, plus backup thrusters all around the place so I have full control of my movement. Plus I have weaponry for days! My repurposed repulsors, a couple of nice little rockets, real functioning lasers and calibration lasers, a fully functioning targeting system, and I’ve barely scratched the surface!” You were rambling on and on and Quentin could not get enough of it. “So yes, I’m ready when you are.” Quentin did a quick walk around to check your suit from all angles.

“I’m very interested in your choice of green chrome, y/n.” He poked fun at you, but in a way that you knew he wasn’t judging. Just curious is all.

“Oh, yes! Okay, so the green is like a base color for the suit right now because my hologram tech will set the suit apart from the environment and cloak me so that I’m nearly invisible to the naked eye. Sounds cool, huh?” You explained it while starting the program up. “MC, engage camo mode.” You commanded and suddenly disappeared from the room whilst standing right in front of Quentin.

“Remarkable…” He muttered when he reached out and touched your armor. “‘MC?’ Did you name your suit the Master of Ceremonies?” He raised his eyebrows and hoped you were facing his direction to see.

“MC, disengage camo mode and helmet.” You were, in fact, facing him with your face open for him to see the unenthused and slightly embarrassed expression on your face. “It stands for ‘metal clad.’ I didn’t have enough time to figure out a decent name, okay?”

“It’s not the worst name I’ve heard,” he patted your shoulder and led you to the team, “have you guys seen what y/n’s working with here?! I think they deserve a round of applause!” Quentin and the team began to clap in unison until you quickly shut it down.

“Alright, you guys! Thank you, thank you, but we have a mission, don’t we? Let’s hop to it!”

—————

It was a sight to behold, you in the sky next to the world’s newest superhero. The publicity was immediately fantastic and extremely welcoming to you. I will say, you had some problems with the plan, problems that were never officially disclosed to you. Like a calculation of casualties. You deployed shields immediately to save the people, it wasn’t their battle to fight.

“Everyone evacuate the area, now!” You shouted with a speaker system built into your suit. When you flipped up the mask of your helmet, it became apparent exactly who you were, and all eyes were on you.

“I knew it was y/n Stark! I knew it!” One person shouted with their camera in your face.

“Yes, that’s me, now get your ass away from the blast zone. Trust me.” You instructed them and used your shields to herd the crowd away. It wasn’t long before you got a distress beacon from Quentin and took to the sky, though. Who knows what kind of danger he may be in if he was brave enough to ask for backup? As you landed on the bridge, you were greeted by a familiar face, one that you were surprised to see. Quentin said he took care of him, but by the looks of it, that wasn’t exactly true.

“Y/N?” Peter’s guard was still up due to Quentin’s schemes, but he was still shocked to see you. “What are you doing here? Are you with him?”

“He’s the only person who’s been there for me, Parker. He’s done more for me that Tony ever did.” You clenched your jaw and took one step closer, but noticed something was off. There was a hologram in progress behind Peter. Quentin wasn’t so much down as he was cornered. He needed a distraction.

“I just don’t get it, how could you work with someone like this? He’s hurting people. Was that your idea?” Peter accused you of something the immediate turned your blood to a boil.

“No!” You shouted, beginning to tear up as old memories surfaced. You didn’t think seeing Peter in the flesh would dig this deep. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Why do you think I was on the ground doing crowd control? I couldn’t live with myself if I purposely hurt the innocent—it’s what set me apart from Tony.”

“Tony was a good man, y/n! I don’t know how you could have ever hated him, attacked him, or disgraced him. What did he ever do to you?!” Peter had begun to cry and you weren’t far behind.

“Peter, please don’t do this to me! And don’t lie to yourself, either. I know that Tony wasn’t all that great to you, even if you can’t see it.” You knew that Tony was his idol, but a man like that should not be idolized. Peter looked angry, but he also looked exhausted. He was beaten, bloody, and bruised, and now he was letting you get the final words in. “He dragged you into his petty battles then left you high and dry for months, then held all sorts of threats over your head to keep you in line and tried to take away his gifts to you. And on top of all of that, you were a kid. You still are! And I was a kid, too! Neither of us deserved what we got, but you—you…somehow you struck a chord with him, got an in. You were lucky, but look where that got you.”

“Well, you’re here, too.” Peter gulped and lowered his head for a moment. “So I wouldn’t get too high and mighty.”

“But I’m still standing—” There was a quick bang and you flinched a moment too long. By the time you could focus on what had just happened, Quentin was down and you had rushed to his side as Peter stood over his body. “Beck, hey, stay with me, Beck.” You kneeled down before him and grabbed onto his hand while the other reached for your shoulder.

“It’s too late for me, y/n, but it’s not too late for you.” He told you, accepting his defeat right there.

“No, no, don’t say that. I can still get you help. Please, stay awake.” You begged of him while Peter watched with pity in his eyes.

“I knew that we wouldn’t always see eye to eye on all our operations, but I always knew that you’d do better than me. Don’t become like me, y/n. Promise me that.” He squeezed your hand one last time.

“I, I—Quentin…” You stammered and you pulled you just a little closer.

“Y/N.” Quentin leaned his forehead against yours with tears in his eyes, but yours were already flowing fearlessly.

“I promise.” You whispered to him and held him close until he passed on. Once he went limp, you moved to his side and fell back against the wall, still grasping onto his hand. “He’s gone. It’s over, Peter.”

“EDITH?” Peter put on the glasses to confirm. They did. “I’m sorry, y/n.”

“Me, too.” You sniffled, cooling down a bit from you cries.

“You know, I think you made a good impression on the people today.” He sat down with you and tried to make this bitter moment just a little sweeter. “And you don’t have to go through this alone. Come with me?” Peter proposed and you glared at him before bursting into tears once more and leaning your head against the wall. “I’m sorry, y/n. I really am.”

“Just shut up.” You commanded him while you tried to regain your composure. Once you were given a moment to think, to clear your head, you got up and walked to the damage of the bridge that had become a new exit.

“Y/N? Where are you going?” Peter got up and followed. “I really think you should come with me. It’s the least I can do.” You reached the exit and took one look back at Peter and Quentin, whose body you’d need to leave behind.

“Don’t follow me, Peter. There will be consequences.” You threatened him. “But call me if you need me. Hero business only.” You began your flight out of the crime scene and left Peter in the dust. Moments later, EDITH received a message, your cryptic contact. Peter chuckled a bit, grabbing his ribs in pain, and looked back at the body that you were crying over just moments before. He felt guilty, but it was either him or Quentin, and it was obvious that you understood that…specifically because you didn’t yell at him.

After your sighting in London, news outlets flooded with tales of your heroics, almost like your redemption. Every single one of them wanted an interview with you, even a simple quote, but you were off the radar once again.

Days went by with nothing new or out of the ordinary. Spider-Man returned to New York, everyone was safe and sound, and the world knew peace once again—until a particular news story broke out. Quentin’s Revenge: told by J. Jonah Jameson of the Daily Bugle. In the clip shown by the news, things were taken way out of context. Peter was shown using the drones, commanding them to “execute them all,” then your voice could be heard in the background shouting, “no! Please don’t do this!”

So in the end, Quentin and the team truly helped you reach the hero status, pulling Peter down in the process. And if that wasn’t enough, they added insult to injury by exposing Peter’s secret identity, shocking him to his very core.

“What are you going to do?! Peter?!” MJ frantically asked him as the people of New York began to close in.

