#in every line of his body and then his black hole of a cape shifts slightly and there’s a little birdie hiding under his leg | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sehunniepotwrites · 4 years

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AS YOU WISH | J.JH | ONE

cover by @seostudios

SYNOPSIS. He was a boy, she was a girl— can I make it any more obvious?

But actually, she was a cursed genie of two thousand years who longed to be freed of her gilded cage and he was a modern but lonely boy who hoped to free her. He just didn’t expect to fall in love with her in the process.

GENRE. angst, slow burn, romance, genie!au, reincarnation!au, royal!au, thief!au PAIRING. jeong jaehyun x female genie!reader MINOR CHARACTERS. mark lee, moon taeil, jeong sungchan WORD COUNT. 10.6k+

WARNINGS. stealing, mentions of cuts and wounds, blood, physical beating, derogatory name calling

ONE: PAST | TWO: INTERLUDE | THREE: PRESENT

2000 YEARS AGO, THE KINGDOM OF NEIHO

“Stop, street rat!”

Heavens, how you hated that name. You ached to yell a taunting insult back but you were afraid of the royal guards catching onto your identity by hearing the sound of your voice.

“Grab that lousy thief!”

The calls of the guards continued to sound throughout the pathway as you ran for your life. The heavy bag of riches slung along over your shoulder pounded against your upper back as you felt the wind in your hair. The extra weight was beginning to weigh you down but you did not falter. Your strained legs propelled you forward and you stole a quick glance behind you— the burly men with swords were gaining on you and you could not let them.

“Wait— there are two of them!”

You cursed when your partner was spotted. From the corner of your eye, you caught a flicker of his cape turning a corner. You were supposed to be the diversion. The blazing sun burned your skin through your hooded cloak but you had to keep pushing. For them.

You would do anything for them, even give your life for them, just as your mother did before you.

Apologizing as you passed, you threw down displays of fresh produce to throw the guards off. You would come back to help clean up later.

You pulled the cloak down to better conceal your face before sprinting into a hidden nook in the village center. The bolstering guards ran past your hiding spot moments later, their leader barking commands to his subordinates before they all went their separate ways. Peeking behind a wall, you watched as their backs grew smaller and smaller and let out an audible sigh.

You made it another day. With a wide-eyed grin, you pushed yourself out of your hiding spot and walked an easy path to the outskirts of the kingdom where people were waiting for you.

If the guards were smart enough, they would have easily found you by they searched the outskirts of the kingdom’s stone walls. There was an opening in the walls, big enough for one person to fit through. You frequented that small hole often with a large sack hauled over your back. As soon as you passed that point in your path, you tossed your cloaked disguise into a nearby bush before trekking on to your final destination.

The path was lengthy but at least you were in the shade instead of under the blazing sun. The clanking of your stolen riches kept you company as you navigated through the many trees. It wasn’t long until you reached an open area filled with a variety of people. Lousy tents made of the thinnest cloth and held up by fallen branches surrounded the field and in the center was a large fire pit. There were clotheslines, cooking supplies, and a short supply of food scattered around the makeshift camp.

The plentiful conversations hushed when you dropped the sack at the end of the path. A shuffling of footsteps and the tinkling sound of coins clanging against each other reached your ears before another figure plopped down beside you, his body falling splat onto the soft grass.

“I refuse to do that again,” a boyish voice groaned beside you. It came from a boy around your age, give or take a few years, with messy brown hair and the cutest set of doe eyes. His thin face and sharp jawline were lined with dirt but he was still what you considered handsome.

“Minhyung, stop your fusing,” you scolded as you ruffled his hair. The boy whined at your actions, moving away to escape your teasing. “You say the same thing every single time we do this, however, you keep coming back to help me.”

“They almost caught me this time around,” he told you. “I barely escaped— one guard grabbed me by the ends of my cloak and almost saw my face! I thought you were the distraction!”

“I was,” you fired back.

“And yet, they still found me,” Minhyung reported dramatically, swinging an arm over his eyes. There was a beat of comfortable silence as the breeze came rolling in.

“But was it worth it?” you asked with a soft voice.

A pair of dirtied feet appeared in your vision. You and Minhyung tilted your heads up to find a small child, not even five years of age gazing at you expectantly. The child’s body was extremely malnourished and their cheeks were horribly sunken in. They looked bashful as they outstretched an arm towards Minhyung.

He sent the child a tiny smile, his mouth curving up at the ends, as he produced a small loaf of bread from beneath his cloak. The child’s eyes sparkled in delight as they snatched the piece of food from Minhyung’s hold and eagerly bit into it. You patted the child’s head lovingly as you hand them a grip of gold coins. They shuffled back to their family who gave their thanks.

As the other people in the open field started to line up to receive their share, Minhyung simply replied: “Yes, yes it was.”

You grinned at your fellow thief— you thought it was worth it, too.

Your gaze shifts to the high towers of Neiho’s palace peeking from behind the treetops. But sometimes, you pondered over how effortless life must have been when living like royalty— was it easy when everything was provided for you?

Unlike what most people assumed, living the life of a royal was far from easy.

Jeong Yuno, the Crown Prince of Neiho, had a sudden urge to bang his head against the library wall. He refrained from doing so, the action being far from princely. He looked up from his pile of parchment paper with glazed over eyes, the ink from his quill drying from the lack of writing. There were rows of untouched books lined up at his desk and none of them were of his interest. They skirted on the topics of Neiho’s history and politics; although it was something he was already versed in, he hated the subject unlike his younger brother, Chansung, who excelled and loved it.

Yuno longed to touch the atlas that was stationed on his tutor’s desk. He wanted to study it, chart a course to another far off land, and mark it with ink as he visited place to place. But instead of traveling, the crown prince drowned in his studies while his tutor looked down upon his distracted self.

“Prince Yuno, have you heard a single word that has left my lips or is your head still up in the clouds?” Moon Taeil, the kingdom’s main historian and tutor, scolded. His wooden stick struck the surface of Yuno’s desk and the shocked boy jumped. From his own desk, Chansung snickered behind his thin hand.

“My apologies,” the crown prince bowed his head, his ears turning crimson from being caught by the snippy tutor.

“Well, since I have gained you back from the skies, might you list Neiho’s past rulers and achievements in order?”

Yuno bit back a loud groan. He was in desperate need of a sweet escape. His gaze floated out the window and onto the blooming marketplace below. It seemed like the liveliness was calling his name.

One of the things you loved about your mother was her storytelling. You heard stories of all kinds of love while growing up on the fly. She painted clear pictures of people falling at first sight, of hate turning to overflowing affection, and so much more. Your mother sold you tales of star-crossed lovers that found their happy endings before she passed; her fables of love sounded nothing more than poppycock and folly.

That is, until it occurred to the unsuspecting you.

It was a usual day for you in the city— hood up, cloak flowing in the wind with a sack beating your back as you were on the run from the royal guards stationed in the marketplace. You weaved in between the townsfolk, your nimble body easily pushing through nooks and crannies when you bumped into something— or rather, someone strong.

“Oof!”

“Oh!”

The large sack you carried added some extra weight, leading you to topple over the stranger that ran into your smaller build. The stranger was about to mumble a quick apology before you heard the bellowing of the persistent guards.

You cursed. There was no room for hesitation when you were caught in a tight spot such as this. With staggering breaths and a pounding chest, you grabbed the man’s hand and navigated through endless alleyways and store fronts. You mastered the art of escaping at a young age while he had trouble keeping up with your speed.

And so, your first adventure with the man you would soon learn to love began.

Your hurried steps brought you to an unattended rooftop. You put one foot on the ledge and leaned your body over to glance at the commotion in the market. Down below, the guards were scrambling through the bustling crowds in a failed attempt to find you. Watching them struggle on their search sent you into a laughing fit that your then mysterious companion echoed.

With a heaving chest and rushing heart, you finally looked up at him for the first time and saw the most beautiful man you had ever laid your eyes on. Despite only seeing him from his place on the balcony or painted portraits before, you immediately knew who he was: The Crown Prince of Neiho. He had deep chocolate eyes and jet-black hair that highlighted his sweat stained skin. His cheeks and ears were flushed with a rosy red as he gasped for air. He was dressed in a horrible excuse for a disguise; the high-end material he wore and golden shoes were purposefully stained. It was as if the prince wanted to be found.

You quickly retracted your dirtied hand from his soft one and immediately dropped to your knees. “My sincerest apologies for placing my soiled hands on yours, Your Highness. I ask for your forgiveness,” you said with a bowed head, your disheveled hair covering your embarrassed face.

Yuno let out a hearty laugh, one that was deep but still sounded like the lightest bells in your ear. “Please, none of that,” he said, helping you to your feet.

“If anything, you helped me escape from those wretched guards,” he sent you an angelic smile and you swore the heavens were smiling down on you at that moment. “I should thank you.”

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder as you felt your face flush with an unfamiliar heat.

“May I know the name of my savior?” Yuno questioned teasingly, his eyes looking deep into yours.

“Perhaps another time, Your Highness,” you said quite cheekily before running back into the crowd.

The second time you met Prince Yuno, you were both on the run once again. In a way similar to what you had done in the past, his hand slipped so fluidly into yours before you sprinted through the town square. You knocked a fruit cart down as a diversion and the guards struggled making their way through the mess. Through your hooded cloak that flowed in the breeze, you turned over your shoulder to chuckle at how helpless the so-called protectors looked.

“We must stop meeting like this, Highness,” you breathed out as you kept up with his speed.

“Why? I quite enjoy meeting like this,” he threw back at you with a sheepish grin. There was a glimmer of adventure in his eyes and you chuckled.

The hood of your cape fell back, revealing your face for a quick moment before you tugged it back up. It was too late, though, for he had seen your face. Having only heard your voice before, Yuno’s steps faltered at the sight of you. Taking charge at that moment, you overtook him and jerked him into an unpaved path.

You took him over and under until you found a safe haven on top of a building— your makeshift home. Ratty cotton sheets were tied to poles for shade and a pile of pillows was bunched together to make a bed. Random trinkets were scattered along the rooftop along with a scarce supply of food and sacks of stolen treasures leaning against a wall. You wordlessly made yourself comfortable, pouring yourself two cups of water from a jug and handed one to the stranger in your space. He took it graciously and gulped it down, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he did so.

“From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, my dear savior,” Yuno spoke to you for the second time that day.

“It was nothing, Your Highness,” you responded, waving him off as you sat at his feet.

“I feel like this was fate or destiny calling,” Yuno suggested out of the blue.

“This?”

“Us, meeting again,” he answered smoothly, his voice as melodic as a mother’s lullaby.

“I suppose it is.”

“Seeing as destiny brought us together, might I know your name?”

Despite being of a higher status, he didn’t seem as selfish as you thought he would be—Yuno seemed kind and trustworthy. You let down your walls and stuttered out your name. The dark orbs that you got lost in flashed with recognition and you wondered if you made a wrong move by revealing your identity.

“You!” he shouted, his voice booming loudly. “Yes, I have heard many things about you.”

You glared at him with panicked eyes and you rushed to cover his soft lips. “Are you insane, Highness? Speak like that and they will surely find us here!”

“My apologies,” he replied, tugging at his earlobe in embarrassment. “My excitement got the best of me.”

You snorted at his answer, “Excitement?” you probed. “What is there to be excited about?”

“It is not everyday you meet the infamous thief that steals from the rich to give back to the poor,” Yuno grinned with dimples sinking into his soft cheeks.

He was not wrong; you did steal for a living to help the less fortunate. Unlike many others your age, you were able-bodied and felt the mighty need to provide for others who needed extra support. This had been the fifth time the guards had almost caught you but it didn’t matter. As long as the children on the street did not starve, you would risk your life over and over again.

Your mother, compassionate and altruistic as one could ever be, had done so in the past and you were determined to carry her legacy. You wanted to make her proud.

“Are you going to arrest me then?” you challenged with a brow. You took a large step back, ready to be on the run if the situation called for it. “If that is your intention, Your Highness, it is in my best interest to leave you.”

“Oh, no! If anything, I agree with your actions,” he relayed, arms shooting out to keep you in his reach. The Prince’s touch pierced your skin with comforting warmth and you shudder at the odd sensation.

“The Royal Advisor, Rowena, insists on high taxes and taking from the poor while feeding the rich,” he started to explain, taking a seat on the dusty steps.

You hummed, recalling the many times you had laid your eyes on the advisor— she held her head high and wore a permanent, almost sinister smirk on her gorgeous face. Her eyes were as red as blood and hair as black as night. She was beyond intimidating, more so than the Royal Family and their guards.

“What she is doing to the people out here, it isn’t right,” Yuno added on. “They are suffering and I feel as if it is my duty to stop her.”

“I feel as if it is mine as well,” you replied.

“I tried to tell the King of how Rowena’s suggestions have been affecting the community outside the palace walls but it is as if she has him under a spell. He hears not a thing I say,” he explained exasperatedly.

He let out a defeated sigh as you crouched next to him. You let him speak, seeing how distressed he was by the whole situation. “He only listens to her and my younger brother, Chansung; he is the smarter sibling. I am nothing but a pretty face that represents the kingdom,” the prince chuckled darkly.

“Highness—” you tried to intervene, not enjoying how he was belittling himself. He stopped you before you could even begin with a mere glance.

“It is not I who deserves the throne, it is Chansung. I can barely do a thing when my mind is elsewhere. How can I rule when my mind is not focused on the needs of my people?”

You place a tentative hand on his knee to ground him before his thoughts send him spiraling.

“I apologize,” the runaway prince blurted suddenly. “I do not know you and here I am, spilling out my innermost thoughts. You must think I am a fool.”

“No, it’s quite alright. I imagine you have no one to discuss this with within the palace,” you comforted him with a kind smile. You encouraged Yuno to continue, hands urging him on. “But if your mind is not here, then…”

Yuno shot you an empty grin, the upturns of his lips not meeting his reddening ears. “I have been trapped inside the palace since birth. Raised inside these walls all my life. I am safe and sound with a set future here and yet…” his voice trailed off, looking at the overview of the kingdom. His stare then gravitated beyond the kingdom walls.

“And yet?”

“I want to go beyond our borders. I know there is more the world has to offer. I have read about it in books but I want to experience it in person, write it down, and bring back what I have learned to better Neiho.” There was a sense of longing in his voice and you could almost relate to his yearning.

You took a seat next to him, your knees touching his. Your body turned towards him, torso leaning forward to give the prince your undivided attention. “What have you read about so far, Your Highness?”

“Please call me Yuno,” he said gently, clutching onto your hand. You tried to tug it away, flustered from the sudden contact, and he only tightened his clasp.

“Yes, Your Highness,” you replied, “I mean, Y-Yuno.”

The instant his name left your lips, he sent you the most dazzling smile, his pearly white teeth perfectly framed by the pink of his lips and the curve of his dimples. Whiskers appeared around his closed eyes and his nose scrunched up in the most adorable way and you found yourself falling down the rabbit hole one called love.

Ever since that fated day, you arranged countless meetings in random nooks and crannies of the marketplace. Yuno taught you the many things he had learned from his readings while you showed him places he had never been before. He brought you books and taught you how to read. You taught him how to fend for himself in the forest.

You often found yourselves weaving through crowds as the guards attempted to follow your trails. Laughter bubbled through the prince’s chest as you tugged him along with intertwined fingers. Your heart leaped huge lengths across your chest every time he glanced your way through his fluttering eyelashes and you wondered if he felt the same.

Your days with Yuno always ended on that same rooftop, overlooking the beautiful sight that was Neiho, and you adored every second of it.

One night, you blurted out, “Do you ever wonder what life would be like if things were different?” Yuno glanced up at you from your lap, head tilting with curiosity. Your fingers were tangled in his soft, clean hair as his hand played with the ends of yours.

“Do you?” he countered. The point of your elbow dug into his toned stomach and he winced.

“I asked first,” you said and he laughed at your argument.

“And I am the Crown Prince,” he threw back and you pouted at his response.

You were quiet for a moment, gathering your thoughts together before answering your own question. “Yes.”

“And what do you wonder about?”

“There are times I wish for a life where I am comfortable, where I’m not breaking my back for someone else’s sake.” Feeling a bit vulnerable, you drew your hands away from his head and wrapped them around your waist— it was your first time to reveal this hidden thought of yours.

“It’s not that I want to stop helping them,” you explained tentatively, “I just wonder what it would be like to start living just for me, without the weight of the world on my shoulders.”

Yuno only hummed in reply. You shook your head, snapping yourself out of the daze you were in. “Your turn to answer,” you pushed the heavy question onto him.

“I suppose so, yes,” he mused simply. “I would like to be a traveling scholar, see the world through my own eyes. I often wonder about a life of travel, you know this.”

You did know this—Yuno told you this many times.

“There’s another thing I wonder about, though,” he slipped in.

“And what is that?”

“I often wonder what life would be like if I had you by my side.”

You coughed at his sweet words, not at all expecting to hear a statement like that. He reached up to pat your back as you choked on air, giggling at your antics. Your breathing returned to normal and his fingers found their way to yours. With entwined fingers and hearts, he called your name endearingly as his head rested against your lap. You returned his earnest stare under the light of the moon with the same intensity, “Yes, my prince?”

He rolled his eyes at your response.

Yuno, hidden in a ripped cloak, brought your hand against his plump lips and looked into your eyes as he kissed your knuckles. “I arose from bed this morning with a sudden realization.”

“Have you come to the conclusion that Chansung is the better looking royal?” you poked. He gave you a look of betrayal and you giggled at his furrowed brows and flared nostrils.

“It was nothing but a joke, dear,” you laughed, running your fingers through his thick locks of hair. He huffed loudly, turning away from your playful gaze.

“My attempt to confess my love and she makes a fool out of me,” he mumbled under his breath but you could not catch his words.

“You would make a great jester,” Yuno added with another roll of his gorgeous eyes.

“I don’t think I would enjoy being the laughing stock of nobility,” you answered, poking at his soft cheek. He swatted your hand away in annoyance but your fingers were persistent. You continued to sink your finger into the skin of his cheek until he caught it and nibbled on your fingertip. Yelping, you drew back your hand and narrowed your gaze at the prince.

It was his turn to laugh at your reaction, blessing your ears with the sweetest melody. “My darling, you would never be a laughing stock to me.”

Although your finger throbbed, you were happy to see the playful side of the prince— he often had a stoic expression when addressing the people of Neiho from the palace balconies. The sight of his bright smile was enough to light the whole kingdom tenfold.

“What would I be then?” you asked mockingly.

Yuno shifted to face you, his ethereal features glowing in the starlight and captivating you in ways you could not explain. There was a fluttering feeling in your stomach and an intense pounding in your chest as Yuno gave you the simplest answer, “The love of my life.”

His words sent your heart soaring to the highest of places.

In that moment, it mattered not who you were and where you were because you were the love of his life just as he was yours.

Arriving at the clearing deep in the forest, you released the bag of stolen goods from your hold. Panting out breaths, you did your best to steady your heartbeat. The racing palpitations of heart felt different somehow, maybe because for once, they were not caused by the adrenaline of running away but by the highs of being deeply in love.

A gorgeous smile broke out on your face and you hadn’t a care if you looked like a crazy loon.

“Where have you been?” A familiar voice blasted from above you. Looking up, you saw Minhyung seated on a tree branch. He leaped down, landing directly on his feet with a playful smirk.

You coughed the grin right off your face. “I had to take a little detour is all.”

“A detour?” Minhyung questioned.

“Yes, a detour.”

Your friend circled you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Quite unusual for your detours to last until sundown,” he teased, “and you look like you’re walking on air.”

You tried to bite back your grin and you failed. You could never hide anything from Minhyung, he had seen you through it all. He was your brother after all— not by blood but nevertheless, he was family.

“I met the Crown Prince,” you muttered under your breath.

“Do speak up, you know how I hate when you mumble,” Minhyung teased, using the words you often fired at him.

“I said, Minhyung, I met the Crown Prince,” you repeated with a louder voice.

You watched as Minhyung’s eyes widened like saucers and how they gleamed with intrigue as he squeezed you closer to him. “You met Prince Yuno?!” he gasped. “How— why? What?”

“Keep it down, will you please?” Clamping a dirtied hand over his mouth, you tried to shut him up. He simply licked your palm to which you smacked him across the head.

“Well, this isn’t our first time meeting. We’ve met many a time before,” you started off, going down your short history with the prince. Minhyung listened attentively— his admiration for the Royal Family, much like many of the other Neiho citizens, ran deep.

“How is he in real life?”

“Nothing short of wonderful,” you sighed, head turning back to face the city. You wondered how he was doing, if he made it back through the palace gates without any trouble from the guards he was escaping from. “He is like the brightest star I have ever seen, so beautiful and radiant but still so far out of my reach.”

Remembering the sound of his laughter and the look in his eyes, another soft smile appeared on your face. It was a smile Minhyung had never seen on your features. You appeared as if you were the star you just described, shining brightly for one person and one person alone. The light in your eyes was almost too blinding, he wanted to look away but Minhyung couldn’t.

It had been so long since he had seen you this happy— the last time you smiled so cheerfully was with your mother so many years ago. You adopted a harsher look throughout the years that Minhyung was beyond ecstatic to see that happiness still existed within you.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you answered gently. “He told me to call him Yuno.”

“And did you?”

“Of course, Minhyung,” you said with a chuckle, “it would be wrong to not obey royalty.”

“Yes, you’re quite right,” Minhyung hummed back.

“He is filled with kindness and loyalty to the kingdom, which is admirable.”

“But?”

Thinking back to the conversation you had with the prince, your eyebrows stitched together when recalling his dreams. “His heart aches for adventure and knowledge, things he cannot find here if he is to be King.”

Minhyung searched your face for a glimpse into your head. “Isn’t that what you’re looking for, too?”

Looking your best friend and fellow thief straight in the eyes, you were posed with a thought that hadn’t even crossed your scattered mind. “I suppose it is.”

Minhyung laughed as you came to the realization. The two of you sat in silence as you breathed everything in.

“The Prince isn’t that far from your reach then,” Minhyung posed with a childlike grin. “He is much closer than you think.”

The first time Yuno kissed you was underneath the setting sun. Hidden behind the stone walls of the palace, he pressed you into a dark corner where no one could catch sight of your unlikely pairing.

It was a long day for the both of you— you had snuck into the houses of nobles, stealing their smallest treasures to sell in order to feed the hungry while he shadowed his father during his audiences with the people of Neiho. Your secret rendezvous started with exchanging stories about your eventful day with shared laughter and the sweetest of touches. Yuno’s smooth hands ghosted against your dry ones several times, each touch sending tingles down your spine.

His arms caged you in between his strong body and the hard stone wall as his face hovered in front of your own. Your breath hitched as his intense stare shifted from your eyes to your parted lips. It was the dead of winter but you had never felt hotter under his fiery gaze.

“May I kiss you?” you found yourself asking as his plump bottom lip grazed against your own. You were shocked by your own bravery and you knew he was, too. Your heart pounded loudly like a beating drum and you swore the prince could hear it as well.

“Do as you wish,” the prince replied almost breathlessly, captivated by the way your eyes kept flickering to the lack of space in between your bodies.

“But is that what you wish for, Yuno?” you countered with a sultry tone. He gulped loudly at how confident you were and nodded almost too eagerly, lips barely brushing against your dry ones. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Then, your wish is my command,” you smile before closing the distance between. A light press of your lips onto his was all it took to send your world spinning round. Yuno deepened it by leaning his body against your smaller build, a hand tilting your jaw up in a different angle.

He held you so gently, making you feel as if you were royalty. Hands in his hair and his arms around your waist, his kiss made it seem like you had chased the blowing winds and touched the pastel sky. His love rose you to the heavens above and you soared with a rush of freedom you had never felt before.

You kissed as the sky cast a golden glow upon your bodies, too lost in each other to realize you were the focus of someone’s envious gaze.

While you flirted with the life of crime, Yuno made his way through the hallowed hallways of Neiho’s palace. His heavy steps echoed throughout the empty path but he couldn't even hear a thing— his mind was littered with scattered thoughts. He marched his way to his younger brother’s quarters, determined that would be the day he would reveal his heart to his kin. The crown prince groaned in frustration, decorated hands messing with his jet-black hair as he tried to piece what to say.

How did one even start this conversation? Yuno never had a conversation as deep as this with his sibling before. The only person he poured his heart to was you.

Does he start with not waiting to take the throne or with his dream of travel? Should he begin with his skepticism over Advisor Rowena and the poor conditions of their people?

Yuno stopped in place— Rowena. He cringed at the thought of her. He heard the rumors swirling around the circle of nobility. The servants in the palace could never keep their mouth shut at the whispers. There were tales of the King making the advisor his betrothed for the sake of a flourishing kingdom.

He couldn’t fathom how his father came to this as a viable option for the betterment of Neiho.

Yuno thought traveled back to you and what you stood for: how your gigantic heart only thought of others. He recalled how your body was drenched with wounds and scars and yet, you still kept going for the people that had everything to lose. He wanted to find ways to make your life easier but he knew he couldn’t find them inside Neiho’s borders. He had to leave in order to find that solution.

Yuno had no idea how long he contemplated in front of Chansung’s room before the door burst open. Yuno let out a shocked yell as his brother cocked an eyebrow at his older sibling.

“Brother, how long were you going to stand outside my door before simply coming in?” Chansung leaned against the wall as Yuno placed his hand over his rapid heart. He tried to catch his breath much to his brother’s amusement, but he was a bundle of nerves.

“Chansung,” he exhaled, still clutching his chest, “how did you know I was here?”

“It is impossible to not hear your stomps and groans through the wall,” the younger prince poked. “I imagine the townsfolk down below could hear your pacing.”

“Of course,” the older prince said with a roll of his eyes. His younger brother wordlessly invited him in by opening the door to his chambers wider and he breezed through, taking a seat on Chansung’s plush mattress. Chansung closed the door behind him to find his usually composed sibling with his head in his hands. A symphony of defeated sighs left Yuno’s lips and Chansung set a comforting hand on his brother’s back.

“What ails you, dear brother?” The younger implored.

“Chansung.”

“Yes, brother?”

“Have you ever felt like there was something more out there in the world, just waiting for you?”

Chansung paused at Yuno’s question, retreating his hand from his brother’s body. A silence surrounded the room as the younger sat next to his sibling.

“I suppose I haven’t,” Chansung answered with a hum. He turned to face his brother, finding the crown prince’s face contorted with furrowed brows and sucked in cheeks. “I knew that my place was always here in the castle and I have always taken that role seriously.”

This was true. Chansung always buried himself in his studies, gathering enough knowledge to to soon overtake the place of Yuno’s future advisor. He studied religiously to not let his people down, just as his Father and Rowena currently were.

The older nodded silently, the black strands of his hair shifting to hide his eyes as he did so. He tugged on his earlobe, a habit he picked up when he was deep in thought or stressed beyond belief. Chansung caught sight of Yuno’s tell-tale and his lips pursed on trying to figure out as to why his brother was stressed.

“See, Chansung, that’s the difference between us,” Yuno broke the deafening silence.

“What is?”

“You are the one who deserves the throne, not I.”

“Brother!” Chansung shouted in defiance. “Why would you say that? You would make a great king!” He pushed with such force. Yuno smiled, his brother always had seen the best in him.

“Chansung, one cannot deny the truth,” the crown prince smiled at his sibling. The upturns of his plump lip showed the prince’s fondness for his brother and a twinge of regret for not being the royal people expected him to be.

“I have known what people have expected me to be and I have tried my best to live up to those expectations but...” Yuno began. He stood up and walked towards the open balcony, Chansung following in his wake. The elder leaned against the railings, hands resting on the cold stone as his sibling chose to press his back against it.

Townsfolk caught a glimpse of them from down below and enthusiastically yelled for the royal duo’s attention. The younger greeted them with matched excitement, bringing his hand up for a wave while the elder just nodded at them with a forlorn expression taking over his handsome face. He stared at the crowd a little longer than he should have, his mind wandering to the thief that stole his heart. His deep chocolate eyes traced the busy streets and alleyways, through the ways of the marketplace and the housing area until he could no longer see the outlines of the path.

“But you feel as if you belong down there,” Chansung finished for him with a hint of understanding.

“Yes,” Yuno breathed out.

“Brother, you have always had a knack for escaping,” Chansung joked lightheartedly to ease his brother’s troubled heart. It was not everyday a royal revealed he wanted to be one of the people after all.

A hearty, deep rumbling laugh escaped the crown prince’s lips. “I suppose I was not as discreet as I could have been,” he said with the shake of his head, “I was too busy running away from the guards to leave quietly.”

“I suppose not,” the younger chuckled along, the sounds of their laughter drifting with the winds.

“But Yuno,” Chansung’s voice called, “will you be alright?” His voice grew faint towards the end of the question and Yuno caught what his sibling was implying. Would the crown prince be alright after leaving a life of comfort?

“Yes,” Yuno smiled, his eyes shining in a way the second in line had never seen before, “for I will be happy.”

“Will you really be happy?” Chansung asked softly, his voice choking at the thought of his brother leaving him behind. He shook the sadness away and grinned widely at his sibling.

“You are leaving your favorite person behind after all,” he teased, barely dodging a playful punch to the chest. Yuno slung his arm over Chansung’s broad shoulder, bringing a hand to ruffle the other’s neatly styled hair.

“When have I ever called you that?”

“Come, Yuno,” the younger man said with a proud smile, “we have much to discuss before we bring this to Father.”

Yuno laughed once more, his heart bursting with an infinite amount of joy. He was one step closer to being free.

Nothing could take away his happiness, or so he thought. Neither brother realized the person lurking in the shadows, hanging onto every word with disdain.

“He wants to abdicate the throne for a measly street rat? How could this be?” Rowena asked herself as she stormed into her secret hideaway within the palace walls after hearing the conversation between the siblings. The fabric of her robe flowed behind her and the mighty jeweled staff pounded against the floor as she rushed her way down steep steps.

“All these years of scheming my way to the top will be wasted if he leaves with that peasant,” she spat harshly. Passing by the mirror hanging on her wall, Rowena paused in place to admire her looks. Running a hand through her shining black locks and stroking the sharp line of her jaw, she wondered what you had that she didn’t.

She had the looks, the intelligence, and the kingdom in the palm of her magic hand while you merely survived by committing to a life of crime. Why wasn’t the prince in love with her?

“Yuno and the position of queen was to be mine,” the advisor hissed, hazel eyes darkening with envy with each word she spoke. “I have not wasted my energy spelling the king only to settle for the second born.”

Her reflection disappeared from her view, a bundle of smoke and clouds hiding her away before dispersing into a sweet image of you and the prince together.

A terrifying shriek left her lips at the new reflection. Picking up the closest item within her reach, she hurled it into the mirror projecting that horrifyingly romantic image. The crack of the glass echoed in throughout the room and it fueled her bubbling ambition.

As her grip tightened against the length of her staff, she felt a new plan hatching in her head and dark magic coursing through her veins. “Prince Yuno and Neiho will be mine, make no mistake about that.”

You thought your love was too good to be true and he tried to convince you otherwise— you were a mere village thief and he was the Crown Prince. You came from practically nothing while he was of royal blood and yet, your fragile heart couldn’t help but fall for the lost man behind the crown and jewels. Your relationship was against the fates and the aligned stars but the prince had the strongest urge to rewrite them just to keep you by his side.

“I have scheduled a private audience with the King tomorrow.”

“And what will you discuss with him, love?” You stroked his fringe away from his forehead before cupping his cheek in your gentle hold.

He nestled into your palm, sighing at your warmth. “Renouncing the throne,” Yuno announced casually.

“I beg your pardon?!” You almost screamed into the night.

The prince ignores your little outburst, continuing his explanation. “The life of a royal is not the life I wish to live. I want to live a life of travel and adventure.” He sat up to clutch your hands in his. “I want to live a life with you, if you will have me.”

“With me?” You managed to mutter. “Out of all people, why with me?”

“Because I’m in love with you. Any day with you would be an adventure.”

“But I don’t have anything— no riches, just rags,” you swallowed the lump in your throat. He took you in, dirt smeared face and ripped clothing, and still looked at you like you held the world in your hands. Yuno saw the stars, the sky, the whole entire universe in your eyes. He didn’t need anything else— he just needed you.

“I love you more than anything else in this world but all I have to offer you is everything in me. I’m not sure if that is enough,” you bit your lip, teething gnawing down on your sensitive skin out of nervousness. He was the boy who had everything and he was willing to give everything up for a life with you.

Yuno brought your injured knuckles to his lips. He kissed them gently, holding your gaze with a soft one of his own. “My love, that is more than enough. You are more than enough.”

“But what about the villagers? What will happen to them if I were to leave?” You sputtered out, worrying about others rather than yourself.

He smiled at your selflessness. “I have already discussed this with Chansung. He is aware of the village’s situation and is willing to make changes to better their livelihood.”

“I can’t leave them behind,” you pulled your hands away. “They need me.”

“He is willing to work with your partner, Minhyung, to reach out to our people. No man left behind,” he replied with a smile. “We thought of all the options.”

You wanted to go with him but they were all you knew. Protecting the villagers and providing them with hope was always your number one priority— you had never thought of anything else. Would your mother be disappointed in you if you left them all behind or would she be happy to know that you have found a potential shot of happiness?

“Please, just think about it, my darling.”

“And Minhyung, he asked me to think about it!” You shrieked while running through the trees, a sack of gold hitting the small of your back. You looked behind you to see your younger partner-in-crime giving you the smuggest smile.

“Well, are you thinking about it?” He questioned, curiosity burning in his doe eyes. He wiggled his brows to tease you and you wanted to slap him with your heavy sack.

“What is there to think about? I’m not leaving you behind.”

“Why is that?” Your friend pushed.

“Because you need me, they need me.”

“Do we really need you or is it you that needs us?”

You frowned at him, not understanding his words. “What do you mean by that, Min?”

He laughed, nose coiling up cutely as he did so. “You have been stealing all your life, it’s all you know how to do. It’s familiar.”

“I do not see where you’re going with this.”

“You love him and you want to go with him but you’re scared.”

“Of what?”

“The unknown.” Minhyung gestured to all the riches you’ve stolen gathered by your feet. “This is all you’ve known but wouldn’t it be nice to do something more?”

“But this is all you’ve known too, Min,” you countered defensively.

“True, but by working with Prince Chansung, I can broaden my horizons.” There was this proud glint in his eye. “I can help more people. And you—”

“And me?”

“— you can finally be free to see what’s out there just like you’ve always dreamed of doing with nothing holding you back.”

