#remember the titans: part four

[indigosabyss]

I've looked at Gwen Poole and her powers from a couple of different angles. And with every fic of her, I want to touch on something different regarding her relationship to the fictional world she resides in.

Specifically, with QPR Gwentin Takes On X-Men First Class, I want to talk about the impact specific superhero media had on her in her real life.

Unlike the comics, here she is experiencing a plot she knows beforehand, instead of a world of characters she knows sort of with a whole different path. This is a retread.

Gwen was 18/19 when she was dragged into the comic world in 2016, meaning that X-Men First Class in 2011 was likely the first X-Men movie she saw in theaters. Unless she lied about her age to watch X-Men Origins: Wolverine two years before that. Which. Listen there are better movies to be Your First In-Theater X-Men Movie. But what do I know, I watched Captain Marvel for my first in theater marvel movie.

Either way I want to focus on how she felt then. Her rapidly increasing interest in comics. Her parents' confused support. I want the joy, the excitement, the sparking high of a good movie. To bring it back around to the heroes at the core of it. The happiness she got from them, which she lost herself so completely to.

Because media doesn't mean a lot to us in a vacuum. It is the associations around it that really make it meaningful. And I want to highlight that for Gwen.

[amywritesthings]

press four for more options. | part two.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 3.5k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - smut, alternate universe (modern), sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub, guided masturbation, pet names, nipple play, overstimulation, multiple orgasms Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part one. / part three. | masterlist

2-5-1-2.

It’s an easy enough combination to remember, being Christmas Day and all.

Pressing 2, 5, and 1 is easy. The final '2' makes you second guess yourself.

You’re not sure why you’re panicking. He’ll pick up.

(It’s literally his job, idiot.)

Fuck it.

Your index finger hits the '2' and the hashtag to finalize the combination.

When you hear the line go dead, you tense every muscle in your body.

No breathing.

No blinking.

Just waiting for that silky, sultry siren song to come over and confirm your bias that it’s the single sexiest voice you’ve ever heard.

—but it’s that automated lady you tried to bypass from the menu.

“Please enter your credit card number, followed by the expiration date—”

“Oh, Goddamn it,” you groan, shouldering the phone to shuffle your purse around.

Eventually after some digging, you find your card before she can continue a second loop of her payment spiel. 

You can’t believe you’re legitimately putting your credit card information out there for anyone to steal.

Yet, if Annie’s been doing this for ages, then it ought to be safe.

Right?

After typing in the necessary numbers and confirming they’re correct, you’re so out of your own head that you don’t even realize the line switches from slight static to smooth nothingness.

“So you finally called back.”

“Shit!”

The buttery smooth greeting — or lack thereof — makes you nearly drop your phone.

You gasp and manage to catch the device just in time to hear a chuckle, graveled and low, on the other end.

“And just as jittery as last night.”

“Levi,” you greet breathlessly, straightening your outfit like he can actually see it.

You swear you hear a smile in his voice.

“Hey, baby.”

Oh sweet Jesus.

“Or do you prefer it when I call you Scarlet?”

You prefer literally anything he’ll give you, is what you want to say back, but you don’t want to automatically appear as though you’re ready to be walked like a dog at minute one.

“I’m… fine with ‘baby’,” you confess after a beat, focusing on the swirl of the marble counter below you just to dissociate to his voice.

“Thought so,” he arrogantly states before making this grunting noise, like he’s rolling his body in a chair to get more comfortable. “Are we talking again?"

"Is that alright?"

"You know it is." Levi's voice lifts, softer now. "And how's your Saturday so far?”

“Very mundane and super lackluster,” you admit. “I’m sure you’ve had a much more interesting day than me.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replies without skipping a beat.

“No?” you ask with a smirk. “I’d say getting people off with the sound of your voice makes for a pretty interesting job.”

“Who said it’s only just my voice?”

Son of a bitch.

The phone shifts from your right shoulder to your left.

“It isn’t?”

He makes a noncommittal hum, and it runs straight to your core. “That's confidential, sweet Scarlet."

"Boo," you joke. "You're no fun."

"You haven't seen me at my fun yet," he corrects. "Speaking of fun: how are you not hungover?"

“The power of heavy tylenol and H2O? Which... I have to apologize that."

"For what?"

"Uh, I pretty much poured my heart and soul out to you last night.”

He chuckles. "I didn't mind it. Feeling any better about that situation?”

“I haven’t really thought about it since last night, so you’re already a miracle worker.”

"Oh?"

"Yeah, no joke."

“Huh." He clicks his tongue. "And what have you been thinking about?”

You say it without realizing you’ve said it out loud:

“You.”

Both ends of the phone go silent.

Your eyes widen, wanting nothing more than to take a pan out of one of the cabinets to bash your head in with anguish. 

“In, like, an interested sense.”

Shit, that isn’t much better.

“An… interested sense,” he repeats, slower this time. His vowels dip deep.

“Oh no,” you bemoan. “Okay. Let me restart: I mean it in like a — you were on my mind? Today, sort of way. So I called.”

“...uh-huh.”

“Because the call ended so quickly!” you add. “I didn’t think it was going to end so abruptly at the fifteen minute mark, but I wasn’t done talking to you, so I called again.”

“You’re shit at asserting yourself, aren’t you?”

His words make you blink twice.

“Huh?”

“You don’t like making decisions or having to explain things,” he replies without judgment. “You think if you want something, then it makes you selfish.”

Ouch.

“Well, when you put it like that,” you reply in a bitter, yet lifted tone of surprise. 

You hear a noise on the other end. A ‘tch’ if you can make it out.

“Sorry," he apologizes. "Too far?’

“No! Too real,” you admit with a small laugh. “And I’m sure you don’t want to play analyst-therapist tonight, so.”

“I’m here to do anything you want,” he reminds, syrup-y sweet. 

“Anything?”

“Mostly anything,” he adds, and there’s a tiny chuckle bubbling between the words that makes your heart flutter. “Can’t hold a tune worth a damn and I don’t know how to speak some languages, so there are limitations.”

You laugh despite yourself, feeling your stress melt.

Then—

A small groan, like his head's tilting backwards. “Damn, I like hearing that.”

You turn away from your kitchen counter, subconsciously padding to your bedroom. “Hearing what?”

“Your laugh,” he explains. “It’s sweet.”

“Sweet?”

“Very.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully.

Dark hair. Gray-ish blue eyes. Sharp nose. High cheekbones.

Fit.

When your eyes flicker to your own bed, you try to picture a version of him waiting there.

He could be leaning back on his elbow, button-down shirt splayed open like a newly-peeled present.

Maybe his legs are parted.

Maybe he stares at you like you’re all he could ever want.

His voice cuts through the fantasy, causing your breath to catch.

“What do you want, baby?”

Then it drops an octave lower.

“...c’mon, be selfish for once.”

For once.

Like he can read your soul through a damn cell phone.

But Levi is right — your entire short-lived relationship with Porco and just about any other man before him has been through a small lens. Fitting in the middle seat just to never make any noise. To bend with the curve rather than against it to create your own path.

It’s just a sex hotline, but for some reason, his words resonate.

Be selfish.

Wasn’t that the point of calling in the first place?

“Anything?” you repeat a second time, much softer.

Levi shuffles on the other line then exhales like he’s getting comfortable.

“What do you need?” he asks, tone low and words slower. 

Purposeful. 

“What do you want?”

You close your eyes, drawing in a slow, steady inhale.

Are you seriously doing this?

No more overthinking.

“Should I... get comfortable?” you ask, too afraid to say what it is that you want.

What you’re about to do.

“Mm, you near a couch or a bed?”

“A bed.”

“Don’t get on it yet,” he orders, “but walk towards it. Bend over it.”

Jesus Christ.

“Bend over it?” you ask with a shaky breath of disbelief.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “You’re home from a long day. I’m home from a long day. All you’ve wanted all day is to have someone tell you what to do, right?”

As much as your face feels like it's on fire, you slowly walk to your bed and put the phone down between your splayed palms.

You press the speaker option to ‘on’, and feel a wave of arousal hit your gut when you hear him sigh through the phone.

“I thought you said you wanted me to be selfish,” you remind, bending over your bed.

“You’re allowing me to take charge,” he retorts with little hesitation. “You’re letting me take care of you the way you always should’ve been taken care of. Your ex-boyfriend has no fucking clue what he’s missed out on.”

You exhale, trying to keep it together.

“Levi—”

“I’m right here, baby,” he huskily promises. “Right here. Not leaving you.”

You feel ridiculous.

You’re so turned on it’s almost laughable.

“You ready to let me take control?” he eventually asks, and you nod like he can see you.

“Yeah, I’m— I think so.”

“I like using a red-yellow-green light system,” Levi hums. “Red’s a hard stop. Yellow is negotiating, a slow down to check in. Green means you’re in.” He pauses, and you lean down closer to your phone, bending further. “Color?”

Even on speaker, his voice rips straight through you.

“Green,” you decide, blurting before your brain can catch up.

“Good girl.”

You’re not going to survive this.

“Are your lights off?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he decides. “I want you to crawl slowly onto the bed now. Can you do that for me?” 

Your hand slides obediently, passing over the phone as you begin to rest one knee on the mattress. It dips with give. 

“All the way up to your pillows, then you can lay on your back — but keep your eyes closed.”

“Okay.”

Eventually you drag your phone with you as you crawl to the headboard of your bed, only to then slowly turn around and drop to your back.

“Are your eyes closed?”

With the phone speaker right at your ear, it almost lends itself to the fantasy of him hovering above you.

His lips dip at the edge of your ear, the static lost to you.

“Yes,” you exhale, relaxing into the bed.

“Good. You’re doing so good for me already, and we’ve barely started.” He pauses, shifting once more. “What’re you wearing, baby?”

“Something so not sexy,” you joke, and it earns a breathy laugh from him.

“Bet you can make anything sexy,” he tells you, and it shoots straight to your lower belly.

“How would you know?” you ask, your hand already reaches for the hem of your shirt. “You’ve never even seen me.”

“No, but I hear you, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Your breath hitches, and you can hear it; the smile in his voice.

“Take everything off, except your underwear.”

“Bra, too?”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he tells you, and it’s much less breathy. It’s certain, like he wants to check in — make sure you’re just as into it as he sounds. “Would you rather I help you take that off?”

Your brain blanks.

Slowly you push your jeans off first, kicking them to some unknown corner.

Then you rise, ripping your t-shirt off of your body, until you’re sitting in your mismatched bra and panties.

“How would you take it off of me?” you boldly ask, though you can’t quite get rid of the shake of anticipation in your voice.

“Fuck, I’d love to,” he grunts, and your face burns. “I’d be so busy pressing small, slow kisses to your neck. Reach up and touch your neck for me. Feel how I’d kiss it.”

You do.

As surprised as anyone else, you reach up and press your fingers against small parts of your neck, earning him a tiny gasp and noise of want.

“Dragging down to your throat.”

You press two gentle fingers to your skin again, following his path, before slamming your thighs together to try and relieve the heat between your legs.

“My finger would just… slip, right under the right strap of your bra.”

Your fingers dance across your collarbone, slipping your middle finger just under the delicate strap to mirror.

With your eyes closed, the motions lend to an almost out-of-body experience.

Like your hand trailing down your body isn’t yours; it’s his.

You’re his, right now.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, and you nods furiously.

“Very.”

“Good. Let me pull the other one down. I wanna see how pretty my girl is.”

The praises, the way he so easily speaks this way, has you all sorts of flustered.

Slowly you raise your other hand to pull down the strap, and whimper when you tug down as far as you can.

Your breasts spill out over the cup, allowing your hardened nipples to greet the night air.

“Can I touch you?”