“I have to make a call…y/n will know what to do.”

taglist: taglist: @hc-geralt-23 // @dancing-tacos-23 // @huntective-kyeo // @angeldreifics // @coollemonsaresour // @directionerlarryzi // @babycarrot-1 // @natasharomanoffstan // @tonystanktheirondad // @big-galaxy-chaos // @xx-narcissa // @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedficrecs // @johnmurphyisqueer // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @xuxinoir // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck // @randomawesomeperson102 // @brutal-out-here // @wonderful-writer // @of-a-chaotic-mind // @groovyfluxie // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @lxncelot // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @dindjarinsspouse // @werewolf-himbo // @lost-fantasy // @legolas-with-hearing-aids // @moobrvoobl-moobmoob-oobmpoobroom // @summersimmerus // @cipheress-to-k-pop //

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lillianawayne99 · 2 years

Text

Fireborn Prologue

Pairing: Jon Snow & Oberyn Martell X OC

Genre: NSFW AU

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: smut, violence, fluff, blood, death, mixes the books and show, spoilers for seasons 6-8

Synopsis: Valaena Fireborn of House Targaryen has reached Westeros after spending her life in exile. While learning about her homeland and preparing for the war ahead, she meets two men who would change her life forever and learns of a threat to all humanity.

Fireborn // Masterlist

“I am [Valaena Fireborn] of Old Valyria, and I will take what is mine. With fire and blood, I will take it.”

I didn’t remember my homeland nor had I stepped foot on Westerosi soil. I was born on Dragonstone in the midst of a raging summer storm. The following years in exile comprised of my brother ingraining one objective into me. Retake our father’s throne and kill the usurpers.

After spending my entire life in another land, I was going back to Westeros. No, not going back. I couldn’t go back to a place I didn’t remember. Nonetheless, leather boots stood on a wooden deck destined for the North.

One of my dothrakhoyi joined me, posing as my escort. Kovarro spoke the Common Tongue and was loyal to me without a fault. My advisors, khalasar, and Unsullied remained in Mereen while the former slaves and masters formed a new government of their own which benefitted all in Dragon’s Bay.

Years of heartache were coming to fruition. Neither of my siblings were capable of seizing the Iron Throne. Viserys would have squandered whatever hold the Targaryen name still possessed. Daenerys would have been too soft, too kind to make difficult decisions. If a Targaryen was to sit the throne again, it had to be me. I was the only Targaryen left with the composition of a leader.

Daenerys was fortunate to die as a child. She wouldn’t have known to defend herself when Viserys grew cruel. Death saved her from living in this world with our brother. A short childhood protected her from his attacks.

I had already spent several moons training in the yard with Ser Willem Darry when Viserys first tried to hit me. He tried several more times, his attempts gradually only occurred at night. The first night I slept with a dagger under my pillow halted his actions. He carried the scar from that night until the day he was killed by my husband.

I was lucky when it came to Khal Drogo. Viserys taught me to expect cruelty from men, but Drogo never beat nor raped me. The most feared Khal in Essos was kinder to me than the last of my kin. He chose me as his wife, his Khaleesi, and he cherished me for the rest of his life.

Drogo never raised his voice nor his hand towards me. He was a good father, husband, leader, and a fearsome warrior. He promised me Westeros. He vowed to tear down the walls of my enemies and give Rhaego the Iron Throne. If it wasn’t for the maegi and traitor, we could have spent the rest of our lives on the Great Grass Sea.

The part of me who loved without abandon died with the last of my family. How could someone believe in love when they’d only been rewarded with pain and heartache? After waking in the blood of my husband and child, love wasn’t part of my life any longer. The devotion I once possessed hardened and festered until only vengeance was left.

The hole where my heart used to be never healed, but the years dulled the grief and the bells in my hair brought me comfort. When they ring in the wind, with the gait of my midnight, or a shake of my head, I imagine Drogo with our son in the night lands.

Rhaego would be nearly old enough to learn how to shoot from horseback now. Drogo was adamant we taught our son how to be a Khal from the time he could hold his own head. Shortly after he was running through the camp, Rhaego could hold an arakh and stand in the saddle. He could have been as ferocious a warrior and leader as his father if not more.

“Khaleesi?” Kovarro’s deep voice pulled me out of my past and into the present.

“Yes, zhey qoy qoyi?” I turned away from the stern of the ship to face my companion. The setting sun behind him cast a soft glow on the crown of his ebony hair. His lips were taught and brows furrowed as he stood before me dressed in brown and gold leather.

“The ship is about to dock.”

I nodded and led him to the cabin we had shared. Repacking our saddlebags was fast work as we left all of our belongings in them apart from what we needed during the voyage. The crew unloaded their fares as Kovarro and I retrieved our horses from the animal hold.

Moons at sea caused us to walk on dry land with shaky legs and a stumbling gait as we found an inn. Kovarro and I crossed a bridge into the northern side of White Harbor and left our horses in a stable. After unsaddling the horses, we brought our bags up to our room and found a table to eat at.

I was considerably more relaxed in White Harbor than I had been in many years. My entire life, I was the princess expected to behave like royalty until I was with the Dothraki. When Drogo died and I took control of the Khalasar, I had to be a queen. Now, I was just one more noblewoman traveling.

Despite twenty years with one goal in mind, Westeros didn’t feel like home. I felt like a foreigner surrounded by men and women dressed in the Westerosi fashion. Kovarro and I may be dressed like them, but the material was constricting and difficult to move in. It hadn’t even been a day, and I was already sick for home.

I missed my loose dresses. I missed wearing trousers. I missed the clay buildings of Mereen. I missed riding my midnight at the head of my khalasar. It will take longer than I’d like before I’m ready to summon my advisors and army to Dragonstone.

“I don’t know how these people wear such tight clothing. Do you want to live here and rule these people?” Kovarro spoke in Dothraki while tugging at his shirt and shifting in his seat.

“It’s my birthright.” I responded in Dothraki, his question making me pause as I raised my spoon to my mouth.

“That wasn’t the question. Do you want to be here?” He stopped adjusting his clothes and resumed eating his food.

“Ruling here is what I’ve always wanted. It’s why I stayed in Mereen.” I gave him the safe answer, the answer I’d rehearsed in my mind every hour of every day.

“This country smells like pig shit. How can they stand living in such cramped quarters? Don’t they need space to breathe?” Kovarro had been with me since I married Drogo, he should be used to these conditions.

“This is what they’ve always known. To them, this is normal.” This was normal to me as well, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed the stench of the city.

“Is this the kind of life you want, Khaleesi? To be stuck in a crowded city that reeks of shit?” If I hadn’t lost so much to reach this place, I never would have left Mereen.

“I’ve spent most of my life in crowded cities that reek of shit.”

Next Chapter

A/N: This is the only chapter I’ve edited since I changed my writing style for Chapter 13. Chapters 1-12 are a bit more modern sounding. I’m currently undecided whether I’ll go back and edit 1-12.

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

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xxwritemeastoryxx · 3 years

Text

Not Her

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Parings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader, Klaus Mikaelson & Bestfriend!Reader

Word count: 2.1 K

Author’s note: Welcome to day two of Angst Week. This gif had been submitted by the lovely @dumble-daddy and was a part of the 1500k follower challenge. It’s late but, it’s here. At least I'm not reaching another milestone soon. 🤣

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things!

Even though the last few months had been filled with numerous foes that dare chose to take a stand against the Mikaelsons, they had been able to handle it. They managed to defeat each one that came their way as they always did: together. But nothing could have prepared them for the fight that was brought to them today. Nor were they prepared for the aftermath.

The Mikaelsons had been separated and it was then that the enemy had chosen to strike. For if they weren’t faced with the whole family, there was a better chance to take them down. While Klaus, Rebekah and Hayley had been on one side of the city, Elijah, Y/N and Freya had been on the opposite end. A trail of clues leading them into an ambush.