Your friend grabbed hold of your hand, his larger one clasping over your own. Minhyung’s grip tightened around your palm to reassure you. “You can be selfish for once, to think only of yourself, and it will be perfectly fine.”

“Min, I want to be selfish but I’m frightened of everything— life beyond the walls and forest. What if everything out there is not what I think it is? What if I’m not prepared to leave this familiarity?”

Minhyung whispered your name as you began to spiral down a road he could not follow.

“And being in love with a prince for that matter! Love could be fleeting. Any given day after I leave with him, Yuno may not want me. He could turn his back on me and leave me to die. He has options, Min. I, for one, am not that lucky.”

Your friend squeezed firmly on your shoulder before reaching down to take hold of your hands. He crossed your arms over your chest and placed each hand on a shoulder, leading your fingers to tap against your skin. Minhyung encouraged you to follow along as he began to guide you through deep, calming breaths.

As your heart rate and thoughts began to settle, you wondered when Minhyung grew up to be the strong boy who stood beside you.

“Life is frightening. We know that more than anyone, flying by the seat of our pants,” Minhyung said with a chuckle of his own. “It’s alright to be scared of the unknown but it should not stop you from living your life the way you wish to live it.”

As you took another breath, you nodded to acknowledge his words.

“Do you want to live a life with the Crown Prince?”

“More than anything in this world,” was your firm reply.

Minhyung grinned at you, “Then that should be enough. Your love will be enough.”

Tugging him into a hug, you tucked your head into the crook of his neck. The act of affection was a “thank you” you cannot express with words. You only hoped your friend would understand the meaning behind the gesture. Luckily, with years of experience being your partner-in-crime, the young Minhyung was able to between the lines.

“Will you be alright?”

“Of course,” he said, placing a faint kiss against the crown of your head. “You’ve taught me everything I need to know.”

Minhyung, the younger and more energetic one of your thieving duo, ran ahead of you into the clearing to make the first drop of goods. You laughed at his excitable demeanor— you knew he would be the person you would miss most once you hightrailed out of the kingdom. He was the only family you had left but there he was, happy that you were finally setting yourself free.

The upward curve of your lips dropped when you heard his voice yell out for help. Heart racing, you let go of your sack, legs running faster than ever before to come to your best friend’s aid.

Once you caught a glimpse of him, your heart dropped to the floor, right by your soiled and tattered coverings you called shoes.

Minhyung was fighting against the hold of the strong guards that always chased your tail. His hands were handcuffed in chains and tears were running down his sunken cheeks as one guard repeatedly abused his small frame. You screeched at the vulgar sight unfolding before you— your little brother was being beaten to a pulp.

Three rough strikes to the stomach was all you could witness before you went flying towards him, hands outstretched to catch him as his body fell to the floor. You never reached him, another pair of guards preventing you from doing so. They immediately cuffed you and pulled your struggling frame towards them. Your shouts and frantic cries for the injured Minhyung were hushed when a restricting feeling took over your vocal chords.

Opening your mouth, you tried your best to make a sound but you found yourself mute.

A horrifyingly disturbing laugh came from behind the trees and you scuffled to find the source through your tears. The tall and sleek figure, dressed far too nice to be caught in these parts, approached you with the most evil smirk. Her back was straightened, chest puffed out, and head held high with pride as she used the tip of her staff to lift your head.

“So you are the one who caught the crown prince’s eye,” the figure said, her voice as piercing as her glare. “The little thief.”

“You,” came your choked reply as she released the spell she casted on you.

“Oh, so you know of me?” she laughed haughtily. “Say my name then, child.”

Refusing to do what she said, you turned your head to look at the unconscious Minhyung who was slumped across the grass.

“I said,” she hissed, using her hand to force your gaze back at her. “Say my name.”

“Rowena,” you growled. “What do you want from me? I have nothing you want.” Her sharp nails dug into your skin and you winced at the pain. The royal advisor clearly did not appreciate your snark.

“That is where you are wrong, my sweet child,” Rowena almost purred back. “You possess the thing I long for most.”

You scoffed at her answer. “And what would that be, witch?”

“Be careful with your words, street rat. I can end your friend’s life in an instant if you fail to hold your tongue,” a nail scratched your cheek, leaving you with a new cut. A thin stream of blood flowed down your face, dripping onto your tattered clothes as Rowena watched amusingly. “You are in possession of Prince Yuno’s heart when it was destined to be mine.”

You fought the urge to laugh, “You are doing this out of jealousy?”

“Hold your tongue, riff raff. You forget who is in control here, I can easily command my men to strike another blow on your poor fri—”

“No!” you yelled, cutting Rowena off, suddenly desperate to get on her good side. “Don’t hurt Minhyung; he has nothing to do with the situation!”

Minhyung weakly called your name and you ignored his cries.

“But he is a thief and it is a great crime to steal in this kingdom,” Rowena drawled on teasingly, like a cat playing with a hopeless mouse.

“No, please,” you begged. “You mustn’t hurt him.”

“Then you must do something for me in return, peasant,” Rowena laughed at how easily she had you wrapped around her finger. You appeared to be strong, but your overly selfless heart was weak.

“I will do anything you ask me to if you leave Minhyung alone,” you petitioned. You couldn’t let anything happen to Minhyung— he was the only family you had left. “He’s a brother to me.”

Minhyung’s head shot up at his new title while he gasped for air. Locking eyes with him, you smiled painfully. He was always at your side, protecting you when he could. Now, it was your time to protect him.

“I will let the boy live if you come with me without a fight,” Rowena schemed, grin growing wider by the second. She had you in the palm of her hands. “He is of no importance to me.”

“He is of the utmost importance to me,” you said, the familial love seeping through your veins. Though physically far apart from him, you hoped he could feel the love you had for him. Minhyung violently shook his head, as if to tell you not to go. He refused to let you sacrifice yourself to let him live, you had done enough for him as is.

“I will go with you, Rowena. Just allow me a moment to say my goodbyes.”

The guards holding you and Minhyung back looked at their commander for an order. With a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand, you and your friend were freed of your confinement. You quickly shuffled to your feet and Minhyung fell into your arms as you sunk to the ground.

“Oh my stars, Min,” you sniffled as you took him in. Sandwiching his fallen face in between your hands, you stroked his cheeks and pushed back the strands of hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead. “Please tell me you’re alright.”

“I’ll be alright if you stay here with me,” Minhyung replied with tears welling up in his soft brown eyes. Minhyung was always the crier between the two of you. He cried more at your mother’s death than you did but this time, you let your tears cascade down your cheeks, knowing this was the last time you would see your best friend.

“You know I can’t do that. I can’t let anything happen to you, you have gotten yourself hurt because of me,” You gather enough strength in your shaking hands to squeeze his cheeks, something you always did to cheer him up. “I refuse to be the cause of your pain.”

“And I refuse to let you go,” Minhyung raised his hands to hold onto yours.

“I have made my choice,” you whispered harshly, “and that is to keep you and the others safe.”

You take a moment to hug the younger boy in your arms, trying to commit the feeling of Minhyung in your memory. Flashes of your best friend growing up by your side ran through your mind as your fingers stroked through his hair. Pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head, you shut your eyes and bit back a sob. “Do me one favor? Find your happiness, wherever it may be and never let it go, alright?”

When you released him from your hold, Minhyung whined at the loss of warmth.

“You’re my brother, Minhyung. I love you,” were your last words to your thieving partner before you turned away from him and his heart wrenching sobs and willingly stepped into your doom.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

What started off as secret meetings and stolen kisses in alleyways was ending with you chained to the floor of the palace’s throne room while your lover watched helplessly from the side. He screamed your name and struggled against the hold of his guards but you shook his head to silence him.

Stop, you begged in your head, make it stop.

The King and Prince Chansung did nothing to help you or their kin, only staring blankly at the chaotic scene unfolding in front of them. They had no choice; they were bewitched to be at the sorceress’ beck and call, just like the many guards that protected the kingdom. If only Prince Yuno had realized it sooner.

“Why are you doing this?” Yuno yelled, his deep voice booming throughout the large room. His harsh glare, a look you had never seen on him, was focused on the lady seated on his father’s rightful throne.

“Why?” Rowena echoed. “My darling prince, I did this because of you and your wish to renounce the throne for her.” Her extreme distaste for you was apparent as she hissed the last word.

She left her seat, leisurely sauntering over to Yuno with a smile as if it was a casual meeting when the situation was far from it. Rowena squatted down to reach his level and Yuno hastily turned his head to the side, refusing to meet her eyes. His jaw tightened and his teeth grinded against each other as she forced him to look her directly in the eye. “Marry me and crown me as your Queen. Only then will I let her go.”

Instead of answering the witch with words, he chose to spit in her face instead. “Never, you hag. You are not worthy of ruling Neiho, nor will you ever be.” Yuno’s voice was ruthless and unwavering, just as a prince’s should be. Even in a moment like this, your heart swelled with pride at his bravery.

“Long live King Chansung,” he jeered, which only set Rowena off. “He is the next, rightful ruler of the kingdom.”

“If this is how you want to play, so be it, Prince,” Rowena laughed in his face. The sound of her cackles made shivers run down your spine and cold sweat broke out in a number of places. You were scared of what was to come.

Using her staff to help her back up to a standing position, Rowena made her way towards you with a menacing stare. The curve of her lips grew wider as you flinched back in fear. You heard the clanking of metal chains as Yuno wrestled against the guard’s hold. “Don’t you dare do anything to her!”

“And what will you do, Yuno?” she threw back. “There is nothing you can do to help her now.”

Only a few steps from you, she points the end of her staff in your direction. A gleaming emerald jewel taunted you as you sucked in a breath. “You, peasant, have always given selflessly without expecting anything in return so selfless you will remain,” she started to say, a gust of wind bursted out the end of the jewel. It first surrounded her figure, then you, before spreading throughout the room.

A golden lamp appeared out of thin air, floating in front of your face before you felt the spark of dark magic course within you. It released you from your physical binds only to leave you immobile. A pair of gold cuffs materialized on your wrists and tugged you closer to the lamp.

“No longer will you be able to act selfishly for you are bound to this lamp and to these chains until a master wishes you free,” she explained. The taunting laughter that would soon haunt your memories echoed in your ears as ideas for a curse were thrown into the wind. “It will be at least two thousand years until you have the chance of seeing your precious prince again, that is, if Prince Yuno finds you first.”

“What? No!” Yuno howled across the room as you were slowly consumed by a dark cloud. Calls of your name were heard but you could not respond as Rowena began to chant,

“Golden lamp of antique old, Bind her body, mind, and soul. May she obey her master’s whim, Turn her future dark and grim. Freedom comes with just one wish Unless it is a true love’s kiss.”

The smoke spread throughout the room, leaving the surroundings in a haze. As the evil enchantress concentrated on the curse, the hold on the others in the room fell through. The king and Chansung snapped out of their daze only to watch the horrific separation begin to take place.

“Brother, what is the meaning of this?!” Chansung shouted to get his sibling’s attention, bringing an arm to shield his eyes from the powerful gusts. His father gripped at his youngest’s sleeve as the gale turned into a hurricane with you in the middle.

Yuno failed to hear his brother’s questions, eyes zoned in on you as your freedom was slowly stripped away from you. The sight of you crushingly accepting your fate tugged on his heartstrings. This wasn’t the ending he wanted for you. This was far from it.

"Remember me! You must remember me," he yelled over the commotion. You watched him struggle over the smoke as you cry out for him.

"How could I ever forget you?" you reassured him with a broken smile. You felt the tail end of your body being pulled inside your new cage and tried to fight the unbreakable force.

Yuno screamed your name once more. You locked eyes across the room, his dark orbs spinning with love and desperation. You wondered if your wet irises looked the same as his.

"I will find you! I will search until the ends of the earth until you are by my side again.”

You wanted to laugh at his hopeful optimism— how did love get you into this situation?

As much as you wanted to believe Yuno would find you, the situation was bleak.

Rowena’s body rumbled with a laughter so sinister, so piercing that you flinched at the sound as her dark magic ran through your veins. “I would like to see you try, my prince, but until then, you and the throne belong to me,” she sneered.

Ignoring the enchantress’ claims, his eyes continued to search for your disappearing figure. “I will come back to you, I promise!” Yuno’s deep voice rang into your ears.

“I hope you will,” you whispered a defeated reply back.

“If not in this life, then I will find you in the next! Mark my words!”

“Yuno…”

“In any version of reality, my darling, I will find you and I will choose you every single time. Do you hear me?”

You nodded vigorously as you choked back your sobs.

Just as the last bits of your being slipped through the spout of the lamp, Yuno broke free from the guards’ hold and rushed to your side. You reached out a hand and his fingertips grazed yours.

“Don’t forget me,” he mumbled through choked up sobs. His shaking hands grabbed at the dreaded lamp, clutching it to his broad chest like it was the most precious thing on earth.

The sight of him so desperate before you was reminiscent of the star-crossed lovers you heard about during your younger years, the ones that ended in the worst of tragedies. You pondered if this was your own personal tragedy, if this particular scene would haunt you for the rest of your cursed life.

You exchanged one last glance. One last touch.

Your hand clutched his cheek like it was made of the most fragile glass and the pad of your thumb stroked his soft skin. Yuno leaned into your touch, wanting to soak in his last moment with you. A spark flickered the place of contact, a sizzle of bright dust oozing from your fingers— your first dose of magic and you couldn’t even use it to keep him by your side. A glittering tear fell from your cheek and landed on his skin.

It was then you muttered your last words to the man who claimed your heart before being completely tugged into your golden cage, “As you wish.”

author’s note. hello, my darling readers! i know many of you have been waiting for this release for the longest time. this is the first of three (or four) parts. this part has been done for quite some time now; i’m just struggling to get the rest of it out.

but i thought it was too good of a story to just sit there in my google docs. i had this need to finally put part of it out into the world so here we are! i’ve been writing this since october and i would like to thank the many people who have helped me with the plot so far: kira, my chaotic gc, allex, and joyce!! ily all!! <3 this is for you!!!

part two is finished and i’m in the process of editing it! will it be out soon? who knows?

taglist. @rindomo @yshbaewenjun @hannie-dul-set @itsapapisongo @babyyynatty @notnctu @w0nni3wrld @yuta1forme @lucyinthesunshinee

i lost my original copy of the taglist so i’m sorry if i missed people! (especially since it’s been so long!) please let me know if you would like to be added to the list for future parts!

#neowritingsnet #cznnet #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #jung jaehyun #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun fic #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun angst #as you wish

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dokoni-mo · 4 years

Text

Back Again, Together || Darth Vader x Reader (Chapter 6)

(A/N: hopefully this makes up for chapter five. taglists open.)

Masterlist (link to first part of this story): [x]

Chapter One : [x] || Chapter Two : [x]

Chapter Three : [x] || Chapter Four : [x]

Chapter Five : [x]

WARNINGS: mentions of hospital-like rooms and injury, cursing, some angst, fluff, otherwise none

Key: (F/N) = first name, (L/N) = last name

Word Count: ~6700

~~~

When you finally regained consciousness, you weren’t sure if you were dreaming or not.

You could feel your body lying down on a somewhat warm surface, and you could no longer hear the sound of the ocean. This told you that you must be out of the Endor system. You tried your best to squint your eyes open, but it proved to be quite difficult. Your eyelids felt heavy, and you were just barely able to open them a modicum; your vision only filled with blurry lines and bright lights.

Slowly but gradually, your hearing started to regain, and you were just barely able to make out the rhythmic sounds of machines beeping.

Where the hell were you?

It was so bright, you felt so confused.

Out from behind the beeps of the unknown machine, you were able to make out three different voices, two of which were female and one was male. Your vision still blurry, you weren’t able to make out what they looked like or even where they were. Despite this, you were able to hear their voices as clear as day.

It was an odd sensation. You had never heard these voices before. You felt somewhat rude not being able to see them.

First came a female voice. Whoever it was, she sounded concerned, yet still firm and wise.

“Master,” she said, “Are you sure we shouldn’t step in now? She’s in bad shape…”

She? The woman must mean you.

Why were you in bad shape again?

Oh, right.

Ben.

The male was next to speak, a hint of an unknown accent in his voice.

“No, we shouldn’t, not yet anyway,” he said, “Our time is coming soon, however. Be patient.”

Their time?

You were so confused. You had so many questions.

“At least she’s finally awake.” the other woman said. She sounded poised, yet approachable.

Had all three of them been there the entire time?

How long were you out for? What day was it? What time was it?

You felt a sinking feeling in your diaphragm.

Where was Vee?

Blinking a few times, you were finally able to restore your vision to normal, making out the ceiling above you. Taking in a deep breath through your nose, you slowly but surely were able to sit yourself up, digging your fingers into the surface below you. Wincing at the pain that shot through you, you shifted your gaze to your legs. They were covered by a thin, white sheet, making you deduce that you were in a bed. Moving your gaze around the room, you were able to see two more striking things.

The first being that you were in a medical bay. Turning your head to the right, you saw the machine that you had heard beeping before. Looking at it's screen, you saw a few numbers and lines. Your vital signs, you took it. Looking back down to your arm, you saw the tubes and sensors feeding the machine data attached to you.

You ripped them off. You weren’t sure why.

The second thing you saw, lifting up your head again to the expanse of the room, was the absence of two women and a man. Your brow furrowed at this. You were terribly confused, moreso than you already were.

Where had they gone? They sounded like they were just there, and you hadn’t heard the door slide open and closed…

You closed your eyes and rubbed your temples, a headache forcing itself upon your head.

Your brain had to be making stuff up.

This was far too much to take in.

Opening your eyes again, you were met with the sight of the big, white shirt that covered your stomach. Noticing a slight bulge from behind the fabric, you lowered your hands down to the hem of the shirt, lifting it up so that your flesh was visible.

A large, white bandage covered the expanse of the skin, taped down firmly around your sides.

You tightened your lips into a line. You wondered what the wound looked like underneath.

Curiosity taking over your better judgement, your reached around to your back, wrapping your fingertips around the ends of the tape and ripping it off. Helping the tape along, you were able to remove just enough of the bandage to show you the wound.

What you saw was very much not what you were expecting.

You assumed that you would see a good-sized, bloody, red hole in the middle of your stomach. Instead, you saw...

A scar. A round, pinkish scar.

You felt your heartbeat start to quicken as your mind raced.

How long have you been asleep? A week? A month? Who were those people you heard?

But most importantly…

Where was Vee?

You wanted him.

You wanted him now.

Where was he?

Your chest started to heave in big breaths, your eyes filling with tears.

Vee.

You needed him there.

You needed him to explain everything.

You needed-

Your rambling thoughts were cut off by the muffled sound of voices. Shooting your gaze to the closed door, you held your breath as you tried your best to make out what they were saying. Unable to make anything out, you peeled the sheet off of your legs, pushing them off the bed and hoisting yourself up out of the bed. Your legs wobbling slightly, you padded your feet across the cold floor to the door, pressing your ear against its surface.

“It’s been a week, sir.” you heard a female voice say. Processing it for a second in your brain, you were able to piece together that it was Rey’s. She continued, “We have to keep moving. We can’t wait forever.”

“She’s right.” you heard another muffled voice say, of which you quickly recognized as Poe’s, “Every day that we wait is another day that Palpatine is still alive. We’ll keep some people behind to look after her, but we need-”

“No. We shall do nothing of the sort. (F/N) will awaken soon. She deserves to be here as much as the rest of us, and I will not tolerate her exclusion.”

You felt your lips part.

“Sir, with all due respect, it’s been a whole week. It doesn’t… It doesn’t look like she-”

“DO NOT finish that remark, intruder. You do not know of what you speak. (F/N) is strong. She will wake up. She…”

A long pause.

“She must wake up. I… I can not… I need her to. I need…”

You felt tears prickle in your eyes again.

You heard enough.

Pressing the button at the side of the doorframe, you watched as the door disappeared into the wall. Now able to move freely out of the room, you clutched your aching stomach as you passed your feet out of the room, the cold air of the outside making your shudder.

Sure enough, your ears did not deceive you. Both Poe and Rey were there, concerned yet serious looks on their faces.

Their expressions fell to shock as they saw you hobble out of the room.

Your two friends.

But most importantly…

“Vee?” you peeped out.

The tall, looming blue and black figure’s head perked up as he heard your familiar voice. Whipping his frame around, his cape fluttered behind him as he shot his gaze to you.

Were his eyes deceiving him?

Was the love of his life really there?

Did she really wake up after all this time?

Tears threatened to spill over out of your eyes.

Was this really him?

Was he really there just a few dozen feet from you?

Was your love really there?

He turned fully towards you, his voice rumbling oh so deeply out from behind his mask.

“Darling…”

That was all the confirmation you needed.

You felt hot tears start to stream down your reddened face.

Trying your best to hobble over to him, you were grateful for two things.

One: you were grateful that Rey and Poe opted to give the two of you some privacy, the pair of them slipping away quietly.

Two: you were grateful that Vader was quick to close the distance between the two of you, and was able to catch you as your legs started to grow weak.

One hand still clutching onto your stomach, you flung one of your arms around your lover, pressing your face into the quilted pattern of his suit as sobs racked through your body. Keeping you supported, he snaked his big, strong arms around your small and weakened frame, holding you tight yet gentle at the same time as he pulled you towards him.

The rest of the galaxy seemed to fade away as you continued to sob into his large chest.

No words were needed between the two of you.

Both of you knew exactly what the other was thinking.

He let you cry as long as you needed to.

You let him hold you as long as he needed to.

You both could have done so for eternity, but decided against it.

There were a great deal of things you still had to attend to.

~~~

Despite the sheer amount of times you insisted upon it, Vader absolutely refused to call in a doctor for you, or even a medical droid.

He said he wanted you all to himself for a good while. You found it hard to argue, since you wanted the same.

After helping you walk back over to the bed, Vader had lifted you back onto it's surface, careful not to cause you any pain. Making sure that you were tucked into the sheet, Vader began to peruse through the many cabinets and drawers that littered the room, searching for the right materials to make you a new bandage. With a small smile on your tear-stained face, you teased him relentlessly.

“You sure do know what you’re doing, love.” you said with a chuckle, mocking how hard he had to look for the correct material.

All you got was a rumble from him, making you giggle a little. Eventually, he was able to find everything he needed, and placed them all upon the sheets. With a groan of protest from the bed below, Vader sat down close to you, yet far enough away for him to see his work. Reaching his gloved hand down, he slowly lifted up your shirt so that your stomach was exposed to him, revealing your half-peeled off bandage.

Watching him gently peel off the old bandage, you spoke again, “Was I really out for a week?”

“Yes.” your love said, discarding the old bandage to the side, “A very long, agonizing week, darling.”

You smiled a bit, “Did you miss me?”

Vader stopped his movements and just simply gazed right at your face for a moment.

He didn’t need facial expressions to get the point across.

“I missed you too, love.” you said.

He resumed his work, “I am glad to see that you are just the same as ever, darling.”

You giggled a little, letting out a small wince from a pain in your stomach.

“Try to move as little as possible. Your wound is still prone to reopening.” your love said.

“It’s just a scar now.” you pointed out, confusion lacing your voice, “How is that possible?”

Vader folded up a piece of cloth, prepping your new bandage, “The intruder was able to heal you a substantial amount, darling. By usage of the force. I must admit… I have never seen anything of the sort.”

You lips parted in a small state of shock, “Healing? With the force?” you scoffed, “Where was that on Endor? After your battle?”

A rumble from him. His version of a shrug, you took it.

Nothing was said between the two of you as he placed the cloth on your stomach and lined it with medical tape. Gently, he pushed the tape against your skin, trying his best not to hurt you in any way.

He finally spoke about halfway through the job.

“Darling.” he said, “Perhaps it would be best if we returned home.”

Snapping your gaze from your stomach to his mask, your brow furrowed in confusion.

Did you mishear him?

This couldn’t be…

“What do you mean?” you asked rhetorically, “Palpatine is still alive. We can’t go home yet!”

“I am aware my former master lives, darling.”

“Exactly! Then we can’t go home, love. The mission isn’t done yet.”

Vader finished up his work, moving the gaze of his mask to look upon your face, “I believe that returning home would be in our best interests.”

Your brow furrowed again, “Why?”

He paused for a long moment.

“It has become far too dangerous, my dear.” He said.

Your brow furrowed further, making you sit up taller in the bed.

“Ani, love,” you said, using his real name to signal that you meant business, “We can’t just go home now… What about Leia? She said we were her only hope, and we can’t just leave her and her troops to die… And what about Luke? What about fulfilling his dream? Of creating a peaceful galaxy? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten…”

“No, dear.” he said, “I have not forgotten. I deeply wish to carry out my promise to the both of them.”

“Then we can’t go home, Anakin.” you responded, “Not yet.”

“Darling…” he said to you, taking your hand into his as if it were to the most precious thing in the galaxy, “As much as I wish to be the father I never was to Luke and Leia… I can not simply watch you be harmed in such ways. I can not watch you be put in such danger. I… You nearly…”

He squeezed your hand tightly.

“I have seen nearly everyone I have ever loved die before me, darling.” he said, “I will not allow you to be added to that list.”

You felt tears in your eyes again as you gazed into the eyes of his mask.

His mask…

“Ani.” you said, your voice soft.

“Yes, my love?” he asked.

“Could you…” you dropped your gaze briefly, “Did you lock the door? On the way in?”

He tilted his head to the side questionably.

“Yes.”

A small smile painted your features, a certain twinkle in your eye.

“Could you…” you lifted your hand up to the cheek of his helmet, “Take it off? For a moment?”

You watched as his strong back stiffened in a small shock at your words.

“Darling…” he said, his voice noticeably softened, “You know I am unable to have it off for longer than five minutes outside of my chamber.”

“I know.” you breathed, “It’ll only be for a moment, I promise.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the eyes of his mask looking directly at yours.

You had begun he would never respond when he finally did.

“Will you aid me, darling?”

Nodding your head quickly, you scooted closer to him in the bed, careful not to upset your bandage too much. Turning to face you more, Vader bowed his armored head closer to your reach, the sound of his respirator filling the room. Slowly but surely, you lifted up your hands, wrapping them around the crown of his helmet. With a bit of a tug, you pulled off the first piece of his helmet accompanied by a hiss. After setting the curved metal upon an empty space in the bed, you reached up to him again, gently wrapping your small fingers around the outer rim of his mask. With another tug and hiss, you pulled off the metal, a dust of pink scattered across your cheek.

With his mask in your hands, you looked up at your lover in wonder. Sure, you had seen him without his helmet a handful of times before, but each time amazed you far more than the last.

To some, he may be grotesque to look at.

Sure, he was pale and scarred, with many lines adorning his face from the ghosts of past anger.

But, to you…

He was nothing short of breathtakingly beautiful.

He had such good bone structure. His blue eyes were firm, but when they looked at you, so many butterflies danced in your stomach.

To you, his scars only added to his beauty. They told you of his story, of how each one shaped him into the person he was today. Your favorite out of all of them was the one on his right eye. He told you that was the first one he ever received, and it was from a powerful assassin he faced during his days as a jedi.

That’s why it was your favorite. It would always be a reminder to him of his past. Of the good days he had faced. Of how there was always good in his life.

You loved Vader. You loved everything about him.

And you loved every piece of baggage that came with him.

You loved him so, so much.

And looking at his face made you only fall harder for him.

Realizing that you had been staring for a bit too long now, you breathed out a smile, your shining eyes still locked onto his. Setting his mask down in the bed, you shifted closer over to him, reaching up your hand to cradle his bare, pale cheek in your warm palm. Instinctively, he placed his gloved hand upon your own, closing his deep blue eyes for a moment to relish in your warmth. When he opened them again, you breathed out another smile, the brightness of which nearly blinding him.

Gazing at him another moment, you shifted towards him again, maneuvering your legs in a bit of an odd fashion. Making sure to go slow as to not strain yourself, you seated yourself in his broad, large lap, your legs straddling his hips as you held his face in your hands. Placing his hands on your sides, he held you firmly as you locked your gaze onto his for a moment longer, a smile still on your face. You noticed how his eyes searched your face, making sure to absorb every detail.

It wasn’t often he got to see you without the lenses of his mask obscuring his view. He made sure to cherish moments like this.

After a short while, you spoke to him, your voice only loud enough for him to hear.

You made it that way on purpose.

This moment was for you and him only.

“My love…” you said, caressing his cheek with your thumb, “Do you remember the first night we met? When I was assigned to fix your TIE?”

He took in a wheezing breath through his nose.

“Yes.” he said, his voice noticeably softer.

You breathed out another bright smile.

Vader swore that it could outshine even the brightest of stars.

“It was…” you began, finding yourself getting lost in your lover’s eyes, “It was that night I knew… I knew I was to fall in love with you. When you came to me that night, I was expecting to gaze upon a monster… Instead, I was visited by a man. A man who seemed tired, beaten down… I felt so terrible for you, my love. I wanted nothing more than to take you away from everything. I wanted to hold you and tell you it was okay. That feeling only grew over the time we spent together…”

You trailed off again, searching for the right words.

“I cursed him every night. I cursed your master, the man who had brought you so much pain in your time. I had never felt so blessed in my life, when you allowed me to be a part of your story… I love you, Anakin Skywalker. I love both you and your children so much… My love, we cannot go now. We have to keep fighting. The force was kind enough to keep us alive, and this is why. We have to continue to write Leia’s story, and we have to finish Luke’s…”

You swallowed the lump in your throat that was forming.

“Don’t you worry about me a second longer, my love… You never ever have to worry again. I will never leave your side for as long as I live. I love you. I love you so so much…”

You smiled another big, dopey smile as a hot tear slipped down your cheek, feeling yourself becoming overwhelmed with the amount of adoration you had for the man in front of you.

Reaching up his gloved hand, Vader wiped the tear off of your cheek, holding your face afterwards.

Vader wondered if he had ever heard such endearing words directed at him before.

He was sure he hadn’t.

Maker above, you were perfect.

You were absolutely breathtaking.

He loved you. He loved you with everything he had.

“(F/N)...” he breathed out, saying it like it was the most holy prayer in the world.

Swallowing back your tears, you leaned your head closer to Vee’s, closing the distance between the two of you. With a bit of slightly awkward maneuvering, you pressed your soft, full lips against Vader’s, feeling as they melded seamlessly with his.

You didn’t get to kiss your husband too often.

In fact, you had maybe only done it a handful of times before.

To most, it would be a disappointment.

You, however, saw it as a blessing.

With each kiss the two of you shared, it only made your bond deepen and grow.

It was such a special, intimate moment for the two of you.

You loved it because of that.

You were glad that something so trivial to other couples could be such a special moment for you and him.

As happy as you were to do it, it only made the inevitable separation be all the more bittersweet.

Knowing that you didn’t have too much longer to see his face, you pulled away from the kiss, opting to press your forehead against his instead. Feeling his hands travel up and down your back, you breathed out one more smile for him, your voice coming not too long afterwards.

“There is absolutely nothing,” you said, “We can’t do together, my love.”

~~~

Later that night, the two of you sure turned some heads again.

There was supposed to be a meeting that night to discuss a new plan in the event that both you and Vee were out of commission. The rebels were stuck between a rock and a hard place without the two of you to fight with them, and they needed a plan to even begin to confront Palpatine. With you out for the count for so long, the rebels were expecting to have to go forth without you and Vader.

They were proven wrong that night.

After a long explanation of what you had missed and a lot of help from your love, you were able to hobble yourself into the meeting room, making the dull buzz of the rebels quiet to silence.

Pushing himself to the front of the crowd, Vader was close behind you to help you along, the gaze of his mask pointed at you the whole time. Once you were satisfied with where you were, you looked to the front of the meeting room right at Leia, Rey, and the other high-ranks, your eyes and stance firm.

“What’s the plan?” you asked.

A small smile on her face, Leia responded to you, “Glad to have you back, mom.”

You felt a smile form on your face as Vader squeezed your shoulder lovingly, your heart swelling with pride.

Her expression changing to a more serious one, Leia got right back to business, “Right, now we can go back to the original plan. With the holocron we got from the Endor system, we take all our strongest there to fight. We’ll take a small group and set up a signal to anyone that will listen, and wait for them to come. In the meantime, we’ll take out as many as we can.”

There must be a fleet there, you though to yourself.

“What about Palpatine?” Poe asked from the sidelines, “How’re we gonna kill that son of a bitch?”

“We’ll send in Rey, (F/N), and Vader in there to take care of him.” Leia said, turning to you and your love, “If that’s alright with you two.”

Stealing a glance up to your love, you quickly turned back to Leia, giving her a firm nod.

Leia gave you a nod back, turning back to her rebels.

“It’s decided then. We leave in the morning. Get ready.”

A few claps and cheers erupted from the crowd.

You felt a sense of pride in your chest.

It was really happening.

You could hardly believe it.

~~~

Not too long afterwards, the rebels created a bonfire not too far out in the woods.

Not knowing what else to do with yourselves, you and Vader decided to join in their merriment. Being confused at first, you asked Rey in passing what was happening.

“Before big missions,” she explained, “We like to spend the night like it’s our last. Because for some of us, it will be.”

A bit grim, you thought, but understandable.

The light of the bonfire was quite bright, and illuminated everything and everyone within its reach with a rich, orange light. A handful of the rebels got together and started playing a few songs together, adding some life into the night. Vader had helped you to sit down upon an old, fallen log not too far from the bonfire, but not close enough to potentially burn you. He had planned to sit beside you that night and be next to you, but a small group of children had interrupted those plans. They had whisked your lover away in hopes of hearing his stories and seeing him ignite his saber. Even though he protested many times, the children didn't seem to care.

It put a smile on your face, seeing the wonder in those kids’ eyes as they looked on Vee. It brought you peace knowing that they weren’t afraid of him.

You sat there for a good while alone until a figure filled up your peripheral vision. Turning your head to see who it was, you were met with the sight of Rey, giving you a friendly smile as she sat beside you.

She seemed… tried. Her buns were a bit of a mess, and you noticed the haunted look in her eyes. You wanted to get to the bottom of it, but didn’t want to pry.

“I hope you don’t mind me sitting here.” She said after she found a comfortable position beside you, setting her staff down on the grass below as the bonfire illuminated her face.

“I don’t.” you responded, “My sitting buddy was taken away, anyway.”

Rey let out a light chuckle as she moved her gaze from you over to your lover. The children were crowding around his feet, and he seemed quite flustered despite having no way of showing it on his face. The children were pleading for him to tell another story, and your lover didn’t seem too eager to tell another. It made you smile again.

“I didn’t expect him to be so good with children.” Rey remarked beside you.