The words almost make you open your eyes, as if you’ll see this mystery man hovering over you.

You know he's not here.

You wish he were right here.

“Yes.”

“How do you like to be touched, baby? Show me.”

“Levi,” you whine, allowing your shaky hands to run along your breasts.

You’re afraid, you’re exhilarated, but when you finally pinch the little buds and roll them between your fingers, you’re too far gone to care.

“Fuck—”

“Feels good, huh?” Levi’s own breathy voice interrupts your curse. “You look so beautiful like this. Letting me play with you— God, I could do this for hours—”

“Want you to.”

You don’t even recognize your own breathy tone. 

Hell, you only hear him.

You only feel him.

“Need more,” you pant, and he hums with amusement.

“No,” he replies, “think I’m gonna play with you a little more right here for now.”

You accidentally pinch your nipples, harder, like he’s teaching you a lesson.

“Levi.”

“What, is my girl getting impatient?”

His girl.

You don’t even know him, but you’d sure as hell like to be.

(How easy is it, for you to fall so fast from your judgmental high horse when Annie first slipped you this number — only for you to be moaning on your bed, hands groping and kneading your breasts, for a man you didn’t know?)

“Y-You said,” you stammer, “to be selfish, and I want—”

“Shh, I’m gonna take good care of you, okay?” Levi interrupts on the other end. “But you have to do something for me, too.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want you holding back on me. No shyness. No second guesses. I want you, I want to hear what I do to you. Is that understood?”

You can’t take it.

Your one hand leaves your chest to skim down to your belly, unable to wait any longer.

“I want you to touch me,” you hiccup.

“Yeah?”

His voice wavers in the response before it strengthens. Demands.

“I want those panties gone first. Take them off and spread your knees. Feet flat on the bed.”

No need to be told twice; you hastily pull your panties down your hips, your knees, until they pool at one of your ankles.

Your knees knock together before spreading, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“I want to touch you, too, baby.” Levi swallows, coating his throat. “How wet are you for me?”

Fingertips run past your lower belly to touch the apex of your thighs, gasping with surprise and relief when you feel that familiar electricity.

“Really fucking wet,” you admit.

The groan he emits is delicious. “Fuck.”

For a moment, you feel completely out of your depth. 

This is meant to be a sex hotline, but there are lines blurred in your mind. Something about the sheer image of him leaning back into his chair, fucking a fistful of his cock while he has a phone operator headset against his ear, only turns you on that much more.

“If we had time, I’d spend all night memorizing what you taste like. What you feel like. How you let go — for me, only for me.”

“Only for you,” you promise, unable to stop yourself from drawing circles over your clit.

You moan, head bent back against your pillow.

“Fuck, you’re touching yourself, aren’t you?” he asks, and his voice seems less controlled now. It’s got a hint of raggedness, and it only quickens your pace. “You feel amazing, you know that? Such a pretty pussy, all spread and wet for me—”

“Shit, Jesus, Levi,” you gasp, knowing that you’re not going to last long.  You’re too wound up from the night before. “If you keep talking like that—”

“What, are you gonna come for me?” Amusement tickles the question. “Oh, you can come for me, baby, but I’m gonna need at least two from you tonight.”

Your fingers press a little harder to your clit, and you keen. 

“Wh– At least?”

“As if I’d ever be satisfied with only one,” he murmurs. “No, I wanna watch you come apart. Feel it on my fingers with those cute little contrac—”

That’s it.

You moan louder than you expected, the taut bowstring suddenly snapped in half. 

You arch off the bed, relentlessly rubbing your fingers against your body to ride out the insane orgasm that you — that Levi has given you.

Even if you’re blissed out, you hear it on the receiving end:

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Fuck, you sound amazing. I know it’s gonna be tough, but keep going for me, okay? Don’t stop.”

“It’s sen– ha, sensitive!” you whimper, wanting to stop your hand.

“Mm-mm, you said you’d be good. Be selfish, baby. Give me two.”

“But Levi!”

Everything is on overdrive.

Your hand; your body; your mind.

You imagine he’s hovering over you, working you with his hand with a near-sadistic relentlessness.

As you battle your own refractory period, your toes curl, teeth clenched.

You want to be good.

You want to be so good.

And somewhere in that overwhelming intensity, you feel it: the ebb and flow of pleasure returning, crawling through your veins and forcing you to not give up.

To give this to him.

Then you hear it: panting.

As if he’s getting off to this himself. Your eyes snap open, wide, to an empty room. 

When your cheek turns to the phone, you confirm that’s what you hear:

Ragged breaths, albeit softly, with added grunts of control. 

Like he’s holding back.

Something about that image of him in a chair, his hand relentlessly pumping his cock in time with your hand, your whimpers and moans, does damage.

“I need— mm— want— please.”

“I’m right here, baby,” Levi promises, though his voice is weaker. You can even hear him swallow again. “Right fucking here, wanna hear you cum so bad.”

Maybe you really were pent up enough for two, because soon you’re slipping — falling — into that blissful nothingness while your body clenches on itself, clit fluttering from a second release.

It’s less intense, but that doesn’t make it any less good.

Everything throbs in your body as you come down, panting, with a slight sheen of sweat on your skin.

You turn to your phone, totally gone in the bliss of the aftermath.

Levi has grown silent as well; only light puffs of air come through the speaker now.

“Feeling better?” Levi asks with a hint of pride in his voice.

“Shut up,” you answer with a gentle laugh of your own. “I’m… shit. I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

That statement gets Levi to laugh, and your heart feels twice as full.

“That’s one way of pillow talk, I guess.”

The man pauses.

“Are you alright?”

As if he’s truly concerned, worried about your wellbeing.

You don’t allow yourself to fall for it, not completely.

This is his job — even if it felt so real, in the moment.

“Much better,” you promise, smiling to yourself.

“Happy to help,” he hums, his voice returning to that stormy swirl of seduction and softness.

The sobering reality of an empty bedroom should deter you, but all you can do is smile.

(When is the last time you genuinely felt giddy? Excited? Satisfied?)

“Hey, Levi,” you murmur eventually, slowly sitting up to unhook your bra and toss it away. No need to keep it on.

“Yeah, baby?”

You’ll never get over the way he sounds when he calls you that.

It’s permanently stuck to your frontal lobe, obscuring any other logic or reality.

“Am I still allowed to call?”

“Allowed?”

“Yeah, even though we…”

“What, you think you get one experience and your membership is up?”

Levi chuckles, shifting in his seat — or bed — or wherever he is.

“You can call me anytime you want.”

“Any?”

“Between company hours, yeah.”

“Even to talk?”

“Of course,” he answers, softer this time. “Always to talk. Go get some rest.”

“Mm,” you mumble, turning on your side as exhaustion takes over. “I will, but only because I want to and I’m being selfish.”

It surprises you to hear him laugh again, but it’s louder now.

More prominent. 

As if he genuinely enjoyed your joke.

Get your head out of the clouds, girl, is what you want to say to yourself, but you can’t be bothered to care.

“Good. You earned it.”

A noise emits from your tired throat to acknowledge him, too sleepy to formulate a real sentence.

Then his voice drops to a whisper, for your ears and your ears alone.

“Goodnight, baby.”

You press the ‘end call’ button and fall into the deepest sleep you’ve had all year.

.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading part two of P4! This is insane. I still cannot believe the feedback I got in part one. Seriously, you all made my June. I hope this next part has satisfied your curiosity of how Levi would be a hotline operator.

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

[skzdarlings]

the kingsguard ; jisung x reader ; part iii

part one | part two | part three | part four | tba | ao3 link

pairing: han jisung/reader summary: You are a queen. He is a kingsguard - a member of a holy order that vows to defend the king in the name of the gods. They forsake all earthly goods and swear a vow of chastity to avoid worldly temptation. When he stands in as proxy for the royal wedding, all those vows are tested.

content info: reader is described with curly hair, mention of curves.

content warnings: a royal affair between queen reader and guard jisung. the king is a violently abusive man and continues to disrespect reader in this part. this chapter has an additional content warning for violence, assasination attempts and explicit sexual content: guided masturbation, mirror action, and skirting the breaking of chastity vows.

word count: 13000 words.

-

As promised, rest comes an hour later.  Some stay in the woods with the wagons while the king and his party make for the nearby village. 

The edge of the forest slopes downhill, the bustling city centre at its base.  Civilians gather to watch the arrival of the royal retinue.  Most of them duck out of the king’s path well before he reaches them.  You suppose the party might have stopped at this village on the journey in and you can believe the king did not leave a kind impression on its denizens. 

You struggle with your skirts on the steepest slope. Because your husband pays you no mind, Jisung helps you, swishing back the length of his own robes as he climbs onto a boulder to reach you.  You thank him, placing your hands on his shoulders while he clasps your waist.  He swings you down on the path. 

No sooner have you stepped down does a little voice ask, “Is that the queen?  Why is her hair down?” 

You look over.  Some children are gathered nearby, staring at you with wide, curious eyes.  A mother scolds the loud one, putting a hand over the child’s mouth. 

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry,” the woman says, bowing deeper than necessary. 

“It’s all right,” you say.  You smile as you approach, maintaining some distance as they seem skittish.  You drop into a crouch to look at the children.  “Yes, I am the queen,” you say.  “I’m sorry I’m bit dishevelled.  The road is very bumpy and I was quite uncomfortable, but I am very happy to be in your village now.”    

When they determine you are not going to lash out at them, the children get closer.  Soon they are all yammering away, each of them wanting your attention for an introduction or story. 

“Can you have lunch with us?” a little boy asks.  He looks back at the woman.  “Mama, can the queen have lunch with us?” 

“Oh, I would love to,” you say, smiling to placate the very startled woman.  “But my guard needs to eat too and we shouldn’t keep the others waiting.” 

“He can come too!” a little girl says. 

A little boy goes right up to Jisung, his eyes wide with awe.  Though Jisung is not especially tall, the boy looks at him as though he is a towering titan. 

“Whoa,” the boy says.  “Are you a real kingsguard?” 

“Aha, I am,” Jisung says.  “Are you?”

“Me?” the boy asks.  “I’m not a kingsguard!” 

The children all squeal with laughter, Jisung grinning down at them.  You find yourself smiling too, surprised by how easily and naturally it comes. 

“Is that your sword?” one of the children asks, tugging on his black robe but eying the silver sword hilt.  “Can I touch it?”

“Ah, maybe no pointy objects,” Jisung says, giggling nervously. 

“What’s the delay?” Chan asks, striding over.  The king has already entered a nearby inn to eat and drink.  A few kingsguards linger outside, minding the door. 

Remembering your actual place, your smile fades.  You stand and smooth the creases of your skirt.  You remember the king insulting your appearance and making comments about weight, so you are not particularly keen to sit down and eat a meal with him.  Anxiety swallows your hunger.   

“We were invited to lunch,” Jisung says, laughing.  He looks from Chan to you, his grin faltering when he sees your solemn expression.

Chan notices too.  His thoughtful gaze flicks between you and the children.  After some deliberation, he nods. 

“Right,” he says. “The king is occupied anyway.  Would you like to spend time in the village instead?”  

Your heart brightens.  You nod. 

“I’ll send Jeongin for extra security,” Chan says.  He shoots Jisung a stern look.  “Protect the queen.” 

“Always,” Jisung says, hand over his heart as he bows. 

You know it is his duty, nothing personal, but that brightness in your heart turns incandescent with pleasure. 

You sit with several villagers at tables in the square.  There is more food than you can reasonably eat as several different families jump at the opportunity to feed the queen, at least once they realized you are more polite than the king.  You easily eat your fill. 

Jeongin and Jisung stand behind you, eating their own food as they pace and supervise. At one point, they agree to let the children see their swords.  They even conduct a short bout of fencing while their little crowd oohs-and-awes. 