While it had been unexpected, they managed to stick to their quickly thrown together plan. Take down the enemy and those that were alive by then would be questioned. As long as the Mikaelsons stuck to that, they’d always come out on top. At least, it always had before that.

Klaus stood in the courtyard of the compound, a glass of liquor in his hand. He stood there with pride as he brought the glass up to his lips and took a drink from it. Taking the lives of those that stood against him was no doubt the best part of the day. The blood that lingered on his clothes served as a reminder that Klaus Mikaelson wasn’t someone to be tried with.

The smug smile that played on his lips never faltered. If anything it grew from time to time at the sounds of the screams that came from the cellar. Both Rebekah and Hayley worked as quickly as possible to get whatever information out of their last living pawn from the fight. Today had merely been child’s play to the three of them compared to several other moments in their lifetime.

Even as he heard the familiar footsteps of his brother approaching the compound, his smile had only grown to a smirk. Surely if they had managed to succeed, the other half of his siblings would have succeeded as well. He poured himself another glass, his back turned to Elijah as he did so.

“I’d say today was a successful a-” Klaus’s words had been cut short as he turned to face his brother.

Elijah stopped not too far from the entryway, his eyes locked on his brother. Much like Klaus, his suit had been stained by the blood that covered him. There were rips along the suit jacket, some even exposing his ripped button up. From what Klaus could see, the others had a rougher time with the enemy.

Klaus could easily see that some of the blood that covered Elijah’s neck had been his own. The bite mark on his neck had been a source for some of the current wounds present on his brother. One that Klaus knew Elijah would eventually heal from with time. But it was the other stains of blood on Elijah that had bothered Klaus the most.

The brothers had been in several fights. Against several others and even against each other. But no matter who the fight was with, Klaus had never seen Elijah this covered in blood before. It was the stain that looked as if someone had been bleeding out as he carried someone, that raised the most alarms in Klaus.

And as Klaus took in his appearance, Elijah couldn’t get a single word to form on his lips. The pain he felt from the wolf bite was nothing in comparison to the emotional whirlwind that was raging inside of him. There was disbelief, heartache, and grief all mixed in with each other. He wasn’t sure where one emotion ended and the other began. And yet, on the outside Elijah was quiet, as if thinking on how he should say what was on his mind.

Elijah knew there was nothing he could have done. His vampire abilities couldn’t do anything to prevent it. The speed he had been so used to had been fast enough. The strength he had couldn’t prevent his foes from reaching the one person he swore he would always protect. His blood rendered useless as he tried to heal her.

His heart ached at the thought. How human he felt in that moment. How helpless he had been to stop any of it. He could easily play out every scenario on how he could have done something differently. But nothing his mind conjured up came with a happy ending.

It was as the brothers’ eyes met that Elijah felt the dam within him collapse to pieces and the first set of tears began to fall. Through those tears, Elijah had been able to Klaus’s facial features turn from the smug look he had from victory, to worry for his brother, followed by the realization of what Elijah’s silent actions had meant.

Klaus’s eyes immediately went to the entryway, looking for Y/N. Surely if his brother had returned, she wouldn’t have been too far behind. But even his enhanced hearing couldn’t pick up on her footsteps, nor the familiar sound of her playful laughter he had grown used to after a fight such as this one.

“Tell me Y/N is just out with Freya somewhere.” Klaus said as he shook his head slightly.

Y/N and Klaus had been close friends for several centuries. It was that friendship that had led to the introduction of his best friend and brother. A match made in heaven that couldn’t be separated. And as the years went on, Y/N became his official sister and the three of them had been closer than ever.

Elijah’s head quickly shook at his brother’s words. “We couldn’t save her.” After a short pause he continued. “I couldn’t save her.”

Klaus took in his brother’s words and began shaking his head. “What happened?” He asked through clenched teeth.

“They had wolves on their side.” Elijah looked away from his brother as he began to explain. As he did, he tried keeping his emotions in check. But losing his wife had killed him and the guilt that filled him from not being able to save Y/N had almost suffocated him. “She was fine one moment, taking them down with ease. Freya was prepared to do the spell, until something went wrong. The next time I see Y/N she’s being bitten. Not once, but several times. Seeing her had distracted me. I was bitten as Itried to get to her. By the time I managed to dispose of the wolf, I heard Freya screaming her name.”

Elijah shook his head. The fresh memories are too hard to even put into words. The details that followed, he had still been processing himself. How could one so easily explain the horrific events that he hadn’t been able to stop himself?

Seeing the struggle within his brother, Klaus walked over to Elijah and placed his hands on the sides of Elijah’s neck, for if he could enter his brother’s mind, Elijah wouldn’t have to say a single word. All he would have to do was show Klaus what he saw.

Blood ran down Y/N’s chin and neck from the wolves she had easily killed. She was careful to avoid their bites several times throughout the fight. Y/N had the upper hand with each one that came at her. At least that was until she felt the dart of vervain hit her thigh.

Growing weaker, the wolves had taken advantage. Even though Y/N had fought a few others off, ripping their hearts out in the process, it was the others that bit into her. With Vervain and werewolf venom pumping through her veins, Y/N knew she was running out of time and strength.

“Any day now, Freya!” She called out in between grunts as she killed another.

“Almost there.” Freya called out in return as she kept her eyes on the spell. she just needed a few more moments.

Elijah could hear it in Y/N’s voice that something was wrong. The attention he had on the wolves before him had been lost as he looked over at Y/N and watched as she pulled the dart out of her skin. But the moment she had it free, another had been shot into her back.

“Y/N!” Elijah called, about to make his way over to her when a wolf jumped on Elijah. While Elijah fought it off, it hadn’t been before he had gotten bitten. Once the creature had been lifeless, he had gotten up off of the ground, his eyes searching for Y/N.

He found her standing back up, the dart no longer in her back as a whine from a wolf filled the air. Y/N’s hand had been shoved into the wolf’s chest before pulling it’s heart out quickly. Elijah watched as a smirk began to pull at her lips. At least that was until he watched the look of pain formed on her face.

Her hands automatically went to her chest, attempting to find the source of the pain that radiated through her chest. As she looked down, she saw the protruding sharp end of the stake poking out of her chest. Blood began seeping through the wound and it wasn’t hard to miss on the gray shirt she wore.

“No!” Elijah yelled out the same time as Freya had done the same.

They both hadn’t seen the woman coming up on Y/N, nor did they see the stake she held in her hand. And it wasn’t long after that the woman was gone as well, taking what remained of the pack with her.

Elijah moved quickly to catch Y/N before she fell to the ground. He took her in his arms and the moment he had, Y/N had smiled up at him. There were so many thoughts running through his head in that moment, but nothing wanted to be spoken.

Elijah knew he couldn’t heal her. Not with the way the ashen veins began crawling up her body. She didn’t have the same abilities as he did. For she had been turned a century later and was vulnerable to any wooden stake. There was no way he could save her and he hated himself for it.

His eyes met hers as he shook his thoughts away, wanting to be there for her in her final moments. “Forgive me.” He said as he attempted to keep his emotions in check.

Y/N’s head shook slightly as she looked up at him. She was growing weaker by the second as death claimed her. But she wasn’t going to let Elijah feel like it was his fault. She brought her trembling hand up to his face, a small smile forming once more as he leaned into her touch.

“I love you.” The words had come out as a whisper. But Y/N knew that Elijah had heard them clearly.

She wanted to make sure that if she was going at any second, that those would have been the last thing he heard from her. Not the worry she had felt at the beginning of the ambush. Not the fear that she voiced when Freya’s spell hadn’t been done in time. She wanted and needed him to hear the love she felt for him in her dying voice.

The words had only lingered in the air a split of a second before her hand fell to her side and the ashen grey had overtaken her face.