You chuckled, “I really wasn’t either. He doesn’t really like kids, except for his own. He says they bring back bad memories for him.”

A curious humm escaped Rey’s throat at your words, leaving the two of you in silence. The band continued to play their songs, and the crackle of the fire added a special touch to the melody.

You wondered how people could be so happy, knowing the fight of their lives was just around the corner.

Rey moved her gaze to you again, staring at your briefly as she pieced together what to say.

“He was inconsolable, you know.” she finally spooky, “While you were… gone.”

You turned your gaze to the girl beside you, a faint smile on your lips, “Really?”

“Yes, really. He wouldn’t eat, barely slept. He was quick to lash out, too… We’re still trying to fix the control panel he destroyed.”

You let out a small giggle, picturing the scene in your mind, “I can take a look at it if you want, after all of this is over.”

You watched as a smile came on to Rey’s face, her eyes regaining their sparkle for a moment.

“Yeah,” she said, “That would be nice.”

Another bout of silence between the two of you. The children were trying to grab your lover’s lightsaber off of his belt now.

It was your turn to break the silence.

“He told me about what happened while I was gone.” you said, your eyes locked on the bonfire, “About you healing me… About you and Ben. And who you’re related to.”

Rey’s eyes went slightly wide as she looked at the side of your face, her cheeks dusted pink, “W-What? I told him not to-”

Your giggle cut her off, “Rey, it’s okay.”

You turned to her with a small smile as you continued, “I don’t care who you’re related to. Your blood doesn’t define who you are inside. You’re a good person, Rey. And think you’ll make a great Jedi one day.”

Her shocked expression quickly turned into one of pride with a hint of bashfulness at your words. You wouldn’t ever know it, but those few sentences meant everything to her.

“Thank you, ma’am.” she said after a moment.

“Just (F/N) is fine.” you responded, moving your gaze back to the fire before you, “And I think you and Ben would make a great couple. You have a lot in common. Besides being willing to stab me, of course.”

Rey’s expression fell again, her cheeks dusting a deep pink as she shot her gaze down to her lap. Her shy actions made you laugh a bit.

Another silence was shared between the two of you. The children had now gotten hold of your lover’s saber, and he was trying desperately to keep them from igniting it.

Rey was the one to speak up this time, “How did… How did you do it?”

You turned to her, “Do what?”

“Get, erm, him to open up to you? To fall for you…? Ben, he… He won’t let me in. I see the good in him, but he refuses to acknowledge it. How did you do it? Get Darth Vader to see the light? To love again?”

You stared at Rey for a good long while as you thought about her question. Turning your gaze back to the fire, you searched your memories of your time together with Vee for the answer.

A smile formed on your lips once you had it.

“I didn’t really do anything.” you said, a certain fondness in your voice, “I guess all I did was see him, really. Where everyone saw a monster, I was able to look beyond the mask. I saw him for the person he was, for the person he wanted to be, but couldn’t. I was patient with him, and honest every step of the way... “

Your lover was able to get his saber back now, in exchange for another story.

“And things just worked themselves out of their own.”

Rey looked at you a long moment before sharing your gaze into the fire.

She understood what you said, but still found it so bewildering.

“I… I hope,” she eventually said, “That both of you get to go back home. The two of you deserve nothing but to be happy. I...I often feel bad I had to take the two of you here. Back again to the fight.”

Another smile painted your lips. You reached up your hand, placing it firmly on Rey’s shoulder as you looked right into her eyes.

“Don’t be sorry.” you said, “This has been nothing but a gift. For the both of us. We can now say we have… friends.”

Rey smiled at you once again, sharing a look between you and her for a good while. Before either of you could say anything more, Rey was quickly whisked away by Finn and a few other rebels. You could just barely make something out about dance from their flurry of drunken words.

You were now all alone on the log again, with nothing but the bonfire to keep you company. You looked up to check on your lover again. He must have been in the middle of another story, since the kids around him had quieted down.

You smiled warmly at the scene.

How beautiful it was.

After a good long while of sitting in silence and simply listening to the band, you begun to feel quite awkward there all alone, and honestly quite tired. Deciding that enough was enough, you got up from the log as carefully as you could. Taking one last look at the fire, you walked yourself carefully back to your temporary quarters, shutting the door behind you.

Your movements were not left unnoticed.

~~~

You heard the door open and close when you were in the middle of pulling your pajama shirt over your head.

Hearing the swish of the door, you quickly pulled the fabric over your torso, padding your feet out of the bathroom to see who it was.

You were sure who it would be, and your vision only confirmed it.

A small smile plastering itself onto your face, you combed your hair with your fingers as you padded your feet over to him.

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon, love.” you said to him, giving a quick kiss to the cheek of his mask before sitting upon the bed, “Those kids looked like they weren’t ready to let up anytime soon.”

A deep rumble erupted from his chest as he sat on the bed beside you, the dim lighting of the room making him look exceptionally handsome that night.

“I was fortunate enough to find an opportunity to flee.” he said to you, the gaze of his mask planted firmly on your face.

You giggled, “What did you tell them about?”

“I told them of the time we traveled to that planet.”

“The one with that weirdo king?”

“Yes.”

You giggled again, “Did you tell them the part about how you cut off his arm?”

“I purposely left out… details such as that.”

“But that’s the best part!”

“I did not wish to traumatize the young ones.”

You smiled up at him before leaning your body over to him, resting your head upon his big, strong shoulder. Reciprocating your affections, he took your small hand into his, his thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles.

You were the one to break the silence.

“Are you nervous?” you asked him, “About tomorrow?”

It took him a moment to respond.

“No.”

You lifted up your head to look at him.

“Really? Not even a bit?”

His gaze firmly locked onto yours, he lifted up he free hand to rest upon your cheek.

“It is as you said, darling. There is nothing the two of us can not do together.”

Another smile painted your face as you felt your heart swell and your cheeks redden.

“Yeah…” you said, “You’re right.”

After turning your head to press a kiss into the palm of his hand, you leaned back down, resting your head upon his shoulder again.

You felt so safe, so secure next to him. He was your rock, your reason for fighting.

You loved him.

You loved him so, so much.

“Darling.” you heard him rumble out to you.

“Hmm?” you breathed out, feeling far too comfortable for words.

“Have I told you how much I adore you today?”

Feeling your heart swell again, you breathed out a giggle, a dopey smile on your face.

“I’m certain you have, dear.” you responded.

“Good.” he said, giving your hand a squeeze, “I wish for you to remember that for as long as you live, darling. I have never loved another as much as I do you. You are my everything, (F/N), my entire universe. What I harbor in myself for you goes beyond words, beyond rationality. I love you, (F/N) (L/N). More than I can bear.”

You felt your smile grow larger and larger at his words, a warm feeling creeping across your skin from the very core of your being.

What you felt for that man went beyond any coherent thought.

“I love you too, Vee. So much.” you said, your voice soft.

A brief pause between the two of you. You were the one to break it.

“You know...I don’t really like my last name.”

Vee looked down at you curiously, “You have a lovely last name, darling.”

“It’s alright I guess. But I’d like to change it… after all of this is done.”

“To what do you wish, dear?”

You lifted up your head to look at him, the muffled sound of the band by the bonfire creeping through the walls of your quarters.

“Skywalker.” you said simply, a smile on your face.

Vee said absolutely nothing to you, deciding just to gaze upon your face instead.

You breathed out a giggle, “If you still wanna get officially married after this, of course.”

He reached up his gloved hand to your hair, brushing a lock out of your face.

He cursed that lock for hiding your beautiful face from him.

“My darling…” he said to you in his trademark, deep voice, “I have never wished greater for anything in my entire life.”

You breathed out another smile for him, your eyes shining in pure adoration for the man in front of you.

It was hard to fathom that after all these years together, you and Vee weren’t official husband and wife. You considered one another as such, but you mutually and unconsciously agreed that making it official would be…

Nice.

So, so nice.

Gazing into the lenses of your lover’s mask, you felt a shift in the air around the two of you. Perking up your ears, you heard the band outside slowly start to shift into a new song.

The song was slow, melodic, soft.

Your lips parted in realization.

You recognized this song, from many, many years ago…

From that planet…

This was the same exact song you and Vee danced to together. All those years ago.

You felt the butterflies in your stomach flutter as the memory crossed through your mind.

“Darling.”

His voice snapped you out of your trance, making you look up to his mask again.

“You recognize the melody, do you not?” he asked you.

You felt a lump in your throat form as you gazed on your lover. All you could do was nod your head in affirmation.

The last time you heard this song, you were nothing but his mechanic, and he was nothing but your boss…

It made you want to cry.

Look at how far the two of you had come…

You thanked the stars above.

In your peripheral, you saw him lift up his gloved hand to you, his palm towards the ceiling.

“Darling…” he said.

“May I have this dance?”

You couldn’t stop the short laugh of pure joy that erupted from your throat. Gazing at him a moment longer, you nodded your head again, placing your hand into his.

“Yes, you may.”

With that, Vader stood up from the bed, helping you to stand along the way. Leading you by the hand, your lover took you into a clearing within the room. Still holding onto your hand, Vader wrapped his free arm around your body, his large hand engulfing the small of your back. Placing your arm under his, you loosely gripped onto the fabric of his cape. Giving him one more look, you pushed yourself close to Vader’s broad chest, leaning your head against it as he led you to sway in time with the song.

If the rest of the galaxy were to have slipped away in that moment, neither of you would have noticed.

The only thing that existed in that moment was the two of you.

Just like it had been years and years ago.

And just like all those years ago…

Both of you were at peace.

Both of you knew you would no longer feel pain.

Both of you knew you would no longer know sorrow.

Both of you knew that you had found your soulmate.

No...

The two of you, in the moment, simply fell in love with one another…

All over again.

~~~

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#darth vader #darth vader x reader #fanfiction #anakin x you #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars fanfic #fanfic

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copias-thrall · 4 years

Photo

Well here we are, nonny. I have completed this 3-part compendium of ritualistic altar sex at your bequest (see reblogs for Papas II & IV). I hope you love this tome as much as my other work! 😘💕

⬇️

Papa III

*ritual blood letting; voyeurism*

It’s a big night for you: Papa III had submitted your name to be ceremonial sacrifice for this High Unholy day, and the Senior Clergy had found you acceptable. It was a great honor.

You don the white shift—satin with foamy edging—before covering yourself in the black ritual cape. Your hair is bound, secured by one pin that bears the structural integrity of the knot admirably. Though your face is bare of makeup, you curled your eyelashes, wanting the doe-eyed innocent effect.

As you make your way to the Chapel down the silent halls, your slippered feet—white flats to match your shift—tap tap tap softly against the stone floors of The Abbey. When you reach the hall, you find that the doors are closed, but two Abbey Ghouls pull the heavy blackwood doors open for you, the wood creaking and the iron hinged moaning.

The light and smell of hundreds of altar candles hit you in the face as you step into the doorway. Even as the faces of the congregation turn at your solitary procession, you keep your eyes trained on the only important thing in the room: Papa Emeritus III. He stands straight-backed and regal-looking in his formal vestments, a true son of the line.

He winks at you.

As you walk down the carpeted aisle toward your lover and spiritual leader, you realize the choir is singing a soft hymn.

As the parish sighs in smoke

Enters lady revealed of cloak

To the haunting sound of the monstrance clock

When you reach the steps, you take a knee and bow your head. You sense movement around you, and then there are two altar Ghouls beside you. One unknots the clasp at your neck while the other hands you a goblet of ritual wine. You take a sip, and the full-bodied flavor excites your tongue as you roll the tart, black cherry taste around your mouth before swallowing.

The Ghoul takes the goblet back just as Papa bids you rise. As you straighten back up, your black cape falls open, exposing the shift and how it clings to your naked body. When you catch Papa’s gaze, you detect a subtle uptick of his painted lips before he gestures you up the stairs to join him where he’s standing in front of the stone ritual altar.

Once you reach him, he turns you around sharply as his one hand yanks off your cape so you are revealed fully in your diaphanous shift to the full pews.

“Before us stands Dear Sister. A willing ritual sacrifice. She is a pert offering, no?”

As he says this, his gloved hand runs lightly down your breasts and belly, briefly pressing into the space between your legs before it and the heat of his body disappears from your space. Desire pools in your belly, and you tremble with anticipation as the congregation murmurs in agreement.

“Sister. Come.”

You turn and see Papa—his one hand held out in an offering—standing beside the ritual altar on which lies a silk sheet and a fluffy pillow. Taking a deep breath, you step forward and take Papa’s outstretched hand, the lambskin soft against your palm. Using his grip as an aide, you hop up onto the altar and instantly can feel the cool of the hard stone discernible even through the sheet. You shuffle backwards and adjust yourself until you are lying as comfortably as you can.

Papa holds out his arms, and four Ghouls appear at his sides—2 to undress him and 2 to take possession of the layers. The mitre is removed from his head first, with the cope following after. The first 2 Ghouls are quick and efficient (one could say practiced), and the other two Ghouls have to scurry to keep up. They divest Papa of his chasuble next and then slip off his gloves. Last, they yank off his alb from the bottom up over his head, ruffling locks of his ebony hair; underneath he’s bare, and his chest and pubic hair stand out starkly against his pale skin; his cock is already half hard.

When your nipples pebble, you’re not sure if it’s from the draft or from seeing your lover’s naked form in front of you. His posture remains erect, controlled, but you’re close enough to see the wanton hunger that burns in the pits of his mismatched eyes. He stalks over to the altar and crawls over you. Instantly, you feel the heat radiating off his body.

As he stares down at your face, you think he’s about to kiss you, but instead he straightens up to rest on his haunches while straddling your body. He holds out his hand, and one of the Ghouls brings forward a purple velvet pillow, on which rests the ritual knife. Papa’s eyes flick briefly to the Ghoul, making a grabby motion, and the Ghoul carefully places the knife—handle first—into his grip before slinking away.

As expected, Papa murmurs, “Your hand, cara.” Smiling, you raise your left hand to him, and he grasps onto it before placing a gentle kiss to your palm; then he holds your hand out and readies the ritual knife—the candlelight glinting off the sharp edge.

“You are a willing sacrifice, yes, Sister?”

“Yes, Dark Excellency.”

Without further warning, he slashes down your palm, quick but deep. Despite being prepared for this step, you hiss and flinch, but Papa’s grip holds true. The blood from your slitted wound trickles down your arm and drips off your elbow to run in rivulets down your white shift and the sheet, staining both in the process. You can’t tell if there’s a low hum from the crowd, or if it’s the blood rushing through your ears, but you do know your Papa is smiling down softly at you.

When the trickle slows and your blood starts to clot, Papa snaps his fingers, and two Ghouls hurry forward to wrap your hand; as they bind the wound, they also bind together your wrists and secure them to a hook at the top of the altar.

Dick twitching and white eye flashing, Papa leans down and riiiiiiiiiips your shift down the middle from neckline to hem, your breasts falling heavily to each side. Your heart rate picks up as he hastily manhandles your legs so they splay out to each side, revealing just where his cock needs to land true. Unaccustomed to cold air on your sensitive lips, you tremble, which he mistakes as nerves.

“Shh, it is O.K., mia dolce.”

He runs his hands down your sides, then your flanks. He sucks two fingers into his mouth, then brings them down to your clit. When the slick pads make contact, you jolt and moan at the pleasurable feeling. As he continues to gently circle you and lightly trace your folds, you start to thrash against your restraints, your legs kicking out in silted jerks. His digits dip down occasionally to press at your hole, and you practically drool at the feeling.

“Ai! The ruddy flush of your cunt is bellissimo, amore!”

You moan and press down into his fingers, rapidly approaching your little death.

“Sí, little one,” he coos. “Cum for your Papa.” Then, louder, “In this Church we celebrate the female orgasm, do we not?”

You barely hear the cheer of agreement as your brain whites out and you climax loudly, the waves of your orgasm fizzing up your body. As you bask in the warm glow of your aftershocks, you’re dimly aware of Papa adjusting your legs to his shoulders, but your focus swiftly rushes back and sobers you the instant he impales you with his throbbing cock.

“Oh, Papa!”

Pussy still slick from your release, the wet squelch of him bottoming out with each thrust seems to be the loudest sound in the Chapel, even over your moans and his grunts. You rock your hips into him as much as your positioning allows, luxuriating in the silky glide of his cock as it thrusts slowly in and out of you. It’s not long before Papa speeds up, each pump now punching into your G-spot, and your eyes roll back.

When your head lolls toward the congregation, you’re suddenly aware of how every single gaze is focused intently on the two of you; more than one hand is pressed between legs. If you could flush further you would, but instead, you turn your head to the other side.

The press of warm lips to your ankle bone has your attention back on your lover. Sweat trickles down from his temples, and perspiration has made the rest of his flesh dewy. He winks at you before letting your legs slide back down so he can lean down over you. He captures your mouth in a kiss, moaning into your mouth as you wrap your legs around his thick waist and pull him into you. Letting out a pleased moan, Papa begins to speed up, hurrying toward completion (you know he has excellent stamina, but that’s not what this ritual is about), and his face smears down your cheek and into the crook of your neck. He’s no longer hitting your G-stop, but your pussy still tingles in pleasure as he grinds into you. The loud slap of his skin on yours echoes off the high ceilings as Papa mewls Italian into your neck.

You know he’s close when he raises himself up enough to wiggle a hand in between your bodies to flick at your clit.

“Oh, yes!” you cry out, and Papa begs PleasePleasePlease that you’ll cum again and he can let go.

It’s not a great position, but you were already primed before he started fucking you, and now even more blood has pooled between your legs. Your clit pulsates, and the rest of your cunt spasms in answer. You feel your pussy tighten hard around his cock, and you let out a little OhOhOh right before you crest and the crashing waves of your climax milks him.

Papa suddenly drops down and hooks his arms around your shoulders right before he really begins to rail into you. His breath is hot and moist on your shoulder as he closes his eyes and fucks you with a single-mindedness to his own completion. He cums with a growl and a hard, deep thrust into you, and then he shifts himself up to his knees to ride out the aftershocks, pulling you onto his cock by your hips.

“The wine,” he snaps, and a Ghoul—pants tented—hurries over to hand Papa the goblet. Papa immediately upturns the chalice and pours the wine over your body so that it stains your flesh and pools in your clavicle and belly button. After he shakes the last drop free, he leans down to lap the wine off your stomach, tongue trailing up to your tits, before finishing at your neck.

The two of you stay like that for a moment—you blissed out and Papa panting into your skin as the congregation softly chants—until you feel your wrists unbind. Your arms tingle when you bring them back down, but Papa rubs your wrists and brings your hand up for another kiss. He helps you off the altar before raising up your joined hands. A chorus of cheers starts up as the altar Ghouls hurry over to cover Papa and you with robes, with which you gladly wrap around to cover yourself.

Papa III claps his hands together to get the attention of his flock.

“Ai! Proceed to the quad for the orgiastic revelry, per favore. Sister and I shall follow shortly.” When the crowd hesitates, he makes a shooing motion. “Show is over! Andare!”

After the last congregate leaves (Nihil shuffling along with his oxygen tank), you start to leave the platform, but Papa pulls you back by the excess of your robe.

“Papa?” you ask with the arch of an eyebrow.

“What say you to round 2, hmm? Shall we honor our Dark Lord a few times more?”

“If it’s at the soft altar of your pillow-top mattress, we can honor him all night, Papa.”

#asks #papa emeritus iii #female reader #ritual sex

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kyloren-theprince · 4 years

Text

When We Turn

You knew who he was — what had become of him — that didn’t stop either of you. If anything, it was the catalyst.

Warnings: smut, inappropriate use of the Force, swearing, fluff if you squint

The signs have been there, long before this moment; the red flags had breached the horizon of who you’d become for years now. But when you’re fighting in a war, they get lost to the rest of the chaos.

“Here!” He pulls you down by the wrist, using the rubble as a shield. You glare at the face you almost recognized from around the rebel base. “Stay down and don’t move, okay?! It’s gonna be alright, hon!”

You hardly recognized him as he was just another rebel. Granted, you wore rebel colors as well, but it's not like that meant anything to anyone. To them, you were just a scared, little girl who couldn’t fend for herself. They’d all seem to have forgotten you grew up amongst the last legion of Jedi.

You were sick of it.

Hands balling into fists, rocks digging into your palms, you grit your teeth. These people were all close-minded, selfish, idiots. You couldn’t figure out if their insolence branched from their stubbornness or their inability to look at you as more than just a girl.

Blaster shots land further to your right, a tree coming down, crackling like bones under the weight of a heavy fist. When it yields, orders are barked out by one of the First Order troops. But that’s not what has you looking per the rubble, jaw loose.

A woman stands amongst a clearing, directing troops with a flick of her wrist, voice, even through the vocoder, coming out clipped and dangerous. Her cape pinned securely to her shoulder plates hangs against her back, a symbol of her rank. She was a chrome cast warrior in the field and she was a captain. Not because she’s begged for or inherited the position, but because she’s earned it.

Still staring, you stand, walking around the fallen pillar without cowering, even as she raises her weapon. The sights stare at you, daring you to flinch. Someone calls your name but you don’t answer.

Instead, now within ten feet of her, you call out, “I’d like to speak with the Supreme Leader.”

She doesn’t show any sign of acknowledgment. Another call of your name; closer and much more urgent. Footsteps slap against the dirt. Someones running behind you, coming up on your right side. The heat of a blaster shot zips past your face.

Without looking away from the space where her eyes should be, your left hand reaches out and catches the shot mid air, no more than a yard from her, while the right wraps around the hilt of your saber, and drives it through your savior's sternum.

He chokes on his breath, his own hand dropping his blaster and resting over your own, where the hilt of the weapon yields to the blade. You redirect the blaster shot, watching from your peripheral vision as it crashes into one of the rebel speeders, sparks erupting upon contact. You pull your saber free of his body, letting him fall limp behind you. The heat of it burns bright in your grip, the red glow encompassing your being. Still, you keep eye contact.

“I want to see Snoke.”

–––––

You walked.

One foot in front of the other, you followed the female captain, Phasma, while stormtroopers followed behind, navigating the sharp turns of the base here on Mustafar. They hadn’t restrained you – there’d been no need – and brought you here with nothing more than a few clipped words. She held your saber, feigning disinterest, but you couldn’t help the quirk of your lips at her inner awe, never having held a weapon like it.

Despite your confidence in your decision, something fierce swelled and scathed inside you, writhing in the pit of your stomach. It was not regret nor doubt, so what in the stars was it? It was too solid to be excitement, too restless to be dread, and too demanding to be identified.

The doors to the throne room slide open with a hiss of the hydraulics. Phasma hands you your saber, sparing you not a glance as you step forward, and as the doors close, are left with the Supreme Leader, the heavy mass of black fabric in the shape of a man, and the guards. Snoke’s icy eyes lock onto you, watching with great satisfaction as you step forward and kneel before him, the man an arms distantance to your right.

“Supreme Leader,” you acknowledge reverently.

Something akin to a sneer is drawn from his split lips. “Your arrival has been greatly anticipated.”

You don’t speak. You only stare at the polished floor, watching Snoke’s reflection shift in the reflection. The man’s helmet turns only slightly towards you, his vocoder crackling with his heavy breaths.

“Rise.” Both you and the man do as instructed. When he stands almost a head taller, you barely stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Big guy, small brain. Snoke exhales, hand twitching as he says, “Step forward, girl.”

Gritting your teeth at the name, you walk forward, each step echoing through the otherwise silent room. Stopping just before his feet, he leans forward, long, bony fingers tracing the side of your face.

Your head splinters with pain, electricity cracking up your spine, your muscles locking up as he digs through your conscious; he browses through your memories and mishaps as though gazing at a datapad. Tears well to your eyes, hands balled into fists and the need to hurl ripping at your stomach, but he told you to stand and by Kriff, you were going to stand. After another anguished-laden minute, he pulls back from your thoughts, chipped fingernails scratching your jaw.

“Your hatred rivals my apprentice's,” the ancient beast croaks, “but you outmatch him in your obedience.” Your breaths come in deep drawls, forcing yourself not to shake. Snoke looks over you almost admiringly. “You will train under his jurisdiction, and he will report to me your progress and your failures.”

Now released and dismissed, you step back, eyes dropping for a moment. You consider thanking him, but when your lips part and you look at him, watching as he leans back in his throne, you’re certain of this: he doesn’t give a damn about your word, he wants to see what you can do.

Snoke pulls his lips back in what could be called a smile. “You will not disappoint me.” But that smile could also be a warning.

––––

You knew he was here, and all things considered, you should’ve said something much sooner than now. Ben Solo had been smothered under the weight of Kylo Ren, but he still stood the same.

Free of his thick shawl, you watched the way his muscles bowed and sprang with every aggressive swing of his saber, ferocious and calculated. Sweat dripped from his hair, leather gloves creaking under his firm grip, face flushed from the exertion.

He’d certainly filled out over the years; shoulders much more broad, chest puffed out with muscle and pulled tight with breath, and legs – thighs – corded thick with power and strength.

He lets out a yell, rumbling through his chest and making the sound waver as it passes through parted lips. “You’re not–“ he cuts through the air with his saber, slicing through the drones with a shrill of metal, the end of his blade melting yet another hole in the floor “–paying attention!”

His attempt at intimidating you earns nothing more than a bat of your eyelashes. “And what is it exactly I’m not paying attention to?” A cock of your head. “The way your weight rests on your right foot, leaving you vulnerable to being off balance? How you’re so worked up about what I’m doing that you missed one?”

The last drone – components wheezing at its barely maintained altitude – is crushed midair, sparks glowing and flickering before dropping to the ground in a sad heap. Kylo turns to you, teeth bared.

“I don’t miss.”

Pushing yourself off the wall, you take steady, dangerous steps forward, crowding his space so you’re breathing the same air. You could see it before, but now you can really see the way his eyes burn, flickering and flaring with something just barely held back.

“You don’t get to say that to me.”

The breaths he takes sends tremors through his chest. “Go,” he snarls. “Report to your quarters and fucking stay there.”

You’d done just that; turned silently on your heel and gone directly to the little slice of privacy you had left in your life. You hadn’t even been stopped by any troopers. Apparently, they’d learned you were not to be messed with – it only took the crushing of a lieutenant’s windpipe with a twitch of your fingers for that lesson to be learned. Restless and antsy, you sat down to meditate. Old habits die hard, you suppose.

Months you’d been here, Kylo Ren teaching you things you already knew, his presence alone only fueling whatever combustion in your chest that had erupted so long ago. You’d also come to the conclusion that the weight you felt when you first arrived was also him.

“Your presence weighs heavy in each other’s spirit.” Cruel amusement would be the flavor of Snoke’s venom. “A bond you sought to destroy.”

Snoke knew of your history – how could he not? – and used it at every turn, pushing you both further, toeing the line of lashing out. Kylo Ren has done an impeccable job at hiding his emotions, but you knew Ben like the back of your hand, and Ben was an open book.

A heavy hand shakes you by the shoulder. You jump, pushing yourself to your elbow while grabbing the intruders wrist and twisting. He doesn’t flinch.

“Get up.”

Eyes coming into focus, you sneer as Kylo snatches his hand from your grasp. You taunt, “Where’s the fire?”

His face doesn’t change, but the hard look in his eye softens, his gaze dropping, mind having suddenly gone elsewhere. It returns with a blink.

Jaw ticking, he turns, leaving your quarters in a flurry of black fabric. He doesn’t have his helmet with him. Gritting your teeth, you stand, fingers instinctively brushing the metal of your saber.

Barely having laced up your boots, you leave your quarters, only catching the end of Kylo’s cape slip around the next corner.

He’s so dramatic, you sneer mentally.

The answer you get is immediate, his voice low and clear in your head. And you’re headstrong. Move.

Attempting to at least dampen your grumbling, you follow, only really being able to keep up with the thudthudthud of his boots through the empty halls. Either he forgets just how long his legs are or he’s trying to put as much space between the two of you as possible. With your brain finally coming together, you’re recognizing the path you’re following leads to one of the flight decks.

That doesn’t stop your surprise when you turn the final corner, eyes landing on the sleek TIE fighter, Kylo standing stiffly at its base. You step forward, assuming but not wanting to act too quickly.

“Get in,” he says lowly, low enough you almost miss it to the hum of the base.

You’ve left a little over a yard between yourself and Kylo when you stop, crossing your arms. “You can’t be serious.” Only his eyes move — flicking back and forth between your own — and even then, they remain unchanging. “I highly doubt you brought me here so I can take a joyride–“

“No,” he cuts in sharply, jaw ticking.

“–and I don’t see how both of us could fit.”

His lips don’t move, neither do his brows, but there’s something taunting in his eyes now. Something young and long since assumed dead. “There’s ways.” The barest, slightest, tip of his head. “You’re under my jurisdiction, apprentice, and this is an order.”

You’re in his space again, pointer finger jabbing into his chest as you snarl, “Don’t fucking call me that.”

“What should I call you then?” That same glint turns dark, his lip curling back to bare his teeth when he says, “Would you prefer girl? Or sweetheart?”

Your teeth grind, and you’re almost surprised you can’t hear the way they grit. Your nails dig into your palms. He clicks his tongue, the backs of his fingers ghosting over your cheek, quickly holding your jaw between his thumb and forefinger.

“I know,” he hums in the back of his throat, the sound sending heat crashing over the bridge of your nose and into your cheeks. “I’ll call you my little thing. That’s what you are, correct?”

“I am not your little thing,” you spit hotly. Your nose scrunches, each breath barely controlled. He hums again, thumb moving to the corner of your lips and tugging back to where it started. Suddenly he pulls away, all but hauling you into the craft, having barely sat down himself before he’s securing you in his lap.

“What the fuck! Let me go!”

He’s flicking switches, pressing buttons with his right hand, the left wrapped tightly around your waist despite your prying.

“Quit whining.”

Oh, there’s the numb-nutted, stone-faced, annoying, dramatic, stupidhandsomedumbmotherfucker you know so well.

Kylo grunts, but doesn’t acknowledge the thought any further. Now taking hold of the controls, you almost sink at his release of you, but think better of it when you remember you’d be sinking into his chest, into him. The ship hums it’s ascent, leaving the secure landing bay, and rushes into the vast everything before you.

You have no idea where you’re going, and distantly, you recognize you have no idea why.

——

It was the jolting of the craft that shook you awake. Entering the atmosphere would do that, but that doesn’t mean you liked it, hating it more when you jump, hands clamping down on the rests of the seat.

You always hated flying. His voice is in your head, calm and dare you say gentle. It’s almost soothing. Are you ever going to tell me why?

Another tremor of the ship, your thoughts flitting. Just don’t. The flight is okay. The landing part sucks.

He hums, the vibration moving through your back. He reaches out to flick more switches, the ship smoothing out its descent, left hand coming back down to your thigh. “Then you’ve been with terrible pilots.”

You bark out a laugh. “I was with the resistance. They don’t have training.” You cross your arms again. “There might be one pilot who can actually call himself a pilot.”

“You were with the rebels for so long.” Another button, farther from his reach so he must lean forward to press it, his lips at your ear. “And for what?”

“Where else was I supposed to go?” You ask in reply, ignoring how his voice went cold, making you shiver.

He evidently does not like your answer; his hold on your thigh tightens, chest puffing out with what you assume is a barely contained explosion. And he’s gone silent.

You watch the trees grow taller as the ship lands in a small clearing, internally mourning the loss of his voice, scolding yourself for doing so. You’d lived without him for years, and now you’re getting whiny because he’s not talking to you? It was dumb and irrational and it needed to stop before he had any inclination that it was happening. You closed your eyes, picturing yourself shoving that feeling into a box, locking it, and burying deep underground.

The ship lands, and as hydraulic systems hiss and lights flash, Kylo is throwing you over his shoulder, stomping out of the craft, and hauling you into the forest.

“Put me down dammit!” You scramble to put your hands on his back, pushing yourself up so you could at least see properly. “Kylo!” He keeps walking, not acknowledging you or your flailing. You shout, “Ben!”

Suddenly, you’re on your feet, head swimming as blood circulates, your back against one of the trees which stands as witness.

“You,” Kylo snarls, his face impossibly close, “will never call me that.”

“Why are we here?” You’re realizing now that his left hand holds tightly to your hip, the other pressed firmly to the tree you’re pinned against, his fingertips digging into the bark. Every muscle of his is wound tight; a trap ready to spring. You ask again, “Why did you bring me out here?”

Again, the fire in his eyes wanes, yielding to something lost and young. His lips that always seem to have that slant upward tilt down, a faint dimple pressing at the corner of his frown. His gaze drifts over your face. Somewhere between your cheekbone and your jaw, the embers breathe a new life, his anger rising, welling, scorching through him. So much so, that when he parts his lips, you expect smoke to seethe from behind his teeth, the space in his ribcage made hollow by the blaze that makes him curl on himself, makes his back bow so his face is buried in your neck.

His hair, running like thick, black oil falls over your collarbone. The demanding grip he held loosens, large hand still, offering no console, but laying heavy on your skin. With his cloak draped over you both, you fight the urge to wind your cold fingers into the thick fabric of his shirt, twisting and unyielding over his shoulders which move broadly with every controlled breath. But before you get the chance, he drags himself away, the movement sluggish.

“You could have stayed,” he says low low low in his chest.

He’s still so close, his face but a few inches from yours, and you’re lost in the line of his scar, needing to find yourself before answering. “Stayed where?”

“I didn’t miss you.” Coiled tight, a heavy breath fans your face, his eyes sharp and focused on yours. For a moment, you’re hurt at his words. He finishes, “You were supposed to come with me.”

“That’s-“ you shake your head “-not fair.”

“You were scared.”

“Yeah, I was scared, Ben!” He visibly recoils at your outburst, withdrawing from you completely. His eye twitches, and you know you’ve got one chance at him before he shuts you out again. “We were kids and I was the only one still alive! I was scared because I didn’t understand why you’d done it — killed them and left me — and I didn’t have a-a draw to the Dark Side-“

“But you’re here now.”

“That’s the result of you!” Pushing yourself off the tree, you see him brace himself for your lashing out, expecting you in his face, but you stomp to the other side of the clearing, a few yards from him, pacing. “I lost my mind when you left, do you get that? I mourned as if you were dead but I knew you weren’t because I could feel it!”

He tilts his head, the wall only half built as he considers you. “Then why did you reject me?”

“Why did you leave?”

“I knew where I belonged.”