You chat with the local craftsmen and some working women.  One of them makes a less than flattering comment about the king’s manners.  It garners Jeongin’s keen eye, flashing in his direction.  When the kingsguard looks at him, the villager ducks his head in shame, but he does not retract the comment either. 

You do not say anything, merely remark that you are proud to be chosen by the gods and you are serious about the responsibility they have bestowed upon you. 

“I care about this land very much,” you say. 

“Well, we’re all just glad someone at the capital does,” a worker says. 

“The gods have chosen a queen we can be proud of,” says another.    

You are better at offering kind words than receiving them, flustered by the compliments. You demure and look away. When your gaze wanders, you see Jisung already looking at you.  He nods, offering you a smile so warm and kind that it leaves you even more flustered than before. 

Lunch ends and the king returns.  The villagers wave until you crest the hill, then it is a quiet trek to the horses and carriages.  The group in the woods have packed away their things too.  Everyone is ready to depart. 

The king once again disappears without acknowledging you.   Jisung helps you onto the horse, holding it steady while you mount, then he swings up behind you.  A little girl gave you a ribbon to tie your hair, but he still gently brushes the low tail aside.  He is wearing black riding gloves, the leather up to his knuckles, his fingertips bare as they leave goosebumps on your nape.   

It does not take long to get back on the road.  This path dips south towards the sea and the great cliff, so this is the last city for a while as the forest trail winds uphill.  The next village is a day away.  It lays on the other side of the descent, so camp will be constructed in the woods tonight. 

You are not sure if you will be sharing a tent with the king.  He claimed he would not have you until back in the capital, but that was before his mistress ran off.  You shudder, imagining him taking those frustrations out on you.  You may have to put that sleeping draft to use sooner than later. 

“Are you cold?” Jisung asks. 

Before you can answer, he presses his hand gently on the curve of your hip, guiding you back, closer to him.  He is just offering his body warmth, mistaking your shiver for a chill.  You remind yourself that he is a kingsguard.  He has sworn a vow of chastity that he takes pride in maintaining.  You are the silly one, starved for a kind touch, who feels the burning imprint of his palm long enough after he stops.    

The journey continues.  Songs are sung to pass the time, though Chan throws a look over his shoulder when Jisung starts a relatively dirty one.  Jisung presses his lips together, smothering a laugh.  You suspect his relentlessly goofy shenanigans are for your benefit as he keeps trying to make you laugh.  It always works.  You find yourself giggling helplessly into your hands on more than one occasion.  He seems determined to wring an embarrassingly loud guffaw out of you. 

The joviality does not last.   

No one is expecting the arrow that flies straight through the window into the queen’s carriage.   You and Jisung are a few feet behind it and he rears back, swift but startled, the horse baying its own agitation.  You also yelp, clutching the saddle as he stabilizes the horse. 

Minho was close so he also rears back, settling faster without the extra weight. 

“Arrow!” he shouts.  It starts a cascade of action, the guards shouting orders back and forth to each other.    

You do not really hear them.  Your heart pounds from the sudden jolt, but it worsens as you stare at the carriage.  If you had still been in there, that arrow could have pierced a leg, shoulder, or even your throat. 

“Jisung…” you say, an instinctive utterance, voice wobbling.      

He lays a protective hand across your middle, all his silly theatricality gone, replaced with a sterner determination.   His eyes dart around the treeline.  His moves the horse just in time for another arrow to whizz past. 

Chaos unfolds as a veritable horde pours out of the treeline, charging the royal train. 

You never fathomed being at the centre of such violent mania.  You were always at home, a safe and sheltered place, with bandits and assassins relegated to the world of stories.  You liked to imagine you would be brave under duress, but the reality of such quick-moving danger is very different than a slow-told story. 

You are terrified, especially after two close calls, though you have no time to deliberate on the coincidence.  You are too lost in panic, clutching your chest like you can restrain your racing heart. 

The kingsguards take formation to combat the onslaught.  Jisung opts to retreat, prioritizing your safety, especially when another arrow flies your way.  He is quick dodging it, racing further down the line.

Chan, swinging his sword from up on his horse, seamlessly takes down an adversary while shouting,  “Get the queen to higher ground!  Hyunjin!  Go with them!  Fuck, I wish Felix was here.  Go!”

While Chan barks orders, you look at the man he cut down.  Even though these bandits are the instigators, it is still a vile sight. You have never seen a man die under such violence. Your panicked heart seems to stutter and stop and start again. 

Jisung is unphased, quick to follow Chan’s orders.  He turns the horse and gallops towards the opposite treeline.  Hyunjin comes thundering after you.  All the kingsguards are armed with an array of weapons but it is fairly obvious which tools are favoured by which guards.  Hyunjin has the most arrows and the most elaborate bow.  You wonder if Felix was the other bowman, hence Chan’s exclamation.

They race you through the trees.  You can only trust they know their way, seeking higher ground where they can defend you until the horde has been dispatched.

You look back and shriek.  Some bandits are giving chase on horseback.  You have never moved this quickly in all your life but it still feels too slow. 

“Hyunjin,” Jisung says, loud but calm. 

They criss-cross their horses, racing past each other.  Hyunjin whips around, in a single motion dropping his reins and seizing his bow, then firing a shot behind him.  It knocks the closest bandit off his horse.  The other three fall back and continue their pursuit at a safer distance. 

Hyunjin takes his reins.  The horses cross each other again, making it difficult for anyone behind you to get a clean shot. 

All you can do is hold on for dear life, keeping your eyes ahead.  The guards race uphill.  Once situated at an advantage, Hyunjin dismounts and takes position, firing an arrow without delay.  The bandits below duck and take cover.  You curl towards Jisung when they fire an arrow back.

“Take her further in,” Hyunjin says, lining up another shot.  “I have this.” 

Jisung continues into the woods.  You are very far from the trail now, surrounded by clusters of tightly packed trees.  Weaving in and out slows your pace. 

After a time, Jisung eases his horse to a stop, giving you both a moment to catch your breath. 

“Are you okay?” he asks.  His hands are thoughtless, touching you more than a guard should, but his concern is obvious.  His comforting hand settles on the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle, while the other pats your side to inspect any injuries. 

“I’m fine,” you say, though your shaking voice betrays you.  “All things considered.”

“All things considered,” he repeats with an airy laugh. 

You let out a laugh too, halfway to a sob, an exhale of emotion.

You turn your face towards him.  You are curled right into him, his hand on your nape, the other wrapped protectively around your waist.  Your heart is a wild animal, frantic in your chest, and adrenaline fills your whole body with warmth.  When you meet his gaze, that warmth gathers low.  It finds all that tangled anxiety and loosens every knot.    

His thumb slows.  The arm around your waist lifts, just a bit, his hand hovering.  He seems to realize you are too close, even with all things considered, but his own adrenaline holds him.  He does not let go, though he knows he should, instead staring back at you, his dark eyes running all over your face.  

“Your eyes are so—” he starts then stops.  His face contorts with more terror than it showed during the attack. 

“Pardon?” you say. 

He swallows.  You watch the bob of his throat.

“I mean—” he starts, but then he hears something.  The softness in his gaze hardens as he whips his head up, catching sight of different bandits approaching on foot. 

“They’re after me, aren’t they?” you say, thinking of the arrow in that carriage, the men on horseback.  You are not sure if they intend to kill you or ransom you, but it is obvious they are less interested in the wagons than you.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jisung says, seizing the reins. “They won’t have you.”   

He is faster on horseback but the trees are so dense that it is still slow-moving.  The bandits on foot gain speed.  One lets loose an arrow.  Jisung dodges it, but the next arrow flies so close that you feel the wind as it breezes past your face. 

“Fuck,” he says.  His arm tightens around your waist, so firm it steals your breath.  “Hold on,” he says.  “We need to dismount quickly.”

His idea of a quick dismount is essentially throwing himself off the horse.  It surprises the bandits but it also surprises you, wrenching a scream as you fly towards the forest floor.   He keeps his grip and yanks you into his arms.

“Run,” he says, taking hold of your hand.  “And get behind me when I say.” 

 You run through the trees, holding your skirts in one hand and his hand in the other.  He is much faster but your adrenaline propels you.  You already anticipated sore legs from so long on horseback, but you are going to be in agony from so much running.  Provided you survive that long. 

“Jisung,” you say in a warning voice.   The treeline ends up ahead but it does not open into a clearing; it opens to the edge of a cliff, looming over the sea.  You can smell the brine before you see the blue beyond the branches. 

Jisung does not seem surprised.  He barrels right towards it.  When the edge nears, so close you can hear the ocean crashing into the cliff face below, he spins on his heel.  Somewhere in the swirl of black cloth, he draws his sword, twisting it in the air and catching it as swiftly.  He braces himself in a fighting stance.       

“Get behind me,” he says.  “And maybe close your eyes.”

His first order is easy, your shaking legs happy to halt.  The second order is more complicated, because you cannot help but watch as he runs straight towards the three adversaries.  Your own adrenaline peaks.  You want to chase after him and somehow help, but your remaining sense wrestles that instinct back under control.  There is nothing you can do.   

He does not need help anyway.  Someone charges him but he disarms the man in two short moves.  You do not even see the moment Jisung reaches back, but suddenly there is a knife in his other hand and he sends it hurtling towards the farthest opponent.  It thunks into the man’s chest and the spurt of blood startles you out of your frozen panic.  You finally obey his second command and close your eyes, covering them with your hands for good measure. 

You have many skills but swordplay is not one of them.  You do not like the sight of gore.  You never imagined needing a stomach for it.  Is this my life now? you think, trembling to the sound of metal on metal.

Through all your fear, there is one constant reassurance: Jisung will protect you.  You do not doubt him for a moment.

When someone touches your shoulder, you do not scream, knowing it is him before you open your eyes. 

Those familiar brown eyes gaze back at you.  You release a long held breath in an embarrassing sputter, eyes filling with tears.   

“It’s okay,” he says, cupping your cheek, the leather glove warm against your skin. 

You are shaking with adrenaline, your hands still raised.  You look behind him, catching sight of three bodies strewn across the forest floor. 

He moves his head to block the view.  He carefully takes your quivering hands.  He squeezes one gently. 

“I know, it’s a lot,” he says.  “The first time is the worst.  You’ll be okay.” 

The first time.  There will be more.  Of course there will be more.  Your shaking worsens with the thought.

You cannot find your voice.  You lift your eyes and meet his gaze, imploring with a glance and nothing more.  His lower lip wobbles with an unsteady breath, his brow furrowed.  His eyes are deeply sympathetic. 

He seems to battle some internal thought, then shakes his head and surrenders, quickly bringing your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles.  His other hand goes behind your head and he pulls you towards him, wrapping you in an embrace. 

You grab him around the middle, burying your face in his neck.  Your chest is rising and falling rapidly against his steadier body, but his relative calm tempers you.  Some of your hair has fluttered loose from the ribbon, unsurprisingly, and he smooths some of it down. 

“It’s okay,” he says. 

Your shaking slows but your heart still races, all that anxiety twisting again.  You keep your arms around him, lifting your head as you ask, “Are there more?”

As if in reply, there is a disturbance in the trees.  Jisung spins, drawing his sword again.  He sweeps you behind him to block your body with his own.  

Hyunjin emerges from the trees on horseback, a hand on his bow and the other clutching his reins.  Jisung exhales then curses, sheathing his sword. 

“You missed all the fun,” Jisung says as Hyunjin rides past the bodies.  “Were you fixing your hair?” 

“Funny,” Hyunjin replies dryly.  “Where’s your horse?”

“She’ll find her way,” Jisung says.  “Are there more of them?” 