Klaus pulled his hands away from his brother as he took in the memory. His best friend was gone and just as Elijah had said, there was no way to save her. Even if Elijah had gotten to her moments before he had, there would have been nothing he could have done.

The vervain in her system had left her senses weakend, including her hearing. She was no match for the enemy that snuck up on her. No amount of blood would have stopped death from taking her in the mere seconds it had taken for Elijah to reach her before she took her last breath. Klaus knew that guilt would live within his brother for some time.

It was then that Klaus pulled his brother into a hug. A way to comfort him even though he himself had been in disbelief that Y/N was gone. It was a way for them to rely on each other in a moment of grief. For the person they’ve loved the longest besides family, had been taken away from them.

Tonight, they would grieve.

Tomorrow, they’d take down the enemy together before putting Y/N to rest.

Always and Forever Tags:

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Stag Tag: (All Things Elijah Mikaelson)

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The Originals Tag: (All Things The Originals)

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wistfulrat · 4 years

Text

a 4-part rec list of my fave drarry fics - the thrillers, dramas, soft bois, and wankbanks getting me through 2020′s shitstorm

[ for my fellow fledgling drarry stans! the drama list is here and, well. like i didn’t initially intend to go off in the mini-reviews beneath every rec but it’s just that you can't nOT yell about drarry as classic literary foils!! also it’s my dumb sideblog so i decided there are no rules and i get to be annoying about good writing.

but rly, the whole premise of the drarry pairing is shaped by this genre and if the ~serious world of serious published writers~ weren’t absolute cowards, they would admit that drama fic authors have contributed more to the genre than the average shit you can find at your local chain bookstore. so that's that on thAT. & if you love a fic here, don't forget to follow the authors, leave kudos & comments on their work, send them nice msgs bc they do all this shit for free xoxo ]

part 2: dramas

mood: for when I need emotional catharsis and maybe 7 hours to sob/brood about loneliness, the cost of love, & the perpetual fear of being truly known

includes: angst, hurt/comfort, reconciliation fics. it’s cruelty o’clock folks and someone is about to say/do something Fucked Up that they can’t take back. but don’t worry!! there will be a Reckoning feat. hamlet-worthy monologues, ugly truths, unbridled rage, trauma, insecurity, and just a fuck ton of tears!! but maybe even tender apologies and mended things.

(Un)wanted by @aibidil - 36k - E | Ginny's pregnant, then she's not and Harry's single. Harry, again with no family, doesn't know what to do with this turn of events, or how to find a new life—post-war, post-Ginny, post-abortion—in which he belongs. He doesn't expect that life to include dancing to the Backstreet Boys with Hermione and Draco Malfoy. A story of finding belonging in the unexpected. | --- can a fic be tender and unflinching at the same time? bc this story strikes that balance rly well and for a piece about unwantedness, it is incredibly humanizing. ginny holding her own, draco being gentle but not letting harry play victim, hermione calling harry “hazzah” and just the way this friendship insists on the validity of found families even when harry is spiraling?? and you’re forced to consider that no one has the monopoly on fucked-upness and that doesn’t absolve us of the ways we hurt each other but it means that everyone has the same potential to be better after being broken. goD JUST READ IT, OKAY.

Blood Magic, the series by @houseofhebrideanblacks and @thestralsofspinnersend 335k - E “Later that night. . .Draco wondered at the depths of magic, its breadth and scope. The ways in which life pervades and eludes death, the ways in which they endure all manners of small and large deaths within their lives.” -- if you don't read any other fic on this list, i hope you read this series bc holy shit it’s breathtaking. harry’s a recovering addict, draco’s recovering from abuse, and in a cottage within the forbidden forest begins an unlikely partnership as the boys take up the tedious work of healing. there are thestrals and everyone's in therapy. there are whole chapters of cottagecore drarry. it's a beautiful exploration of how we bare the immensity of loss against the miracles of birth and regrowth.

Ship of Theseus by GallaPlacidia - 18k - T “A ship in a full sail, a ship in a state of decay, a ship that had been rebuilt, slightly different. A repeating cycle. “What makes the ship the same?” asked Harry. “I don’t know. There must be something in it that lasts across the changes.” -- DO YOU KNOW HOW THIS QUOTE LIVES RENT FREE IN MY SAD, SAD BRAIN. DO YOU KNOW HOW I LOSE SLEEP THINKING ABOUT THE FUCKING SHIP OF THESEUS. it’s a memory loss fic and everything is so unFAIR. you want to murder harry sometimes bc he’s such a shiT and you suffer through the ways he questions desire, penance, redemption, true love. and by the end, you want to believe in those golden slumber lyrics: “once, there was a way to get back home”

Yours to Keep by @dracoismytrashson - 135k - E i love the university setting, i love getting to see harry and draco’s first forays into a real LGBTQ community, the class and race structures outside of the wizarding world. i love that this is the context in which they’re allowed to confront the shittiness of PTSD, anxiety, depression etc. as they come together and fall apart against each other’s traumas. it makes the ending feel earned af. “Baby, we’ve been easing into it for a decade.” -- my god this line

Away Childish Things by @letteredlettered - 153k - T this fic is devastating. like, completely forget whatever reticence you might have towards a de-aging fic and read this. the de-aging premise allows the author to cut through the ways harry and draco hold each other at a distance and you end up with these stunning moments of clarity where they’re truly seeing each other for the first time. and suddenly everything makes sense. i won't spoil it here but there’s a scene towards the end where harry is talking to hermione and ron about realizing the first time he felt what its like to be loved and I fucking SOBBED. an all-time fave fic about learning how to belong.

Had To Be You by @lettersbyelise - 59k - E a genuinely excellent slow burn about absolute fucking morons who refuse to express their mutual love over the course of literal years?? HOW MANY TENDER MEET-CUTES DO 2 GAY IDIOTS EVEN NEED. a car ride a bookshop a street corner -- when harry met sally is my enemy. but you know what? this fic is masterfully written, it’s an epic tale of unexpected friendships and the inability to say the things we feel. also its very much also a soft boi fic if not for the Major Fuck Up that pushes it into drama territory for me. so worth the turmoil tbh.

Hurricane by phrynne - 120k - E auror partners terrified of love. it’s a fic about walls - where the emotional landscape of this fic is occluded by dishonest words so you feel the tension play out in hollow voices, shuttered looks, emptied eyes. it’s like watching two ppl get flayed alive in slow motion and everything is SHIT for a little. it’s mean, it’s ugly, it doesn’t let you give the characters an out when they’re being cruel - to each other and to themselves. but harry and draco are two violent forces hurling toward each other’s walls and the inevitable reckoning comes and it’s so very worth the ending. the hospital bed scene to rule all hospital bed scenes.

Returning Tides by @zigster-ao3 - E “Is my timing that flawed? Our respect run so dry? Yet there's still this appeal That we've kept through our lives” --those fuCKing ian curtis lyrics in the summary!! p a i n. why do i put myself through getting-back-together fics knowing full well i’m gonna be Sad As Hell during the not-together portion of the story?? we are all unfortunately hoes for heartache. anyway this fic is beautiful. draco’s a dad and recently widowed, harry has a thestral reserve, the settings here are stunning. a story about grief and love that lingers.

A Piercing Comfort by @talithan - 44k - T “There is no objective scorecard. There isn’t anything that a person does that tips the balance from ‘deserving’ to ‘undeserving’, or vice versa. A ‘deserving’ person will not run out of worthiness after a set time of happiness and have to then go about working to deserve it again. And an ‘undeserving’ person does not have to suffer at length before having the opportunity to be ‘deserving’.” -- the heart of this fic. harry’s in therapy, facing depression, and learning how to accept love he doesn’t think he deserves. (also draco is harry’s therapist but yes, that power dynamic is handled ethically-well imo and addressed in the author notes I promise!!).