“Oh, bullshit!” You stop, boots digging into the planet’s surface. You bare your teeth at him. “You just knew you didn’t belong there.” Another twitch of his eye and your pride swells, knowing you’ve got him. “You were just a sad, little momma’s boy, but, oh, that’s right. She didn’t have time for you so you threw a tantrum.”

He clenches his fist, shoulders coming up towards his ears, growling, “You shut the fuck up.”

“But I’m right aren’t I?” He shifts his weight, and you laugh. “You always were such a kissass to Luke and I could not figure out why, but you just wanted him to tell Mommy, didn’t you? You wanted her to come see you and tell you how you were an amazing son and gush about how much she loved you.”

The growl rumbles into a yell, the sound an ugly one that rips from his throat and into the night sky. A flash of red, sparks, the heat of sabers coming into contact.

From behind the bright crackling of his blade, Kylo pushes down on yours. “You think you’re so smart,” he snaps. You set your feet, bracing back against his offense. “What about you?”

He pulls back, and you’re quick to avoid his brutal swing, sliding, bringing your open weapon down towards his thigh. He sidesteps, pinning your saber beneath his, driving it into the ground.

“You were a helpless little girl who couldn’t hold her own!” You kill your saber, Kylo stumbling with the purchase suddenly gone. Reigniting it, you point it at his neck as he straightens. “I’m surprised you can even hold that up, little thing.”

You swing, thumb on the hilt for power, but he blocks it. Another and he ducks back, the heat of it surely singeing the hair on his chin. With a countermove, you let the momentum turn you, blocking his attack with a very old move; one from his own uncle.

That manages to piss him off further as he swings again again again, the blows colliding with an equal of your own. Sweat drips down your neck, sticking to your lower back.

This was sparring and Kriff did it feel to not hold back. Deep down, concealed by thick walls, you knew Kylo was an excellent opponent and swordsman, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

The fight carries you both further into the forest, the planet’s two moons shining brightly through the trees. Creatures scuttle from the noise, standing on nearby ridges, watching with silent curiosity. A particularly zealous swing comes round, cutting through one of the smaller tree trunks, the scent of smoke seeping. The log tips, coming down over you, and for one breath, you wonder if it's your last. Kylo’s hand stenches out, catching your doom inches from your head.

At least he doesn't want me actually dead, you think lightly.

You relax slightly, looking from the moss overgrown bark above to him, smiling. “Oops.”

And there, shielded from the prying eyes of the moons, his anger dissipates and he looks so much like his old self that you get whiplash.

“I wanted to know,” he says, letting the log crash to your right. When the quiet returns, he speaks again, “I needed to.”

Breathing heavy from the exertion, you furrow your brows, the smile fading. “What?”

His saber is still lit when he steps towards you. Shifting your weight, you prepare for another blow, but his voice is low, dangerously calm for someone who, moments ago, was acting like he wanted you under his boot, his saber through your chest. His lips tighten, just barely, but you catch the microexpression with ease.

“I needed to know why you refused.” He's backing you against another tree, you know it — you can feel the way the ground bows and spirals beneath your boots from the roots – yet you let him do so.

“And what is the conclusion you’ve come to?” It’s your attempt at sarcasm, but the edges fall away, their resolve weak under his presence.

The breath you give is the one he takes; he’s entirely in your space, arms on either side of your head, shoulders touching his ears as he ducks his head. The flimsy excuse at resisting crumbles between your fingertips. He says your name, foreign yet sounding so much like home, so much like a place you could fall into and disappear forever.

“You’re still scared.”

The statement hits you like a railspeeder, knocking the air from your lungs in a way that aches. He was right — you both knew it — and on this, you didn’t want to fight him.

“Kylo,” you breathe.

The convergence of spirits was something you read about as a kid, but it was more like an old tale, one told amongst the hush of the night, rather than a science. But you never imagined it would feel like this.

Both of your sabers are switched off, dropped to the ground, abandoned in the pursuit of each other, hands taking hold of faces and smashing lips together in a kiss that has spent years smothered by doubt. You sigh into Kylo’s mouth, letting him pin you against the tree with his weight, his hips on yours. You let your fingers wander, winding into his hair, tugging.

“You’re not leaving again,” you mumble breathlessly, giving a sharp tug of his hair for emphasis.

He pulls back, just enough to look at you, to demand every ounce of your attention (as if he didn’t already have it). “If you think,” he says lowly, “past mistakes will be repeated, you’re ignorant.” Part of you thinks you should be offended at that — he practically called you stupid — but there was nothing in you that wanted to argue his point. He drags his hands down the sides of your face, pawing at your tits and landing on your hips, holding you in his bruising grip. “You will stand by me.”

Another kiss, teeth clacking at the collision. His fingers disappear under the waistband of your pants, and he pulls, ripping them halfway down your legs so you can step out of them. Your panties don’t survive the same treatment.

He’s grumbling to himself when he tugs his cock from beneath his robes, the head already flush and drooling onto his gloved hand.

“You’ll be sitting on my lap on that throne.” You barely catch it, barely register what he’s implying. “Gonna fuck you on that throne.”

He’s tearing away your top, mouth latching onto your nipple until it puckers, his teeth biting, marking, claiming. You gasp, “But Snoke-“

“Snoke is dead.” Despite the way heat radiates off him, the finality in his voice makes you shiver. “I killed him.”

One lungful of air is what it takes for you to completely comprehend what he’s said. Pride floods your soul and you take hold of his face, kissing him deeply. He groans, lifting you up, pinning you with his hips, your legs wrapped tight around him. You sigh into his mouth, grinding your soaking cunt along his cock.

“Fuck me,” you demand, again, pulling on his hair, this time so his neck cranes, throat bared to you. His swollen lips part, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, eyes shifting, dark, hopeful in the lowlight. “I need you, Kylo.”

His chin tips towards his chest, a weak attempt at nodding. He manages to line himself up, tugging so you sink down on his length, hips twitching.

Your fierce grip on his hair loosens, hands and jaw dropping as you whine at the stretch. He gives one slow thrust of his hips, your eyes watching the way he disappears inside you. You moan loudly, uncaring if the forest hears you.

“You like watching me fuck you, little thing?” You nod, already breathless, and he grunts. “You’re so fucking desperate, aren’t you? Letting me fuck this cunt out here?” Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you drive your hips down, feeling him press against your cervix. You moan, head tilting back. He curls forward to bite at your throat, cursing. “Oh, fuck.”

Pressing himself as close as physically possible, his pace raises from torturous to brutal, hips snapping, fucking you in abandon. His cock drags across your walls, pussy scuelching with how wet you were, how full. He mouths at your pulse.

“Kylo!”

“That’s it,” he growls, raising his head to look at you. The Force supports your weight while his hand moves to your face, holding your mouth open between his thumb and pointer finger, and he spits right on your tongue. You clench and his grip tightens. “Do you think he could fuck you this good, little thing?”

Your hand is tiny when it wraps around his neck, the blood rushing beneath its surface pounding against your palm. You squeeze, leaning close, willing your voice to steady, though difficult. His lip curls back into a snarl, but his eyes remind you so much of who he used to be.

“You want me to say you’re a good boy,” you taunt. His hips stutter, the twisted look on his face loosening under your stare. “You want me to tell you-“ you voice gets airy at the end, and you breathe deeply, clenching “-that you’re fucking me so good with your cock. Is that what you want?”

He pushes his neck against your hold. Flexing you fingers, you feel him swallow, followed shortly by a groan. His hand drops back to your waist, the pressure of the Force sliding, dragging lower until its pressing against your clit, setting your nerves on fire.

“I-“ he growls, cursing beneath his breath, head dropping to watch the way his cock shines with your slick. He looks to you, pulling your hips out from the tree so he’s hitting your g-spot, abusing it with every rough thrust. “You’re gonna take my cum,” he grunts, almost turning into a moan. There’s a pressure over your lower belly. “It’s gonna stay right here. And – oh fuck – I’ll bend you over that throne, and fuck you again.”

You moan, “Make me cum! Make me cum, Kylo!”

You reach out with the Force to cup his balls, your hands filled with his shawl, fingertips digging into his shoulders. The knot in your belly gives one last constriction before it snaps, your pussy spasms around him as you cum, clamping down, moaning. His thrusts stutter, rut, grind into you and, true to his word, his cum fills your cunt. Gasping, you try catching your breath, your walls still fluttering, clit throbbing even as the pressure is removed.

You sink into his hold, arms wound tight around his neck and shoulders. You imagine he could taunt you for the affection, pull back and call you a needy little girl, but his weight sags almost entirely against you, hands sliding around your middle to hold you tight. Again, he shields his face in your neck. The sweat the clung to your skin catches the cold air, and you shiver, bringing your shoulders in so you can tuck more of yourself against him.

Years without this – the smell of leather, sweat and a musk true to only him, the warmth of his skin beneath your own, every rise and fall of his breath – made you soak up every second you could get, basking in all of him.

“I meant what I said,” you murmur quietly, not wanting to ruin the bliss of this moment, but wanting – needing – him to understand.

“I know,” he rumbles lowly, angling his head to kiss the underside of your jaw, just below your ear. “To you, I will always come home.”

Your heart soars at his admition. Carding a hand through his hair, you guide him to look at you, drinking in the way his eyes shine, the flush of his lips. You lean in to kiss him softly, and he sighs at the contact, the breath he held prisoner escaping into the night. He shifts his weight and you pull back.

“Then fly me home,” you tease lightly, the edge of a smile creeping onto your face. Kylo’s lips don’t rise, but his eyes glint. You add, “Supreme Leader.”

#kylo ren x reader smut #x reader #kylo ren smut #request #kylo ren #x reader smut #smut #reader insert

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taofarren · 3 years

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Tina The Cortina

It was December in Cape Town and the South African president decided to surprise us with the gift of additional lockdown restrictions. Alcohol was banned, and spending time on the beach or sea in any capacity was suddenly highly illegal.

With our surf plans turned on their head, my girlfriend, Renske, and I decided to head in the opposite direction of the forbidden ocean, and celebrate New Years Eve in the Cape wine lands. It had been a debate in my mind between taking my mom’s plastic, yet reliable car, and returning before she got home from holiday the next week, or taking Tina, my 1969 canary yellow Ford Cortina, and having the freedom of cruising home when we wanted to. We chose risk, pleasure and freedom!

Renske had always accepted my car without too many questions, but during this particular trip she teased me each time we drove up the smallest hill. “Babe, are you sure we can make it up this one?”.

Of course I defended Tina the Cortina loyally. For a 52 year old lady, she had taken me on many successful adventures, and could surely handle a slow cruise to the wine lands. I was almost offended that Renske was teasing her. It didn’t cross my mind that it came from a place of real concern.

Half way through the journey I realised this was my longest trip Tina and I had taken in the three glorious years we had spent together.

My previous car had packed out after surviving me through the madness of my late teens. There were only terrible replacement options available within my very limited budget at the time. A ridiculously bright yellow car constantly popped up within the Gumtree search results, and I browsed the pictures as a joke. Yellow was my least favourite colour, and I wouldn’t dream of having a car that obnoxiously bright. Curiosity, and lack of a better option lead me to a test drive with the owner in Grassy Park. Despite my terrible driving and constant stalling of the old clutch, I instantly fell in love.

Just the feeling of sitting in the car felt so right. There is instantly a connection when driving a machine that old. The low seat, the thin steering wheel, having to throw my entire body weight into each turn of the power steering-less wheel. This was a real car. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew I had to have her.

We agreed on a straight swap. His keys for mine at the traffic department. As happy as I was, I was too scared to tell my parents. In our initial chats about potential new cars, they shot down any idea of something classic and dangerous. I knew she was exactly the match that they were dreading, and I hid her from them until it had truly sunk in, and there was no turning back for me. They had to meet and accept her whether they liked her or not.

Even though she caused my mothers head to shake in disappointment, everywhere else she went, people would whip their heads around and smile. Whether a passenger or an observer, it instantly made you happier.

From the beginning, this car was surrounded by an invisible force-field of love. This came in handy, as rather stupidly, I think I only wore the stiff seatbelt a handful of times.

1969 must have been a time of minimal accidents, as this particular model had no headrests, and there was no such thing as an emergency stop. Stopping would require you to jump on the brake about 30 metres in advance. Surprisingly (most probably due to the colour), I never had a single accident other than driving very slowly into a few walls.

Contrary to popular belief, owning a classic car is not about self-image, and in this case, most definitely not a “chick magnet”. To most women it was just an old yellow car. Once they had their photo for Instagram, the reality of the journey would set in, and it would be a true test of their level of “maintenance”.

It was in fact more of an old man magnet. Or rather every man. From the day I got her, old men asked me complicated questions about her regularly. I learnt about her anatomy by rushing home to Google what on earth they had asked me.

Almost every day I had offers to buy her. Even though these were mostly from car guards, petrol attendants, and a few times from a persistent garbage truck driver, I would obligingly take down their numbers, knowing I would never sell her. I knew that Tina enjoyed the attention and got the ego boost she deserved.

I wasn’t the only one to feel an emotional pull. It seemed to be the car that many people’s parents had, and seeing it triggered fond memories of their youth.

I was once approached timidly approached by an elderly lady who I mistook for a Jehovah’s witness:

“Excuse me!”.

“Good morning?” I enquired, squinting up at her, while flashing my most realistic, fake smile. She stooped in closer - Her wide eyes magnified by thick glasses, grey hair exploding out from underneath a Christian hat.

“Did you know that my mother had this car when I was younger?”

She blinked at me expectantly.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to have known that, but I decided to humour her.

“Uh…. Good memories?”

She leaned in closer with a crooked grin;

“Yes… especially on the back seat!”

She giggled and walked off with a vacant smile

A few days later, the memory of that lady’s grin still fresh in my mind, a beggar at a traffic light told me that his father had the car when he was younger. Cheerfully, I responded along the same lines, saying that he must have been a great man, to which he responded:

“No, he was a horrible man”, and walked away sadly.

Despite constantly threatening to overheat in traffic, she dominated the city roads. To get across a busy intersection, I would slowly drive into the middle of the road, and people would smile and let me in, just to stare at her beautiful square bum with glassy eyes.

She had a knack with roadblocks too. On a particular incident, with the car filled with mates drinking beers after sundowners on the beach, I was pulled over with a lit joint in hand. I panicked and stalled diagonally across the road.

“Fuck fuck fuck”

I tried to casually stamp the joint out with sandy feet as the policeman walked over with a serious look on his face. Smoke hung in the sweaty interior and the beer bottles on the floor clinked to a halt as he leant down to the window.

“Excuse me sir… what year model is this?”

“Uhm,1969” I replied nervously

“Yoh, look after her hey!” He smiled as he waved us through.

One of the main reasons I had rationalised the choice of a classic car, was that I would learn about how cars actually worked, feeling so detached from my previous modern car. Over the years I learnt intimately what was possible to break in a car, as everything slowly fell apart.

Electrical faults, numerous flat tyres, the radiator exploding in the middle of a petrol station, ball joints seizing, the floor rusting through to the road, using torches as flashlights to get home at night. I got really good at putting my ego aside and asking people for help.

For summer there was definitely no air con. The beautiful black pleather seats became stove plates against your skin, and the only fan was created by the draught rushing through the holes in the bodywork.

This cooling system, so useful in summer, became a freezer in winter. Long johns, extra hoodies, a beanie and gloves were always packed in the trunk. To this day, the usually comforting sound of rain outside the window shocks me awake. I would lie in bed as it poured down, dreading the inevitable puddles filling up the car floor through these holes and the aged window seals.

Strangely enough, the lack of headrests and questionable seatbelts made me feel more alive. The constant struggle to keep the loose steering wheel in a straight line, while listening to every sound in case of a problem, forced me into complete presence.

I saw so much more while travelling slowly. It felt like a leisurely stroll while on holiday, compared to a frantic run. Even if I was late it was literally impossible to drive faster. I learnt that at this point, it wouldn’t help to stress. Pushing the car further than its current 90 km/h top speed would most probably result in something breaking or flying off. I was forced to relax and enjoy myself in every situation.

Every ride, no matter how short, felt like an adventure, a real road trip. Each time I arrived at my destination, I was overcome with gratitude for having accomplished a magnificent feat.

On the streets I was instantly respected. I would pull up to traffic lights next to the latest luxury cars in elite places like Bantry Bay, and have the driver wind down his window to tell me how much he loved my car. When I’d ask them to swap, they would chuckle and zoom off while I tried not to stall.

We also received major street “cred” within the more alternative communities. This came in most useful when working on a documentary with the Ocean View Spinners, a community who passionately (and illegally) spun their cars until their tyres burst. I eventually realised it was safe to park inside the actual spinning parking lot, and upon seeing Tina for the first time, their perception of me shifted. Even though I refused their offers to spin her, I became one of them.

I was invited to an event in a township in Paarl to shoot one of their sessions. When we met at sunrise, their car was too full to take me, as it was a big family affair. The young pit crew boys fought over who would join me in my car for the journey, and eventually all piled in. Their excitement and pride of just being a passenger in Tina filled me with an ovewhelming sense of gratitude as we cruised past the grannies of Fish Hoek main road. A white boy driving while they hung out the window, hooting and hollering to their rap music blaring from a portable speaker.

At the Lavender Hill traffic lights, a notorious crime hotspot, the fun spluttered out along with the engine. Dead. In the worst place possible. Literally a bright yellow sitting duck with doors that couldn’t lock, and a boot full of camera gear. Even though they were the pit crew for the spin car, they were youngsters, and didn’t have any tools or the right knowledge. Internal panic kicked in as I ran through unrealistic solutions in my head. My internal spinning was interrupted by someone pulling in behind us. Sweating, I reached for the locking mechanism that didn’t exist on this model. Hijacking clearly wasn’t a problem in 1969 either It was a member of the Ocean View spinners convoy and most importantly, a mechanic.

They all crowded into the bonnet and fiddled until she begrudgingly returned to life. A few hundred metres of relief, before another cut out. Another stressed session of heads crammed together and hundreds of theories thrown around before we were back on our way.

During the event in Paarl, I was so overwhelmed by the deafening sound and smell of the cars being whipped around the “pitch”, that I completely forgot about my own car troubles. As the sun began to dip, it was advised that we leave the township and start the long drive home. Tina was towed out in amongst the traffic jam of exhausted spin cars and we started the painful process of resuscitation. The Spinners were just as tired as the cars, but they kept their patience with the old lady. An eventual tow-start and I was instructed to not let her cut out, whatever I do. No stops allowed on the hour long journey home.

Night shortly fell, and as we rattled along the road, one of the headlight fuses bumped out of place. The two headlights in their full glory hardly lit Tina’s path, now we were reduced to a single headlight. I couldn’t risk stopping to re-adjust it as I was sure she would cut out wherever she rested. I tuned out the passengers as they animately debated the events of the day, and zoned into the sound of her unhappy engine. We had lost the rest of the convoy on the highway, and this time I didn’t even want to contemplate what would happen if we broke down in the middle of nowhere in the dark. I stressed us the whole way back to Ocean View, and as soon as we turned into the road and Tina saw our destination, she cut out.

This time she was done for the day, and nothing would bring her back to life. After everything she had been through that day, she had to spend the night in Ocean View. I got a lift home from the spinning crew, and arriving without a car, and a black face full of tyre particles, I wasn’t quite sure how to explain the day to my family. “Good, thanks” had to do.

After a few weeks of rehabilitation, Tina was returned by a mechanic in Ocean View but still wouldn’t run properly. For more than a month she sat in the winter rain, while I desperately tried to figure out what parts she needed, and from where I could source them. Because she was so old, it was difficult to find someone that understood her.

She sat there limp and lifeless. My only form of freedom in those lockdown months, dead without much hope.

I eventually found the part that would get her moving and to Uncle Wasief, the world’s most reliable mechanic. He delivered the news that it had finally come to the crucial moment we had both been expecting: Very soon, I had to either let her go, or give her a complete makeover.

He fixed her up as best as he could until then, and we were temporarily back in action.

That day, I made a promise to her to give her the love she needed. I wouldn’t just take from her, but would listen to her requests.

I had all the windows and seats fixed, all the little odds and ends that I had previously dismissed as “character” and saved the quoted amount for a full restoration. She would be booked in at the end of January.

Over the howl of the wind though the holes, the disappointing sound of the portable speaker’s battery dying, brought me back to Renske, and our current journey to the wine lands As we arrived in Franschhoek, I think we both let out a secret sigh of relief, happy that we had made the right choice after all.

After a peaceful week of unnaturally green grass and far too much bootlegged wine, it was time to return to the city, reality, and the new year. As usual we were running late. This time for the last available Covid test appointment before Renske flew to Kenya for a job. If Tina travelled at full speed with no stops, we could just make it to the appointment on time.

The impressively spacious boot, as well as every other surface of the back seat, was crammed to full capacity We had both of our lives packed into the car: Camera gear, laptops, and weeks worth of clothing.

Driving down the first hill and taking in the beauty of the passing vineyards one last time, Renske abruptly turned to me: “Hey man, I think your car is smoking”.

This wasn’t completely unusual, and I attempted to sniff a few times with my hay fever impaired nose. A few metres later the engine cut out completely. She’d done many strange things, but this was certainly out of character for the old gal. We sat in silence, and heard the usually soothing sound of crackling flames, confusingly out of place on a sweaty 30 degree day.

The smell of smoke quickly formed a grey cloud as I ran around to the bonnet, lifting it to reveal a healthy fire. Right in the middle of my engine bay.

“Uhhhmmm…”

Renske hopped out as my brain struggled to compute the next step.

The only knowledge I have of burning cars is from action movies, where they quickly explode in a ball of fire. The passengers are generally running away, or flying through the air in slow motion. Sometimes both. Not interested in the flying option, we started to grab all our bags, and run them up the hill.

During each frantic trip, we tried to figure out which bags were the most important, as we took them higher and higher. If we can only grab a few bags before it explodes, what do we take? My beach umbrella rolled down the hill and my toothbrush flew through the air as unzipped bags vomited our lives out.

“Tao, your laundry!”

Your mind gets a bit muddled under that life or death pressure, and you start to ask yourself important questions about attachment. I was aware that Renske kept running back for random things that seemed unnecessary, yet I couldn’t help worrying about Sunny, the dashboard Hula girl.

After the toothbrush was successfully rescued, Renske remembered that her laptop was right in the front near the flames. Without a second thought, I sprinted to the car and grabbed it. As a video editor, my fear of losing saved work will always be far, far greater than potential death of any form.

We eventually sweated our hundreds of bags to the top of the hill and we stood to truly take it all in. It really was a beautiful sight that I will never forget. There was not a breath of wind on the perfect summer day. Plumes of smoke billowed out of the bright yellow car, framed by lines of vineyards and a perfectly still lake. Not a single part of me could feel sad while taking in such a surreal scene. The sight of this paradoxical beauty was enhanced by the anticipation of it exploding, and lighting up the nearby crops. Realising that this was not the ideal way to thank the farm owner for the lovely stay, I quickly called her up.

“Hi Ginny, quite a strange one, but my car is on fire. Ya… my car…. We were driving and it lit up…… Ya….. I was wondering if there was any chance you could please call the fire department?”

A few moments later, Francois the farm manager roared past. He barely parked before sprinting towards the burning car, wielding a fire extinguisher in each hand. In the shock, I had forgotten that I was a photographer, and I quickly grabbed my camera, and ran to join him. I was now filled with a different sense of urgency: to capture the tragedy.

A few photos, yet still no explosion as Francois and the fire extinguishers quickly snuffed out the flames. The dodgy wiring in the bonnet had reacted to some leaked oil, and everything in the engine bay was toast. The interior, which was the only part of her that hadn’t fallen apart in our love affair, was completely untouched. During her last dashboard hula dance, Sunny’s dress had been partly undone, yet not entirely removed by the flames. Her dignity was proudly intact as she obliviously continued to play her ukulele in amongst the smoke.

Once the curious farm workers cleared off, and the insurance company was notified, I found myself sitting alone with Tina’s burnt carcass in the shade of the vineyard.

Strangely enough, the only thing that came to my muddled mind was regret that we didn’t ever have sex in her extremely comfortable back seat.

Nothing could have prepared me for the many life lessons learnt by owning a classic car as my daily runner.

It’s amazing how adaptable we are as humans, and what we can overcome for love. Broken window? No problem, open the other one. It’s just how it was.

Their age allows you to understand and accept their imperfections, and this understanding leads to love and compassion.

As we all struggle to come to terms with our own constantly changing and ageing bodies, would it be possible to treat ourselves with the same level of compassion?

I was snapped out of my reverie by the tattooed tow truck drivers from Bellville arriving. A quick elbow bump and signature, and they winched her onto a flatbed truck.

I watched as she was towed away on her last ever journey; a burnt chunk of bright yellow metal to everyone she passed.

If only they knew.

Dear old Tina the Cortina . My friend, saviour, teacher and true love.

#vintagecar classiccardailyrunner storytelling creativewriting journal

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

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Stronger Than Blood (6)

Chapter 6: Lines Are Drawn | Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: Meeting another Force-sensitive was one thing, but having them related to one of the most formidable known duelers was a whole other story to tell. While being stranded in another planet after barely escaping the Haxion Brood, Cal crosses paths with someone who’s at a crossroads with their own identity and lineage.

A/N: Wow, progress is a little slow now. I’m slightly bummed for some odd reason. With the chaos ensuing anywhere in the world, I’m also affected, one way or another. Given that I’ve come back to my work, the good thing is my company has shortened the work hours, though traffic is still a bitch. I’m beginning to see the new pattern to my work-life balance here. I’ve learned that coffee at night while writing gives me a boost of energy to keep writing. But I’m glad you guys are still looking at my stuff, even if only a few of you stop by every now and then. 💞💞💕💕 You guys have no idea how much it means a whole lot to me, the same way you guys matter. The world’s gone fucked, I hope you guys are safe, wherever you are. 🥺😪💝💖

Also tagging: @ayamenimthiriel

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Force-User! Reader, Force-Sensitive Reader, Sith-Related! Reader

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 | Previous: Part 5 | Next: Part 7 | Masterlist

6 of ?

7 YEARS AGO, BEFORE THE JEDI PURGE

Serenno.

You were only a week shy from being ten years old.

You’ve lived a comfortable childhood. Back then, you didn’t understand the vastness of the family manor—it was so vast that it might have been identical to the palaces in Naboo, but of course in the eyes of a child. The only thing that ran in your mind was the games you’d play in the gardens or the foyer, running around and playing house all with your dolls.

Your parents were perhaps the kindest people you’ve known, especially your mother, Jezria. But there were times that the anger in her voice scared you—even if those harsh, loud words were never meant for you in the first place.

They were for that man, with a snowy white head of hair and a bearded face atop a black ensemble, who comes by your house every once in a while. The only thing that stood out in your eye was the expensive silver chain that clasped the cape behind his back.

“So, you’ve come here again,” Jezria growled as she descended the stairs, greeting the guest rather coldly compared to the welcoming vibe that she usually gives off during gatherings. The skirt of her dress billowed over the marble steps, as her manicured fingers slid down the glossed wooden bannister, complementing her regal yet fierce demeanor.

As soon as Jezria’s heels touched the smooth floor, she took you under her arm, shielding you from the visitor’s sight albeit being quite a futile effort.

“Mommy, who is he?” you muttered.

The man’s head tilted downward, proving that he’d heard you. His serious eyes made you hide away behind your mother’s skirt, leaving only a peep at the corner of your eye.

“So, you haven’t told your daughter of her own uncle,” his voice was baritone and spoke in an aristocratic, firm accent. He shakes his head. “Is that how much you hate me, Jezria?”

“Because her life is better without knowing who you are to her!!”

“Foolish woman! Do you think altering your surname into “Moorken” changes anything!? You can change your name, your face, but never your blood!” he bellowed back, cutting the air with a swift sweep of his arm. “You don’t know what your own child is capable of! Only my master and I know the true potential of her power. No matter how many times you deny it, my sister, [y/n] will always have the eyes of Darth Sidious.”

“Whoever he is… No, frankly I don’t give a damn who he is!” Jezria’s teeth were clenched so tightly that her words nearly incoherent. “He will not touch my [y/n]!”

“Underestimating him may not be the wisest thing you’ll ever do, Jezria. And as far as I know you are an intelligent woman.”

With one step forward from your supposed uncle, Jezria—with you still hiding behind her hip—takes one step back away from her brother. Your mother further shielded you with the wide sleeve that dangled from her slender arm, almost veiling you from the eyes of her brother.

“Leave my home, you Separatist parasite! And if you come for [y/n] to try and take her from me, you will never hear the end of me, my dear brother.” she snarled, a true dragon-lady baring her teeth.

The visitor’s beard quivered as he harrumphed, his eyebrows furrowed so much that wrinkles formed across his forehead and the bags under his eyes became more prominent. He strode the grand aisle of the vast foyer, the hem of his cape swept the marble as he departed until he disappeared from the hollow thud of the great doors.

Jezria had kept her ferocious façade on until her brother was gone. Finally, with the dying echo of the door’s thud, her shoulders relaxed and her lungs loosened, but her hand never removed you from her embrace. You repeated the question, hoping that she would answer.

Having no choice, she sighed and melted to her knees, levelling herself to you.

“Darling, you heard him…” she sighed, quite disappointingly at the fact that you’re related to that visitor.

“My uncle? You never told me much about him, mom.”

“I know, dear, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you soon enough,” she gulped. “But… I’ll explain it to you later. I hope that one day you’ll understand.”

Understanding that her ten-year-old daughter had no full grasp of the concept that she and her brother were fighting about, the least she could do was simplify it; and while her elder brother departed their home, Jezria had already concocted a plan for her family.

——————————————————–

“No, you have no right!!” your mother roared.

“I told you it would come to this!” your uncle rebutted.

The same exchange occurred just a few days turning ten years old. You may not have understood it, but it’s as if this man has timed the exact moment where he would have to cause another commotion in your household. Only this time, it has become more physical than the first time—you watched your mother attempt to push your uncle farther away from reaching the staircase, where you’re perched by the railings. Using his forearm as a shield to fight off Jezria’s pushing, he shoved her away as they went verbally ballistic against one another.

“And I told you that you won’t get anywhere near [y/n]!”

“Then I have no choice, Jezria, I will do what I must!”

He pushed her away to give himself some space. Jezria had the foresight that her brother would reach for his weapon—a curved black hilt strapped to his brown leather belt—and she beat him to it. A sleek, silver blaster—a streak of white shine underneath the chandelier light gleamed and adorned the body and barrel—pressed cold against the forehead of her brother.

The drawing of their weapons made you shift from where you perched in full view of them downstairs.

“I will put a hole between your eyes if you even do so much as touch your weapon with your finger,” Jezria snarled, her thumb flicking the safety.

“Are you really challenging me, dear sister?”

“If that’s what it takes, Count.” She firmly said, hinting sarcasm on his title, albeit her voice shuddering.

Your uncle sensed the trembling of her hands, he could feel it from the slight twitching of the barrel against the flesh of his forehead; an arrogant smirk popped out of his snowy beard, he slowly lured his hand away from his weapon, but Jezria knows full well that he’s not yet done with this charade.

“Leave. My. Home.”

Her finger hovered just a hair strand’s length away from the trigger.

Silence. A single heave of breath lifted the man’s broad shoulders.

“NOW!!!”

“This is not over, Jezria. Not until my master has what he wants!”

The Count—as your mother addressed him—backed away slowly until the barrel isn’t touching his head anymore. Again, as he turned tail, his maroon cape swooshed and billowed in the stale air which his heated exchange with his sister remained with. For the first time, you saw that he—in a way—was similar to you: with a single wave of his hand, the door opened at his whim, and he didn’t even lay a finger on the shiny doorknobs!

You’ve had such experience before: making things move at your whim without having the need to touch them. Your mother educated you what she knows—but her brother’s knowledge towers over hers, it didn’t matter, she only told you what you needed to know about the unseen entity they call the Force.

His presence always gave you anxiety, although you couldn’t help but stand witness to the ballistic trade of words between him and your mother. It felt like you were unfurling a family mystery all on your own, and to some extent, you were—but you never imagined it to be like this. As a child, you always had the precedent that whatever adults say are true—and your uncle’s words haunted you ever since he stepped through the front door.

He’s going to take me?

Will I ever see Mommy and Papa if he brings me with him?

Who is the other man they were talking about?

These were the questions that troubled you at night, until they have bothered you to exhaustion that you slept on them and worried about them in the next.

That next evening, the Count didn’t think of paying another visit, but this worried Jezria to a tee. Prior today, she had already put her plan into play: her husband already went ahead, disappearing from the gargantuan family manor to secure a safe route for your escape to the next planet, as she made herself busy getting changed and packing her bags, as well as yours.

Not meaning to disturb you or scare you—even though you’re already the latter—she barged into your bedroom. You were already instructed to get changed as well; and so you’ve been waiting for your mother’s signal to leave. The moment she popped her head into the space of the door she opened, you hopped out of your bed and took her hand.

“Keep up with me, darling!” she whispered, keeping her breath low in the dark.

“Where are we going?”

“To the ship, we’re going someplace far away from here… where he can’t take you,”

Perhaps Jezria’s constant underestimation of her brother—and indirectly the so-called master he always referred to—was her undoing, despite her best intentions of keeping her family safe.

Of course, she did not have that foresight or realization. What only mattered to Jezria weren’t the threats but her husband and daughter and that they were together—carefree and perfect, before her brother’s ugly head poked itself through her doorstep.

Mother and child boarded a shuttle. Jezria alone piloted the ship, prepped it and took off, while you sat buckled up in the co-pilot seat, observing her graceful fingers fluidly dancing across the dashboard controls; beeps chimed into your ears that it was nearly nauseating, the twinkling of the screens blinded you and made you see double, until the rumble of the ship hovering from the ground caused you to sink into your seat.

“Hold tight, dear,”

“Okay, Mom,” you said, ever so obediently.

This was actually your very first time to see the outside of Serenno. You were educated about the different planets and systems from your tutors, but everything you’ve learned about them failed to slam you with the celestial-scale oomph right in the face when you saw the endless sheet of black riddled with stars.

The sight was breathtaking, the neighboring planets’ sizes in a little ten-year-old’s eyes were simply impossible to fathom. Jezria relished the sight of your innocent smile, the fascination twinkling in your eyes, and the gaping smile that remained as your head spanned only a fraction of the galaxy. She hoped that she’d live to see that face again once the family has established a peaceful life, away from the eyes of the Count.

Jezria was finally able to relax and breathe easy as she cruised the shuttle through space. For once, the silence was comforting, she would banter with you, make little guessing games about the planets the shuttle has passed by or what system you could be in.