“There might be,” Hyunjin says.  He dismounts and walks up to Jisung.  They clasp hands but do not linger, both scrutinizing the forest, their gazes calculating.  “I don’t like this,” Hyunjin says.  “That wasn’t a robbery.  They were after—”  He glances at you but does not say it out loud. 

You look at Hyunjin, at the hair that has come loose from his tie, the sweat along his forehead, the sharpness of his gaze.  You remember him getting catty with Seungmin, his haughty expression and pointed glance.  That playful agitation was very different from his expression now.  Rage burns behind his dark eyes.   

“Whoever planned this,” he says, bitingly, “is targeting the gods, as far as I’m concerned.  And I don’t care who he thinks he is.”  He swings his sword free just to stab it into the ground.  “And I don’t care what Chan has to say about it.  This an offense too fucking far.  She’s the queen.” 

“I know,” Jisung says, softer but just as thoughtful.   He looks at you, pity in his eyes.  “It’s not right at all.” 

“Fuck this.”  Hyunjin yanks his sword out of the ground and sheathes it again. 

That anxiety turns to lead inside you, your stomach sinking.  You want to curl up on the ground and stay there.  Even Hyunjin has deduced the attack was too targeted to be a coincidence.  He is trying to sound vague, but you hear the underlying accusation in his thoughts; someone wanted to kill you and someone was probably the king. 

It makes sense.  The union has been sealed.  The money has been granted. The only thing that would stop him from killing you is a sense of honour and responsibility, but this king has neither.   Of course he would try and eliminate you, but he could not do it himself.  The king is a font of power, a representative of the gods on earth, but he is bound to his own holy vows.  The queen is chosen by the gods.  He cannot kill you himself as that would be an unholy offense.  

No, if he wanted you dead, he would have someone else do it, and he would never consult the kingsguard on the matter, knowing their holy order would be vehemently opposed.  The kingsguard protects the king.  It also metes his punishment if he betrays the gods.  It is why their own oath-breaking is so serious a crime.

Before further accusations can be made, distant shouts carry through the woods.  It is not the kingsguard, nor any of the king’s men. 

Jisung unsheathes his sword.  Hyunjin draws his bow. 

“Get the queen out of here,” Hyunjin says.    

“Where are we supposed to go?” you ask, shoulders already shaking as the voices get louder. 

Jisung turns around.  His eyes dart right past you, but there is nothing there except the expanse of sea.  He stares at the open water, shimmering under the afternoon sun. 

He looks at Hyunjin.  Hyunjin seems to understand him without any exchange of words.  He sighs and gives Jisung a withering look.  

“You’re crazy, but I guess you’ve had worse ideas,” Hyunjin says.

“As usual, Hyunjin, your confidence in me is inspiring.”

“I miss when we hated each other.”

“I love you too, man,” Jisung says.  “We’ll meet you at the inn.  Tell Chan we took a shortcut.”

Hyunjin snorts and shakes his head.  The guards part ways.  Hyunjin swings onto his horse and rides towards the noise while Jisung sheathes his sword and sprints back to you.   You take his hands the second he offers them, needing the comfort.  He squeezes yours tightly. 

“You trust me, right?” he says. 

“Trust you?  Yes.  Why?” you say hesitantly.  “You’re not about to suggest something crazy, are you?” 

“What?”  His eyebrows jump.  “Crazy?  Me?  Of course not.  I mean, if it makes you feel better, I don’t have to say out loud—”  He looks sideways again. 

A sea bird calls as it swings over the water. 

“You are not suggesting we go over the cliff.” Your voice shatters on a high-pitched squeak. 

“If anyone else comes this way, they won’t assume we went over!” he answers quickly.  “They’ll assume we went farther into the woods and look for us there!  It’s perfect!”

“Yes!” you say.  “They will assume that!  Because that is the sensible direction to go, not over a cliff into the sea!  Over the cliff!  Over the cliff!”    

While you rant, he removes his leather riding gloves.   You fall silent when he touches you, his bare palm curved around the slope of your jaw.   He guides your face to his so he can look at you, really look at you, his eyes intense. 

“Trust me,” he says.  “I swear on my life and my honour as a kingsguard.  My queen.  Please. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

Those intense eyes first found you in a room full of people who looked right past you.  They have found you again and again.    

You exhale. 

“Yes,” you say, scarcely more than a breath.  “All right.  I trust you, Han Jisung.” 

“Hold my hand,” he says, drawing you close.  “We’re high but not fatally high.  It shouldn’t hurt but we are going to break the surface quickly.  Whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand.”

“I won’t,” you say.  “I promise.”

He squeezes your hand.  You squeeze back. 

You never had a fear of heights but maybe that was relative.  Taking a running leap off a cliff is certainly one way to find out for sure.

It seems feasible with your eyes ahead, the sea rolling out in a vast carpet before you.  Then your feet leave the ground and it feels as though the cosmos shift and the entire universe drops out under you. 

It lasts like an eternity but also seconds.  You break the surface quickly, just like he said, with a crash more forceful than the white waves on the cliff-face.  It feels like a shatter in the fabric of reality.  For half a heartbeat, you think it killed you, the force so impossibly brutal. 

Then it settles.  You open your eyes underwater.  As promised, Jisung did not let go of your hand even though you landed heavier and faster, weighing more especially with your dress.

Your dress.

You try kicking towards him.  He is pulling your arm but it only draws him deeper, sinking with you.  His black robes swirl around him, the material light and loose in the water, but your dress turns into a silk anchor. 

An instinctive cry leaves your lips, a desperate attempt to say his name, but it bursts in a flurry of bubbles.

You grab at him when he kicks down towards you.  He guides your arms around his neck.  You cling to him, not thinking sensibly, but with the frantic desperation of a dying animal. 

You do not pray to the gods.  It does not even occur to you.  They have answered you with nothing but silence.  You put all your faith in Jisung.  He does not let you down. 

Jisung tears the back of your dress, ripping the apart the seams with his bare hands.  You feel the threads pucker and pop, the cloying material giving way around your neck.  You help him, pulling at the neck and pushing at the sleeves.  You get the bodice down your hips, then the rest falls away.  It sinks without hindrance.  You are left in a white shift, long but light, so freeing that you can practically taste the air. 

Jisung grabs you.  You cling to him.  Together, you kick towards the surface.   You shoot through it with a gasping breath, coughing and sputtering. 

He shakes his head, whipping water droplets everywhere, then smooths his hair back in a single sweep.  The blackness of his hair looks even darker when wet, an obsidian tinted blue in the sunlight and seawater.  You think it is ridiculous how he cannot look bad even when soaking wet, while you feel like a drowned rat, your copious amounts of hair plastered to your face. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, laughing in spite of himself.   

You splash him and he laughs some more. 

“If that wasn’t your worst idea ever,” you say, “I’m not sure I want to know what was.” 

“No, probably not,” he says, still giggling as he paddles towards you. 

You duck underwater to smooth back your hair.  When you surface, he is close – so close, too close.  The flow of the water pushes your bodies together.  There is very little between you, black and white material, so thin you can feel his body heat.  You are not sure if that racing heart is his or yours.  

Your hands find his shoulders instinctively.  He keeps his hands out, treading water, keeping you both afloat. 

“I—” he starts then stops, staring into your face.  He releases a breath.  “Come on,” he says.  “Let’s get to the shore.”

-

You emerge from the water, drenched and dripping, your white shift not only translucent but clinging to every curve.  You notice first and a fiery storm of embarrassment ignites inside you.  You wrap an arm over your ample chest and try to tug the material away from other sensitive places.  

Jisung has his back to you.  He is wringing out his black robes as best he can.  When he does see you, his eyes widen, then he slips on nothing and faceplants in the sand.  The tiny grains stick to his wet body like a second skin.

It makes you feel a little better about your own state, watching as he lifts his sand-covered face off the ground.  You laugh and also apologize for laughing as he gets back in the water to wash it all off. 

“Um, right,” he says, still scrubbing his face as he marches ashore.  He does not look at you, glaring ahead at nothing while pushing his hair back.  “Just… just wait.”

He gathers the hem of his robe to squeeze it dry.  You watch, still flustered, but also a little bit…

You do not know the word.  You just know that if Jisung thought you were unappealing, he would have no problem looking at you.  But he determinedly keeps his eyes off you, muttering what sounds like a prayer. 

You are about to make a comment, a joke at your own expense, when he abruptly strips off a layer. 

Your eyes widen as you stare at his back. 

It is true that Jisung is not as bulky as Chan or Changbin or even Jeongin.  His build is a more slender athleticism.   Those robes nonetheless concealed more than you thought.  His under layer is far more revealing, a sleeveless black shirt and pants.  His shoulders have a fair breadth, sturdy and strong, and his torso tapers down to a slim waist.  His exposed arms move with a subtle musculature that catches you off guard.  

You thought he was handsome this whole time, but the starkness of his sudden masculinity has your knees knocking.  A regular man seems to emerge from the robes of the kingsguard and that is somehow more intimidating.  You feel your own exposure more keenly.   

Jisung folds the material over his fists and wrings it tightly.  It makes the soft slope of his lean biceps strain.   

You drop your gaze too.  It makes for a comical effort when he tries to pass you the robe when neither of you is looking.

In the end, he turns around, holding the robe to block his face.  You laugh shyly and step into it.  He wraps it around your shoulders and you pull your arms through.  Even though it is also wet, it does a better job of covering you. 

“Thank you,” you say.  You meet his gaze and say sincerely, “For everything.”    

He laughs a short laugh, an airy, empty sound.  It sounds more disbelieving than humorous.  He tilts his head as he looks at you, like he has to think deeply, like there is something he does not understand.  It makes your stomach twist and your heart skip.  Even when he caught a glimpse of your body, it did not feel as raw as this regard.  He looks at you and he sees through to something far deeper than skin and much more vulnerable.   

“You know,” he finally says. “The king has not thanked me once.  Not for anything.” 

You do not know what to say to that.  You hold the neck of the borrowed robe closed, fidgeting with it.  He seems to remember himself and he shakes his head.  He looks away, towards the trees that line the beach. 

“Ahh,” he says.  “It’s fine.  The king shouldn’t have to thank me.  And neither do you.  It’s my duty.”

“It’s not because I have to,” you say defensively.  “I want to.  Jisung, I want you to know that it wasn’t meaningless.  Everything you’ve done – I appreciate it.  I appreciate you.” 

He looks at you again, his face a storm of different emotions.  The pinch of his brow looks almost sad.  It makes you want to reach out and touch his face, smooth out his features under your fingers. 

He steps back before you can. 

“Your Majesty,” he says, bowing.  He does not look at you when he stands, strutting past, heading down the beach.  “Come on,” he says.  “It’s still a couple hours to the city from here.”

You walk on foot to the next city, the one that will take the retinue a day to reach.  Going over the cliff is certainly faster than travelling through the forest path, though obviously a less sensible approach.  You entertain yourself with thoughts of the king’s carriage careening over the cliff. 

It is a warm summer’s day so your wet clothes do not bother you.  It feels rather refreshing.  With the king far behind you, you can breathe a little easier. 

You and Jisung amble along the beach.  There is an awkward silence at first.  Though he was chatty on horseback, having the other guards around made the conversations feel less personal.  Now it is just you and him.

Fortunately, he is a natural showman.  It does not take much to wrestle funny stories out of him.  He has many, gleefully recounting every embarrassing story about his fellow guards.  He tells you how he and Hyunjin didn’t get along at first.  When you ask if it was for any political or religious reason, he laughs and says, “Nope! Just hated that handsome face.  Seriously, who looks like that?  Everything he did was annoying because he did it with that stupid smoulder.”   