Borrowing Courage by @xx-thedarklord-xx - 70k - E |After years of being a Magical Artist and painting for other people, Draco decides it’s time to paint for himself for once. The secrets pile up as he tries to unravel the mystery of his relatives but the only thing he didn’t count on was having to go to Potter of all people for approval.| --god i love this fic. the thing about drarry here is that they never mean to hurt each other but they do. they do and draco’s trying to do the right thing and he wants so badly for good family but harry’s never rly stopped grieving sirius and it’s this whole unintended mess of festering wounds forced to heal. everyone needs a hug. also ron/blaise pairing and ron+draco’s friendship here is everything!!

Reparations and the sequel, Foundations by Saras_Girl - 320k - E | Harry is about to discover that the steepest learning curve comes after Healer training, and that second chances can be found in unexpected places.| -- incredible. harry and draco’s dynamic as healers, the cast of original characters, the boys learning what it means to trust each other, draco building a rehabilitation center, harry falling in love with him, and “meus fabula est mei ut dico: my story is mine to tell.” i cry

The Ties that Bind by phoenix_writing (not on ao3) - 61k - T | Upon Andromeda’s death, Harry and Draco are given custody of Teddy. Their lives will never be the same.| -- harry’s got major abandonment issues and he’s just trying to be a good co-parent with draco but everyone is being the woRST and you want to murder them on behalf of harry. but then, the boys learn to listen to each other and god it all becomes so tender. also harry has a gay panic. things are awful but it all works out. -

[part 1: thrillers | part 2: dramas | part 3: soft bois | part 4: wankbanks]

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fic rec #drarry dramas #im so sorry if this got long but also #I have too many Thoughts #all I do is cry over two sad gays #its pain o'clock sweeties #time to Sob about the mortifying ordeal of being Known

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foramomentonly · 3 years

Note

My friend dragged me to this party and I just saw my ex quick make out with me

"Shit!"

Michael turns at his best friend's soft hiss and finds Alex glaring out of the tiny kitchen where they stand into the crowded living room pulsing with bodies and sound, students eager to celebrate the end of mid-terms and the beginning of fall break.

"You okay?" he asks, turning away from the sticky counter with a fresh drink in hand, leaning into Alex's shoulder. The noise and the crowd and the small, confined spaces of campus, of the city can unsettle Michael, who's body remembers an open expanse of desert, the endless black of midnight in the middle of nowhere; Alex's proximity never fails to quiet the buzz of anxiety.

"It's Matt," Alex murmurs, head angled down and towards Michael, his dark eyes peering up through heavy lashes at a tall, dirty blonde with a wide, satisfied smile.

"Matt, who hooked up with someone else at that gig you played and then ghosted you?" Michael asks, his drink running onto his knuckles as his grip around his flimsy solo cup tightens.

Alex glares darkly at the blonde making his way through the living room, arm trailing out behind him as he pulls a shorter blonde with an eyebrow piercing through the crowd.

"He brought the guy," Alex growls through clenched teeth. "They're together now."

Michael watches Alex watch the pair mingle, seething when he catches Matt's eyes flit towards Alex and when, after Matt sees Alex watching, he pulls his date closer into his side, fingers tucking into the waistband of the guy's pants. Alex himself seems to vacillate between cold fury and trembling heartache, Matt's display both poking at the bruise of Alex's broken heart and stoking the fire of his rage at his first real boyfriend's betrayal. He drums his fingers hard against the wood of the cabinet behind him, his dark eyes soft even as a scowl pulls at his full lips.

Michael's gut twists and he reminds himself that he did this, drove his best friend into the arms of a worthless fuckboy because he wasn't brave enough to admit what Alex saw so clearly. Six months ago he'd been in Alex's shed, surrounded by Alex's posters, his guitar, his subtle, musky scent, Michael himself counted among Alex's most cherished things. And then Alex had leaned towards him, pressed gently into him and breathed warm against Michael's lips, whispered his name soft and sweet. And Michael had turned away, awkward and confused and so aroused it took his breath away.

Alex wouldn't let him bring it up again, so much pain twisting his features, and Michael had known seconds after the moment had passed that he loves Alex like he loves the alien energy that courses through his veins, loves him like an integral part of himself. Because of that love, he's frozen, then as much as now, unsure if Alex still feels the same, unwilling to be a renewed source of grief.

Under Michael's eye, Alex's expression turns to steel, and he faces Michael as he drags his eyes away from Matt.

"Kiss me?" he asks, and when Michael's jaw drops, Alex rushes on, "They're coming over here and I just want him to know what he's missing." His eyes go soft and desperate, but Michael is already abandoning his drink on the counter and sliding his arms low around Alex's waist when Alex breathes, "Please."

Michael pulls Alex flush against him, spreads his legs wider so Alex's body fits snug between them as he leans against the counter, and he tucks one hand in the back pocket of Alex's tight-as-sin jeans, cupping the back of Alex's neck with the other, short hairs tickling his knuckles. Alex leans in close, fingers spread wide against Michael's chest, one hand closing into a fist around the loose collar of his tee-shirt as their noses brush and their eyelids grow heavy.

It's Alex who closes the millimeter of distance between their mouths, fitting his lips over Michael's in a warm, chaste kiss that Michael will have none of. His grip on Alex's neck tightens as he angles his head and opens his mouth, running his tongue along the seam of Alex's lips until they part and Michael can lick into into his mouth slowly, deliberately. Alex shivers against him and slides both hands into Michael's curls, running his nails lightly down his scalp and sucking Michael's bottom lip. A low whine escapes Michael's lips and on instinct he squeezes Alex's ass inside his back pocket, and Alex gasps, pressing himself harder against Michael's body, shifting restlessly between Michael's legs when his thigh brushes where Michael is already half hard. He pulls back, lips wet and pink, to stare at Michael with a dazed sort of confusion.

Michael brushes his thumb across Alex's cheekbone and murmurs, "I wanted to see what I was missing."

Alex inhales a quiet, shocked little breath.

"Guerin," he begins slowly, and Michael can see the gears working behind his eyes, doubt and lingering hurt warping the narrative of the moment even as Michael's arms tighten around him.

"Let's get out of here," Michael pleads, "we can find somewhere quiet and talk."

Alex bites his lip, a ghost of smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he reads the desperation in Michael's face, the need and the apology bared open to him.

"Maybe we can talk later," he replies, and presses his thigh firmer against Michael's cock, "feels like we've got a lot to catch up on."

Michael groans, louder than he means to, but Alex just laughs, pulling him by the belt loop into the living room and leading him single-mindedly towards the front door, brushing past a sour-looking Matt with barely more than a distracted, "Excuse us."

#malex #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell nm #meet ugly: college edition #meet ugly #although not really because they already know each other?#idk enjoy!

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imyourbuddie · 3 years

Text

Don't Be A Part Of His (4x05 Coda)

SPOILER FOR SEASON 4 EPISODE 5 “BUCK BEGINS”

Eddie promised himself if he ever met Buck’s parents that he’d act civil. Not for their sake, fuck no, but for Buck’s. Because after all this time, after everything they did and didn’t do, Buck still somehow needs their approval. He doesn’t say it, and that time when Eddie asked him about it, he outright denied it, but it’s in the way his voice quivers when he talks about them. In the way his eyes light up with hope at the mention of them. In the way his larger-than-life self folds in on itself after the last disastrous dinner he had with them.