“Can you name at least another planet in the same space region?” your mother quizzed.

“Well, since home is in the Outer Rim, then another Outer Rim planet could be… Felucia!”

“That’s right, Felucia is also in the Outer Rim Territories!” your mother beamed. “You sure kept your lessons to heart.”

That smooth sailing was interrupted in the blink of an eye when another ship from behind has opened fire, damaging the stern of the shuttle. The screens flashed erratically while Jezria desperately multitasked in stabilizing the ship while taking damage.

“Mom!” you shrieked, tongue-tied and terrified that you were mute for a second.

“It’s okay, [y/n]! It’s going to be okay!”

From the graceful dancing of fingers that you saw moments ago, your mother’s arms flailed in all directions trying to stabilize the ship while being tailed and fired at the ship.

“An assassin, of course!” she growled under her breath.

“What’s going on!?”

“We’re being tailed. Hold on, [y/n]! Whatever happens, just hold on!”

You continued to observe your mother throwing her hands to all sides, attempting to keep the ship flying. The center screen, the widest in the dashboard, flashed a bright orange while projecting the cross-section view of the engines. Whatever button Jezria presses, the orange on the screen never disappeared, rather it gradually turned red to emphasize the severity of the damage.

Suddenly, she could no longer steer the ship forward. The shuttle had been caught into a tractor beam for boarding. A brief thud shook the ship. The magnetic field of the beam has already taken hold of your shuttle.

There’s nothing much she can do right now.

She hopped out of her seat and took you out of yours as well. In her burst of adrenaline, she was able to carry your entirely—the same way she has cradled you as a toddler—to the escape pods. The banging against the door pounded at the same time your heart beats. The assassin has boarded the ship. A single unit can only fit one person, and there were two; before shutting the pod, she cupped your face so that you heed her well.

“[y/n], listen to me. You’re safe in this escape pod, the coordinates have already been entered in the controls. I’ll go in the second pod. And we’ll go see Papa together, okay?”

At face value, you understood well enough that you’re being separated from your mother. You began to choke while fighting back tears, never have you ever clutched your mother’s arm, and the fright was too great for you to bear alone. You weren’t even sure if you’d keep up with her in your own escape pod.

“Mom, please don’t leave me,” you cracked.

“I won’t, darling,” she kissed your forehead. Another bang from the door. “You know what to do, don’t you? I taught you this, remember?”

You nodded nervously, suddenly unconfident, but the lessons were still intact.

“You will be alright,” she removed her necklace and wore it around your neck. She pulled you in the tightest embrace she has ever given you, it was almost suffocating but you didn’t care. “I love you, darling. Oh my baby. My baby [y/n].”

You could hear her sobbing. It took a lot of her willpower to pull away, you sensed it that much. Just when she was about to board her own pod, the assassin had already broken down the door and attacked your mother. By sheer instinct, she slammed the eject button with her fist—but only for your escape pod.

“NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” you screeched at the top of your lungs, the fiberglass window muffling the full volume of your cries. Your tiny fist pounded the door but it was too thick. From that small circular window that only occupied the whole of your face, you watched your mother defend herself against the assassin.

The assailant was fully covered from helmet to boot. Not even a peek of the eyes through the visor. Jezria and the assassin traded strikes with their vibroblades. You were so caught up with crying for your mother that you didn’t feel the loss of gravity around your escape pod. As the vessel throttles minutes later after ejection and drifts away into space, the less you saw of your mother. You continued to shriek through the door, unable to realize that there’s nothing much you could do except repeat the words “No” and “Mom.”

Farther away, you had full view of the shuttle, but no better view of Jezria. The next moment, the shuttle burst into flames. It felt like time had frozen itself, cruelly forcing you watch it for as long as the galaxy could take. Orange and red coated the original color of your irises, you held your breath even though you still had enough oxygen, you couldn’t take your eyes off of the destruction.

Your mother was in there.

You didn’t see the second escape pod be jettisoned. It never did.

You know the words, you just don’t have the strength to utter it through your mouth or your mind.

You’re now alone, stuck in the middle of space in a claustrophobic vessel that well may be your casket. Just when you were close to sulk on the floor and give up, the temperature around the pod flared, the turbulence rattled the pod so strongly that you practically shook with it.

Luckily, dejection still hasn’t devoured you fully. You followed the safety protocols of the escape pod from entering the atmosphere until you’ve landed and touched a planet’s surface. You buckled up, remembering what your mother taught you; upon realizing that your mother never entered any coordinates and just jettisoned your pod to safety before the assassin could reach you, now you could never reunite with your father as well, the only thing left to do is try to land the pod as daintily as you can.

“I hope this works…!” you groaned as you parroted the same dexterity your mother possessed when manning the ship.

The escape pod had a rough landing, but following the procedure greatly factored in your survival. You emerge out of the crash, bruised and dirtied, you gathered what you can from the wreckage and hiked your way to nowhere. With every step, you attempt to register every single thing has transpired. You may only be ten years old, but you were able to put the pieces together and assume the worst.

It was your uncle. No doubt about it.

“Now he’s done it,” you snarled, the searing heat of the sun burned along with the rage that colored your cheeks.

You decided to stick with that, overlooking one crucial question: can you prove it?

It all seemed hopeless. You’ve been wandering around in this temperate planet for hours now with little supplies. You’ve fought off the temptation of rummaging your bag for rations, you’re too famished to even think about conserving them.

That is until you met a kindly Iktotchi, the same Iktotchi who will foster you in the next few years into the woman you’ve grown to be now.

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rhnuzlocke · 4 years

Photo

Chapter Ten: Street Fighting

Slateport was a bustling port city that had slowly taken over the entire cape and began to creep inland. It wasn’t as built up or modern as Kogane, in whose shadow Ren had spent her childhood. Instead it reminded Ren of the more distant Asagi, complete with a towering lighthouse shining above it all.

Ren bought them fresh Carvanha fritters and kumara chips in the crowed market by the fishing docks, then picked up a bag of ginger-coconut biscuits at a bakery as they wove their way south. She’d been missing fish and there was nothing like getting the morning’s catch before noon—even if it wasn’t quite the same as the Koiking korokke and roast yakiimo she used to pick up on her way into town.

Slateport’s beaches were enormous—the largest Ren had ever seen. They wrapped two-thirds of the way around the city and stretched at least a hundred meters beyond the dunes and smooth slate walkway. There were sandbars out further still that people and pokemon had swam to. Ren took off her boots and let her feet sink into the dry, shifting sand. She winced at the scorching heat until it was up to her ankles, but Tāraki flopped down and let out something akin to a purr as he splayed out.

“According to the visitor’s guide, all the battling in the city takes place out here,” Ren told her team.

Māia gave a few experimental flaps on her shoulder. “Excellent! The wind is perfect!”

Panahi clacked her beak in agreement.

“Akahana, you should still be taking it easy, so just let me know if you’d rather rest in your ball.” She nodded. “Iki.”

The Surskit startled out of Ren’s shadow. “Y-yes?”

“I want you to take the lead, if you feel up to it.”

“What?”

Ren rubbed at her shoulder. “Sometimes it seems like you still don’t think you’re a battler. But that’s my fault for neglecting your training. If you give me another chance, I bet I can prove to you that you can be.” Iki fidgeted. “What’d ya say, little bug? Want to give this a go?”

Iki glanced at Akahana before squaring up to Ren. “Y-yeah, let’s do it!”

Was it hope, or did you see potential in her?

“I knew she could be great. Even though it scared her, she always had such unshakable dedication. It ran deeper than even I knew. She threw her all into every fight. The fear never made her freeze, it only made instincts keener. There was no way she wouldn’t become a top battler.”

I see.

“Is that why I chose her in the first place? I thought…”

Do not doubt yourself. The way you have sought to heal and empower all of those bonded to you—to use your strength to protect even strangers—is why I chose you. It is at your very core, Ren.

“You’re right. I’ve always wanted to do good with my abilities, even when I still wanted to do great things.”

It is my belief that you will do both.

Trainers were scattered all around and battles took place wherever they could find enough open space between the other beachgoers. Much to Tāraki and Māia’s delight, there were more than enough opponents around the right badge level for Ren’s entire team to get some practice between Iki’s bouts.

The matches by the seaside were particularly exciting and informative. Water moves could manifest so differently with a source so readily available, and fully aquatic pokemon could maneuver in in wholly new ways. And Iki could skate across the waves with a speed and grace that blew her movements across dry land out of the water.

But high on the beach, where the sand was loose and drifting, her spindle legs sunk beneath the surface and her speed fell behind the Slugma she was facing. It glided across a layer of glass melted by the heat of its magma, and Iki only managed to escape by turning more sharply than it was able. She zigzagged away from a Rock Throw only to be driven further into the sand by an Ember. Ren could see her trembling.

“Dig deep, Iki! You can do this!”

The shaking stopped as the Slugma surged forward, but instead of ducking down for a Fell Stinger, Iki stood tall and released a rushing stream of bubbles from her open mouth. They burst and hissed upon impact, splattering the Slugma’s viscous skin asunder until is disappeared in a cloud of steam.

The sea breeze cleared it a moment later, revealing a sunken puddle of black rock with magma glowing through the cracks

“Oh,” Iki murmured in shock.

“That was Bubble Beam!” Ren cheered. “You have a water move now! This is gonna change the game for you!”

“Really?”

“Absolutely, little bug!” Ren grinned wide and Iki smiled tentatively back.

The other trainer stood back up from inspecting her Slugma, and withdrew it. “I’m gonna take Mote to the Pokemon Center.”

“Thanks for the battle!”

“Oh, uh, you too.” The trainer almost turned to go, but hesitated. “You said this was your first time in Slateport, right?”

“Yeah!”

“Then you might not have heard, but they hold tourneys at the Seashore House every Friday. It’s a bar just down there on the west end.” Ren followed where she was pointing and spotted a blue roof a ways off on the beach. “It’s worth a go if you’re still in town tomorrow. I always go.”

Ren threw her an appreciative smile as thanks. “Sounds great! We’ll be sure to check it out.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there then bye!” She said in a rush before jogging off.

Ren turned immediately back to the task at hand. “This is perfect! We just need to do a little target practice and we’ll be ready for thing!”

Iki looked over at the sunken hole where the Slugma had been. “If you say so.”

...

The pink and orange of sunset painted the horizon and set the sand alight as Ren and her pokemon set out the next evening. The Seashore House was packed when they entered—filled to the brim with trainers and their pokemon. A smiling middle-aged man and a Tentacool bustled behind the long bar serving up drinks while one harried waitress took orders from the seated patrons. Buoys and lifesavers splashed bright color across the slatted wood walls, and the smell of fried seafood wafted powerfully from the direction of the kitchen. The room was buzzing with conversation and pulsing with excitement. Ren felt her heart beat a little quicker and a grin overtake her face.

She drifted outside with the rest of the mingling trainers to find the large stone patio being cleared. She grabbed the end of one of the remaining picnic tables with some of the others and set it down in the sand in line with the rest now encircling the patio.

“Hey, y’all! Listen up now!” A voice boomed from an amp near the side door. The buzz quieted and everyone’s attention turned to a girl who couldn’t have been over twelve, mic in one hand and the other thrown in the air, standing on a crate to see over the sea of heads.

“This is your Master of Ceremonies, your Officiator of Fun and your ultimate Judge of Battle Badassery, KAT KORRAAAAA!”

The regulars roared their approval while some of the new initiates clapped unevenly in confusion. Ren whooped. After an appropriate amount of adoration, the girl lowered her hand and all fell quiet.

“Let me lay out the rules for the new blood and all them that’s just passing through. All matches are one v one, standard League rules. The first tournament is for greenhorns through two badges. Next is for three and four badges, so on and etc. You get the idea. Winner of each tourney gets as many free drinks as they can knock back! Remember, you can only lose once, but you can win again and again so step right up hopefuls, gather round spectators and prepare yourselves for the BEATDOWN!”

Ren waded through the crowd and wrote her name in the bracket beside the building. Spectators filled the picnic tables while pokemon took the edge of the patio for a better view. Ren and her competitors surveyed each other appraisingly.

“I’m seeing a lot of plant, dark, and fire-types.” Ren whispered down to her team. “This is yours to win, Iki!”

Iki was trembling, but she nodded resolutely.

Pride mixed with excitement rushed through Ren’s veins and had her tingling down to her toes by the time her first match was called. Her opponent sent in a Houndour against Iki, and Ren glimpsed Akahana don a matching grin.

Ren had Iki douse the ring with Water Sport to dampen its fire and use the puddle to hydroplane around its jaws. A Quick Attack to each flank had it staggering and third to its shoulder brought it down before it had managed to land a single hit. The swiftness and decisiveness of the victory caused a moment of quiet before Kat shattered it with her judgement and sent Iki skittering back between Ren’s legs.

They faced a Seedot in the next round, which proved tougher. But Ren correctly guessed that its joints were the most vulnerable, and Iki had the precision to follow through with Fell Stinger. The third round was a Numel whose combination of Magnitude and Flame burst had Iki quaking, but once again she didn’t freeze and it succumbed. The fourth was a Cacnea, whose troublesome Sand Attack they beat back with Bubblebeam. It was difficult to land any effective hits without getting in range of its Needle Arm, but they managed to distract and encumber it enough to get a decisive hit on its vulnerable crown.

The crowd grew more and more raucous as each successive tier of the bracket filled until the final battle was announced. A trainer with a mohawk and piercings stepped into the ring with his Boldore opposite Ren and Iki.

Finally a real challenge! Ren felt her body lower and her hands come up like she was preparing for a judo bought, and Iki mimicked the stance in front of her. The other trainer sneered and his Boldore postured to play to the crowd. It was about four times Iki’s size and must have been near ten times her weight. They would have to be quick and careful to beat it, but that was where they excelled.

You seem to think of your confidence as a weakness of late, but to my mind, it is perhaps your greatest strength.

“Thinking I could handle things I couldn’t has gotten pokemon killed! You know that! You’ve seen it!”

I disagree. Look again, Ren. Look harder.

Ren and Iki waited for the opening move they knew was coming, and the Surskit sprang to the side to dodge the rock launched at her. It shattered by Ren’s feet, but she felt rather saw it as her eyes followed Iki’s zig-zagging path around the edge of the ring. Three more rocks narrowly missed before the attack was spent, but by then Iki had lined up a clear shot and hit it square in the leg with Bubble Beam.

The Boldore stumbled in surprise, but then leapt back at her with a Smackdown. Instead of running, Ren had Iki parry with Fell Stinger, which unbalanced and sent it stumbling back.

The crowd roared almost as loud as Ren’s heart in her ears, the pitch of it climbing at her audacity. But Iki paid the price when her own unsteady legs failed to carry her out of range of a Headbutt. The crowd gasped as the force of it pinned her to the ground. There was no getting away this time, and the Boldore raised a leg to stomp her.

But Ren didn’t reach for her ball or call their surrender. Instead her command rang out in the relative quiet as the audience anticipated the end. Iki raised her head and blasted the Boldore point blank in the face with Bubble Beam. It staggered as the first bubbles exploded against it, wobbled as Iki pressed the attack, and collapsed as Ren and Iki’s strength outlasted it.

The crowd went absolutely wild. People and pokemon were jumping and screaming and cheering. Iki didn’t jump this time. Instead, light suffused her and a breeze rushed out from her, quieting the crowd.

Iki emerged from the shell of light looking unlike any of the many Masquerain varieties in Ren’s Pokedex. Her head was crowned with a pointed, golden helm with a plume of red rising from the back. Her false eyes were a stark and hypnotizing contrast of black and white, and her mask was a deep shade of pink. She was amazing.

“What a tournament! What an upset!” Kat yelled over the mic. “Folks, it looks like we have our winner! Give it up for Ren Kosugi and her MVP, Iki the Surskit!” The crowd cheered wildly again and the girl waited for a lull to continue. “Or should I say Masquerain? Let’s congratulate her on that awesome evolution!” The cheering picked up again, but this time with more applause and a few lycan-whistles. “I think we can all agree we’ve never seen a bug quite like that folks! What a sweep! Be sure to collect your reward, Ren!”

Iki’s head was tilted down, trying to catch her reflection in the sheen of water over slate.

“Iki!” Ren called.

Iki turned and looked up, but her eyes found Akahana instead. The Poochyena’s black lips curved upward in a rare smile. Iki’s wings began to beat furiously, propelling her up several feet before she got them under control. Ren ran to her rescue, scooping Iki up and hugging her in her arms.

“You look awesome, little bug! I’m so proud!”

Ren felt Iki press her face into her shoulder. “Thank you.”

In another moment, Ren loosened her grip enough to look down at her pokemon “So do you believe me yet?”

Iki took a moment to answer, but there was hope and happiness in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

...

Later that night in their room in the Pokemon Center, Ren was drifting off on a bunk with Akahana already snoozing beside her, when a low whistle pulled her back to consciousness. It repeated, sharper this time.

“Iki!” It was Māia.

Ren cracked an eye open and saw Iki’s red plume jolt in the shade-filtered moonlight.

“Y-yes?”

“The others and I wanted to congratulate you on your evolution,” said Panahi gently.

“Really?”

There were murmurs of ascent all around.

“Of course, dear. You worked very hard, and you did so well. We were all impressed.”

Iki fidgeted in her cushion. “Oh, wow, thank you. I-I mean that’s very kind. I didn’t think I was doing that great…”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” hissed Māia. “That tournament was awesome!”

“Especially that last battle!” Tāraki gushed. “The way you received that Smackdown with your head spike!” He was on his feet, imitating the motion with the frond sprouting from his head.

“That took guts!” Said Māia. “And I would know.”

Iki was quiet for a moment, then ventured: “because your ability is called Guts?”

“Yeah!”

“Oh.” Then Iki let out a little tinkling sound that might have been a giggle.

Ren pressed her hands over her mouth to stop herself from squealing and giving herself away.

“You see?”

Yes. I see a trainer who cares very deeply about her pokemon and their happiness.

“I—You!—Don’t laugh at me after being so kind!”

Only if you cease mocking your virtues.

“Personally I liked the way you used Water Sport to speed yourself up and Bubble Beam to slow the others down,” said Hakeka. “I didn’t know you were so clever.”

“Ren helped me with—”

The Shroomish interrupted before Ren could: “still, props on the execution.” Iki did not deflect again and Hakeka continued. “Now that you’re talking to us, I’ve got a question for you—if I may?”

“Um, sure. What is it?”

“Why do you hang out with the grumpy Poochyena so much?”

Ren saw Iki rise up off her cushion, false eyes flaring. “Aka is not grumpy! She’s really nice!”

“Yeah, lay off her, Hakeka!” Māia chirped. “Akahana defeated me in battle. She’s super cool!”

“Whoa! Alright, okay. Clearly I’ve been missing out on something.”

Tāraki started giggling, and soon the rest of them joined in until Panahi gently shushed them and made them go to sleep.

...

Ren wove between the colorful stalls of Slateport’s central market, laden down with bags and Panahi perched on her shoulder. The crowds dissipated as she made her way north to a small park in the shadow of a large, gaudily decorated building. She collapsed onto a bench by a fountain that shot elegant arcs of water from the snouts of patinated copper Horsea, Seadra, and a single Kingdra atop the rest. Panahi hopped down to float in the pool and Ren leaned back to let the mist cool her face.

“I hate shopping.”

“Well I love it!” Panahi declared, paddling around placidly behind her.

“Happy you’re a trainer’s pokemon now?”

“I can no longer deny it has its benefits.”

“That necklace was one pricey battle item, so I’m glad you’re happy with it.”

Panahi huffed. “You think I got this for me? Please, Honey, this is a service to humanity! Just look at me. I’m radiant!”

Ren craned her neck at an awkward angle to watch the Wingull puff out her chest with pride. The cerulean jewels twinkled in their web of delicate silver chains like the warm shallows off the beach. Ren hoped the rest of her team was half as pleased with their gifts as Panahi seemed to be.

Ren sat up as people began to pour out of the building opposite, their excited murmuring overtaking the peaceful splashing of the fountain behind her. Some of them dispersed, but many hung around—in anticipation of what, Ren couldn’t be sure.

“Goodness, that’s a sizable flock,” Panahi commented.

Ren shaded her eyes and squinted to read the golden lettering above the doors. “Oh, it’s a contest hall. One must have ended.”

“Are contests where pokemon put on performances instead of battling?”

“I think so? I’m not so sure exactly what happens. We don’t have them in Johto.”

The crowd suddenly parted to make way for a news crew as a woman in a frilly costume and her equally adorned Altaria emerged. She smiled wide as she answered questions and the pair posed for pictures.

“Must be some life,” Panahi sighed.

Ren turned back to her, and all bubbly satisfaction from earlier was gone. Panahi absently preened one of her primaries that was nicked by a move the day before.

Ren sucked on her tongue as she fought with herself about what to say. “Ahi, you know you don’t have to be a battler, right?”

“Don’t worry about me, Honey,” Panahi said, brushing the thought aside with a wing. “I don’t mind pulling my weight, even if I’m not as enthused as the chicks.” She yawned. “I could use a nap though.” Ren pulled Panahi’s pokeball off her belt. “Send one of the others out to keep an eye on the shopping,” Panahi instructed sternly before tapping the button and flowing inside.

Ren turned the ball over in her hands. She’d have to think of something. But maybe now wasn’t the time.

Does this Ren seem selfish to you? Impulsive?

“I suppose not. No… I guess I have been a little hard on myself lately.”

Ren stowed Panahi’s ball and tapped Iki’s. The Masquerain emerged in a flash of red light.

“Do you mind being out for a bit? It’s fine if you’re still tired from last night.”

“No, I don’t mind.”

She drifted on whirring wings and landed with the tips on the surface of the pool, hydrophobic coating keeping her afloat while Ren set up her vapor box. She lowered her purchases into it, watching them melt into the wood one by one. Behind her, Iki was staring down at her reflection. She raised her false eyes for a moment and then slowly let them droop. Ren opened the last package instead of stowing it and held it out for Iki to see.

“These are for you.”

Iki snapped out of her contemplation and peered at the pair of polished blue stones instead. “So pretty.”

“They’re mystic water gems. You can wear them in battle to boost the power of Bubble Beam.”

“Oh, that’s so kind of you. Thank you, Ren.”

“I thought we could mount them on your helmet instead of a necklace. What do you think?” Iki tilted her head, watching the sunlight play through them. “I’d like that.”

“Great! The vendor said we could go back and she’d help me attach them.”

Someone passed by them, and Ren’s eyes caught on a dark, tattooed forearm. She glanced up and, even in profile, the broken nose and scared lip were unmistakable. Ren jumped to her feet.

“Josh!” The tall, gangly teen startled and stopped in his tracks, shoulders hunching. “What are you doing here?”

He turned around slowly. “Hey, R-ren.”

Ren’s cheeks puffed out as she bit back whatever she was planning to say. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “How do you know my name?”

“They, uh, s-s-said. On the news.”

“Right. Shit.”

“I d-d-d-d—” He stopped, took a breath. “Your f-father is a gym leader?”

“Yeah, um—”

“Wow, your M-m-masquerain is—wow.”

“I know! Isn’t she beautiful?” He nodded and Iki glanced between them, pink mask flushing redder. Then Ren remembered who she was talking to and the warm feeling vanished as quickly as it had come over her. “Wait! Stop that right now! We are not friends, Josh. Remember? I didn’t call you over for small talk!”

Josh flinched and looked down at his feet. “R-right, yes, yeah, of course… Sorry.”

“Good. Now, what are you doing here?”

“N-n-nothing! N-not st-st-stealing! J-j-j-j-j—I’m running some errands!”

“You can’t even lie properly? Why did they hire you?”

Josh swallowed hard, eyes scrunching closed for a second as his adam’s apple bobbed. “Who? What—”

“Cut the crap! You aren’t just some thief trying to make a quick buck.”

“No!” His brows lowered into a scowl, then his eyes widened as he realized his mistake.

“You work for Magma. You’re here for them. What are they doing here, Josh?”

“I’m not—They—N-n-nothing illegal! A n-normal errand! I have to go!” Josh took off running and Ren ran after him.

“Ah, so this is why we’re here?”

You would rather move on?

“I know our first two meetings were important but— I’d rather not dwell on this one. Makes me feel stupid. I should have seen that stunt he pulled on Mt. Pyre coming.”

I had thought his actions there might have gone some way towards mending things. But perhaps you did not see?

“See what?”

He followed you to the peak. He risked his life to make sure you were unharmed and in safe hands.

“Oh… I suppose that makes us even again. But, uh, what did you want ask about this moment?”

Why did you confront him?

“Ah, that’s fair. Of course I wanted my involvement with Magma to be over after what happened in Granite Cave. But it also made it hard for me to [i]not[/i] be involved. I couldn’t just let him go and learn later on that I could have helped but did nothing… Oh, I think I see your point.”

Before Josh had run thirty feet, he stopped abruptly and Ren nearly crashed into him. He pulled something out of hip bag as she recovered her balance and pressed it into her hands.

“This is for you.”

Ren was so startled that took it without thinking. It was something light and flat in a brown paper bag. She reached in and pulled out a TM.

“What—?” She meant to ask him, but he was already gone. “Ugh! What the hell was that? He just—and I—I can’t believe he tricked me into taking this! He probably stole it!” She flipped the TM over and growled in pure frustration. “Smackdown? What kind of joke is this? Why that beanpole son-of-a—”

“Maybe it’s not a joke,” said Iki by her ear.

“What?”

“Maybe it’s a gift. You did save his life.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t just trying to…” Ren trailed off and took a breath. “You know, you’re probably right.” Ren cast around one last time before returning to her abandoned vapor box on the bench. She stowed it and Iki’s gems in her shoulder bag. “Let’s go get you fixed up!”

#ORAS #nuzlocke #storylocke #lgbtq #Ren #Latios #Iki #Panahi #Akahana #Josh #chapter

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myrrheart · 5 years

Text

House of the Rising Sun (Julian x Apprentice!MC 🖤💉)

Summary: Just as you're getting ready to hop off your perch atop the makeshift clinic cot, the telltale rustling of paperwork carries through the room from the top floor, where you know a Certain Someone's office resides. A certain someone who likes to sleep in their aforementioned office.

A certain someone who thinks 'sleeping' is synonymous with 'staying up until dawn whilst poring over treatises weighing twice as much as he does soaking wet.’

Some nights, you've come to accept, your caretaking duties do not end with the last patient out the door.

CW: Mild spice, light Dom/sub, power play, workplace romance.

Word count: 2.1k

Cross-posted to AO3!

The last patient of the workday has just finished hobbling out of the clinic when you peel off your gloves with a flourish, the weariness in your joints making itself known with each flex and stretch.

Nothing a good herbal bath can't fix, but you'll first have to check if you've left yourself any lavender after the last...six consecutive soaks you've taken this week.

Curing the plague is no menial task, after all.

How odd it is, to be unable to use your magic to aid you in an endeavor. In fact, every time you do attempt to heal a patient with your abilities, it's almost as if the disease itself absorbs your energy like- like a sponge, or a black hole, or something equally as endless in its capacity to take and take and take and take. Nothing you've ever encountered before has left your reservoir so drained after each day's work; especially with so little to show for it.

In the back of your worn, haggard mind, a thought creeps in. A familiar one.

Was Asra right? Should I have left with him?

You let your gaze slip over to the puddle of blood on the floor, adjacent to your right boot. A patient had coughed it up in the midst of a fit -- an elderly woman who called you 'dear' as she clung onto your gloved fingers for dear life.

No. No. You're right where you need to be. Right here, in Vesuvia, helping the city that had taken you -- a lonesome outsider -- under its wing.

Fool above. It truly must have been a long day for you to be dwelling on musings as existential as these.

Just as you're getting ready to hop off your perch atop the makeshift clinic cot, the telltale rustle of paperwork carries through the room from the top floor, where you know a Certain Someone's office resides. A certain someone who likes to sleep in their aforementioned office.

A certain someone who thinks 'sleeping' is synonymous with 'staying up until dawn whilst poring over treatises weighing twice as much as he does soaking wet.'

Some nights, you've come to accept, your caretaking duties do not end with the last patient out the door.

With as much time you've spent working in the clinic, you've committed every hall, every doorway, every staircase to heart. It works best, you've found, to take the back way to the main office -- he won't hear you coming, which gives him less time to pretend that he'd actually been resting.

The supple leather of your boots makes not a sound against the dark wood paneling of the floors as you breathe a temporary hear-me-not spell underneath the gentle crest of your breath; just until I make it to his door, you reason with yourself.

As you draw nearer, you can parse out how the flipping of heavy pages turn more frantic, the scribble of his fountain pen on worn parchment more harried. It's the time of night where nothing more gets done besides maybe a downward spiral.

Thankfully, you're here to curb that.

…

Well. You're going to try, at least.

You almost rap your knuckles against the ajar door before you remember that the sudden noise would startle him, after hearing not a peep from you prior. He's always been skittish like that, as though lying in perpetual wait to jump out from underneath his skin. What things he must have seen, you wonder, to never not have one of his feet poised to sprint.

"Doctor Devorak," you call once you've passed the threshold of the doorway. "It's getting late."

Despite your best efforts, he still jolts. Rather harshly, at that, and a pot of ink is upturned in the commotion and splays out across the parchment he'd been scribbling (what looks to be) fruitlessly at.

"Son of a-- my word. Warn a man! I swear it, you're like an apparition. One moment there, one moment not, leaving the rest of us to wonder when next you'll make another grand entrance."

You smile wryly. "You're too kind to me, Doctor."

He runs his hands from his brow to his chin before looping back up to tangle the thicket of auburn atop his head even further than it already is. "I'm nothing of the sort,” he sighs, caustically. “The midnight hour has come and gone and you're still here. Go home, apprentice. It's not like we don't already start early enough in the morning.”

In front of you, the doctor looks so ragged it's a miracle he isn't fraying at the threads of his melodramatic cape.

The valley of his hooded eyes is deeper in slope than usual, stained an alarming shade of violet by lack of sleep; he's even sporting the beginnings of stubble, a marked shift in presentation. Have you ever seen him without anything but a clean-shaven face?

Have you ever seen him with his coat lain askew on the floor? With his jacket discarded in much the same manner, the only thing clinging desperately to his thin frame being a sea ruffian's blouse? With his boots drawn down halfway past his calves? With his lips bitten a plump, ripe red from overthought?

"I will if you do," you answer, the words barely managing to crawl out of your suddenly- dry throat. "Go home, that is."

The doctor barks a short laugh. "This is my home: amidst the squalor of the sick and dying, in the thick of my shortcomings, sat right in front of answers just a pace or two away." The look on his face is dark, made even darker by the rapidly dimming candle on the desk before him.

He reclines back in the wooden chair he has (no doubt) been hunched in for hours, arms folded sternly across the bare expanse of his chest, mouth a firm, unmoving line.

"Leave. This isn't your place. You don't deserve this."

A long time ago, someone else had told you the same thing. And yet, you stayed. Regardless of the risk. Regardless of the cost. Even if you knew you'd pay for it later.

Right now, you make the same decision you had then.

You draw closer to the chair the doctor practically spills out of, his lanky limbs barely managing to fit within its confines. You stop just between his spread legs. His ankles kiss your own.

"Past the midnight hour, you say?"

One fiery eyebrow arches. "Yes."

"I'm off the clock, then."

His gaze narrows. "Yes. Which is precisely why I am telling you to go ho-"

"So, I don't take orders from you."

It's almost comical, the speed with which his mouth snaps shut.

"I. What? I beg your pardon?"

"I said," you whisper lowly, the heat of the candle warming you from the inside out as you take one step further between the doctor's legs. You watch him fight not to instinctively close them. "I don't take orders from you. Not right now."

Devil strike you down, there is no way you're reading this wrong. The swelling of his pupils is damn near instantaneous -- an already stormy grey grows downright thunderous at how quickly the clouds roll in, how fast the sky darkens, how ominous the sudden absence of light leaves the heavens.

The shift in dynamic is so quick, so damn-near instantaneous, it's almost as though he's been lying in wait for someone to take the reigns away from him. "Oh, erm. That's- well. I suppose that's, huh, true, technically."

"It is," you affirm. Another step. Another twitch of his legs. So long, so clumsy. They may as well be tied up if only to get them out of the way.

"S-so it may be." He scoots the chair backward with scrabbling boots against the floorboards, hooded eyes begging you to give chase.

You do. Two steps to match his retreat. "Is that a problem, Doctor? Me not following orders?"

A bigger gap is put between the two of you this time. So big in fact that he almost tips himself over in the chair in his haste to get you to come after him. The ruckus jostles every piece of furniture in the room, candlelight waning dangerously in all the commotion.

"Ah-hem, well, er- I wou-wouldn't call it a. Um. A 'problem,' per se-"

You're outright striding towards him at this point, uncaring of whether or not he's able to keep up with the rhythm of your pursuit. "What would you call it then, Doctor?"

He drags himself one, two, three more paces away before the back of his chair connects solidly with the wall. He's met with no more room to run, nowhere to hide; met with nothing except the immovable expanse of brick, mortar, and your own hungering.

Wickedly, you advance in slow motion, watching in amusement as his gaze flickers around for another route, a different retreat tactic. Horror dawns on his face as he realizes there is nowhere else to go, or even to turn -- except towards you.

You've literally backed him into a corner.

"Tell me to go home," you whisper, seriously, once you've come close enough to count the faint freckles littered across the hook of his nose. "Tell me to stop, to leave, and I will. We won't speak of this again."

"Please don't go," is his immediate reply- so immediate, in fact, that you aren't even finished speaking before he cuts you off with his begging.

It is then that you notice the forceful grip of his fingers against the seat of his chair is not in apprehensiveness, but in restraint. The entirety of his body seems to teeter on the precipice of rising up and into your own, bound back only by… by what? What is it that he's waiting for?

"Please," he repeats again, fainter, breathier, tearier. The word draws a sheen to his eyes, a tremor to his bottom lip.

Ah.

He's waiting for permission.

"On the topic of orders, Doctor," you drawl, chancing a single finger at the center of his chest and biting back a wanton groan of your own when you feel it spasm beneath your touch. "We've already established that I am not to take any. Not tonight, for that matter."

Eagerly, he nods, arching his back so that more of his skin is exposed to your teasing touch. His head connects sharply with the wall behind him and he must visibly swallow a noise of some sort. Interesting.

"So then,"

His eyes slip tightly shut. That won't do.

Quickly, swiftly, you capture his chin between your pointer and thumb and bring him back down to center: head faced squarely off with your own, eyes open and wide and inviting.