You laugh.  At least an hour has passed and the sun has dried your clothes now.  Your curly hair is partially dry but a tangled mess.  Everything feels a little stiff and grimy with seawater, but you find you hardly care.  Here, under the sun, cool from your impromptu swim, you feel more alive than you have in weeks.   

“Why would it matter if he’s so handsome?” you ask.  “With all due respect, it’s not as though that is especially handy in your occupation…”

He laughs maniacally at that.  You swat his arm.    

“It’s a valid question!” you exclaim. 

“It is! It is!” he says, hands up in surrender.  “And I don’t know, ha-ha.  Old habits, I guess.”

“It wasn’t hard?” you ask.  “Giving up your worldly goods?  Swearing your vows?”

“No,” he says, a little more serious.  He looks down at the ground, kicking a pebble along.  “I didn’t have much to my name.  And for the other part – ah.  It’s never been that hard for me, to be honest.  Serving the gods felt right.  Before I was a guard, I didn’t really have a purpose.  A reason to be here on this earth.  But now… now I do.” 

“I see.”   

“Did you…”  He clears his throat.  He seems to know his question is audacious, inappropriate for a guard, but you give him an encouraging look.  Maybe because you are alone, or maybe because you have shared an ordeal, or maybe because you are in his robes, he gives in.  “Did you ever want a different life?” he asks.  He then winces as if suddenly remembering last night.  “Sorry,” he says.  “That insensitive.  I’m sure you—”

“It’s all right,” you say.  “I know what you mean.  It’s just… the question is a little overwhelming.”  You look across the sea, stare at the long edge of the horizon.  “Last night was…  I felt a lot of things for the first time.  I didn’t really know how to process it.  I grew up with expectations.  I didn’t know I would marry a king, but I was raised to expect a match.  I knew I was in a position of privilege and that meant conceding other things.  I… I just wanted to make things good for other people.  I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It does,” he says sincerely. 

You smile at each other.

“Good,” you say.  There is a moment of silence.  You look at the horizon again.  “I don’t think I really know how to want something, to be honest,” you say, more to yourself than to him.  “Not deeply.  Not truly.  I was wealthy.  All my needs were met.  And I was never aimless.  I always had someone telling me what to do.  If there was ever time I wanted something, something I couldn’t have, I don’t remember.  Maybe that’s for the best.  I imagine that would be more painful than not wanting at all, right?  Maybe it’s better to suppress it and commit to my duty.  But I don’t know if that makes sense either.”

“It… it does,” he says.  “It does.” 

You eventually leave the beach and cross a short forest trail, intersecting the path the royal train will ride tomorrow.  You walk into the city and look for the inn.  It will be empty tonight in preparation of the royal visit tomorrow. 

You reach the doors at dusk.  The innkeepers recognize the kingsguard and usher you both inside.  When Jisung introduces you as the queen, they fall over themselves, apologizing for being unprepared. 

“It’s all right,” you say.  You share a laughing glance with Jisung. “We took an unexpected shortcut.” 

You are seated by a fireplace and given some food while they prepare a room for you.  The innkeeper’s wife provides you with a more appropriate cover so you can return Jisung’s robes.  He drapes them loosely around his shoulders, but they are stiff with seasalt.  Fortunately, you will both have an opportunity to wash. 

When the room is ready, the innkeeper’s wife escorts you upstairs.  She has prepared a bath in the bedchamber.

Jisung departs for a moment, just long enough to wash himself in another room.  His outer robes are taken to be washed along with your grimy shift, though he stays in his shirt and pants as a kingsguard is not supposed to wear anything but his uniform.  His spare robes are in his saddlebags. 

You wash your hair while the bath water is hot.  You try to focus on the heat, the water sluicing over your skin.  You fight to keep your panic down as you think about encountering the king tomorrow.

You are wringing out your hair when the door opens.  At first, you think it is the innkeeper’s wife returning for some reason.  When you see it is Jisung, you duck down so the water covers your shoulders. 

Jisung stumbles to a stop, eyes widening when he sees you in the tub. 

“Oh!” he says.  He spins around and walks right into the door. 

You cover your mouth, watching as he stumbles back into the room, holding his face.  For such a skilled swordsman, he can be remarkably clumsy. 

“Are you okay?” you ask.  You kneel in the deep tub, pressing yourself to the edge so it covers everything sensitive. 

“Fine,” he says, pinching his nose.  He waves a hand in your direction.  “Fine.  Sorry.  They told me you were washing, just not in a bath.” 

“They just sent you in here?” you ask.  “Why?”

“Uh, well, I mean…”  He dances over the threshold, rocking back and forth with uncertainty.  He keeps his back to you.  “I mean, it, uh, it is my job to, um, watch you.”

“In the bath?” you ask dryly. 

“Well, everywhere.”  He pinches his nose again and takes a breath.  “It’s not unusual.  The vows and – you know.  The kingsguard is a different order.  The gods see everything and we serve the gods.  It, uh, it is fairly normal for at least one guard to be around at all times, regardless how the king… or queen… is… um… occupied.” 

You feel a bit flushed, not just from the hot water. 

“At all times?” you ask. 

“Yup,” he says, popping the syllable.  “The king used to have Felix stand guard in the room all night, even when he was with his mistress and ohhh wait a minute.  Wait a minute.  Hold on.  I think I just put something together.  Yeah, wow, okay.  That was probably a bad idea for everyone involved.”

He always makes you laugh, even when you feel anxious or embarrassed.  It untangles that knot of dread faster than anything else. 

You fold your arms on the rim of the tub and rest your cheek there.  He is still standing with his back to you, the door open.  It is letting in a slight draft. 

“Jisung,” you say.  “It’s your duty.  It’s fine.  Can you please come inside and close the door?  It’s getting cold.”

“Ah. Right. Okay.  Sorry.”  He finally enters the room, though he pointedly does not look in your direction.  He busies himself with closing and bolting the door, taking far too long testing the locks. 

His hair is a bit damp.  He runs his fingers through it and your own fingers twitch.  You have never wondered what it would feel like to run your fingers through someone else’s hair, not until now.  His hair looks like it would be pleasant to the touch. 

You shake your head and look away.  Such foolish thoughts.   You settle in your bath and leave Jisung to his busy work.  He inspects every corner of the room and verifies the windows are securely sealed and locked.  Eventually, he seats himself in a chair near the fireplace, warming his hands and staring into the flames.   

You absently splash a bit of water, watching the droplets plink around you.  Your thoughts stray to the king then his absent mistress.  You cannot imagine any woman willingly and happily submitting to that man.  You wonder when she and her kingsguard connected.  You are glad she got away.  You hope it stays that way for their sake. 

Your own future is less certain.  The king wants you dead.  You do not know if he will make another attempt soon or if he will concede defeat for the time being.  You already know he will never like you.  It is obvious he is not that type of man.  He was born to power, raised believing he was divine.  Rather than use that blessing to aid his people, it has given him a cruel sense of superiority over them.    

The best outcome is that he will decide it is too much work to kill you.  

Or maybe death would be better.  You thought so last night, which seems so long ago now.  You remember the king’s violent hands on you, the demands he made, the way he looked right through you, treating you like a wretched thing.  You shudder to think he intended to hurt and use you, knowing he was planning to kill you the next day.   

“Are you all right?”     

Jisung’s voice draws you out of your reverie.  You are slouched in the tub, the water preserving your modesty at his distant vantage.   His face is illuminated in the firelight, the flickering light revealing his obvious concern.  Those dark eyes are wide as they gaze at you. 

“Yes,” you say.  He lifts a disbelieving eyebrow in reply.  You cross your arms over your chest, though it is your heart that feels exposed.  “No,” you whisper.  You whisper every last word, as though you can conceal it from the gods even while their servant listens.  “I’m sorry, Jisung.  I know he’s the king.  I know he is heaven’s earthly sovereign.  I know I’m his wife.  I know, no matter what he has done, if he has done anything, I have a responsibility, but I—”  You wipe your tears when they start to fall.  You sink a little lower in the tub.   

Your posture gives away your discomfort.  Jisung stands.  He goes to the bed where the innkeeper laid out a robe for you.  He smooths it out and picks it up. 

“Here,” he says. 

He does not look when you step out of the tub.  He wraps the robe around your body.  The fleeting contact makes you shiver.  You pass each other, avoiding each other’s eyes.  He returns to his seat by the fire and you sit on the edge of the bed. 

The room is quiet except for the crackling of the flames. 

“It’s not right,” he says after a moment. 

You were picking at lint on the robe, your thoughts asunder, but you look at him now.

“Pardon?” you ask in a small voice. 

He grimaces.  His hand is curled in a fist.  He unclenches it slowly, then occupies his hands by removing his sword belt.  He holds the weapon in his hands, running his thumb across the silver hilt while he frowns.   

“It’s not just because you’re the queen,” he says.  “You’re— you’re kind.  You’re good.  Your people cried when you left.  The king’s people only cry when he returns.  The way you talked to the villagers...  The respect between you...  The way you… the way you were good to those children…” 

You recall the story of his own childhood, a poor peasant boy on the capital streets with nothing to his name but a song. 

He rubs his forehead, then shakes his head. 

“You shouldn’t have to suffer,” he says.  “No one should.  But you...  It’s not right.  It’s not right.”

“I’m not special, really,” you say, not even to be self-deprecating but because you can see him sinking into his thoughts.  You do not want him hurting for your sake. 

“You are!  You’re the queen!” he exclaims.  “By the will of the gods!  And  I really do believe that.  Because you...  You are everything.” 

You jump when he drops his sword at his feet, the metal clattering on the wooden floor.  He puts his hands together as if he intends to pray, but then he looks at you, aglow in the firelight. 

“Your Majesty,” he says.  “You are good and kind and funny and gentle.  You are a heaven-sent queen.   You are everything I ever dreamed of worshipping.” 

Your wild heart breaks free.  It is not with the pounding terror of adrenaline, but like a drumbeat, low and steady, a rhythm that has you taking a long, shuddering breath. 

No words suffice in reply.  You sit in tense silence until the innkeeper’s wife knocks at the door.  She has come to empty and clear away the tub.   

Jisung lets her in.  You smile and chat while she works – because she adamantly refuses to let you help – and she confirms everything is to your liking.  You assure her that everything is perfect and she can be proud of her work.  Jisung watches silently the whole time, leaning against the fireplace, loosely holding his sword. 

When the room is clear and the bed turned down, the woman leaves, and the silence feels even heavier than before.  You sit on the bed in your robe, drying your hair with a cloth. Jisung locks the door then takes his seat by the fire again.  You suppose he is going to stay there all night. 

He slouches very low, his elbow propped on the armrest and his hand on his face.  His knees are spread wide enough that you can imagine kneeling between them.  You do not know what would follow, just that you want to be there. 

Yes, you want that, you realize.  You want to be there, looking up at him with a reverence equal to his words.  It would be easier than finding something to say.  Your gaze would speak for you, in a position that should be reserved for the king and the gods. 

You know you cannot do that.  Your roles are very different.   When he says speaks of devotion and worship, it as a kingsguard, not a man, even if your heart aches – because whether or not it is blasphemous to imagine, you would worship a man like that all the same. 

The very thought has you breathing a harder.  You imagine him looking down at you, his hand your face like before – guiding, gentle, good.  You cannot imagine Jisung ever touching you the way the king did.  No, it would be different.  The king seized your waist with a proprietary aggression.  Jisung has touched your waist again and again, always to help you, always to protect you.  You know that touch would not hurt.  You know that touch would not leave you curled in pain for hours afterwards. 

You know what it would not be, though you cannot imagine what it would be.  You just know the thought makes you tremble. 