No, Eddie promised himself that he’d be civil because that’s what Buck would want. Because Eddie Diaz is a lot of things, but a boyfriend who ignores his partner’s wishes? He’s not that guy anymore. He imagined this very moment so many times in his head. Imagined himself walking up to the Buckley parents and extending his hand, smiling, and introducing himself as whatever Buck wants him to be, then walking away.

That, needless to say, did not happen.

Seeing them sitting there, all prim and proper, it pisses Eddie off. That’s not to say he doesn’t feel sorry for them. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost Chris, and he’s no stranger to the countless nights of heartache and panic and guilt and imagining every what-if scenario that could have given Chris a different life. A better one. But the pain of losing a child is no excuse to neglect their other children, no excuse to make Maddie a mom instead of a sister, and definitely not a good enough reason to make Buck feel so goddamn unwanted.

If there’s one thing he learned since having Chris, it’s that nothing in his life, no amount of pain and anguish will ever be reason enough for his son to feel unloved. To feel like the only way he can get any attention is by throwing himself off a bike or into oncoming traffic.

Rage thrums under Eddie’s skin, scorching and freezing at the same time, and he clenches his fists as he glares at the Buckleys from across the firehouse. They fucked up. They made Buck feel unwanted, unloved, undeserving, and now they sit there expecting what? To take credit for how well Buck turned out anyway? For him becoming a goddamn walking superhero who saves lives every goddamn day?

No. No fucking way. Not if Eddie has any say in the matter.

He waits until Hen says her piece to them with a smile on her face that doesn't reach her eyes, then heads toward the kitchen table where Buck’s parents are seated. Hen tries to catch his eyes as she passes him, but he ignores her. She’s not the one holding Buck at night as he sobs himself to sleep. She’s not the one whispering encouraging endearments that fall on deaf ears. She’s not the one left picking up the pieces after every Buckley family dinner. She doesn’t get it, no one does, and Eddie’s done feeling helpless.

He’s too fucking pissed off.

Eddie stops on the other side of the table, body rigid with angry words on the tip of his tongue. He opens his mouth just as Buck’s mom turns and looks up at him, and for a startling moment, it’s as if he’s staring into Buck’s eyes. His mouth dries, his words stuck in his throat like claws, and the silence surrounding them is suffocating.

“Hi, um,” Buck’s dad starts tentatively. “We’re Evan Buckley’s parents—”

“I know,” he spits, his voice harsh, and he inhales sharply. They blink owlishly at him, obviously confused by his hostility, and Eddie lets out a slow sigh and inhales again, this time slowly. “I know who you are.”

His mother looks to her husband then back at Eddie, a quivering smile on her lips. “Can we help you?”

Eddie stands frozen as he stares at the man and woman who claim to be Buck’s parents. Who should be the two people in the world who love him unconditionally. Who should be there for him, and he’s at a loss for words. All that anger and resentment and betrayal all congregate into one single emotion: pity.

He pities these two people who don’t even know what they’ve missed. Who have no idea just what an amazing, self-sacrificing person their son is. He pities their ignorance, and he pities their grief-driven blinders. He pities them for missing out on so much of their children’s lives that they hardly know them or the hardship they went through to be here today.

Something inside him gives, and tension bleeds from him as he exhales. “I just want you guys to know what an amazing person Buck is.”

“We know—”

“No,” Eddie takes a step forward and clenches his fists by his side. “No, you don’t. How could you? You haven’t been around to see it.”

Guilt flashes in Mrs. Buckley’s eyes, and Eddie’s heart aches for her. How would he feel if someone said that to him? Hell, he missed the first years of Chris’ life because he was a coward, but he’s making amends now, and it’s time they did too.

“Maybe to you, he was supposed to be some miracle baby that can save your other child. But to the rest of us, he’s way more than that.” Eddie takes a deep breath and swallows, willing his voice to stay steady. “That man, your son, is the first guy to run into a burning building. The first one to jump in a car about to explode. He’s the first one to take the most risks, and he’s the last one to give up on any of us or on the people he swore to protect. Everyone here trusts him with their lives. I trust him with—” The lump in his throat is harder to swallow around, and he takes a second to compose himself. “I trust him with my son. Because he’s a good man and loyal to a fucking fault and he’s got the biggest heart and I won’t allow anyone, anyone, to ever hurt him the way you’ve hurt him.”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to keep his tears from spilling, because there’s no way in hell he’ll cry in front of these people. No way in hell he’ll let them know just how much their being here hurts Buck, and in turn how much that hurts him. He won’t give them the satisfaction.

The silence that follows rings in his ears. It’s deafening. The Buckley’s blink at him as if seeing him for the first time, and Mrs. Buckley clutches at her husband’s hand, her knuckles white.

“From one parent to another,” Eddie continues. “It’s never too late to make amends. And it doesn’t matter what you went through, how much pain you had to endure, how much heartache, Buck’s innocent in all this. He’s got no part in your grief, so don’t be a part of his.”

Eddie turns and swallows as the first tear spills down his cheek. Fuck. He wipes at it angrily, but when he makes to walk away, a soft touch to his elbow stops him. He turns and finds Mrs. Buckley standing behind him, tears swimming in her big blue eyes. Buck’s eyes.

“You’re—you’re absolutely right.” Her smile is watery and there is genuine remorse and sadness in her expression. “Thank you for loving him.”

Eddie wants to reply, but there’s nothing more to say. The rest isn’t up to him. He already said too much, and if Buck doesn’t kill him for antagonizing his parents, well, that’s a win in Eddie’s book. He nods at her then at Buck’s dad before taking his leave, and with every step he takes, his heart feels a little lighter. Maybe Buck will kill him, but someone needs to set Buck’s parents straight, and who else better to do that than Buck’s stupid dumb ass boyfriend?

His lips twitch, and he can’t help the self-deprecating humour no matter how many times Buck tells him to stop. That twitch of his lips turns into a full smile, and Eddie chuckles and shakes his head as he makes his way to the engine bay. They’re both hopeless, as Hen likes to remind them. Maybe they really are meant for each other.

Bobby pulls into the engine bay just as he steps outside, and Eddie’s heart skips a beat like it always does when he lays eyes on Buck. Since the first day and everyday after that.

“Clean bill of health from the docs,” Bobby calls as he hurries inside the station, a smirk and a knowing look in his eyes, and Eddie wants to hug him and punch him at the same time.

“Glad to hear it,” he replies, tucking his hands into his pockets, and turns his attention to his second favourite person in the world. “Show off,” he says affectionately, and he knows what Buck’s going to say before he even says it.

“Had to do it.”

And that is why Eddie loves him.

#buddie #buck x eddie #9-1-1 spoilers #4x05 spoilers #buck begins #buck begins coda #4x05 coda #eddie speaks his mind #protective eddie #My writing

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strangerivy · 3 years

Text

The First Night

Summary: Y/N sits on the roof reflecting on the events of the day working her way through her grief of loosing two people she thought of as family. Levi goes up to comfort her and bring her back from the darkness that threatened to consume her. Rating: 18+ Warnings: Death | Violent Depictions | Swearing | Grief | Loss Word Count: 1.8k Author’s Note: This is so sad, I cried a little writing it. I promise my next story will be a bit happier 💜

|| Masterlist | AOT Masterlist ||

Year 844 - Summer

It was a clear night sky, not a single cloud anywhere, but it shouldn’t be this beautiful out on a night like this. On a night where you cursed the world and wished you could turn the clock. It shouldn’t be this beautiful out when they aren’t here to see it. It should be storming out just like it did earlier, the sky should match how you felt. Anger, hurt, heartache and pain. So much pain and not just physically.

You looked up into the sky watching all the stars shine lighting up the world in a soft glow with the moon. It was beautiful, something not too long ago you only got to see through a hole in the ground. Now you would give anything to have that again if it meant you all would be together right now.