"Whose orders are you taking tonight?"

He bites into his lower lip so harshly the skin threatens to break, and then actually does when you repeat the question a second time around, nails digging cruelly into the supple flesh of his cheeks.

"Yours." And then he whispers your name so reverently, so intimately, that you're nearly thrown out of the heat of the moment. The way he’s looking at you...is probably very inappropriate for a boss to look at his subordinate.

Then again, you’ve pretty much obliterated the construct of work propriety when you’d decided to finally come onto him, after what’s been months of pining; teasing quips; lingering touches; charged eye contact; aborted nights such as these, which ended in words and touches left unsung and unfelt, as opposed to...

"I follow your orders, tonight."

As opposed to this -- whatever it may be.

"Mm. Smart boy.”

You can practically see his tail wag and thump against his side as his eyes slide back up into his skull. He's melting out of that poor chair, held in some semblance of uprightness only by the grip of your fingers along his jaw.

When you tell him to sit still, he stills.

When you tell him to bare his neck, he bares his neck.

When you tell him to get on the bed, he scrambles in his haste to spread himself enticingly atop the cot, brow arched in a salacious invitation as he looks back at you with what can only be described as a ‘come-hither’ expression. Daring you to take the plunge. Begging you to, even.

If you look closely enough (which, at him, you always are) his thighs quiver in anticipation.

Worries of propriety are a concern for another day. One where you don’t have the doctor at your mercy. One where you aren’t itching to take your tongue and lathe it all over him, until he can’t remember what any other touch has ever felt like. One where he doesn’t beg for you to take him. One where you have the resolve to refuse him.

But right now? In this moment?

The only coherent thought that manages to distinguish itself from the lust that clouds your judgment is one of wholehearted, anticipatory excitement:

Oh, this is going to be fun.

#The Arcana Game #the arcana visual novel #the arcana lemon #the arcana fic #julian devorak #julian the arcana #julian x mc #julian x apprentice #julian x reader #julian x you #julian devorak x mc #julian devorak x apprentice #julian devorak lemon #julian devorak fic #my writing #mine

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jabbajambler · 4 years

Text

Human

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x f!OC

Word Count: 2,623

*GIF by @the-swift-tricker*

Several more shots were fired through the glass at random. We all dove to find a safe hiding spot away from the blasts. We were all safe, but the client and the stormtroopers all laid dead on the ground.

This certainly couldn't be the work of the Mandalorians, they would have relocated by now. No, this was someone else out to get us. But why their own cohorts?

Once the firing slowed down to a stop, we snuck our way closer to the gaping hole in the wall to get a better view. The smoke cleared and standing in a straight line in front of the building were a series of stormtroopers, only these ones were covered in a black armor.

Something I had yet to see before.

"Four stormtroopers?" Cara ridiculed as a flurry of troopers unloaded and swarmed around the building. "This is bad."

"Kuiil?" Din asked into the small com. "Are you back to the ship yet? Are you there? Do you copy?"

"Yes." He confirmed through the link.

"Are you back to the ship yet." Din asked again.

"Not yet."

"Get back to the ship and bail. Get the kid out of here. We're pinned down."

I moved closer to Din, desperately grasping at his arm. "What if he doesn't-"

"Don't talk like that."

"But, if-"

A large TIE fighter landed beside the building, the air rushing through the now open window as it settled on the ground. A sick feeling grew in my stomach once the hatch released and out climbed a man clad in black armor and a cape.

It resembled the late Darth Vader, but not quite as intimidating. Nonetheless, his presence alone activated a fight or flight response in me. Somehow, I chose the secret third option: freeze. I couldn't seem to move even if I tried.

"You have something I want." He declared.

Cara looked over at us, eyes wide and full of confusion. "Who's this guy?"

"You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of, but you do not." He resumed his dramatic speech.

I snatched the com from Din, my hands shaking as I spoke into it. "Kuiil, are you back yet? They know we're here and it's only a matter of time before they know where you are." There was nothing. "Kuiil?"

"In a few moments, they will be mine." His voice was low and menacing.

"Kuiil? Kuiil, please!" I practically begged.

"They mean more to me than you will ever know."

"Are you there? Do you copy? You have to be there, please, Kuiil." My voice broke as I received no response.

I glanced up to finally get a good look at the man before us, my eyes glazing over with tears. He grinned, a sick and twisted smile.

No.

It couldn't be. It can't be. He was dead, he was supposed to be, at least. The final shreds of the Empire were supposed to be obliterated yet here he stood; tall and proud like he knew what I was thinking.

Cara looked around in a panic. "Is there another way out?"

"No, that's it." Greef's tone was full of disappointment and sorrow as we hid.

"Wait." I paused. "The sewers. Are there any entrances in here?"

Greef's face scrunched up in disgust. "Sewers?"

Din nodded. "The Mandalorians have a covert down in the sewers. If we can get down there, they can help us escape."

"Yeah," Cara spoke breathlessly, "sewers are good."

"Checking for access points." He scanned the area carefully through his visor.

"What the hell are they waiting for?" Cara's anticipation was growing with every second. Honestly, mine was too.

"Probably some big gun to intimidate us." I shrugged.

Apparently I had spoken just a few seconds too soon.

Just as I opened my mouth, they began carrying in the pieces to a large, mounted gun. It was familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.

"Hold up." Her eyes widened and her voice became distant as she slumped against the wall. "They're setting up an E-Web."

That's when it clicked. For all of us, I assume, but there was something else. I was overwhelmed with a sense of déjà vu. I had been in this situation before, I had felt this fear before. It was a dream - or, a vision, I guess.

I didn't think it was possible, I didn't think it was real. This was all one big nightmare and soon, I would wake back up in Coruscant with no other worries but what I would show Din next.

"It's over." Greef sighed.

"I found the sewer vent." Din spoke up with a few words of hope.

Cara's chest rose and fell faster than before, all of our anxiousness was out in the open. "Let's get the hell out of here."

We rushed over and pulled the cushion away from the wall. The vent was bolted tightly to the wall. We couldn't loosen it no matter what we tried.

"It's assembled!" Greef warned. "How long until that thing's cleared?"

"Let's blow it up." I breathed out with a shrug.

Din shook his head. "I'm out of charges."

"Get out of the way!" Cara urged and fired the large gun at the vent in attempt to destroy its integrity.

Not even that could weaken it.

"Your astute panic suggests that you understand your situation."

The air had grown shallow. I couldn't breathe or think or-

"I would prefer to avoid any further violence, and encourage a moment of consideration. Members of my escort have completed assembly of an E-Web heavy repeating blaster."

I was going to be sick, I was sure of it. We were dead. Or, at least we were about to be.

"If you are unfamiliar with this weapon, I am sure that Republican Shock Trooper Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan will advise you that she has witnessed many of her ranks vaporize mid-descent facing the predecessor of this particular model."

And he was just going to keep going, taunting our death with his words.

"Or perhaps the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin, has heard the songs of the Siege of Mandalore, when gunships outfitted with similar ordnance laid waste to fields of Mandalorian recruits in The Night of a Thousand Tears."

We were facing our end and yet we were stuck, unmoving and unwilling to do anything to fight it. There had to be something we could do. We can't just stand here and do nothing.

"I'm sure the young Jedi, Myrah Koor, could also help you in knowing the fields of soldiers that have been eliminated during the Galactic Civil War. A war that she sat by and watched while her friends were eradicated without a strong enough defense that she could have provided."

There was a sharp stinging pain in my eyes that I tried desperately to hold back. All of our secrets were laid out in front of us on display.

"I advise disgraced Magistrate Greef Karge to search the wisdom of his years and urge you to law down your arms and come outside. The structure you are trapped in will be razed in short order and your storied lives will come to an unceremonious end."

We sat in momentary silence as the words weighed down on us. Our lives, our secrets that we kept hidden away were out in the open and no one dared to speak up about it.

Finally, Greef shouted back to the man. "What do you propose?"

He grinned. "Reasonable negotiation."

"What assurance do you offer?"

"If you're asking if you can trust me, you cannot. Just as you betrayed our business arrangement, I would gladly break any promise and watch you die at my hand." He practically hissed through his teeth.

"The assurance I give it this: I will act in my own self-interest, which at this time, involves your cooperation and benefit. I will give you until nightfall, and then I will have the E-Web cannon open fire." He spun with the flip of his cape and left for his fighter.

I slumped against the wall, falling to the ground. Moff Gideon would pay for his crimes. I swore to that once and I will swear to it again. I would no longer live in fear of him or the Empire.

Now I just had to figure out how to deal with the whole 'Jedi' thing.

"I say we hear him out." Greef suggested, turning to look back at us.

Cara moved back to hide behind the bar where the stormtroopers had fallen. "The minute we open that door, we're dead."

"We're dead if we don't. At least out there, we've got a shot."

Din crouched next to me, his shadow covering my body and blocking the light that hit my face from the window. Greef and Cara continued to argue while we simply sat in a heavy, somewhat awkward silence.

"I'm sorry." I barely managed to whisper, wanting more than anything to wrap my arms around him and hold him tight. I wanted to tell him that I was wrong for keeping a secret but that everything would be alright.

But I couldn't lie to him.

I only hoped that he wasn't aware of what a Jedi was.

"What about you, Mando?" Greef interrupted us, well, I guess there wasn't much to interrupt.

"I know who he is." He sighed and rose to his feet. "It's Moff Gideon."

"No." Cara refused. "Moff Gideon was executed for war crimes."

"It's him. He knew my name."

"So?" Greef shrugged as though it was something so simple. To us, it was, but not to him. "What does that prove?"

"Only one person has spoken that name since I was a child." His helmet shifted back to my spot on the ground as I watched them talk.

"On Mandalore?"

"I was not born on Mandalore."

"But you're a Mandalorian." For someone so wise, I was a bit surprised that he didn't know about the secrets to the group.

Cara spoke up, surprisingly calm. "Mandalorian isn't a race."

"It's a creed." I mumbled and pulled myself up from the ground. "More of a religion or group. You don't have to be born into it, you just have to respect their ways."

"I was a foundling." Din carried on. "They raised me in the Fighting Corps. I was treated as one of their own. When I came of age, I was sworn to the Creed. The only record of my family name was in the registers of Mandalore. Moff Gideon was an ISB Officer during the purge. That's how I know it's him."

"That's how he knows who we all are." Cara scoffed as she stood.

"He says he needs us, which means the child got away safely. I was worried when the Ugnaught didn't respond, but if they'd captured the kid, we'd already be dead."

"I wouldn't be so sure." I fiddled with the com in my hand, receiving nothing but silence. "Kuiil?" I asked into the mic. There was still nothing.

Cara hid and held her gun close to her body. "They might have jammed the link."

The com broke through with a static-y giggle, a happy, baby giggle, followed by a familiar robotic voice.

"Kuiil has been terminated."

Din ripped the com link from my hand, his voice harsh as he spoke. "What did you do?"

"I am fulfilling my base function."

"Which is?"

"To nurse and protect."

He grumbled and stuffed the communicator in his belt, replacing it for his blaster in his hand.

"Din-" I tried.

"Not now." He snapped. I felt a bit broken at the tone of his voice, but held my head high.

Blaster fire filled the city, I could hear its sound echo off the walls as it slowly approached. A speeder bike flew by, carrying IG-11 and the child along with it.

It jumped from the bike and began firing freely at the surrounding stormtroopers while protecting the child. Din looked over to Cara, holding his blaster high as he prepared himself.

"Cover us."

She threw herself onto the bar while we moved towards the door. Din stood still for a moment, just waiting to press the button to open the door.

"Be careful." He whispered. "Please."

He didn't give me even a moment to respond before the door slid open. Without casting them a glance, he pushed down the barrel of the trooper's gun and fired a shot to his head. His foot landed firmly against another's chest and knocked him back while he shot down another.

Greef pushed past me while I stood still for another second, taking it all in before diving head first like some people. The corners of my mouth twitched into a small grin despite my force against it. I would never get over watching him fight. He moved with grace and expertise in every battle.

In a way, I envied him. In another way, I knew it was much more than that. An appreciation, I suppose.

I stepped in and helped with the fight, using the staff at my hip to whack the troopers that gathered around the three of us. I managed to land a solid hit on one with my hand held out towards another. It dropped its weapon to the ground and choked on the air that was squeezed from its throat before I dropped its lifeless body back to the ground.

Now that it was out in the open, I saw no harm in using a bit of the Force to help if needed. That's what it was there for, right?

In the midst of tossing one of them against the stone wall, I heard the rapid fire of the E-Web behind me. Instantly, I ducked, fully expecting to feel its powerful blast, but once I saw Din standing behind the gun, I knew it would never come.

I continued to assist in the fight, taking down any leftover wanderers that I could find. It still felt like there were far too many. We were severely outnumbered, but of course, we didn't know unless we fought. Besides, it never deterred us before.

A shot echoed off of the beskar armor, my eyes quickly darting to its origin where Moff Gideon stood. He spun around and aimed the large machine towards him, but it seemed like Gideon's mind was elsewhere.

"Din!" I shouted. "Look out!"

It was too late. I already felt the tension in my head as the ringing of the explosion filled my ears. He was tossed back from the blast, receiving a nasty blow to the head on his way towards the ground.

"NO!" I screamed and ran to him as fast as I could, struggling to even lift his upper body off the ground. "Cara! Greef! Please!" I cried out.

Cara rushed over and hauled him inside while we all slowly entered after her, making sure the door would lock behind us.

"Stay with me, buddy." She grunted as she set him down, hiding him behind the knocked over tables. "We're gonna get you out of here."

I collapsed next to him, my fingers pushing past the fabric that surrounded him to search for his pulse. My heart was racing, all of my thoughts were clouded by him.

He had to be safe, he had to be fine. We have been through worse, he would make it through this. My chest rose and fell rapidly as I struggled to keep my breathing steady. It felt like my lungs were collapsing in on themselves.

Please.

Please be okay.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x oc #mandalorian #mandalorian x oc #din djarin #din djarin x oc #dyn jarren #jedi #oc #star wars #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #babyyoda

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syxjaewon · 4 years

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part 3 ; a gun barrel

“ATTENTION! ATTENTION! WILL A ‘YANG JAEWON’ OF THE SHIP ‘SERENITY’ COME TO THE STACKHAVEN PROPRIETOR’S OFFICE? REPEAT: WILL A ‘YANG JAEWON’ OF THE SHIP ‘SERENITY’ PLEASE COME TO THE STACKHAVEN PROPRIETOR’S OFFICE. THERE IS A WOMAN NAMED ‘VERA BLACKHOUND’ WAITING FOR YOU. THANK YOU.”

everything in jaewon’s body freezes to an absolute halt as soon as the announcement is spoken over the artemisia skyplex speakers, the automated voice shouting his name and details out through the device that reaches high and low, all across the ten-mile-wide platform, in homes, in boroughs, in shops and keeps, in bars and streets, his identity spread through too many ears and minds between one second and the next. his blood zips through him as cold as space, void of his usual fire, his usual bravado, the lava in his veins stumbling into stone as heavily as his boots skidding to a stop, listening to his individuality become common knowledge, his positioning made, his anonymity shattered.

and then it hits him. her name. waiting for him. vera.

“what the fuck,” he breathes like a curse, like a question, like a betrayal, his logical mind trailing back to what he knows to be faithful reality-- a wake held in all white, that night spent in the desert, a year without her commcalls-- with what his heart hammers against his chest, trying to convince him of. is she waiting? how could she be waiting? how could she be here, of all places, some nowhere skyplex hovering over higgin’s moon, somewhere in a crowd of slaves and travellers, traders and pirates? had they burned the wrong body? had he buried the wrong ashes?

yang jaewon has done many difficult things in his life, from surviving a wasteland planet, fighting and clawing and killing his way out of a life of street thieving and alleyway hunger, to wading through bodies in a valley, in a war he believed in more than he believed in any god of any heaven, and then losing that war, losing everything, gripping tightly to a machine he could call home, a ship with a spinning engine soul. there are decisions he made in that war that will haunt him until the end of his days, ghosts that will cling to his ankles and his wrists until the last breath he exhales, but one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do is say goodbye to the woman who raised him, the woman who saved him, the woman who trusted him with the ship they both fell in love with. even now, he can still close his eyes and remember the way the stars burned down on him that night with her ashes between his knuckles, the sands of valluria yawning out around him, the sky wide and screaming overhead.

the stackhaven proprietor’s office. that’s where his answers lie.

and when jaewon propels himself into action again, he does so as a pillar of flame, a holocaust, a firestorm, his hands in fists, his stride long and cutting through the crowds like a knife, his eyes scorching all who look at him too directly as though he is the sun incarnate, shining and terrible in this miserable grey, metallic place, his coat trailing behind him like a cape on a king. he glances momentarily at the directory to find the stackhaven and then he’s off again, cleaving straight through the masses at rush-hour, uncaring of the press people make to get the hell out of his way, lest they be burned, singed just like the atmosphere that radiates off him in toxic waves.

it’s a restaurant, the stackhaven, and jaewon bursts in through the doors like a hurricane, the thuds of his boots pounding against rickety wood flooring, the weight of his fury embedding itself into everything his light touches, the man shifting into a monster, into a weapon, into a maelstrom. he knows this is a trap, this is some sort of sick joke, this is some sort of maw opening larger and larger beneath him with every enclosing step, and he knows he should be more careful, he should bring neo with him for support, for extra guns, for extra protection-- that’s why neo is part of his crew after all-- but this cannot wait, this cannot be put off, this cannot be witnessed by anyone not privy to his unfaltering devotion to vera, even if it is a mirage. it doesn’t matter. he has to see, he has to go.

the first person in his line of vision is a short, balding man, gulping at the intrusion jaewon has just made, but obviously a manager of some kind. “where is she?” jaewon asks without preamble, his tone rigid and furious.

the older man mumbles something, but points in a direction off to his left, and jaewon follows it, passing the tables and the chairs and the bar area, the rest of the staff, the kitchens, the bathrooms, until he finds a doorway at the end of a dark hall, closed off only by a curtain, a light brimming from inside. he rests a hand over his pistol hanging on his hip, peeking in first to count however many alliance paladins might be lurking inside, what sort of trap this may look like, the danger, the hazard, the risk.

but all he sees is a girl, her back to him, long dark hair reaching all the way to her waist, her face obscured, turned away from him, and even knowing that she couldn’t have possibly been vera, something inside him sinks and cracks open, melting and dropping away. he clenches his teeth and steps inside. “are you--”

the girl spins around towards him, graceful and quick like a toy top, one arm outstretched, her fingers locked on the handle and trigger of a wide-barreled blaster, the point of which is trained squarely on his chest, even from three meters away, and for a second he flashbacks to another girl with long dark hair and gun in her hand, seolhyun, about to destroy his life and his future just for loving her, just for chasing her. and he thinks, ‘yeah this seems about right.’

but then the gold plating in his irises click and spiral, the molten lava core of him focusing in on this girl, this absolute stranger in his midst, and he remembers that seolhyun never knew about vera and wouldn’t care enough to search for him now, wouldn’t have reached out to him this way. he racks his brain for a moment, trying to recognize her, trying to place her features, her eyes, her stature.

“gotcha,” she whispers into the space between them, like a victory.

“who are you?” he frowns, his brows gathering angrily. “why did you call me here?”

“it’s not obvious? from the gun?” she asks this as though it’s a real question, like she’s honestly wondering if he’d missed that portion of their sudden meeting, as though this is the first time she’s ever pulled a weapon on someone and is genuinely unsure of how large the barrel of it can seem when it’s pointed at you.

“okay, so you want to shoot me.” it’s a statement, but also a question. “why? i don’t know you.”

she nods, and there’s something off about it, something fronting about it, as though she’d gotten off track for a moment, but now things are in her control again, now things are heading in the direction she’d wanted all along. “you don’t know me. but i know you.”

“no shit.”

“i know you’re captain of a star ship and you’re a pirate,” she continues. “i know you’re between twenty-five and thirty years old, i know you fought in the unification war, and i know you visited sihnon nearly one year ago.” she pauses for effect, which he admits is a pretty good one, but there’s still an oddness about this encounter he can’t quite put his thumb on, a bizarre factor to this speech that doesn’t match the rest of their environment, a heat to her words that doesn’t reflect in her eyes. “i know your name is jaewon yang and your ship is serenity and you knew two women named lianna and vera blackhound.”

and now the crux of it, now the pinspot, the singularity in this black hole, this gravitational well, the reason he’s here in the first place, the reason he’d bothered to show up. if that announcement had only named him and his ship, nothing else, he would have split and coursed his way out of here, hopped back on serenity and floated out into the black, no backwards glances, no regrets, no folly.

but she’d used vera’s name, to guide him here, to goad him here.

he reignites, his gold eyes sharpening on this girl. “you claimed to be vera, but you’re not. what is this?”

“this,” she laces her voice with a hardness he hadn’t heard before in her tone, finally some meat, finally some steel, her arm still securely aimed at him, “is vengeance.”

a beat passes between them. he blinks at her, squinting. “for vera?”

“for lianna.”

“i don’t have anything to do with lianna.”

“stop being a dumbass!” she snaps, and it sounds petulant, schoolgirlish, cross and impatient, and jaewon figures out why this scenario isn’t fitting right, isn’t sitting correctly; because it’s false, it’s a farce. because she’s little more than a child. because she’s never held a gun before, at least not one that large, not one she’s intending to kill someone with. because she doesn’t really know what she’s doing, and he’s familiar in dealings with vagabonds and criminals enough that he knows what a life is worth and what it takes from you when you take it from someone else. and this girl, she has no idea.

“who are you?” he tries again, his words heavier this time.

“i’m lianna blackhound’s niece,” she announces, like a command, like a decree, like a net she’s casting across the whole room, as though there’s an audience here, as though it’s not just him, staring at her like she’s an idiot. “and i’m here to avenge her death.”

another silence blooms between them, only this time jaewon uses it to piece together the puzzle that’s been laid before him, the jigsaw of this strange girl and her sudden mission, which had meant nothing to him exactly five minutes ago and now has his full, undivided attention. her message now delivered, sinks in through his bones and marrow, threads through his understanding of how the universe had been set up since the beginning.

there are two eggs to crack here, two massive, iron-plated ovals to shovel into and he’s not ready for either one.

to be lianna’s niece would mean being vera’s daughter. jaewon knows this because he’d looked into vera’s family history upon her death, traced the lineage of her ariel roots through the verse, to contact lianna about her passing after the wake, after the ceremony. there had only been two daughters of the blackhound line. vera had never said a word to him about having a child, about giving up a daughter, about a family. she never spoke much at all about her life before becoming a pirate, before becoming a captain, and he had never pried into it, always assuming her a goddess, a creature born of stardust and steel, otherworldly and ethereal.

the second egg is, as always, about death.

“lianna is dead?” he should be surprised, but he isn’t.

she sneers at him then, and he catches the slight tremble in her grip, the fury making her nervous. “don’t try to play with me, i’m a registered companion, i know how lies look on a man. you were the last person to see her alive.”

he takes a step forward but he lifts his hands up for her to see. “i haven’t seen her in a year, and she was alive. i didn’t kill her.”

“the records in her office show your name as her last visitor. yang jaewon. no one else. there’s multiple warrants out for your arrest for her murder.”

his head tilts, his eyes catching and alighting in a reflection of the lamp. “multiple warrants and you’re the only one who’s managed to catch me?”

she blinks a few times at that, her mind sputtering, backpedaling, her lips pressing and quivering for a moment. “i’ve been motivated.”

“you’ve been the only one looking.” he takes another step forward, betting all his cards on this hunch, on this sinking, disgusting, repulsive hunch. the way lianna had looked that last time, those last moments between them, her face ashen-white, scared, certain that he had come to kill her, certain that death was on its way, certain that her secret had gotten her sister killed and would be the end of her as well. “still though, that’s impressive.”

“don’t compliment me!” she shouts again, probably frustrated that he’s not more frightened of her. “not when i’m holding a gun on you.”

he notices she’s not telling him to slow down as he takes another step. amatuer. “i didn’t kill lianna. but i do know why she’s dead.”

that stops her breathing, skips at her heart rate, jams the gears twisting in her mind. “what?”

he keeps his eyes locked on her, the way he would with a wild animal, a sort of careful control seeping out of him, his body measured and steady, a sort of influence, a sort of indoctrination, a leaning of his drive against hers, their wills at war, their missions in a battle, and jaewon doesn’t know this girl, but he knows himself, he knows that he wins battles and he fights dirty, and he’s not afraid. “that last meeting between us, she told me something important, something that could change everything, a story that could alter everything, that could fix everything. a secret she knew would upend the entire galaxy.”

“what?” the girl’s voice is a whisper, caught in an enchantment. “what did she tell you?”

quick as a snake, jaewon snatches the gun right out of her hands, turning away from her as she cries out, startled, his fingers making quick work to unhinge the pieces from each other, disemboweling the weapon, dismantling all it’s components in a matters of seconds.

“hey!” she screams, coming towards him, which is a mistake because he immediately rounds on her, much taller, much broader, much stronger, much angrier than she’s ever felt in so tiny a frame, his golden, sun-pierced eyes simmering down into her huge, dark irises. without her blaster, she’s reduced down into a feeble wren, her shoulders bunching up in shock and fear, making her look even younger, even thinner than she had a second ago, her body shivering and shaking under his bladed scrutiny.

in his roughest, most commanding captain’s voice, honed from years of leading a crew of villains and delinquents through space, honed from years of controlling soldiers in a war that spanned across worlds and moons and asteroid belts, he tells her, “i’m going to ask you this question exactly one last time, and you’re going to answer it. who. are. you?”

and to her credit, she raises herself, straightens herself, still shivering, straining, stressed, but strong, rooted to her stance like a tree in a storm, and lives up to the legacy her last name leaves her with. “i named myself lianna blackhound, after the aunt who raised me.”

jaewon absorbs that, checks it into his mental data collection, hating it but accepting it because looking down into her soul at this moment, barely a foot away from her, their atmospheres crushing and suffocating, he can tell she’s not lying, not about this, not about any of it. she’s here alone, she came alone, out into the black, a long way from any companion houses, to find him, to catch him, to bring him to some sort of justice, even if it was skewed and mishandled, fumbled through like a child, like someone sheltered and shaded, someone spoiled and pampered. she doesn’t have what it takes to survive out here in the grit, but she did manage to find him, even when alliance hunters have struggled to.

it means he has to be more careful, but it also means she has some kind of a knack. she must get it from her mother.

“i didn’t kill lianna,” he confesses to her seriously, now with no gun on either of them, no reason to lie or cheat. “i spoke with her and then i left.”

she’s not ready to believe him though, already shaking her head, hatred brimming in her gaze. “records have you--”

“your alliance overlords can change and fix anything to do with the records, they have unlimited control and access.”

“why would the government hurt her?”

he takes a step back from here then, allowing the intensity to lessen between them. regardless of how this conversation began, if she is who she says she is, she’s vera’s daughter. and jaewon cannot bring himself to scorch vera’s daughter. “i told you. she had a secret.” and then he turns away, making for the door, making for his exit, because this is over now, this cannot continue.

she catches him again however, her hands around his elbows, her feet slipping in front of him, fast like a fox, blocking his way. “you can’t just leave like that!”

“i can actually.”

“no! you have to tell me what it is.” he gives her a pursed, tight look, and she tries again, softer this time. “please. she was my family. if you know something, please share it.” when he still takes too long deciding or reacting at all, she switches tactics, leaning in on his frame, her hands sliding along both his biceps, as if she might hug him, as if she might press herself against him, soft and beguiling, her eyes deepening, her lips filling out, everything about the arch of her body suggestive and coy, yet still maintaining that desperate, doll-in-distress look, begging for a hero. “please?”

jaewon leans back away from her like she’s grown two heads, gold eyes wide and horrified. “yikes.”

“look,” she drops the act, “it’s hard to do prose under pressure like this.”

“don’t ever do that again.”

“i’ve come all this way to kill you and now all my plans are ruined,” her voice flattens out to a truer cadence, annoyed and exhausted and entirely out of her depth. “you’re the end of my trail. tell me something!”

he sighs, the end of all pretenses, him just a man and her just a girl, the two of them tethered to this mystery like kites in the wind, and he thinks about vera, thinks about the way she had stood atop that roof on valluria the first time he’d seen her, tall as a goddess while her ship hovered just behind her, the light streaming over her, casting her a silhouette, her eyes like stones. his mother. someone else’s mother.

he doesn’t believe in fate, but if such a thing ever did exist, isn’t this what it would look like?

“dock level 45, subsection k, row 4,” he tells her, and she blinks at him as though she hadn’t really expected him to say anything, surprised, delighted, surging with new gumption, new strength, new motivation. “that’s where you’ll find an answer.”

and then he leaves her.

******

the girl named lianna devereaux blackhound follows the ramping around the bend of the skyplex, her backpack over her shoulder, her eyes bright and hunting, her steps light-footed and swift, the blood in her veins pumping eagerly. she’s not entirely sure what she’s looking for here in the shipping department of the plex, not entirely sure if she should have trusted such an unsavory, untrustworthy creature such as a pirate captain, but here she is anyway, rushing along the gradient, searching for her next clue, moving on past her failures and her triumphs and her strides thus far, willing to set them all aside as long as she gets closer to her vengeance, closer to her retribution, closer to her justice.

dock level 45, subsection k, row 4.

when she comes upon it, she almost laughs, almost cries, almost screams, her mind blank as a white page, confused and spread out, her gaze checking once, twice, three times that she got the right coordinates, that she hadn’t missed anything.

the ship that sits before her is large and ancient-looking, a firefly class heap with wings that burn and a tail that buzzes, the kind with an open engine that rotates and an ip tracker that’s detachable, perfect for smuggling and piracy and anonymity, rugged in that uniquely beautiful way that old machines can be sometimes. the side of her declares her name in burnt oranges and crumbling yellows, like a fire that’s still burning despite all the odds against it. serenity.

“there you are,” her captain greets, stepping out from the yawning cargo bay, tugging on a crate he begins loading inside.

“what is this?” she demands.

“you want to know your answers, you’d better stick around.” he glances at her once, those glowing, amber eyes like lanterns, beckoning her on further than she’s ever been before. “you coming?”

#verse one. lianna #backstory #this is the story of the blackhound women

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scribeofmorpheus · 5 years

Text

Himmeløyne [5/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Words: 5k | Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Mild violence, bone snapping, Ummm... politics?

A/N: All about restitution. Despite my best efforts, this may turn into a slow burn... Things settle down in the next chapter, or amp up, depending on your viewpoint.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

SOMEWHERE ON NIFLHEIM

~THOR

Thor had taken up position behind the cover of an alcove carved into a mountainside. He and the Warriors Three had been tracking a small group of Jotun spies. Odin led his own group of men to the south, in the hopes they would find more tracks, more spies.

Thor's cape rustled about from the strong winds, his arms gripping his biceps to stop them from shivering. Hogun had started a fire while Fandral drummed his fingers dolefully against his chest, a complaint escaping his mouth every few minutes. Volstagg, who was sat upright, let out rumbling snores that echoed against the close cave walls.

"We're wasting time out here," Thor grumbled.

Hogun sighed, tired of hearing the same thing over the last few days.

"Agreed," Fandral said monotonously. "That doesn't change our orders though."

"We do as Odin commands," Hogan probed the fire with a stick, his tone detached.

Thor looked out, scanning the white landscape, "And how does tracking spies help us? We've been freezing our asses off for weeks while my father refuses to take action. This is a fool’s errand. Our concern should be avenging those Midgardians, not following mindless giants to a frozen, arid, barren land."

The two men collectively exhaled, Hogun shaking his head at his friend.

Thor turned around, his rant far from over, "I know you all have your doubts about our orders too. And I know you all want to make sure what happened in Trønsberg never happens again."

Frandal sat up to look at Thor, "Yes, we all want to keep the mortals safe and all, but our king told us to survey the spies and that is what we're doing."

"Why do all this sneaking and surveying when fighting is more efficient?" Thor’s voice rang through the cramped space. His forehead marked by lines of irritation.

"Maybe Odin knows something we don't. Maybe that's why he doesn't want us attacking first. You can't ask a corpse questions you know," Fandral remarked sarcastically.

A deep rumbling, booming and seismic, almost like thunder slapped across the wailing winds.

"Again with the thunder," Fandral ran his hands over his face in frustration, twiddling his moustache to hide his irked state. "We get it, you aren't happy with the mission."

Thor's eyebrows shot up, "That wasn't me! And that still doesn't m--"

A line of blue light flashed into the cave.

"Shut up," Hogun stood from the fire, a gust of wind sweeping into the alcove and showering the fire with specks of snow, putting it out.

Thor narrowed his eyes and let out a huff of air, "If you didn't want to hear what I had to say--"

This time Fandral stood too, his eyes widening as he moved closer to the entrance of the cave, kicking Volstagg's leg along the way. He grumbled awake.

"I think Hogun was referring to that," Fandral pointed towards the skyline and Thor turned.

A beam of blue light shot up into the sky, breaking through a ceiling of grey clouds. Rested snow now cascading down the side of the mountains cliff-face like an avalanche while snow-flakes spiralled around the light like moths to a flame.

Hogun stepped out, the blue light shining onto his black hair, skin bathed in its hue. Volstagg muttered curses under his breath as he got off the floor with the help of his axe, face mesmerised by the beam.

"A beacon?" Fandral asked.

"Perhaps," Hogun replied, face blank in thought. "Or a signal."

Thor's face lit up, a childish grin taking over as he began to anticipate for a fight, hand outstretched waiting for Mjolnir, "You know what this means?"

The rumbling stopped and the light cut out.

"What what means?" Volstagg leaned against the cave wall.

Fandral hummed lowly, his hands falling on his hips, "It means we have to check out whatever that big blue light was."

Mjolnir in hand, Thor swung his hammer is circular turns, the choppy sound reverberating like a frantic heartbeat

~LOKI

Sif's sword sliced through the air leaving behind a metallic whistling noise, her jaw clenching as her eyes were set on her foe. A few feet away, another frost giant was thrown high up into the air, a face of fear when he was brought hurtling into the ground with bone-crunching intensity. The blue wisps of magic leaving his body and racing to form a magical barrier against several spears that were thrown their way.

Loki smirked as he used his own magic to ricochet the spears suspended in the air back at their owners, frosted tips embedding themselves into blue skin. One spear got through, and even though Sif deflected it, her balance was knocked off and she slid down from her position, tumbling close to the edge. Loki manifested a wall of snow and Sif's momentum was deferred. A grunt left her lips as she picked herself back up, nodding a thank you before she charged at the spearmen.