But that is not your fate.  It is ridiculous to imagine.  It will be the king in this room tomorrow night. 

You tremble for a different reason. 

“He’s going to hurt me,” you whisper.  You are not sure if you even want to Jisung to hear, but you simply cannot keep it inside.  You speak, like if it leaves your mouth it will materialize and you can face it, fight it. 

That does not happen.  You just shiver worse. 

“Even if he doesn’t kill me,” you say.  “He’s going to hurt me.  He already tried once.  I won’t be able to stop him again.” 

You dare a glance at Jisung.  He is staring at you with those wide, sympathetic eyes.  After a moment of contemplation, he stands.  He paces a little, back and forth, seemingly debating himself in his head.  It turns to incoherent muttering as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Jisung—” you say, prepared to apologize.  It is not appropriate for the queen to complain to a kingsguard about her duties.  You are putting him in a difficult space, because he is a good man who does not want to see you suffer, but he is a holy man and he should demand you pray and do as the gods bid you. 

Instead he claps his hands together and sighs a musical sigh. 

“There are—”  His voice breaks and he laughs, a nervous little giggle before clearing his throat.  He says more seriously, “There are, uh, ways – things – um – yes – that you can do – so it doesn’t – so it doesn’t hurt.” 

“Ways,” you repeat slowly.  “Things.” 

“Yes,” he says, gesturing nonsensically, waving at nothing.  “Ways.  And things.” 

“What ways and things?” 

“You know.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?” 

“You do?” 

“Ahhh…”  Jisung looks sheepish, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.  He gives you a too-toothy smile.  In spite of everything, warmth moves inside you, a bright and delightful joy, even if it is temporary.   “Well, um.  I’m chaste, obviously, so I don’t – I don’t know much.  But I maybe know some things…  There’s a ritual the kingsguards do… before they are, um, initiated…” 

“Do…?” you say.  You wave him onward with an amused smile. 

“Uh, yes.”  He stands ramrod straight and clasps his hands behind his back.  “Don’t tell anyone I said anything, but, um.  They send you to a brothel.  It’s for a decent reason!”  His hands fly out again, waving defensively even though you did not say anything. 

You prop your elbow on your knee and your head on your fist, more entertained with his ranting than anything. 

“You know,” Jisung says, speaking as much with his hands as his words, “They just want to make sure you are actually going to be okay with a vow of chastity, especially if you’re a virgin like, um, like I was.  Am.  Was.  Am.  Anyway.  They don’t want a Felix situation, you know?  Where you change your mind later.  The vows are a serious, serious, serious thing.  Felix was an exception, that whole thing was just – it was crazy, you know?  But the vows.  The vows.  Oh, I was ready for the vows.  My life… it wasn’t great, you know?  I was worthless.  I was a street kid.  I was a thief.  I came back from the war to nothing.  The kingsguard gave me a reason to live.  So I wasn’t tempted, oh nooo, I was never tempted.  But they, um, they sent me anyway to make sure I knew what I was giving up.”

“I see,” you say.  You want to correct him when he insults himself, but you suspect he will deflect any argument.  Instead you ask, “What happened then?”

“Um, a very nice lady took me to a room,” he says.  “I told her what I told you.  I was ready for the kingsguard.  I had my calling.  I was finally going to matter.  My friend had helped me and I couldn’t let him down.”

“And what did she say?”

“She just… listened,” he says, looking a bit fond in his recollection.  You find yourself feeling a little jealous, not so much because he is thinking of someone affectionately, but because you have no one to think of that way.  You have done your duty and reserved yourself and your affections for marriage, only to be given a very unaffectionate man.

You can only watch as Jisung reflects and says, “She said she knew a lot of men like me which, personally, I don’t think is true, I’m one of a kind, thank you.  But she said, um… she asked if I wanted to, um, watch her.  Touch herself, I mean.  And, um, I, uh, did.  Just to, you know, make sure.  It didn’t count anyway because I didn’t touch her.  It, um.  Yes.  Yes.  That happened.  So now I know ways and things.” 

You blink at him.  His awkward story-telling coupled with the twisting narrative leaves you more than a little perplexed. 

“Touch herself,” you finally say.  “Touch herself how?  What does that mean?” 

Jisung squeaks.  He looks at you pleadingly, as if you can rescue him from the conversation he started. 

“You don’t…” he says.  It starts desperate but turns a little morose, his shoulders flattening with a sorrowful defeat.  “No,” he says softly.  “You don’t know anything, do you?”  

He does not say it offensively but you bristle at the accusation regardless.  You sit straight and lift your chin. 

“I know exactly what we are talking about, thank you,” you say.  “I am not a child, Jisung.  I was raised to know my duty as a wife.  I am very aware of what copulation entails.” 

He raises his hands in surrender, not pushing the subject.  You sit there, maintaining an air of haughty disinterest while he takes his seat again.  He rubs his bare arms, absent-mindedly squeezing a bicep as he massages himself. 

Watching someone touch herself, repeats in your head, your eyes on his hands as they move up his arm, rubbing his own shoulder. 

Your wild heart gets the better of you. 

“Do you mean… it doesn’t always hurt?” you ask in a slurred rush.  When he looks at you, you look away, ashamed as you say, “I still don’t know what you mean by ways and things.” 

“Well...”  His tone is kind, patient.  He waves a hand through the air.  “I just mean… No.  No, it doesn’t always hurt.  Or it shouldn’t hurt, at least.  So I’m told.  I’m, uh, chaste.  Obviously.” 

“But you’ve seen a woman touch herself.” 

“Yes.”  The tips of his ears go red, or maybe it is the firelight.  He scratches the back of his neck. 

“And that… helps,” you say.  “So it doesn’t hurt?”    

“Yes, I think so,” he says, rubbing his hands together in a nervous fidget.  “Again, I don’t really know for sure because I’m chaste.” 

Yes, you know, especially with his constant reiteration of that fact.  He has given you much to think about, though.  Everyone always told you that a wife’s nightly duty was a painful, unpleasant thing, something to be endured to keep a husband content and create children. 

You feel very foolish, much like you did last night when you tried and failed to run away.  You have always considered yourself very intellectual and pragmatic, but lately you are feeling so many foreign things, encountering the world for the first time.  It makes you feel younger than your age. 

That anxiety twists in you again, its tangles and knots familiar by now.  It is the nervous kind of adrenaline as you consider your next words carefully. 

“Could you…”  You cannot look at him, staring at the fire while you speak.  “Could you… instruct me?” 

“In-instruct you.” His voice breaks again.  It feels as though you are both pubescent fools, falling over each other as you dart around this perilous subject. 

When you look at him, your eyes meet, and that twisting anxiety becomes something else entirely.  It burns hot as the fire, coiling inside you like some impossible, holy flame. 

“Just… just so I know,” you say.  “I don’t expect you to do anything like – oh, Jisung, I would never ask that, you know I would never.  You’re a kingsguard.”

“I’m a kingsguard,” he repeats, like for a second he wasn’t sure.

“Yes, of course,” you say.  “I’m sorry.  It was a foolish question.  I just – I trust you.  And I just hoped—”  Hope.  Something you should stop doing.  The gods have made their decision and there are no prayers that will move them.  You must resign yourself to your fate, whatever that is.  “Forget it,” you say.  “I know my place.  Whatever happens, whatever he does –I will bear it.  I will.”

You smile a forced smile, but it is bright and encouraging.  It usually fools people. 

Jisung does not smile back.  He runs his hand through his hair again.  He takes a long, deep breath, and releases it as slowly.  You swear, it is as loud as the flames, louder than the thunderous heart in your chest.  

Despite it all, you keep smiling, determined to mask your emotions. 

Then he looks at you and your mask immediately crumbles.  Why do his eyes have this effect? 

“Come here,” he says. 

When the king commanded you, your body felt weak, terror coursing through your veins.  It felt like an injury, so discombobulating that it incapacitated you long after.   

Your body feels weak now, but the terror is not the same, not that dark, cold dread.  It courses hotly, like the water on your skin, like the heat in this room, like the look in his eyes.  You try to convince yourself that your body is just sore from so much riding and running, so of course your legs feel shaky as you stand and approach him. 

But you know.  You know.  Well before you reach him, well before he guides you towards the floor-length mirror, you know. 

You look at your reflection.  You almost do not recognize the woman looking back at you, so undone when she has always been so meticulously composed.  No emotions got in, no feelings got out, no wants were had, and no disappointments either.  Now your eyes burn too, meeting his through the reflection. 

He carefully, gently, gathers the hair that is loose around your shoulders.  You shiver, fingers twitching, that coiled heat unravelling.  He draws your hair back, guiding it over your shoulders and down your back.  He briefly runs his fingers through half-damp curls.  He stares at his hands, eyes wide like he is holding some much more precious than hair. 

He swallows.  With a final pat, he lets go.  His hands fall to his sides where they curl into tightly bound fists. 

“I can’t touch you,” he says.  “That’s not – I’m not – I mean.”  He closes his eyes and shakes his head.  “This is not that.  But you’re the queen and you shouldn’t suffer.  It’s just not right, okay?”  He looks at you again through the mirror, eyes shiny and sad.  “I’m a kingsguard,” he says.  “It’s my duty to protect you.  From everything.”  He smiles weakly.  “Let me show you how to protect yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, surprised by the rasp of your voice. 

“Okay,” he says, rasping too.  He clasps his hands behind his back, standing straight as if preparing for a military inspection.  “I’m a kingsguard,” he repeats.  You know that, so you are not sure who he keeps reassuring.  “I’m not – I’m not looking at you like that, okay?” 

“I trust you.”

“Right.  Right.  Um.” 

His hands are restless.  At his sides, behind his back, now crossed protectively over his chest.  You find yourself looking at the subtle curve of his bicep. 

 “Lower your robe,” he says.  Your startled eyes dart up the mirrored reflection.  “Just as much as you want,” he says gently. 

You stare at him through the mirror.  You never imagined your own eyes could look so heated, but they are twin to his, and you see a sort of beauty in yourself because of what you see in him. 

You shrug the robe down your shoulders.  He pointedly does not look down, keeping his eyes on yours.  That is for the best.  That is for the best? 

You let it fall a little more.  You feel the flickering heat of the nearby fire, warming your skin as it is revealed.  Your heart jumps at the sensation, the feeling of exposure. 

You forget how to breathe.  In that held breath, you let the whole thing spill to the floor in a soft puddle of fabric.   

He blinks, once, twice.  On the third, his eyes dart down, but just as quickly up.  He swallows.  His voice shakes as he says, “Close your eyes.”  

You look at those warm brown eyes one more time before obeying.  You slip into the dreamy darkness, acutely aware of the world around you.  Everything feels more pronounced.  You feel every touch of heat like a burning mark, his breath like a kiss on the back of your neck.  That coiling heat tightens again. 

“What now?” you ask.

“Bring your fingers to your lips.  Yeah, like that.”

You raise your hand, resting two fingertips on your bottom lip.  You feel his slow exhale.

“Kiss them,” he says.  The word kiss feels like a touch.  “On your tongue.” 

It feels a little ridiculous but you do as he says, wetting the tips of your fingers.  It does not garner any particular sensation.  No, pleasure comes from knowing he is watching.  You cannot see him, but you know his gaze is fixated on you, rivetted to every movement to ensure you comply with his instructions. 

It makes that heat turn molten. 

“Okay,” he says, his voice a much lower rasp than before.  He clears his throat but it still comes out rough when he says, “Touch your neck – on your pulse, right there – slowly.  Slowly.  Bring your fingers down your throat.” 

You do so, shivering a little at the wet trail it leaves as you trace your fingers from your jaw to your collarbone. 

“Does it feel like a kiss?” he asks.