A sob racked through your chest as you looked to your left and right to see the spots that once held your two dear friends were now empty. Your bandaged and broken body protest with each movement but you couldn’t stop the tears of your grief. The medic protested to you getting out of the bed, but you ignored it spitting a string of curses and insults at them, not able to lay in that damn room for another minute, you needed air, somewhere to cry alone which is how you ended up here. You wiped the tears that had escaped with the back of your hand letting out a broken laugh, wincing from your wounds.

“Shit, I thought we were done with this,” You grumbled to yourself looking back up at the sky giving up on drying your tears and letting them fall freely now as your friend's voices from the previous night echoed throughout your mind.

You should be dead. There was no doubt in your mind that you also should have joined your two friends in death. If it wasn’t for Lev- you sighed heavily another sob ripping through your chest as you stopped that thought before it dragged you down further than you had already fallen. You folded, head in your hands as you cried to yourself, elbows propped on your thighs as your legs dangled off the edge.

The images of what happened played through your mind almost as if you were torturing yourself with it.

The day seemed to be going as planned until the rain that is. Where did this storm even come from? It was clear just a moment ago and now it was pouring down rain and the wind was blowing with a force and to make it even worse a fog has rolled in with it making it so you couldn’t even see five feet in front of you. You had lost part of your squad already from the poor visibility caused by the weather. Levi had pushed ahead to use the rain as cover to locate Erwin Smith in the center of the formation.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” You worried turning your horse to follow Furlan and Isabel.

“Of course he will!” Isabel responded brightly, always the ray of sunshine in any situation.

You, Isabel, and Furlan went back in the direction you thought you heard the sound grenade go off hoping it was your squad that had sounded it, the rain started to come down harder and you had to hold onto your hood to keep it from blowing off, your arm also helping keep the rain out of your face.

You heard the hooves of more horses and looked over to see two cloaks, Flagon looking behind at the three of you.

“You guys are okay,” Flagon seemed relieved at seeing the three of you, but he then looked confused noticing there was a missing member from our group.

“Where is Levi?” He questioned and you tensed a little but kept a blank face as you all kept moving forward.

“We got separated in the fog,” Furlan lied, Flagon seem to accept the answer though which is what mattered. You looked out ahead of you wiping your face of the rain and that’s when it happened. It was quick, you didn’t even see it coming. Your horse veered to the right almost knocking you off it from the sudden movement. You looked up your eyes widening with fear. An abnormal had your squadmate, Sairam, dangling in its mouth blood dripping out of its mouth. It didn’t stand upright like most titans using all four of its limbs allowing it to move faster than most titans as well. Flagon yelled for Sairam to hang on charging at the beast. It was quick to finish of Sairam before grabbing Flagon who yelled at you three to run.

You trembled with fear as you watched it clamp down on Flagon’s body cutting him in half with its teeth and empty stare in its eyes while it stared at the three of you chewing. You should move, you should run but the shock of the scene in front of you had you frozen.

Isabel was the first to move and then Furlan going after her. You quickly regained your composer joining them. You and Furlan trying to distract the beast as Isabel went for the kill. The titan was quick though snatching her quickly by her head, lowering her kicking body down before severing her head from her body you and Furlan watching helplessly tears streaming down both your faces when Isabel’s screams ceased.

Furlan in a blind rage went for a kill but the titan was too quick, you tried to save him, but it grabbed hold of your cables slamming you to the ground hearing something crack from the impact, you let out a strangled cough feeling pain shoot throughout your body at the movement. You heard something hit the ground next to you, you tremble afraid of what you would see but you still turned your head a scream leaving your lips when the top half of Furlan laid right beside you. You looked up at his face holding back sobs as Furlan’s face stared back at you with an empty gaze.

You rolled over flinching when that same pain shot through you again. You ignored it pushing yourself further, standing up gripping your blades. You stared at Titan with a dark glare, if you were going to die you were going to do it fighting. You gripped on to your blades tightly shooting your cables moving quickly, using more gas than you should be dragging your blades deep up its arm and it let out a howl of pain before moving to grab you, you were quick to dodge but this titan was also quick to snagging your foot before you could react to its movement again. Another crack had you let out a scream as your ankle throbbed in the titan's grip feeling like it was crushing it.

When you looked up at the face of the titan, tears streaming down your face, it almost looked as it had a sickening smirk on its face as if it were mocking you knowing that it had won. That it would have killed you all after eating you. With a final burst of energy, you swung your sword up slicing the knuckles of the hand that held you. It dropped you and you hit the ground once again with a loud smack another round of coughs racking through your body a trail of blood dripping out of the side of your mouth.

It was hard to breathe as you laid there, staring up at the dark clouds overhead, you wish you could see the sky one more time. You wished you could see snow in the winter and the flowers in the spring. You weren’t done yet but that wasn’t up to you now. The sky disappeared as the hand of the titan blocked your view. You let out a shaky breath the tears flowing freely as you braced for the end. You silently wished Levi goodbye, praying he wouldn’t beat himself up over this. You closed your eyes waiting for the grip of the titan an odd sense of peace washing over you, but the hand never came.

You opened your eyes to see a flash of green sliced through the Titan pulling its attention from you and towards its attacker. You let out a gasp spotting the raven-haired man. You watched as Levi screamed in agony after each twist and pull of his gear slicing the titan repeatedly until its body didn’t have a spot on it that didn’t have a deep slash. Another blow had its head flying clear off till he finished it off with the final blow to the nape its body finally slamming to the ground steam coming off its decomposing corpse.

Levi landed on his feet his ebony hair hanging in his face almost hiding the tears that fell from his cheeks.

“Levi…” You whispered wincing in pain as you pushed your way up to stand. Levi’s head snapped up his eyes wide as they landed on your broken body. His strides were quick as he made his way to you pulling you to him as you collapsed causing you to let out a small groan in pain. His body shaking with tears for your fallen friends.

“You’re alive,” He said almost like he was confirming it for himself. That at least one of you survived.

Your cries were too loud for you to hear the footsteps behind you, the man behind you with an unreadable face as he watched your broken form. He reached out gently touching your shoulder making you jump at the sudden contact. You flinched at the sudden movement gripping your chest where your broken ribs were. You looked over your shoulder to see Levi standing there with broken eyes as he watched you fall apart quietly. You sniffled wiping the tears once again you slowly turned grabbing a hold of the crutch next to you. Levi reached down helping you wobble your way to standing on your good foot getting the crutch ready for you to lean on.

You both stood there in silence staring at one another, he slowly raised his hand touching your cheek wiping a stray tear away. You let out a small sniffle as you felt your eyes begin to water once again. His hand slowly snaked to the back of your head weaving into your hair before pulling you into him as your sniffles turned to whimpers. You buried your face into his chest staining his white-uniformed shirt with your tears. He moved his other hand around your waist holding you even closer to him.

“I-I-I’m s-s-so-rry,” you cried into his chest your body trembling, you felt his hands grip you tighter “I- I should-I should have been able to stop it.” He grabbed ahold of your upper arms pushing you back enough to look at you. He was angry now.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Y/N” He gritted his teeth “You’re not going to blame yourself for this,” he pulled you close once again, you stood still your tears starting to slow down now as he held you rubbing soft circles into your back.

“I miss them,” you whispered after a few moments of silence, he let out a small sigh his breath tickling your neck.