Loki lodged a dagger into one of the giant's neck just as he threw his sword. The sword flew towards Y/N right when a giant jumped from higher up, trying to get Sif from the top. Loki pushed the airborne giant into a jagged rock and dove after Y/N, the sword missing her by a hairsbreadth.

They tumbled through the snow before stopping a few feet away from a ledge. Y/N let out a sigh in relief, her breath blowing her hair from her eyelash. Loki used his hand to tuck the rest of it behind her ear.

If we weren't in the middle of a battle, he thought.

Loki helped Y/N stand before continuing their advancements.

He shimmered from his position behind a Jotun that was about to attack from behind some rocks, his dagger slipping between breast bones straight to the heart. The giant very nearly got a hold of Loki’s exposed wrist, but he managed to spin away in time.

A breathy grunt slipped out into the cold air.

Loki looked to Y/N, even though the anger was still very much present in her glowing eyes, her stance was faltering, foot slipping against the icy floor. The rage and inner-turmoil were causing her to burn out faster than usual. Suddenly, her face hardened as her eyes focused in on something. Despite the beads of sweat trailing down her face and her shallow rapid breathing, she gritted her teeth and with a wave of her hand a small section of the mountain broke off, a frost giant still standing on it.

Loki had never seen such raw power before. As he and Sif stared up at the flat piece of broken off mountain hovering above-head, dumbfounded expressions on their faces, Y/N's feet began to pick up off the floor, her body no longer tethered to the ground. She was flying.

A sharp ice implement shot through Sif's arm and with a painful howl Loki was shaken back to the fight that was still at hand.

~Y/N

You had been fighting for so long that your vision started to blur. Air too thick at your current altitude to feed your hungry lungs. Your stance was slipping, feet inching further away as you used your abilities to fling back, block off and raise up several enemy advancements. Just when you thought you'd used the last remnants of your energy, you saw him.

The same cold and detached red eyes that haunted your dreams. The same sneer that he wore when he plunged an icy sword into your chest. He saw you staring at him, a shift in his features telling you he remembered you- even though he couldn’t believe it.

Your body burned just as hot as the flames that once devoured your home and a new wave of power burst through you; potent, intoxicating and out for blood.

Simply by willing it, you broke off a piece of mountain rock that the giant stood on and rose him above the others, your body lifting to join him on your own private battlefield. The skies started shifting, swirling around you like a rotating curtain that separated you and the giant from everyone below. A whirlwind coming to fruition, with the two of you at the apex.

The giant cocked his head to the side, his sharp teeth sending chills down your back.

"You," he whispered.

"Me," you acknowledged as you used your magic to bring him to his knees.

He grunted in pain as your blue magical tethers wrapped around him and forced him still, "Impossible! No mortal can withstand a Jotun blade!"

"You destroyed my village," you rose a finger and broke several of his bones. He cried out again. "You burnt down my home," you rose your other hand, head shaking. The giant howled in pain again as he spat out blood from a new internal wound. "And you killed my mother!"

Your arms flung apart, separating the magical bonds that kept him bound, breaking his arm in the process. Bone sticking out of flesh at an unnatural angle. You hovered closer, placing your hand on his exposed chest, "But you failed to kill me..."

A glimmer of light escaped between the cracks of your fingers, magic tearing through his body like a hot knife through butter, leaving a palm-sized incision running through his body. You suppressed the reflex to gag, biting down to steel your conviction, to commit. But how he reacted after surprised you.

"We're always the enemy in your stories..." The giant looked up at you, a sickening grin plastered on his face, red eyes boring holes in you. With a shaky voice, he said, "Did you ever ask yourself, why?"

"Why what?" You said through gritted teeth.

He laughed, a strange sensation growing in your side, "Why… your… village...?"

"What do you mean!" You inched closer and a deep stinging burnt at your side. You gripped it and felt the slick wetness of blood. Blood smeared on your fingertips and the edge of a small dagger held in the giant's hand. A gasp leaving your body as you and the giant tumbled towards the ground, your magic dying out.

The last thing you heard before you blacked out was the sound of Loki shouting your name fighting through the sound of howling winds.

~LOKI

The first thing he noticed was a drop of blood crystalising as it fell through the cold air, then the grey clouds that swam whirled in the sky trickled off, clearing the sky and then finally, the sight of Y/N's body falling.

"Y/N!" He shouted. Panic and fear moving like venom through his adrenaline-soaked tissue. He felt shaky, it wasn't an emotion he was comfortable with.

Loki shimmered to a ledge higher up the mountain, he waited to see Y/N's body so he could dive after her and break her fall, but instead, it was the frost giants body, and only the frost giants body, that crashed onto the cliff's edge- dead. A blur of red flew past, the familiar choppy sound of Mjolnir being propelled through the air following after it.

Below, Hogun, Fandral and Volstagg shouted battle cries as their blades, maces and axes met the icy weapons of the giants. Feeling outnumbered and at a rope's end, the remaining stragglers made a break for it, jumping off the sides.

Loki let out a huff in relief, shimmering down to where the group of Asgardians had collected.

"Brother?" Thor’s voice called out as he landed. "Brother!" He said again with more certainty and a jolly tone. Y/N unconscious in one of his arms.

"Thor," Loki greeted back with a bit of bite.

Fandral drew a golden sword from a dead giant, "This is the most beautiful sword I've ever seen. Can I keep it?"

"Sure, if you're willing to pay Brokkr's prices," Sif replied, keeping pressure on her arm.

Fandral winced handing the sword back to Sif, "No one can afford that dwarfs prices."

"What are you doing here?" Hogun asked as he wiped the blood from his mace.

"Ask her," Sif nudged her head in Y/N's direction, her hand bracing against the cut.

"Something tells me she's not in a very chatty mood," Fandral deadpanned.

"Isn't that the mortal woman?" Volstagg squinted his eyes at her.

“I believe you’re right,” Thor looked down at the woman’s body held against in his large frame, she almost looked peaceful, at sleep. Her eyes didn’t skitter under her lids as one would in a deep sleep, they rested still, like the dead. “This is definitely the mortal girl.”

Hogun turned to the group, "The weather is treacherous up here. Perhaps we ought to go back to camp seeing as how we killed the giants we were supposed to be tailing."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Thor dropped Mjolnir and strode towards Loki, a happy smile on his face, "I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you, brother."

Loki smiled with pressed lips just as Thor's hand passed right through him. The mirage deteriorated into a green shimmer. Thor's smile disappeared and was replaced by a look of perplexity. Sif, Hogun and Fandral rolled their eyes at the parlour trick. Volstagg helped Sif stand steady, his face was equally unimpressed.

"We should head down from here, this path seems the clearest," the real Loki waved them down from across the cliff.

~Y/N

For the first time in a long time, you slept without dreaming. But even though you had finally been allowed your pound of flesh, a hollow feeling now replaced the spot where rage once made its home. In the absence of nightmares, you were left with a void and it felt more alone than ever. It was as though your anger had been the one thing that linked you to your life from before. Now that you had burned it out and enacted vengeance against the frost giant who darkened your memories, you felt like a husk of your former self.

When your eyes fluttered open, you were almost disappointed.

Almost.

"Ahhh," you croaked out as you held your head, the room swaying as you stood up.

Loki, who had been half asleep on a chair nearby, shot up, a book falling from his lap. A drawing of your brand etched onto a page. He rushed to your side, expression softening.

"Where…?" You had a hard time talking. Loki's hands steadied you upwards.

He smiled, "We're back in Asgard."

Your eyes refused to adjust themselves, "H- how?"

"Not without difficulty. My mother managed to contact me when we were down on Niflheim. Heimdall eventually managed to open a portal after some gruelling co-ordinating. You've been asleep for nearly two days. Your wound has healed but you'll still feel sore for a while."

Your hand instinctively fell to your side, eyes growing wider.

"The frost giant!"

Loki placed a reassuring hand above yours, "He's dead."

Somehow those words didn't comfort you as much as you'd imagined they would, eyelids growing heavy.

"Oh..."

Loki sat on the edge of the bed, his face unreadable, "I hate to admit it, but… you scared me for a moment."

You looked up at Loki's face, "I scared you?"

Noticing your despondent tone, Loki rushed to explain, "No, not in that way. While your potential for magic is frightening, that isn't what scared me. Well, perhaps it did a little..." Loki's eyes trailed off, looking everywhere but yours. "Ugh, I usually don't struggle with words as much."

This was a rare sight to behold.

You chuckled, finding his dilemma amusing.

"Oh, you find this amusing do you?" He cocked his head to the side, nose scrunching up disapprovingly.

"A little," you smiled.

Loki guffawed, "What I meant is that you're good company… And before you came along, things were pretty boring. I'd hate for things to go back to the way they were."

Loki's eyes stared into yours for a long pause, your heart beginning to hammer against your ribs. No one had ever looked at you like that before. An odd warmth spread from your lower spine to your stomach.

When he noticed he'd been quiet for too long, Loki removed his hand from yours and sat up from the bed, a pleasant look on his face- if not a bit detached. He bent down to pick up the book and bowed lazily, "I'm glad you're well. It'd be a shame if those eyes of yours closed for too long. They're too mesmerising to stay hidden beneath closed eyelids."

You blushed at his silver-tongued words and he noticed. He was more than pleased about that.

"If it's any consolation, I'm glad you were the first face I saw when I woke up. You've made being away from home a little bit easier to bear. Thank you for that."

Loki's smirk faded before he laughed to himself, prompting you to raise a brow.

"Oh, you find this amusing do you?" You reiterated back at him with a hint of sarcasm.

"Not in the slightest," he reassured you before he turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"To speak with my father," Loki revealed. "It seems my mother was right about something."

When your eyes had finally course-corrected and your body no longer felt worn out from long hours of sleep, you hopped out of bed and changed into the gown and shoes that were left on a stand.

~HEIMDALL

Heimall' eyes were closed shut, even though he stood upright guarding the bi-frost, he needed a rest from the endless watching. He couldn't always be the watchful sentinel. He was looking forward to the day ending so he could finally rest- and perhaps he would go check on his daughter.

Daughter, he repeated in his mind. Such a strange word.

The sound of light footsteps alerted him to another presence. Without moving or opening his eyes, he spoke welcomingly, "Not many can sneak up on me."

The footsteps faltered before continuing towards him, "I didn't know I had."

Heimdall recognised her voice instantly. It was his daughter. Suddenly his armour felt heavier and his mind begun to tunnel into a spiral. He held onto the hilt of his sword in an effort to stay present and fight the thrumming of shame in his chest. He had barely known her for long and somehow he managed to fail her twice.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" his voice was strangled from the inside by hidden grief and worry, making his words to sound harsh. "From what I heard, you had quite the scare."

She gulped, hand bracing against her side. Heimdall regretted his tone.

"Curious mind, I suppose."

Heimdall opened his eyes, his brow's refusing to loosen from their knot.

"Curiosity, eh?" He cleared his throat so he wouldn't sound as forceful as before, "That sounds like the influence of a certain god of mischief I know."

She hummed in amusement, a slight blush dusting her cheeks. The thought of someone as conniving as Loki getting close enough to his daughter to elicit such a reaction from her just by mentioning him made Heimdall's blood boil.

There you go again with the daughter business, his mind chastised. Old fool, he reprimanded himself. You can't be the overprotective father if you were never her father in the first place.

"Is something the matter?" her sweet voice resembled Sigrid's at this pitch.

He could almost picture Sigrid in his mind. She had been young then, but he tried to add years to her mortal face. A few wrinkles, lines around her wisened eyes and stretch marks around her belly and mid-section from the pregnancy. Greying hairs impeding upon lively streaks of silken hair.

No matter how hard he tried, her aged face would always become unfamiliar to him, reverting back to the last memory he had of her. A memory of Sigrid being young and beautiful and defiant.

"Yes," Heimdall replied earnestly. "It's about you."

Heimdall turned to look his daughter in the eye, she looked back at him with the openness of a stranger. It pained his heart to know she was physically so close and yet...

"Me?" She asked.

"I-" Heimdall tried to call forth any reserves of strength he had left. "I wanted to tell you…"

His head slowly craned to glance at his hands straining against the hilt of his sword like his life depended on it.

Heimdall gave in, sighing deeply, the sting of cowardice pushing against his stomach, "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I wanted to apologize for… for not being able to stop them."

She looked at him oddly, at that angle he could see the gold of his own eyes form a ring around her irises. Apart from that ring, her eyes were just like her mother's.

He ground his teeth as he blinked hard and slow, "It is my duty to watch over Midgard, to protect its people and see the danger before it--"

Heimdall trailed off when he felt his daughter's hand on his shoulder. It wasn't as heavy as Odin's sympathetic touch. It felt almost uplifting. He could feel a fraction of the weight lift from his body. The muscles in his face relaxed as he looked at her with gratitude. He felt his mouth go dry as his tear ducts began to accumulate water.

"I don't blame you," she said with a weak smile.

"You should."

She looked at him with misguide sympathy, "You shouldn't blame yourself."

"I… Thank you."

Her hand dropped away and the weight returned, drying out the tears that would have been. Heimdall inhaled deeply but noticed his grip on his sword wasn't as strong as before.

"Sif told me you fought bravely. She said you killed the frost giant that..." He couldn't bear to say the next words.

"It's strange," she began. "I have wanted nothing more than to return to a time when my life wasn't nothing more than bursts of anger and loss and pain- to a time when my life was simpler. And today, when I woke up, I realised I no longer felt angry… I thought getting vengeance would make the world make sense again, but..."

"Instead it left you feeling worse than you were?"

"Yes. It was like this great big absence of feeling. You speak as though you know of what I mean. Have you lost people too?"

Heimdall let go of his sword, one hand secretly holding onto the lock of hair in his pocket, "We all lose people… with time."

"I suppose… but time isn't what destroyed my village."

Heimdall shut his eyes through another deep breath.

She looked out to the stars, "You know, from this spot, the universe seems a little bit less darker."

Heimdall memorised the curve of Y/N's nose and each freckle and spot, "One could almost say it's beautiful."

"My mother loved the stars. They brought her comfort during trying times." She chuckled before turning to face him completely, "It's only occurred to me that we haven't been properly introduced. My name is Y/N by the way."

Sigrid named her well, he thought approvingly.

A smile crept over his face, "A pleasure, Y/N."

Y/N headed out after a low curtsey.

Heimdall called out, "Y/N."

She turned slowly, "Yes?"

Heimdall noticed how surreal it felt to say her name.

"For whatever weight this holds, I'm glad you survived. I'm glad you're here."

She smiled and Heimdall pictured Sigrid smiling beside her too.

~ODIN

Odin had convened a council in his war room to strategize. Hours had passed and nothing close to a verdict of agreed-upon action had been reached.

"If what we saw on Niflheim is any indication of the limitations of this mortal’s ability, we should all be a little more cautious around her," Fandral pitched.

"She isn't as dangerous as you all believe," Sif chimed in. "After everything she's been through, it's impressive she hasn't lost control before."

"I don't know about you, but I've never encountered a witch with such unparalleled abilities before," Hogun said, his chin resting on his fist held up from the elbow.

"She needs guidance," Frigga was next to speak. "Control isn't an easy thing to master."

"Can someone that powerful be controlled?" Volstagg posited.

Frigga exchanged a look of secrecy with Odin before saying, "It isn't unheard of."

"Forget the witch," Thor burst out. "We need to focus our efforts on the frost giants."

Sif and the Warrior's Three collectively heaved sighs.

"This again," Fandral shook his head. "What happened on Midgard was a tragedy, but sometimes there are no logical explanations. Don't use this as an excuse to feed your lust for battle."

"They were the ones who drew first blood! I don't understand why we don't just go to Jotenheim and quash this rebellion before it grows!" Thor's fist pounded on the round table.

"Rebellion? The frost giants are rebelling?" Volstagg kicked his chair from under him when he stood abruptly. "If what Thor says is true, we can't risk waiting until this escalates in a war!"

"The only ones speaking of war here are the two of you!" Sif's tone was serious.

Odin banged his stave, demanding silence.

"Do you want to know why I ordered you to tail those spies?" Odin eyed Thor. "It was because I needed to know who sent them. The group that attacked the village in Trønsberg was small, elite and savage. Why? If this was an act of aggression or a proclamation of war, why send such a small party? Why not an army? Why go after an entire people when it could simply be the actions of a renegade few?"

The room grew quiet, troubled glances shared from one person to the next.

"For once," Loki's voice emanated from a hidden corner, his body teleporting close to the table. "I agree with Thor."

"What?" Sif and Frigga said in surprise.

Loki smirked, "I believe we should put more efforts into understanding why the Jotuns attacked Y/N's village, not just tracking the whereabouts of the giants who were responsible for the carnage." Thor's chest puffed up when he heard Loki's declaration, rarely did the two brothers see eye to eye. Loki, noticing Thor's shift in stance, held up a finger. "But I don't think we'll get the answers by attacking them. I believe the reason is linked to Y/N's power and why Heimdall is blinded to her presence."

Thor's stance returned to its intimidating default.

"Have you figured out why that is?" Hogun asked.

Loki materialised an old, yellow paged book into his hands. "I may have an inkling..." he looked up at Odin's eye in pride.

Odin banged his stave twice, "Leave us."

The room grew tense before people filed out begrudgingly one after the other.

Once alone, Loki used his magic to flip the pages to a drawing of the Ægishjalmar.

"The Helm of Awe," Loki pointed. "You gifted this symbol to humans as a form of protection, but it's more than that isn't it?"

Odin stared wordlessly as he watched his son gleefully prance about.

"It's a spell of concealment. It protects everything and anything from the prying eyes of a certain watchful someone. And if I'm not mistaken, it probably conceals the presence of magic from those skilled in rooting out sources of power, like sages and seers and… gods."

Loki pulled up a chair and sat with crossed legs, his presentation of knowledge far from over.

"So then I thought to myself, why would a simple earth witch and her daughter be the only ones to bear the symbol and not the entire village?"

The book thumped onto the tale as the pages skittered to a new page, this time it had a portrait of several women, crushed blue chalk colouring in their eyes. Two words signed at the bottom: Himmel Kvinner.

Loki continued, "Because they aren't witches at all. They're guardians, humans with a sacred duty given unto them by you. A duty that began as a mistake because their power isn't natural at all." Loki was savouring each moment of being the man with all the powerhouse cards in the deck. The pages flipped yet again to a sketch of a box with the same eight pronged symbol carved into it.

"Their powers are garnered from the residual effect of living close to this-" his finger fell onto the drawing. "An ancient power source that went missing after the war with the Jotun's over two hundred years ago. That's why the giants attacked, isn't it? They were looking for whatever is in this box."

Odin set his stave aside, arms folding behind his straightened spine, "And I suppose you're going to tell me how a Jotun sage detected this magical power source while the mark was still active?"

Loki held up a finger about to explain when Odin's words sunk in and he realised he hadn't accounted for that particular loophole, "I- I haven't figured that out yet."

"You should leave this be, son." Odin turned to look at Loki, a sincere look that was almost mournful took over his weary face. "Knowledge, for all its promise, is only a noble pursuit when it doesn't affect the one seeking it out. If you continue down this path, all you will find is dissonance."

Inching further in his seat, Loki stared at his father in defiance, "What are you so afraid of, Father? Why won’t you just tell us all why the giants massacred that village? Why Y/N survived a frost blade? Why Heimdall's brooding disposition has only worsened since?"

"Sins of the father," Odin replied.

Raising his nose in the air, Loki asked the right question, "Whose father?"

Odin smiled thinly before changing the subject, "From what disturbing news Thor told me of this human's powers, I am inclined to believe your training has done nothing to tame her spirit. She's dangerous. And yet, despite my efforts, your mother has talked me into letting you continue her training. As long as she stays under my roof, you may continue with her training."

The dark prince's scowl dropped, a tweak working against his cheek muscles. Loki was pleased by this.

"I assume you have better things to do than sit and gloat in front of your father?"

Loki shook his expression away, standing from his chair, "I'm sure I can find something to bide my time." He picked up the book.

"Loki… I know you have a knack for going against what I tell you, but please son, for your sake, let this be. You'll be happier for it in the long run, I'll handle the girl and the frost giants."

Without saying a word, Odin felt Loki's presence leave him as a green shimmer glowed atop the white pillars in his peripheral.

~A Few Days Later

You dodged several of Loki's attacks, using your magic defensively rather than offensively.

You were still weakened from you battle on Niflheim, your power nowhere near where it used to be.

When Loki charged at you and you held your hand out to push him away telekinetically, the body rippled away into a thousand pieces of glowing green flakes.

"You and your tricks."

Suddenly a leg swept under you, sending your body falling backwards. You motioned to counter-attack and sweep Loki's legs too, but he simply gripped onto your locked legs and heaved. Soon the two of you rolled through the grass, Loki's lips curling upwards when he had you pinned to the ground. Arms held down by his, magic twining and tingling around your wrists.

He leaned close, his breath so close. Your heart did that thing again and you found it increasingly hard to swallow or move.

"I told you your victory wouldn't last..." his voice was seductively ominous.

The flush returned to your cheeks as you became aware of how dry your lips felt. You licked them slowly and his pupils dilated at the simple gesture. Hunger present in his face, his grip tightening on your wrists as he leaned further in, his scent intoxicating.

Heat flooded your system and you were a finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the distance between his lips and yours.

You could feel the muscles in his thighs contracting around your hips and then...

"Brother, there you are!" Thor bellowed out as he stalked over.

Loki rolled his eyes, as was the usual response he gave to Thor's presence, his head falling away from your face. Somehow, you felt deprived.

You let out a shaky breath when Loki released his grip from you, mumbling an annoyed, "Why?" to himself.

Loki helped you off the ground and looked up at his tall brother with a hooked brow.

"Thor," he greeted coldly. "What can I do for you?"

"I was looking for Y/N."

"You were?" You sounded baffled.

Loki's jaw set and his eyes narrowed, "Why?"

"Sif has a surprise for you," Thor smiled at you charmingly.

"Oh?" You emoted with surprise.

Chapter Six

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sabraeal · 5 years

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All That Remains, Chapter 4: The Flower Garden of the Woman Who Could Conjure [Part 1]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Obiyuki Week, Day 4: Free Day Sloth | Diligence

We have been so busy, have we not? Talking of trolls and mirrors and snow queens and a boy whose heart pumps poison even now, as each step pulls him farther and farther from what he once called his home. So busy, that we have forgotten the other side of this tale.

After all, the girl has her story too.

A girl loves a boy.

They meet in a garden, overgrown and abandoned, gazes kissing as the boy flings himself thoughtlessly over a wall he was not meant to cross. That was what the boy had enjoyed doing then: trespassing where he should not.

For a brief moment, a glorious summer, it is all perfect. It is everything in this world that is bright and good. And most importantly -- it is easy.

Until it is not. That happens when boys are not just boys, but princes instead.

“Your posture is atrocious.”

An edifice of bombazine and lace, as unforgiving as any cliff face, Lady Mihoko presides over her comportment lesson with the sort of derisive confidence only someone born to unimportant importance could wear. If rumor is to be believed -- which Shirayuki knows well enough it can’t -- she is the cousin of a cousin of some royal father.

Not mine, Zen had assured her after her first, disastrous lesson, though maybe his father...

The lady sets down her teacup; it doesn’t even rattle on the saucer. She may be as old as the stones of Wistal itself, but there is a reason Mihoko can count both the dowager queen and the consort as her favorite students.

It’s too bad that she doesn’t have such high hopes for Shirayuki. “Never in all my years have I seen such a common spine.”

There is no difference between a noble spine and a common one. Shirayuki has to bite her cheek to keep herself from saying it, to keep herself from informing the estimable Mihoko that there is not a single organ in the body that suggests superiority of peer over peasant, save that one is better fed and the other better worked. Not even the king was –

She clamps down on that thought, cheeks heating. The room had been dim the night of the revolt, only a single candle to aid her in that urgent exam, but –

Well, what she had seen – what she had felt – suggested he might have improved upon what he had been given at birth. Substantially. But that was – different.

Bombazine rustles like leaves underfoot as Lady Mihoko settles in her wing-backed chair. Shirayuki had never seen one that wasn’t overstuffed and well-loved, closing cozily around whoever sat in it, but this one is austere as the rest of the room, sharp and painfully white. Lady Mihoko’s dress stands out starkly against it, the deep purple of half-mourning appearing almost black, though no one remembers who she wears it for any longer.

A husband, Zen told her, it must be. He had not sounded confident in the answer in the slightest.

“If you refuse to show improvement, I will have to get out The Book,” she tells her, just like that, capitals and all, as if there is only a single book in all the world, and being in its presence is a punishment. Shirayuki isn’t certain how Lady Mihoko feels about reading, but she has a strong guess that it is not positive.

“To place upon your head,” the lady clarifies, “for walking.”

There is a part of her that wants to show how fine her comportment is by walking right out of this room but --

She’s an institution, Kiki told her with the closest she could ever come to a grimace, and Izana put you with her for a reason.

Shirayuki forces to spread her lips, putting down her own cup with a clank. “Of course, Lady Mihoko. Whatever you think might...help.”

The problem is that she is not the right girl. At least, not yet. Women with finer bloodlines than her train their whole lives to be what she never had any intention to become.

But she loves a boy, and so becomes she does.

In stories, it is the prince who must climb the highest mountain, who must pluck the flower that blooms once every seven years, who must follow recalcitrant girls to their fairy world and catch them dancing. But in this, it is the girl who must prove herself, who must memorize a hundred devices and stand with books on her head and use the right fork.

She is determined. She loves him. She will have her happily ever after. All of her hard worth will be worth the pain, worth the inconvenience.

Almost.

Master Arundo no longer despairs of her, oh no. He is beyond such things. Now whenever she treads upon his foot, sharp heel nearly puncturing a hole in his boot, he merely raises his gaze heavenward and sighs. She swears in those moments that she can see his soul ascend from his body before plummeting back to his earthbound purgatory.

If only Obi was here to spare him, at least for a little while. But --

Shouldn’t Master be helping you with this, Miss?

-- she doubted he would come. Not after --

Isn’t it said that no wife dances with any man besides her husband?

-- everything. Not when he had made his position so clear.

She bites her lip, and it’s that moment of distraction that twists her about, puts her off the right foot -- and right onto Master Arundo’s.

His breath hisses sharply. She leaps back, pulling her impossible skirts away, as if that might help the situation.

“I’m so sorry!” she squeaks, hands crossing over her mouth. “I only--”

“No, no,” he chokes out, pained. “It is all right, my lady. Only a -- surprise.”

He does not say it, but she can hear the words he does not say: because it came so swiftly after the last. Shirayuki grimaces.

“Please, can I -- can I get you anything?” She twists herself in half to look at him, stays digging into her side, but he only waves her off. “Ice? A chair?”

“Do not mind me, my lady,” he insists. “I can handle such a...small inconvenience. Besides,” he glances over at the grandfather clock, ticking away in the corner, “it is well past time I let you go. You have another lesson, don’t you--?”

She jolts upright, staring at the long hand, well past the tolling of the hour. “Oh no! I’ll -- I’ll be late!”

“Hurry,” Arundo tells her, sitting hard on the ground. “I doubt the marquis is the sort of man who takes kindly to wait.”

Ah, this is not the story you thought you would hear. That is the way of it, is it not? You hear a tale from a single mouth and believe you understand the whole, that the shadows of doubt have been removed from every corner, and then --

Then you hear it from another.

But you are right, of course. This is not the whole of her heart, but only an aspect of it. Hearts are made to be full, to give love and receive it in return, and no matter how great a single bond is, it is never enough.

And this girl’s heart was made to give.

A girl loves a boy. Not the same boy, and not the same way. One is a secret garden rendezvous, is a flash of a cape, is kissed hidden behind a balustrade, and the other --

He is home.

“You are late.”

Haruka stands by his chair, the personification of hospital corners, mouth pulled in a dour line across his face. She hurries into the room, shoulders hunched, as if a display of remorse might move him.

“Stand up straight,” he snaps, voice like a whip’s lash. “A princess does not slink into the room, no matter how late she is.”

She should have known it was a lost cause from the start. The footman angles himself behind her, and she takes her seat, hardly flinching when the seat of the chair knocks against her knees. She’ll never be used to that -- to having someone help her sit.

Worse, she is not used to the quiet from her shadow, to the lack of a clever quip in her ear. Princesses make their own time, Miss, Obi would say. They only ever show up when they mean to.

Shirayuki smothers a smile. There are reasons Haruka doesn’t let him in, and she suspects that is one of them.

“I was under the impression,” she begins, so innocent, smoothing her napkin over her lap, “that a princess could never be late.”

That grim line drops into a scowl the same moment he drops into his chair. “You are not a princess yet, Lady Shirayuki,” he reminds her, as if these between all these interminable lessons she might have time enough to forget. “And to some, you never will be, no matter what a scrap of paper says. You must keep that in mind.”

She’d take offense -- gods know, Obi would be bristling at her back if he heard those words -- except that Haruka does not say them snidely, doesn’t imply that he is one of those people who will never be impressed. No, his words are stark, informational -- and, she can’t help but think, a tinted with a hint of concern.

It’s easy to forget when he sits with her like this, picking at her every move, but Haruka wants Zen to be happy. Kain passed when Zen was hardly more than a child, too small for a king to care much about, but the marquis had been there, frowning over his every accomplishment, proud in his own way.

He is the closest Zen has ever come to a father. And perhaps Izana and Zen are the closest the marquis has ever come to having a son. Shirayuki can’t blame him for being cautious; her grandparents would have put Zen through his paces too, if they were still around to meet him.

Now, there was a thought. She tries to picture Zen behind the bar, towel slung over his shoulder as yet another glut of workmen stumble in after a long day, and --

She bites back a giggle. Impossible.

“I didn’t mean to be,” she says gently, shifting aside so the footman can lay the first course. “I just couldn’t reach the last button.”

Haruka’s eyes bulge, silverware clattering to his plate. “You cannot talk about your -- your toilette over the amuse-bouche.”

Should I wait until the fish, then? Obi’s voice is as clear in her ear as it would be if he were here. Her lips wrap around her teeth, caging smile.

“A princess should have a lady’s maid.” Each word is edged in irritation, a blade dulled by its use. “Not...fussing with her wardrobe herself.”

She takes a measured bite of her panna cotta. “I thought I wasn’t a princess yet.”

If she had thought the marquis dour before, his scowl now makes all that seem downright friendly.

“Besides, I’ve been dressing myself my whole life, I know how to do it.” Her shoulders lift in the smallest shrug she can manage. Dresses like this were not made to survive anything but the lightest of conversation, and hand gestures were right out. “There’s no reason to make someone else do it for me.”

He lets out a huff, nearly amused. “Obviously you cannot. Otherwise you would have been here on time.”

Shirayuki puffs out her cheeks, annoyed. “I’ve asked to had the clasps sewn in the side seam, but I’m told it ruins the line of the gown.”

Whatever that means. She can’t see how, but then again, she hardly knows the difference between a ball gown and a dinner dress, save that one seems more fancy on the top and the other on the bottom. And even then, it’s splitting hairs

Haruka’s mouth lifts at one corner, dangerously approaching a smile. “I do believe half the point is showing off how many people would need to dress you.”

“But every day?” It seems a waste of time, but she knows better than to say so. The marquis looks like a man who puts on his own trousers in the morning, but every lord here has a valet. “And it’s not like I have trouble, all the time. Usually Obi...”

She clamps down hard around that thought, but it’s too late; Haruka’s eyebrows raise in the worst imitation of surprise she’s seen yet. The silence that follows is...painful. His lack of commentary is almost more censure than his scolding.

“I trust you will be at dinner tonight,” he manages after a moment, spooning another scoop of panna cotta elegantly into his mouth.

Shirayuki hesitates. Just thinking about taking another meal in the dining hall makes her faint, like she needs a day’s rest between breakfast and dinner to contemplate it. It’s not the people, or at least not the amount of people -- in Lilias they had taken their meals in the commissary, pressed shoulder to shoulder with the other scholars, and she had never found it as personally draining as this, eating five courses while trying to make polite yet unimportant conversation.

Dinner in the formal hall is -- optional, as far as the nobles are concerned. The most ambitious attend every night, jockeying for position amongst the seats closest to the king and his consort, and she -- she has been suffering beside them since she started this training Izana foisted upon her. Even if she wasn’t tired of ornate dresses and chilly receptions, she’d be longing for a change of scenery.

“I-I’m not sure...”

Haruka levels her with a scowl composed to make recalcitrant princes fall into line. “It is customary for the royal family to attend dinner.”

A fact that would mean more, were she not constantly reminded just how far a gulf there was between them. “Zen doesn’t. Not always.” Far less often that her, at least.

“I am well aware.” For once, Haruka’s annoyance in not aimed squarely at her. “The court is well used to the second prince not appearing at all, for great lengths of time, and thus his occasional interest now is...acceptable. If eccentric.”

“Then can’t I--?”

“Eccentric is an expensive reputation His Highness can only afford because he mints the coin,” he tells her, every word clipped. “You barely have two cents to your name.”

She only realizes how hard she is biting her lip when she pricks herself, copper flooding her mouth. Her first thought is that such a wound would be unbecoming --

And she stops herself there. It’s truly been enough. “I don’t want a reputation that--”

“If you mean to improve your station as drastically as you are set upon, you must be above reproach.” He sends her a wary glare. “There are women who train their whole lives for a royal marriage, and still are found wanting. You, in their minds, have practically fallen off the hay wagon. If you do not play their game, then you will be eaten alive the moment they have discovered that your attachment to His Highness is binding rather than...ephemeral.”

Her fingers curl tight around her fork, carving sharp half-moons into the meat of her palm. If this is supposed to convince her that her time is being well spent, it fails in its purpose.

“I don’t want to -- to improve my station.” The words stick in her mouth, as foul as fish oil. “I just want to stand beside Zen.”

Haruka stares at her, uncomprehending. “Those are one in the same.”

They are not, but this is far from the first time she’s had this conversation, and no matter how she tries, not a single person ever understands.

Well, except for one.

��I don’t think it’s so strange for someone to spend one night having dinner on their own.” She doesn’t like how petulant is sounds to her own ears. “I can’t be the only one with friends who aren’t invited to formal dinner.”

Haruka sets down his silverware, fixing her with a thoughtful gaze that makes her wish she wasn’t so comfortable airing her opinions.