At his suggestion, the touch no longer feels like yours.  You imagine him in front of you, his open mouth, his tongue darting past his lips.  Your whole body tightens and that heat rushes inside you.  You imagine him taking his time, his tongue travelling from your jaw to your chest. 

“Oh,” you say, a musical note of a sound.  You hear his breath catch. “Yes.” 

“Good.”  He clears his throat again.  “Keep – keep doing – that.  Bring your hand – yes.”  His voice gets softer, barely more than a whisper as you bring your fingers down the curve of your breast.  “Yes.  Like that.” 

“Like this,” you repeat.  It is easier to follow instinct with your eyes closed, listening to the beat of your own heart, the call of your own skin.  You trace your fingers around the tip of your breast, where the peak is already stiff.  You breathe harder, your heart faster, as it sends a shock of sensation firing through your body.  “Oh.  Is this what you meant?”  The small touch feels torturous.  You cup your whole breast and squeeze.  The pleasure leaves you trembling.

“Yes,” he says.  “But there’s, um.  There’s more.”

“More?”  You already feel dizzy.  You never knew so many sensations were hidden under the surface of your skin.  You cannot imagine what else is waiting. 

“Lower,” he says. 

There is a leap in your bloodstream as you obey. You chase it to no conclusion as the caress of your waist does not feel like much. 

“No, um.”  He moves; you can hear him.  Maybe his hands are making gestures, maybe he is running his fingers through his hair.  His voice is still rough so he clears his throat again.  “To—towards the – the centre.  The centre of your – body.” 

Your hand hovers above your middle.  You feel flushed, suddenly understanding his direction.  Your apprehension must show, because he says softly, “You don’t have to.  You can just—”

“I want to,” you say.  The truth spills out of you in a rush.  You want.  You have never wanted so much.  It has never been so clear in your voice. 

“You do?” he repeats.

You answer by following the call of desire and touching the only place that makes sense.  You make a noise when you do, surprised when you find evidence of all that coiling heat, wet on your fingertips. 

“Are you – are you wet?” he asks. 

You nod.  “Is that good?”

“Yes,” he says.  “That’s – that’s good.  Very good.” 

You soak in the praise, humming a sweet little sound as you move your fingers inexpertly.  You brush somewhere sensitive, feeling like you have struck every nerve at once.  Your gasping cry gives it away. 

“There,” he says.  “Right there.  Touch yourself.  Don’t stop.” 

You shuffle your feet apart, just a little.  A jolt of pleasure shoots down your body when he nudges your bare foot with his booted one, easing your legs further apart.  He does not address it so neither do you, accepting it as a simple gesture of help. 

“You can use your other hand,” he says, because one is between your legs and the other is just curled at your side. 

You take his advice and cup a sensitive breast with your free hand.   The noise you make will embarrass you later as it echoes in your mind, but right now you let it carry you away. 

You cannot use both hands for long.  Your free hand moves through the air, grasping at nothing.  You need an anchor.  Your legs are shaking and you are swimming in the darkness of your closed eyes.  Spots of colour begin to dance across your shielded vision, twirling in dizzying motions.  Your core feels tight. 

“Oh – Jisung.  Jisung, I—”  

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice more strained than ever.  “Trust me.  Don’t stop.”

“Trust you,” you murmur.  It sends another wave of heat rolling through you.  The dizziness overwhelms, your legs buckling.  You reach behind you instinctively and blindly reach for him. 

He catches you, his soldier instincts fast.  Your eyes fly open as you crash into his chest, so much of your weight supported in the clasp of his arms.  His eyes look so dark, almost a solid black, his whole face flushed as if he was the one exerting himself. 

You whimper at the sight of him, at the sight of yourself in his arms, all sloping curves and fire-hot skin, soft and naked against his firm, darkly-clothed body. 

You feel his hands on your sides, clutching you tightly, his front slotted along your backside.  His clothes brush your too-sensitive skin, his hands hot on your body. 

You move just a little, rearing up under your own hand.  When you shift, you feel him, his body behind you.  He is undeniably hard, straining at the material of his uniform. 

He sucks in a breath, his groan a low, scraping sound, but he does nothing about his own desire, even while it makes you gasp. 

He does not dare move his hands.  He does not dare look away from your eyes in the mirror. 

“Come to me,” he rasps.  “I got you.” 

All that coiling tension gives way.  It feels like the moment the cosmos shifted, when the world disappeared under you, when you crashed through the surface of the water and felt as though you entered another world.  You see stars and your body throbs under your fingers.  Your mind is gone, your body in animalistic pursuit, needing him, pressing against him. 

“Shhh,” he says gently.  You are gasping, every breath a watery sound.  He exhales roughly, his own arms trembling.  Even his breath is shaking, his nose pressed to your temple as he holds you for another second.  “Shhh,” he says again.  “That was good.  You’re okay.”

“Oh.”  It is all you can say.  You slowly withdraw your hand, your fingers embarrassingly wet. 

You are not sure what possesses you.  Perhaps the same instinct that compels you to clean blood off a finger pricked from needlework.  Whatever it is, you listen to that instinct and bring those fingers to your lips to suck the evidence away. 

“Good fucking gods,” he says, his eyes wide. 

He abruptly lets go and steps back.  Fortunately, you have your footing now, so you do not fall, but it leaves a chill along your exposed backside.  You shiver.    

He looks around the floor for your discarded robe. When he sees it, he swift dives down to gather the material in his hands. 

He is on his knees when you turn around. 

For a long moment, he stays down there, staring at the fabric crinkling in his hands.  His knuckles lighten with the intense strength of his grip. 

“Jisung?” you say softly.  With your adrenaline dwindling, you feel shy.  Even so, your heart is still an erratic thing.  It seems physical release cannot temper whatever has taken hold of that creature.  It continues to pound and stomp as Jisung lifts his head.

“Your Majesty,” he says, his voice so shot it is barely above a breath. 

You feel a jolt inside you, some trembling aftershock, intensified because he looks at you.  Oh, he looks at you, forgetting himself at that vantage, his eyes everywhere from the curve of your knee to the slope of your thighs.  Shiny brown eyes roam slower than a lover’s touch to the place between your legs, up the curve of your waist, your heaving breasts, and meeting your eyes with a near-crazed desperation. 

“Jisung,” you say, a whisper as well. 

He drops his head again, cursing under his breath as he closes his eyes.  He shifts to one knee then finally rises, stumbling a little once upright.  He wraps the robe around you without any delay, then he throws his hands out to his sides like he is issuing surrender. 

“Good,” he says, avoiding your face, avoiding everything as he stumbles towards the fireplace and his discarded sword.

You close the robe around yourself.  You do not know what to say.  Words seem woefully insufficient, especially with his frantic energy as he fumbles with his sword belt, fighting to get it secured around his waist. 

“Thank you,” you finally say.  You sit on the end of the bed, holding the neck of the robe closed, looking at him with nothing but raw and open emotion.  “I – I don’t know what else to say.”

He stares back at you, a hand on the hilt of his sword.  The other sits over his midsection, curls around his belt.  He looks like he might burst into flames, all that white and gold flashing behind him. 

“If I can ever repay you…” you say. 

You don’t mean it like that, but his eyes flash with want –  unmistakable desire, then terror. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he says, bowing low.  “You owe me nothing.  You’re my – you’re my queen.” 

He moves so quickly, it makes you jump, raising from his bow and striding across the room.  He is at the door in a matter of seconds, his hand practically crashing onto the lock.  There, it freezes, his fingers curled around the iron. 

You stare at him.  His shoulders are tense, lifting and falling with his deep breathing.  Your lips part though you have no idea what to say.  There is a feeling inside you but you cannot name it, cannot catch it with your voice.  You can only take another breath. 

He whips back around.  You jump again.  Before you can even think to move or speak, he is back in front of you.  He slams down onto his knees and bows again, more frantic than before, the top of his head hitting your legs. 

You reach for him instinctively, the curve of his neck looking so desolate and desperate.  He seizes your hands before they can touch them, bringing them together then to his lips.  He kisses your knuckles, though it such a hard and needy press, it feels more like a collision.  You feel his lips and the bump of his teeth.  He hisses on an exhale and drops your hands. 

Without another word, he stands.  He marches to the door.  This time he does not hesitate, flicking open the locks.  He steps into the hall without looking back.  The door closes between you. 

You hear his body hit the door, the drag of it as he sinks to the ground.  He is sitting on the floor outside. 

You move towards that door without thinking.  You sink to your knees as well, pressing your ear to the wood.  You can hear him breathing on the other side – heaving, frantic breaths that almost sounds like crying. 

Perhaps it all the sensation catching up to you, but your own eyes fill with tears as you slump against the door.  You fall asleep there, listening to each other with the divider between you. 

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 2

Hello! This story is coming along quite nicely. This part originally was part of the first chapter, but it got so long I split it up for Tumblr.

Dustin hyperfixates sooo hard in this. Eddie gets annoyed.

Part 1

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

****

Dustin leapt to his feet and handed the magazine to Eddie. “I do have their first album. It’s really good. My favorite is “Brother”. It’s just so touching.”

Steve bit his bottom lip and nodded, forcing himself not to look at Robin just then.

He came back with his Walkman and a pair of speakers. He got it all set up and pressed play. Then while they were listening to the CD, he dashed back to his room.

“I haven’t gotten their second album yet,” he shouted over his shoulder as he ran back. Moments later he came out with a couple of rolled posters.

“I have more of their posters in my dormroom but I bought these a few months ago and haven’t put them up yet.”

He unrolled one of them and it was the album cover blown up large. It had four men in long hooded coats and masks. There was definitely a color theme for each of the members of the band. The drummer was all in black, the guitarist in red, the bassist in blue, and the lead singer in white.

“What’s with the masks?” Robin asked, leaning over Steve’s shoulder.

Dustin bounced up and down. “That’s part of their personas. They’re fallen angels. Well, and titan. The bassist is named after the titan of the night sky, Astraeus. But all the others are named after angels.”

Eddie winced at the poster. “They’re a little much, don’t you think?”

“Like there aren’t other metal bands wear makeup or masks before them,” Dustin said rolling his eyes.

Eddie wrinkled his nose. He did know. It was actually something that was really prevalent in the genre for awhile. He just thought it was gimmicky and took away from the actual music.

Music that was coming out of Dustin’s Walkman in beautiful waves. That brought Eddie up short. They were good. Like amazingly good. “Whoa.”

Dustin beamed. “I know, right?”

Steve made a twisted kind of frown. “I mean it’s great if you like that sort of thing.”

Dustin whirled on Steve like a viper sensing its dinner. “Just because you don’t like metal, Steve,” he huffed in derision, “doesn’t mean that you can just dismiss it.”

Steve looked over at Eddie and rolled his eyes.

Eddie snorted. “Nobody is dismissing anything, Dusty. In fact I would say that what Steve said was anything but dismissive.”

“I just don’t know why you don’t like metal,” Dustin replied with a heavy sigh. “I know that if you just listened to it, you would like it.”

This time the look Steve shared was with Robin. “I’ve listened to a lot of metal, remember? You’re the one that hacked my radio so that I couldn’t change it off the metal station.”

Dustin snorted. “Well at least Simon and Shane have taste.”

Simon Olsen and Shane Kendrick were two friends of Steve’s that had bonded over Corroded Coffin playing over the speakers of the coffee shop. Another thing that Dustin had insisted on. But Steve wasn’t about to tell Eddie that. Together with Spencer Peters, the four of them were almost as tight as the Corroded Coffin boys.

Eddie himself was conflicted about their relationship, if he was honest. Yeah, it was great that Steve had friends outside of the Party, but at same time, he suspected that at least one of them was gay or bisexual and he worried that they would swoop in and take Steve off the market before Eddie got up the courage.