“Me too,”

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman fic #levi aot #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi attack on titan #furlan church #isabel magnolia

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labelleofbelfastcity · 3 years

Text

hold my hand, it’s a long way down

1.5k, high fantasy royalty au, most of the details of which were provided by @capybart

read on ao3 here

Kalina smirks as she glides into the room, black furs gleaming around her shoulders and long train hissing across the floor. Riz, reflexively, takes a step back, as his eyes clock the false crown atop her head, the feline smile curving her mouth, and the knife in her hand, flickering in the candlelight.

“I trust you’re doing well,” she says, and keeps approaching until she’s standing right before him, staring him down.

Riz’s heart jumps a beat and his eyes dart around, trying to see where he can go, what he can grab, if it is even likely to move at all before that knife is sliding into his neck and tearing an ugly gash in his throat. “Not with any thanks to you.”

Kalina huffs, mouth quirking to the side, before she slumps down to sit on his bed, shoulders falling and head tilting to look at him. The black gem in the center of her diadem seems to dance like cold fire, drawing Riz’s eyes to it even as he tries to focus on a million and one other things. Unnatural, Riz thinks, with a sickening shock directly to his heart. And then he remembers the things people have always whispered about Kalina, words like witch and sorceress and Shadow Cat. Remembers those words and sees the way her eyes flash yellow in the candle’s flame.

“I’m disappointed in you, kiddo. I thought you’d figure out by now that this is all for you.”

“Where’s my mom?” Riz spits out, as he has done every time Kalina visits him in these much too fancy rooms, this much too fancy prison.

Kalina rolls her eyes, leans back on one arm, flips the dagger in her other hand, “Thought we got past that already.”

“I know you did something to her.”

“I didn’t do anything. Besides, she’s safe. She’s comfortable. What more could you ask of me?”

“I want you to give her back.”

“And I thought it was you, kiddo, who told me not too long ago that people weren’t toys. That they couldn’t be given and taken. Hm. Must be wrong about that.” Kalina flicks the tip of the dagger at him, holding it just a few inches away from Riz’s ribs, where she could slide it straight up and into his heart. “That’s not what I came here for, though. How’s the prince doing?”

“Aren’t you at court with him?” Riz spits out, and refuses to yield yet another step.

“Yes, yes. And he’s doing so well today, too. I’ve never seen a more attentive courter, practically glued to the Lady Aelwyn’s side. Which is funny, seeing as how we had to drag him from his rooms less than a week ago.”

“Fabian’s not planning anything,” Riz says, leaving out the because I am.

Kalina huffs, and taps the dagger against her own cheek, “I don’t know when you’ll learn. Everything you know, I know. I’m in your head, kiddo.”

Riz’s spine snaps straight as a scream he knows doesn’t exist sounds from his left, and then his right, screams that sounds like Fig and Fabian. Screams he only knows because of that day, weeks ago, when the Abernants and their holy warriors in gleaming sun-forged metal took the castle and forced the prince, Riz’s friend, the person Riz was supposed to protect above all else, to stab his father in the heart. Fig had screamed then, in rage, and tried to take the nearest knight out with a swing of her lute, and Fabian had screamed later, when the three of them were back in these rooms, in that soft, silent way of tears and grief and heartache and complete and total betrayal.

“See? That’s what you don’t understand,” Kalina says, standing once again. “That’s what I’m saving you from. I’m protecting your little friends because you’re useful to me. You don’t want to stop being useful to me, do you?”

Riz remains where he is, fighting back the nausea as the screams grow. Now, he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, rooted to the spot by a clawed hand holding tightly onto his mind.

“Do you?” Kalina asks again, and this time she brings the knife up to Riz’s jaw, just under his ear. The cold pricks against his skin and Riz is so afraid.

“No,” he rasps out, and she smiles again, eyes crinkling. The screams immediately stop.

“Good.” The heavy handle of the knife drops into Riz’s hand, and his fingers close over it reflexively. It’s dangerous, to give your enemy a weapon. Dangerous, still, to give them a weapon they have no hope to use in any way that counts. “You can’t get away from me, bud. Just remember that.”

Riz snarls at her, “We’re going to stop you.”

Kalina clucks her tongue and begins to walk away, “The only way you’ll escape is if I want you to.”

The door swings shut behind her right as her hold over Riz’s body drops, and he sags a little, before startling upright again. She must know, there’s no way she doesn’t. Her knowing had not been a factor of the plan, despite everything pointing towards its likelihood. Really, how could Riz have been so stupid? He’ll need a few minutes to change things, modify them so that they can actually escape, can actually get out of here.

Fabian is trapped in this castle. Fig is trapped. Their new ally, the oracle Adaine Abernant, their friend, is trapped as well. He can’t risk their freedom for himself, can’t risk Fabian and Fig’s sacrifices and the dangerous line between family and safety Adaine is flirting with. He just… he’ll figure out another way. He just needs time.

The heavy sound of a wooden lute being swung against a head thunks from outside Riz’s door, and then it’s opening to reveal his friends standing on the threshold. No, no, no, this is happening too fast. He hasn’t had time to plan.

Fig lowers her lute from where it’s raised in the air, hovering around where the now unconscious guard’s head probably was less than a second ago.

“Shit, Riz, we need to go,” Adaine says, hoisting her skirts and sprinting for his window, the same window Riz had been preparing before Kalina waltzed in.

Fabian twirls his red, embroidered, very much not stealthy court cloak from his shoulders, slinging on the black one he’d stashed on Riz’s chair earlier. The cloak that Kalina had most certainly seen because Riz hadn’t bothered to hide it. “We have five minutes.”

Adaine throws the window open and immediately heaves one of her legs out of it, hair whipping slightly in the breeze. She reaches behind her and grabs Fig’s hand, pulling her up and onto the windowsill beside her.

They’ve discussed this plan ad nauseum for weeks. So it’s almost too easy for Adaine and Fig to leap from the window with nothing but a nod, not even noticing how Riz has yet to move from his spot.

“Alright, we’re next, The Ball,” Fabian says, and hoists himself up onto the windowsill, cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders in preparation for the leap.

Riz moves, then, takes a step back, hands outstretched in a pleading way that doesn’t connect with the usual brave, cunning parts of himself, the parts that plan a castle escape and wind up as companion to the prince. “You can’t take me with you. Kalina, she’s— She’s in my head. She knows, Fabian. I can’t risk it.”

Fabian’s mouth tugs and he leans back into the room, grabbing one of Riz’s outstretched hands and tugging him forward, to the open window, to their one chance at escape. “I didn’t leave you behind before, I’m not about to start now.”

And Riz remembers, remembers the way he and Fig had fought tooth and nail during those first moments of the coup, before the King had fallen at his son’s hand. They’d bought Fabian a second of time, a moment to run, but he’d frozen, frozen as the knights grappled Fig and Riz, frozen with his sword hanging in the air, the wound on his face a bleeding mess.

“Go, Fabian,” Riz had screamed, Fig shouting as well.

Fabian’s sword clattered out of his hand, and he allowed himself to be grabbed by the knight who cut out his eye, to be dragged alongside Riz and Fig to that throne room, to where Kalina and the Abernants waited with King Bill Seacaster slowly bleeding out on his own steps.

“I couldn’t leave you, The Ball. I couldn’t lose you.” Fabian had said that night, once the tears were dry and Fig snored beside them.

“You won’t. We’re going to get through this together,” Riz had said and curled up tightly into Fabian’s side.

The memory flashes in Riz’s head, and then it’s gone, and Riz is back in his night dark room, wind from the open window brushing against his cheeks, and Fabian’s warm hand wrapped around his, pleading, in his own way, for him to follow.

Riz holds tight to the dagger Kalina had given him, the dagger he plans to hurl straight into her heart someday, and allows himself to be pulled out of the window.

#bellewrites #this was SO FUN #fantasy high #dimension 20 #fic #fanfic #riz gukgak #fabriz #kalina

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