“If you are talking about His Highness’s knight,” he says carefully, “then you should know that his title is more than sufficient to dine with peers--” he holds up a hand, stemming off her protests -- “which I am sure has been imparted to him innumerable times, so if he has not gone, it is because he does not wish to.”

Her mouth closes, teeth rattling in her ears. She hadn’t meant just Obi -- it would be nice to see her other friends from the pharmacy as well; it’s been ages since she’s seen Higata, or even Ryuu -- but now that it’s been said --

She meant Obi.

It’s been three days since -- since, and each one of them his absence has been as keen as a wound, as a tooth that’s been abscessed, and she just can’t stop prodding at it. When he’d arrived that night, she’d been so relieved to see him, so glad to have some brief glimpse of life outside the monotony of study, and --

At least one of us should be enjoying ourselves.

-- she’s not sure what happened. Or at least, what went wrong. But she -- she wants to apologize anyway, to know what she did because Obi is a room with a sprung floor when it comes to anything having to do with personal things and --

She misses him. He hasn’t been back to her rooms since, she hasn’t glimpsed him in the gardens, and even with these constant lessons and Kiki or Mitsuhide rotating at her side...

She’s lonely. To everyone else she is the princess-in-training, but to Obi, she’s always just...Shirayuki.

Or Miss, more accurately. She almost lets a laugh slip, at that. It’s only luck that the clock’s chiming covers it.

“Ah, it seems it’s time,” Haruka sighs, removing the serviette from his lap. “I will see you at dinner then, Lady Shirayuki.”

She looks down at her plate, half eaten panna cotta listing unappetizingly on the porcelain. Maybe, tonight, she doesn’t have to pick at a bird’s food and call herself grateful.

“Hm.” Her mouth curls, and for once, she feels light. “We’ll see.”

It is the limitation of our reality: one cannot know everything.

We are bound to but one body, one mind. We may guess at another’s, may read the wind of their moods and taste the earth of their history and track what path their thoughts may tread, but all our theories, our clever hypotheses -- they are all bent through the lens of our experiences; a pale reflection.

An inconsequential act for one may be a miracle to another. A kind word may be a lifeline. And a harsh one --

Well, every action has its consequence, whether we know it or not.

There is no escort waiting for her when she leaves.

Shirayuki blinks, eyes rounding as she takes in the empty space by the door. Her neck swivels, first left, then right, but the corridor is barren of human shape, save the statuary.

Her first step is tentative, as trembling as a fawn’s. Her second is stronger, yet cautious, vigilant as she listens for a scuff of a shoe, for the huff of a breath. Her third --

Her third is nearly a skip, nearly a run. It has to be a mistake, an oversight, but -- it’s a lucky one. No need to make her excuses, to have to beg off dinner and invent an illness -- she’d been thinking lady problems, a vague yet harrowing enough ailment that only the boldest guard would persist. Instead, she can make her way back through the gardens, avoiding both peers and watchmen alike, and...

And she could send Obi a message. An invitation. Just them, alone in her rooms. Or maybe he could sneak her down to the private kitchens and charm the scullions into letting him raid the pantry for supplies. It’s been ages since she’s cooked something, and even now she feels the itch in her palms, that roiling urge in her gut to create.

It will be like it was in Lilias, pressed shoulder to shoulder, working so easily they might as well be one mind, and he --

If he has not gone, it is because he does not wish to.

Doubt spears her, staggering her steps. That night, on her balcony --

Have you been drinking?

Even now, the accusation is acrid on her tongue. She hadn’t been wrong, but still, still --

At least one of us should be enjoying ourselves.

She shakes herself. Her and Obi don’t -- don’t fight. He may be annoyed with her, but he’s never been mad at her. Never not spoken to her.

But his absence speaks volumes.

No. A deep breath steels her, clears her head. Even if she were mad at him, even if she were so annoyed that she could hardly look at him, she’d want to fix it. It doesn’t feel right being... not right with Obi. She knows him as well as anyone could, and he -- he’d feel the same.

He’ll come. And if he doesn’t, she’ll march down to the West Wing herself and --

“Someone should check on her.”

It’s a man’s voice, and it brings her up short, slippers scuffing on the carpet. There’s hardly any place to properly hide; unlike the arcades, the halls have no convenient alcoves, and unlike Wilant, there are no curtains. She’s left with statues and decorative armor, and after Zen’s childhood escapades, Wistal’s guards are particularly thorough.

“It’s been five minutes.” It’s a woman’s voice this time, one so familiar the tension drops from her shoulders, leaving her almost dizzy with relief.

Mitsuhide’s worry is palpable, even from here. “She isn’t usually so late.”

Kiki hums, amused. “She’s right on time, for Shirayuki.”

Ah, so her escort wasn’t missing after all -- only standing a much more respectable distance away. It would annoy her, if only the company weren’t so welcome. And if both Kiki and Mitsuhide came to take her to dinner, then surely that meant Zen --

Zen. He would be at dinner. Which means she would be expected.

Her heart flutters in her chest. It would be easy to turn now, to take the long way through the halls and pretend she had not known about his plan, that she had made her escape before she’d had any chance to --

But she doesn’t see Zen often either. Her lessons take up most of her time, and his duties take up most of his, and whatever time overlaps is -- dinner.

There’s no reason she couldn’t invite him too. That she couldn’t invite all of them, and it could be just like it was years ago, the five of them laughing and cooking and enjoying each other’s company --

But she doesn’t want to. Or rather -- it feels like a choice. And anything that isn’t picking Obi and Obi alone is pushing him further away, is showing him that Wistal has changed her, has changed them and --

“Do you think he’ll tell her?”

Her thoughts screech to a halt, every scrap of her attention bent to where Mitshide shuffles nervously around the corner, to how his voice knots with anxiety, with guilt. “It’s...a long time not to tell her.”

“He will when the it’s the right time.”

“I know.” Beside Kiki’s confidence, Mitsuhide’s doubt is stark. “I just think maybe...Izana’s gotten into his head. Made him think...I don’t know. Things.”

Shirayuki’s mouth pulls thin. Izana has always been good at making Zen think all sorts of things, whether they were true or not. He’s a master of implication, of planting a seed and letting someone’s own imagination water it.

“Do you want to tell him that?” Kiki’s voice is a blade, an edge sharpened to cut.

“N-no! It’s just...” Mitsuhide sighs. “It feels like lying, if we don’t tell her.”

“If she had noticed, she would have mentioned it.” Shirayuki can almost hear the shrug in the silence that follows. “And if she hasn’t then it hasn’t bothered her.”

“But it would bother her if she knew.” She’s never known Mitsuhide to push, especially not at Kiki, but he does now, firmer than she’s ever heard him. “If Obi’s gone missing--”

“Obi’s missing?”

The words burst out of her, as helpless as a gasp after a punch, and Shirayuki doesn’t even recognize her own voice, doesn’t even hear except through her bones. The pounding of her heart is too loud in her ears.

He’s missing. Obi’s missing. But he would never --

You don’t know anything about me, Miss. His grin is just as sharp in her memory as it was in the moment, just as chilling.

“Shirayuki!” Mitsuhide squeaks, and she would regret surprising them, regret eavesdropping at all if their guilt expressions did not say every word they hadn’t.

“He’s not missing,” he insists, breathless. “We just...don’t know where he is.”

“But he’s not here?” Shirayuki edges a step closer, searching their faces, but neither of them have earned their position by being the chink in Zen’s armor. “You don’t know where he is?”

“He’s not lost.” Kiki shrugs. “Wherever he is, he means to be there.”

“Did he leave a note?” He’s famous for them, little cryptic things that cause more panic than assurance. “Did he say he was going to leave?”

“...No,” Mitsuhide admits, darting a glance at Kiki. She doesn’t know how to read it; they have always spoken this silent language more fluently than anyone around them. It was one of the ways she knew Kiki would never marry Hisame. “But--”

“There was no struggle.” Kiki says. “His drawers aren’t emptied, but some things are missing from them. He packed, quickly. Lightly.”

“And...?” Her hands tremble where she clutches them to her chest. “And Zen knows?”

“...Yes,” Kiki admits, easy as a pulling a tooth.

“But it’s nothing to worry about!” Mitsuhide assures her. “It’s not the first time Obi’s been gone for three days--”

“Three days?” The roar in her ears is deafening. “Where is Zen?”

“F-finishing up in his office.” Mitsuhide holds up his hands, as if that might hold her off. “But we should really be going to din--”

“Dinner can wait.” Shirayuki spins on her heel, aiming herself on the quickest path. “I need to talk to him now."

The boy disappears, but he leaves the girl behind.

It is the way of things. All our decisions leave loved ones in our wake, whether we mean to or not. It is only when we look behind us that we wonder what choice made the gulf.

The office is dim when Shirayuki enters it; the lamps on the walls have been doused, and only the ones by Zen’s desk remain, the vestiges of work that should long since be over.

She hadn’t meant to be quiet -- the opposite, in fact -- but the dark of the room lends itself to silence, to low voices and soft conversation, and she finds herself making no more noise than the harsh drag of her breath and the scuffle of her slippers. He doesn’t hear her -- or if he does, he gives no sign of it -- and she just...looks.

His snow-pale hair sweeps across his forehead, concealing only part of the furrow in his brow as he works, the scratch of his pen tickling her ears. He’s only half-dressed for dinner, coat draped over the back of his chair and cravat tossed aside, the lamp catching the thread-of-gold in his vest and making it shimmer as bright as any coin.

The light casts him in rich bronze, in gold, an idol more than a man. It’s beautiful -- he is beautiful, and in some way, she knows this, knows that this is why her breath catches and her heart pounds. Or at least, in part.

But no matter how many pretty galleries he walks her through, she has never understood the appeal of a man on a pedestal. Zen has always been a prince, has always been above her --

But what she fell in love with was the boy with feet of clay. With the furrowed brow he never lets her see, and the calloused hands he never hides. With the man who had always treated her as an equal.

Or at least, so she had thought.

“Zen.”

He startles, hissing as his ink pot tips, reaching out to slam it back on the desk. Even from where she stands, she can see it slosh over the top, staining the web between his thumb and forefinger. Oh, it will take an age before that comes off.

The curse rounds on his lips, teeth closing around a tight “Sh--” before his eyes widen, chin jerking up, and it widens to -- “Shirayuki! I wasn’t -- I was going to see you at dinner.”

It would be so easy to give into this moment, to let him stand and take her hand, to just go to dinner and pretend --

But she hasn’t gotten here pretending that things don’t matter.

“Obi,” she says, heart sinking as his eyes round in guilt. “He’s missing.”

The boy had never expected to be missed.

It is easy, in our darkest times, to believe our absence is unnoticed, unmarked. That should we disappear into life’s current, no one would cry over the empty hands that no longer hold us.

But it is a polite fiction, a palatable untruth that the darkness in our hearts whispers to us, the way a wolf separates sheep from the herd.

Here is the truth: no character may drop off the page unnoticed, no pebble may drop into a river without making a ripple, and no person can disappear unloved.

“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me.”

Zen lifts a hand, unbuttoned sleeve fluttering down his wrist. The lamps have been lit again -- this is not a conversation to have in the dark, Kiki had said when she let the footmen in, sending a lingering look at Zen before she left -- but everything has lost its polish, lost its princely shine. He may have been an idol before, but like this, collar and sleeves undone, he’s just -- Zen.

“Shirayuki--”

She doesn’t have time for platitudes. “If Obi is missing, we should be out there looking for him.”

Zen holds up his hands, placating. “There’s no reason to get so upset. It’s not odd for Obi to disappear with no explanation.”

Her mouth pulls tight. If it was years ago, when Wistal had fit him like a pinched collar, Shirayuki would agree, would sit down and let herself be calmed by the idea that Obi had needed space from them, that he had needed fresh air in his lungs and higher perspective than the walls could give. But since Lilias--

He had hardly left her side in Lilias, and never for more than a span of a few nights, and never without word. A checkpoint inspection, a border patrol, a excursion to teach the new recruits the skills they’d need to survive out in the snows -- he’d done them all with loud and endless complaining, turning to her with pleading eyes and asking when they would be heading back to Wistal, already.

It had been a joke, of course. He’d loved Lilias, despite the snow. The only other time he’d left -- the longest time -- had been --

Well, it had been when Zen had called for him.

“He’s been gone for three days.” Her throat is tight, sore. “Something must have happened.”

“He’s gone off for a week before.” Zen holds out a hand, letting it hover just short of her shoulder. “You know how he is. We might as well try to keep a cat indoors.”

Zen’s so sure, but -- but Obi has never been that way, not for her.

She bites down on her lip. But then, things have been so different since they returned, so tense; she can’t fault him for wanting to get away, just for a few days. Especially after --

You don’t know anything about me, Miss.

-- Everything.

“But...” She’s not sure why she’s pushing, why she needs to to badly. “We shouldn’t give up on him. We could look around--”

“You know what Izana would think about that.” His bitterness is so sharp, she flinches. “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, Shirayuki. Obi has always come back on his own before.”

He’s right, she knows he is, but still, still she can’t shake this feeling.

His hand cups her shoulder, thumb rubbing against the ridge of her collar bone. “I can send someone out to look for him. I doubt we’ll find him if he doesn’t want to be found but...”

Her next breath comes easier. “Okay.”

He leans down, giving her a tilted smile. “Would that make your feel better?”

She nods. “It would.”

“Then it’s done.” He glances over her shoulder, mouth pulling tight in a grimace. “I think we’re well past fashionably late, but --” he smiles, so charming, as always -- “maybe you might agree to a private dinner, just the two of us.”

She lets out a breath, the tension still lingering. She knows she won’t lose it until she sees Obi, until she knows he’s safe, but --

“All right.” Her smile is tremulous, at best, but it pleases Zen well enough. “I could use a break from all the plotting. And five courses.”

If only the boy had known. This story would be a much shorter one.

If only the girl had known: no matter how well meaning, some words were only meant to be lies.

#obiyukiweek19 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #all that remains #snow queen au #please do not be fooled #this ended earlier than i intended #so it seems a little happily #but like...there's more hurt #on the way #before things REALLY get better

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mcsmseason3 · 5 years

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MCSM Origins Book I: Enter Lapilisia Lazul - Part 1

Summary:

Lapilisia Lazul, or Lapis for short, is a Gemonyk from Krystalyx in search of adventure beyond her own world. Her travels lead her to Emerl, another Gem from Krystalyx and a knight of the Order of the Stone. Little does she know that her life is about to change completely.

Next Chapter: Here

Many years ago, before the defeat of the Ender Dragon…

It was a sunny afternoon. The forest was silent aside from the occasional trickling of a stream or the odd animal or bird passing by. A cliff stuck out from the tree line, looking out over the woods which seemed to stretch out for blocks and blocks. The sound of footsteps on grass interrupted the silence as a woman seeming to be in her mid-20’s wearing sky blue robes and a blue cape hiked up the cliff. She had brown hair with blue highlights, pale skin, and golden freckles. What stood out most was a round lapis lazuli stone with a golden casing around the edges that seemed to be embedded in her chest.

Lapilisia Lazul, otherwise known as Lapis, looked out at the forest with bright eyes. “Wow…” she gasped in awe as she admired the view, “This is even prettier than the forests in Verde.” Lapis sat down on the cliff edge, her legs dangling off the edge as she felt a light breeze blew past her. Lapis had been travelling for the past few months, travelling by ship from her home in the Azurialis Archipelago to the Kingdom of Verde before crossing the Farlands that separated Krystalyx and Minecraftia. There were quite a few similarities between the two worlds…the biggest difference, of course, being the lack of magic in Minecraftia compared to Krystalyx. That and the lack of humanoids that are made of light and have gemstones embedded in their bodies. The people of her home were sad to see her go – she was the Blue Shard after all, she was pretty much their national hero-to-be – but knew that the journey would be good for her.

Lapis’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hissing coming from behind her. She looked behind her, only to be greeted by a creeper trudging towards her. “Uh oh!” Lapis went to get to her feet, but the creeper was quicker on the draw. It exploded, causing Lapis to fall backwards off the cliff. “Please just poof, please don’t shatter, please just poof, please don’t shatter!” Lapis prayed as she squeezed her eyes shut and fell to the ground below.

*POOF!*

*TINK, TI-TINK!*

Lapis’s form disappeared upon impact with the ground as her gem clattered onto the earth, thankfully unharmed.

“Who goes there?!”

A voice rang out followed by the sound of footsteps running through the forest, “I heard an explosion! Is someone hurt?” A woman – roughly in her late 30’s – rushed through the trees into the small clearing near the cliff. She had short, side-swept, black hair with bright green tips and bangs. She wore a green shirt with long flowing sleeves and exposed an emerald stone on her chest, black trousers and green boots. There was a bright green sash around her waist and black and green gloves. Covering her outfit was black cape with an odd green symbol on it. She had pale skin and bright green eyes with pupils shaped similar to her gem.

Emerl Verdyk glanced around the clearing, an emerald sword with a golden hilt in hand, with a confused look on her face, “Hello? Anyone here?” Emerl looked up and the cliff top and noticed a small crater taken out of it. “Tch…creepers. Such a pain…” she sighed. Emerl turned to leave before a small glint of the sun hitting something caught her eye. She dismissed her sword and walked over to the object and picked it up. “A lapis lazuli?” Emerl muttered, confused as to why loose lapis was just lying around, “No wait…this is a Gemonyk. What are you doing all the way in Minecraftia, friend?” Almost on cue, the gemstone began to glow and levitate into the air. Emerl took a few steps back as the light being emitted from the gem shifted into a humanoid form before scattering to revel Lapis – good as new. “Whoa!” Lapis exclaimed as she landed on her feet, stumbling a bit before examining herself, “Okay, gem’s intact…outfit still looks awesome…still have hair, that’s a plus…can’t see my face so gonna have to hope my freckles are still there. I love my babies! Alright, overall: looking good!” Lapis breathed a sigh of relief. Noticing a presence behind her, Lapis turned around to see Emerl standing there with a small smile. Lapis noticed the emerald stone on her chest and her eyes lit up, “OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGOSH!!! You- you’re a Gem! You’re like me!”

Emerl nodded before extending her hand, “Emerl Verdyk; former knight of the Kingdom of Verde, current knight of the Order of the Stone. At your service.”

“Lapilisia Lazul, but you can call me Lapis!” Lapis grinned shaking Emerl’s hand before her eyes going wide, “Wait a sec! Emerl Verdyk? THE Emerl Verdyk?”

“That’s me.”

“No way!” Lapis’s jaw nearly hit the floor, “You’re the Green Shard that went rogue and disappeared! You’re in Minecraftia?”

“Yep. When you’re trained from the moment you emerge from the earth to be a ‘great warrior-hero of legend’, you tend to get sick of it after over 30 years.” Emerl shrugged, before looking around, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m guessing you were poofed by that creeper explosion just there, right? Come. I’ll bring you to the Order’s temple where we’ll be safe from any more day-time monsters. You can tell me about how you ended up here on the way.”

“Alrighty! Lead the way!” Lapis smiled cheerfully as she followed Emerl through the trees.

-------------------------------------------------------------

“So you’re a Shard too, then?” Emerl asked as they emerged from the forest. “Yep!” Lapis replied with a smile, “But I don’t have a handle on my powers yet. They tend to come and go as they please.”

“The Blue Shard’s power is Future Vision, right? You can see glimpses into the future?”

“Yup. It’s a pretty cool power, in my opinion! But not so cool when you get a bad vision, especially since the events are kinda set in stone.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve tried to change the events myself. But it seems that every time I try, I somehow end up ensuring they happen. Ugh…even just thinking about it makes my head hurt.” Lapis then laughed nervously, “Kinda wish I was given a heads up about that creeper though. My visions tend to have lousy timing sometimes.”

“You’ll learn to control it eventually.” Emerl gave a reassuring smile as she summoned a green and gold shield, “You’d be surprised how many times I’ve summoned this thing by accident. Hit my mentor in the head one time!”

“Oh no!” Lapis giggled. “Yeah, got an extra hour of training for a month after that.” Emerl chuckled as she dismissed the shield, “But it was pretty funny.” Emerl looked up as she spotted the temple peeking over the hilltops, “Ah! Almost at the temple now!”

“By the way,” Lapis began, “Who are the Order of the Stone? You’ve mentioned them a bit now.”

“Where do I begin?” Emerl chuckled, “They’re a group of heroes that travel to the far corners of the world in search of adventure. They’ve been from the Nether to the bottom of the sea!”

“Cool!” Lapis’s eyes brightened in awe, “You guys must have to travel a lot.”

“Yeah, but we have a rail system in the Nether that helps us get to places.” Emerl replied, “Their actually down there working on it while I patrol the are around the temple. Looks like it was a good thing I did, eh?” Emerl gave Lapis a playful nudge, earning a giggle from the Gem.

The two Gems entered the temple. Lapis gazed in awe at the beautiful structure. “Watch your step!” Emerl warned as she stepped over a pressure plate, “There are anti-monster traps set up here to protect the place.” Lapis looked at the walls and saw small dispensers embedded in them. “Aww! They look like lil’ faces!” Lapis cooed. “They’re not so cute when you take an arrow to the foot. Trust me.” Emerl chuckled, remembering the time Magnus stepped on one of the plates by accident and Emerl nearly got poofed as a result. “So what are the rest of the Order like?” Lapis asked as they walked through the Library, “Well, the Leader and Founder of the Order is Soren.” Emerl began, “He’s a master builder, a genius, but also a bit of a goofball…and prone to burst into song for reasons I’ll never understand. There’s Gabriel the Warrior, who is the strongest out of us. He’s a little full of himself, but he means well. Magnus is the Order’s rogue and a walking disaster zone. Seriously, his room is so full of TNT and I’ve no idea how he hasn’t blown a hole in the temple yet. Ellegaard is another genius of the Order. She knows pretty much everything about redstone and what it can be used for. The stuff she’s able to come up with is incredible. However, she and Magnus tend to butt heads a lot. If you ever hear shouting echoing around the temple, it’s more-than-likely them. Last is Ivor, the Brewer. He’s an expert in potions and enchantments. He looks grumpy but he’s actually quite eccentric when it comes to adventures. Whenever we leave on a trip, he always yells at the top of his voice ‘ADVENTURE!!!’”

Lapis laughed as Emerl mimicked Ivor’s shout, her voice echoing off the walls as they walked up the staircase. “What about you?” Lapis asked. “Well, I’m not really a member of the Order per se. I’m more like…” Emerl searched for the word in her mind, “…a bodyguard! Like, you know how the Shards had the Royal Guard back in the dark days? I’m like that!”

“That’s kinda funny considering you’re a Shard!”

“I guess it is!”

As the two walked up the stairs into the map room, Lapis’s eyes were drawn to a small trinket standing upon a pedestal. “What’s that?” Lapis asked. “That’s the Order’s Amulet.” Emerl replied, “The Order uses it to track the other members when they’re on the surface. Hmm…” Emerl glanced between the Amulet and the map, “Odd…they should be on the surface by now. What’s taking them so long?” Emerl turned to Lapis, “Hey. Ever been to the Nether?”

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“Whoa!” Lapis gazed up at the obsidian framing the purple portal, “This thing leads to the Nether?”

“You got it.” Emerl nodded, “Just a heads up: the heat in there is pretty intense, so water powers might not work.”

“Don’t you worry.” Lapis grinned, “I don’t need my powers to kick butt!”

“Keep that enthusiasm going!” Emerl smirked, “Off we go!” Emerl jumped into the portal, Lapis following suit. Lapis’s jaw nearly hit the floor at the view around her. Red rocks, fire and lava as far as the eye could see. The two gems stood upon a dark coloured platform with stairs leading downwards to several minecart railways. “Keep up.” Emerl called behind her as she made her way down the steps, “If I remember correctly, they took…this one.” Emerl hopped into a minecart and Lapis hopped into one behind her. “Hang on tight!” Emerl grinned as the carts took off down the railway. “Whoa! Whoohoo!” Lapis laughed as the carts sped through the Nether, “This is amazing!”

“It’s fun, right?” Emerl chuckled, “So a few Nether-Need-to-Knows. Number 1: don’t attack the pigmen. They won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt them. Number 2: Keep a distance from blazes and magma cubes – or lava accordions as I like to call ‘em. Number 3: Soul sand is the sandy brown stuff. That’ll slow you down if you step in it so be careful. And number 4: beware of-”

Emerl was cut off by a distant wail followed by shouting which was coming from up ahead. “…ghasts." Emerl finished with a sigh as she summoned her sword in one hand and held tightly onto the minecart with the other, “I should’ve known. You ready for a fight, kiddo?”

“Bring it on!” Lapis cheered.

This was gonna be fun!

To Be Continued…

#mcsm #mcsm origins #mcsm origins book I #minecraft story mode #minecraft #lapis lazul #emerl wyverk

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psychosistr · 5 years

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quite wondering, what are the regenerations looks of the fearsome four during the events of the rp? [or uhm the crystal duck's regenerations?]just wondering

Well, I’ll leave Megavolt and Bushroot’s designs to you since you have them in the RP, but here’s what I came up with for the others below the cut.

I’ll start with the Crystal Ducks since they have the fewest changes-

Darkwing Duck: Drake starts off looking and sounding like his original Darkwing cartoon-self with the Jim Cummings voice and everything, with the only variations to his outfits being that his super-hero outfit has a pinkish-purple colored star on the back of his cape (the color for the star looks like the color on the under-side of his cape) and he tends to wear baseball caps and other hats with his regular clothes to hide his gemstone.

He’s a pretty durable amethyst, so it takes a lot for him to get poofed- like, he’d need to get hit head-on with a destabilization blast from Yellow Diamond or something. When he does finally get poofed, when he comes back he looks and sounds like his DT17 version, making him seem much younger than before and symbolizing the new start he has now after the truth about the war comes to light. The main changes to his super hero outfit would be that instead of having the star on his back like before, he’d have an outline of the Earth in a very dark purple that would only be noticeable in the right lighting to represent how his loyalty and purpose shifted from his previous allegiance to Rose and her army to the Earth- his new home that he protected from the shadows. He does still care about the Crystal Ducks, though, a fact that is shown by how the underside of his cape would now have a pattern of many small stars outlined all over the inside and would be visible whenever his cape was open.

Launchpad: Similar to Drake, Launchpad’s initial look would be like his original Ducktales/Darkwing Duck cartoon appearance and voice. The only real difference in this would be that his scarf has a golden star on each end and they’ll often overlap or fold over to form a single large star shape when the ends are close together. He had a few forms beforehand, but they were pretty similar since for the longest time he didn’t understand what was happening every time he got poofed and mostly just came back the exact same way he looked before. He got his current form after the first major plane crash he was in after joining the Crystal Ducks and, when he came back, he still didn’t have a full understanding of how changing his form worked, but he was able to figure it out just enough to add the stars to his scarf so he could show that he was on the same team as Darkwing and Gizmoduck.

His klutziness and tendency for crashing result in a few minor reformations throughout the series, but he’s usually pretty quick to come back since he doesn’t put much thought into changing his form. The first time he really decides to change his form, though, is after he comes to fully accept what happened on the Earth and learns to stop blaming himself for the war and how he was created. Wanting a fresh start and to show he now accepted and understood his past, the first major reformation he does in his life results in him looking and sounding like his DT17 version. The major differences this time are that he now shows off the star in a much grander way by having a big golden one on the back of his coat and, as a much smaller nod to how meeting Darkwing changed his life and opened his eyes to the truth about who and what he was, on the inner-brim of his brown chauffeur's hat (I like the way that looks over his baseball cap) there’s an outline of a small purple star that looks like the one Darkwing had on his previous cape- visible only to him most of the time.

Gizmoduck/Gyro & Fenton: Gyro and Fenton remain largely unchanged throughout the series, looking and sounding like their DT17 versions. Their main differences would be that, in the past before they joined the rebellion, their outfits were a lot more formal and neat- looking like black and white suits (Gyro got to have a lab coat with his) with white diamonds on the front to represent their diamond and her court. When they joined the rebellion, though, they got the much more casual and colorful outfits they wear now, with Gyro sporting a black star on the top of his hat and Fenton having a matching one on the middle of his shirt that would be divided if he ever unbuttoned it.

Gizmoduck’s changes in appearance are harder to see because he’s usually wearing his Gizmoduck armor to be ready for battle at any moment. His first appearance is like his original Ducktales/Darkwing Duck version, with the suit receiving a few upgrades over the course of the series and having a star beneath the red symbol on his chest. Without the suit, he looks very different with his head and torso sporting white feathers while his arms have brown ones and he wears Gyro’s glasses when he doesn’t have the suit’s helmet and visor accessible. He doesn’t put much thought into his outfits since he’s rarely without his suit, so most of the time he just walks around in a shirt like Fenton’s that’s only half-buttoned and a pair of pants that look like Gyro’s.

After being poofed and separated by Negaduck, Gizmoduck has his more modern DT17 style suit ready when he reforms- this time with a large golden metallic star on each shoulder in addition to the star beneath the red symbol on his chest. His body this time has Fenton’s brown feathers for the head and torso and Gyro’s white ones for the arms. He still wears Gyro’s glasses when he doesn’t have the visor on, but now he also has Fenton’s hair with a few streaks of white mixed in and the part on the front is like a smaller version of the distinctive swoop that Gyro’s hair has. This time around, he puts a little more thought into how he looks without the armor and has a more solid mix of Gyro and Fenton’s outfits- he wears Gyro’s shirt, vest, and pants, but the shirt is the same color as Fenton’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, the vest has one or two of the middle buttons done to keep it partially closed, and he wears Fenton’s purple tie.

Gosalyn: Not much to say about Gosalyn’s initial appearance as she mostly looks like her original cartoon version but with the addition of a star on her jersey instead of a number (the star is the same color as the one Darkwing originally has on his cape).

She does, however, go through a change after getting her gem ripped out by White Diamond. When she reconnects with her other half, it’s the closest thing she ever got to poofing, and, feeling for the first time in her life that she had control over her powers and who she was as a person, decided that she wanted to make a change and differentiate herself from her mother. She changed her appearance and now resembles her DT17 version, just with a small star-shaped hole torn over the stomach to expose her gem (which she shifts to stand up straight and have its true shape visible), and her jacket has a mutli-colored star on the back that resembles a color wheel but with fewer gradients and a white outline, symbolizing how she’s grown thanks to all of the gems in her life from her dad to Launchpad and Gizmoduck and even the Fearsome Four.

Okay, now for the Fearsome’s:

Liquidator: Initially, Liquidator is the very image of a perfect homeworld elite. His clothes (which are really just darker or lighter water that move and flow with his body) are a simple but elegant dark blue robe-like uniform with darker trim and a blue diamond insignia on the front to show his allegiance and loyalty to his diamond. His body is originally a lot tougher-looking with broader shoulders and a more stern face (think like the intimidating first look he had when he revealed himself to Darkwing in his debut episode). Similar to Darkwing, Liquidator is very hard to poof due to the nature of his body. To date, he’s only been poofed twice in the RP, with the first time not changing anything.

The second time he gets poofed, however, results in a drastic change to Liquidator’s appearance. Taking place after making the decision to stay on Earth with Bushroot and the rest of his friends, he feels like he’s finally free to relax and be himself rather than the rigid elite homeworld expected him to be. His physical appearance changes to the more relaxed and silly style we’re used to from the cartoons, with the exception of his ears being slightly scruffier and his right eye having two overlapping pupils with one being lighter blue and the other being darker blue (this happened after an exposure to corruption and is a permanent scar on his gem, but he honestly got off easy). His previous uniform look changes to a high-collared blue sleeveless shirt with an ice-blue star on the front (showing his tentative alignment with the Crystal Ducks, but more so the freedom he’s come to enjoy from this planet and his desire to protect that freedom) and darker blue pants with a belt that looks like braided strands of ice with a solid ice-rose for a buckle (symbolizing his love for Bushroot and how their relationship is free to grow on this planet).

Quackerjack: Quackerjack, by far, gets the most wardrobe/form changes to-date for this AU, so I’ll just run down the line.

When he first appears in the story, his outfit most closely resembles his original one from the TV show but with a pink diamond on the front around the gemstone on his chest. However, his gemstone was cracked when he first appeared, so his colors were duller and his eyes had a glassier look to them with a pink tint to match his cracked gemstone. His colors and eyes returned to normal after receiving healing treatments back on homeworld, but that form didn’t last for long.

After being poofed as Goldy on homeworld (he accidentally fused with Megavolt after falling into the peridot’s arms and Liquidator had to act quick and poof them so they wouldn’t be spotted by anyone else), Quackerjack was really depressed when he reformed due to losing his diamond, realizing how long he was trapped in the mirror, and seeing what happened to Paddywhack while he was gone. His colorscheme was a lot heavier on the blue tones with the red and orange colors only popping up occasionally as accents or trim. He also lost the diamond insignia on his chest, as his diamond was presumed dead and her court was disbanded.

His next reformation took place after he was poofed by Gizmoduck while protecting Megavolt. By this point, he had started to move on from his past thanks to his friends and regained the colors in his outfit. However, he did start to make subtle changes such as adding stars along his cowl to hint at a possible change in alignment and the orange in his color scheme was changed to yellow (symbolizing the bond he’s formed with Megavolt).

His most recent form is drastically different from his previous ones, showing how he’s finally let go of his past. The colors on his outfit are still as bright and colorful as ever, but it’s a bit less poofy, marking his shift away from just being seen as Pink Diamond’s jester. He still has a frilled white collar, but it’s much shorter than before, and his cowl no longer has stars in the fabric but the bells each have a small star pattern on them and the cowl’s colors are lighter than that of his shirt. His top now has short flutter sleeves instead of the long ones he wore before and he proudly shows off the star in the middle of his shirt, the star being bright yellow to match the palazzo-style pants that he wears (the bottoms are super long and billowy with glittery pink trim, usually hiding his pink shoes with purple flowers on the toes).

If he goes through another major poofing after some more information is revealed about pink diamond, his appearance will likely change again and have the reds in his color scheme be replaced with pinks to show his past and his eternal loyalty and love for his diamond without the blind devotion he had before, but still staying with the colors of those he cares about like Megavolt’s yellow, Liquidator’s blue, and some purple or green accents to represent Bushroot.

@abbythegamergirl you can do your descriptions for Bushroot and Megavolt if you want, or people can just check out the pictures you’ve drawn of them to get a basic idea.

#Drake Mallard #darkwing duck #launchpad mcquack #gizmoduck #gyro gearloose #fenton crackshell cabrera #Gosalyn Mallard #liquidator #quackerjack #some of these ships mentioned:#drakepad #fenro #liquiroot #quackervolt #steven universe!au

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