That was a problem for future Eddie, present Eddie had to redirect Dustin before he began screaming at Steve all the reasons he should join the masses of fans for Corroded Coffin and now apparently The Fallen. Steve had a migraine and Dustin’s ranting would only make it worse.

Eddie smacked his shoulder. “Am I still taking you out with me in June to see your mom when I go visit Uncle Wayne?”

Dustin was happy to change tracks, and Steve mouthed ‘Thank you’ to Eddie.

“Yes! You have to take me,” Dustin insisted. “Ma got me tickets to see The Fallen in Indy while I’m there and I don’t want to miss it.”

“The band is going back on tour again so soon?” Eddie asked, tilting his head to the side. “I thought they just got off a tour.”

“They did,” Dustin agreed. “But according to the press release, they said that they were trying to get as much hype for their current album as possible because music sales were down all over the place.”

Eddie nodded. He could see that. With a band as new as The Fallen, if they didn’t keep up the momentum they could lose a lot of fans between their first and second album. There was a reason a band’s second album is often called a ‘sophomore slump’ and if these guys wanted to avoid that, that meant touring nonstop for their second album.

He wished them well...provided they didn’t steal Dustin away from him and the guys. He turned to Steve. “So what are you and Robin going to be this summer? Anything fun?”

Robin scoffed. “No. They’ve got us back on tour, too. New management, they want us to shadow this band and basically make sure that everything they want is provided.”

Eddie and Dustin grimaced.

“That sucks!” Dustin huffed. “You guys just got home, why are they making you go so soon? Don’t they believe in breaks? Sheesh!”

Steve hugged him close. “I’m sorry, bud. I talked to your mom, though and she thinks that when you go back for the summer, she’s willing to let you apply for MIT for your masters.”

Dustin’s eyes lit up. “Wait, seriously?” Claudia had always been fearful that he would get into trouble, but she had seen how much work he had put into his school work and how much Steve didn’t need to be looking after the almost twenty year old.

Steve nodded. “Yup. That’s why she got you the tickets as a way to soothe her nerves a bit.”

Eddie looked over Dustin’s shoulder at Steve and they shared a sad smile. They would miss Dustin when he went out to Boston, but they knew he would shine out there. And that was worth more than all the stars in the sky.

Eddie left soon after, stating his own fatigue and even though Steve was sad to see him go, he wanted to sleep for the next three months. Dustin was staying over at his girlfriend’s that night which left him alone with Robin.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost ten and he looked up at Robin with his big puppy dog eyes and pouted.

She let out a long sigh. “Fine. You can go to bed. Provided you actually get a shower and brush your teeth. By that time it should be late enough for you to just crash.”

Steve sighed, but nodded his agreement. He got unsteadily to his feet and ambled over to his bedroom. Robin followed close behind.

She leaned against the door frame, watching Steve gather his things for his shower.

“So Dustin is a Fallen fan, huh,” she muttered.

Steve shrugged. “I guess so. This is the first of me hearing about it, so it must be new.”

She licked her lips. “And you aren’t worried?”

He stopped what he was doing and straightened up. “Why? Do you think there is a reason to be?”

Robin crossed her arms. “I mean his nickname growing up was ‘genius child’. It’s possible he could be a problem.”

Steve scoffed. “He’s also the one that harped on us being a couple for a few years there.”

She winced. She had even told him that she was gay and he still wouldn’t let it go. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

He walked over to the en suite bathroom and turned on the hot water. “I love that kid, but he has a few major blind spots when it comes to actual people.”

“All right,” she said, nodding. “I’ll tighten up the defenses, but I think you’re right.”

“I am right some of the time,” Steve scoffed. “You do know that, don’t you?”

Robin rolled her eyes. “I guess even a broken clock can be right twice a day.”

Steve stuck his tongue out at her and then began to strip. Robin just waved at him and wandered over to her side of the apartment. Well to call it that was an understatement on its sheer size. It would be better described as a penthouse.

It only had three bedrooms, but it had three bathrooms, a full sized kitchen, an actual dinning area, a living room. Steve’s studio was off to the side and always kept locked. It even had a god damned bio lock that only Robin and he could open.

He hated the secrecy and all the cloak and dagger bullshit but it was absolutely imperative.

But the room was massive and no one had clocked that as unusual. Steve sighed deeply. It was what it was and what it was, sucked.

****

To say that Eddie was annoyed was an understatement. The whole flight to Indy and the long drive to Hawkins was filled with nothing but talk about The Fallen and their latest album. It was shooting up the charts faster than Eddie could guess the Metallica song from a few hummed bars. Which was pretty damned fast.

Steve and Robin had already gone, so Eddie didn’t even have his favorite distraction when Dustin got on his latest hyperfixation.

Then the other shoe dropped when he pulled up to the Henderson’s driveway.

“You’re coming with me, right?” the little bastard asked, all pouty lip and puppy dog eyes.

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to go with you?” Eddie huffed, more than little pissed the punk dared to ask.

Dustin rolled his eyes and started counting off on his fingers. “El and Mike won’t get in in time, Max and Lucas already have plans that night, her mom is getting married for the third time that day, and Will doesn’t like metal. He’s still a staunch alt rock fan.”

Eddie winced. And with Steve and Robin off to parts unknown, he really was Dustin’s last greatest hope. But he wasn’t going to give in that easy. He was going to make the butthead work for it. He crossed his arms and pouted.

“I don’t know, man,” Eddie said, wrinkling his nose, “I’m starting to wonder if Corroded Coffin is even on your radar anymore.”

Dustin’s jaw dropped. “What? That’s not true! Corroded Coffin is my number one. How could even suggest that?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to list the reasons alphabetically or chronologically?”

Dustin’s mouth closed with a snap. He ducked his head. “I haven’t stopped talking about The Fallen since you picked me up from Steve’s, huh?”

“Nope!”

He let out a slow breath. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m just so excited for this concert. According to Ma the tickets were really hard to get and now I don’t have anyone to go with me and I–” He sniffled.

“It’s just you know how you get with new things,” Eddie pointed out.

Dustin nodded. “I know. But I promise I still love Corroded Coffin. When are you guys going back into the studio?”

Eddie smiled for the first time that trip. “After I get back from visiting Wayne, I’ve got a couple songs already lined up for it.”

“And how many of those songs are about Steve?” Dustin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Eddie cheeks colored a deep red. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll go to that concert of yours and you don’t mention to anyone that I write songs about Steve, deal?”

Dustin tilted his head to side and looked up, tapping his lips thoughtfully. He stuck out his hand and Eddie shook it.

“Deal.”

****

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @goodolefashionedloverboi @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @yikes-a-bee @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @y4r3luv

[hongjoongsslvt]

ITS YOU -CHOI SAN (MDNI)

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Click here for Part-2(Smut)

WC: 1.6k

Pairing: Roommate San X Roommate Reader Genre:University AU, childhood close friemds to lovers, Common best friends, Wooyoung and Yeosang, Reader is taller than San

Warnings: fem! Bodied reader, mild cursing, suggestive, reader is referred as kitten, MDNI

That's all i can think about ≽^•༚•^≼

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I have everything I wanted, university's top student in academics, enviously good at both physical and E-sports, basically you name it and I am either too good at it to be called a beginner or I have already learnt about it in my life more than anything I had my childhood best friend and rival who is equally good at stuff.

For as long as I can remember, San and I have been together. We went to the same middle school, high school, and university, so it made sense for us to move into the apartment together. But I had a big problem because of this rooming together.

I've had a major crush on Choi San for a long time. I've had it since we first met, but I made the decision to keep it a secret and carry it into death out of concern that if I ever made a move on him, I would lose our friendship.

---------------------------------

"Ayo Mate! Hurry up! I'm eager to test out this new mouse and write a review". In our shared game room, I yell while reclined in my comfortable gaming chair.

We have saved up enough money to furnish a comfortable apartment with the newest gaming equipment thanks to our accomplishments in hackathons, martial arts competitions, and streaming.

"Dude-c'mere and help me get this!" He seemed to be shouting, but it was barely audible. I moved out of the room to assist him with whatever it was, and as I did, I noticed that the man was in the storage room. He was wearing gray satin pajamas with the top two buttons undone, exposing his muscular pecs, a face mask, and a head band on. He was also tiptoeing to get his new keyboard, which was high on the shelf. "So adorable," I thought.

He jolted forward as I inadvertently brushed my breasts against him as I walked behind him and tiptoed to grab the keyboard. For a brief minute, I swear it felt amazing not having to wear a bra because the dark-colored, slightly baggy pajamas I was wearing nicely covered up my breasts. However, I chose to act like nothing had occurred.

"Having a Giantess in the dungeon is mad handy!" He patted my shoulder in appreciation and said, "Let's review your mouse and keyboard before he leaves the room like a cat jumping."

Yes, I am taller than my crush, but it doesn't really worry me because my 180 cm height got me hired as a model for several local magazines, which helped me be paid for new electronics and gaming accessories. However, I doubt San, who prides himself on being powerful, domineering, and manly, will ever consider dating a woman who is taller than him.

I sighed as I entered the room and saw two familiar faces: Kang Yeosang and Jung Wooyoung, our lads next door. The first had jet black hair, a gorgeous birthmark at the corner of his eye, and a deep, honey voice. The other had brilliant red hair and laughed like a witch.

"Wasssap Female Titan!" Wooyoung said as he got off my gaming chair to dab me up while yeosang nodded and gave me a fist bump and wacked the red haired boy. At the start of the year, the four of us really clicked because they were both excellent game designers. We are currently working together to design and build an independent game.

As I posted the schedule for the weekend in our group chat, I added, "Let's hit the library and the gym after the stream ends." We all four gathered together and began to stream information on products and collaborations, with Wooyoung constantly dropping spoilers and Yeosang and San, as always, delighting viewers with their distinct brand of deadpan humor. and San's sporadic, for reasons I'm not interested in knowing, staring.

By the time we finished streaming, it was close to 5 o'clock, and Wooyoung and Yeosang had to leave me and San alone since they had to pass our study session at the library and attend a significant lecture. It was expected since they both frequently went to seminars to get ideas for their game designs.

As I go into my own room to change and get ready for the night, I playfully tell him, "You better choose your outfit quickly before I barge in and break your kneecaps." We unintentionally became identical in black tank tops and sweatpants, but it didn't bother either of us. Even though I was dressed the same, I felt quite different. His large biceps, slim waist, and broad shoulders were all well-represented by the attire.

I got the other person to laugh as I flexed my biceps, triceps, and lats in front of a mirror, saying, "Oh boy, look at my guns and wings," hoping to release some of the tension building up inside of me. I had the perfect amount of muscle and curves to my body, luckily.

"Bet" he said, flexing his muscles and standing directly in front of me. God, he looks so ethereal and Greek god coded that I've temporarily lost my ability to process things. The doorbell ringing was one of them. San moved back to confront the person at the door, forgetting that I was right behind him. I again felt him brush against my breasts accidently, jerking and acting as if he hadn't touched before continuing.

We have done whatever we had planned for the day, without much convos outside the work, and without knowing a week has already passed already, with the tormenting "accidental" brushing against my breasts and ass, cooking food, cleaning room, doing laundry and other chores despite it being my turn to do. All these felt as if he had some hidden intentions behind them, but i decided to play it dumb till he comes out clear.

I made the decision this Sunday to give Wooyoung a call and tell him about my predicament making it the perfect time as Yeosang had piano lessons to attend and San was preoccupied with grocery shopping.

"HE'S 100% INTO YOU TITAN, TRUST ME" Wooyoung screams making me instantly whack his head.

"What was that for?" Wooyoung snarled and rubbed his head as I struck him. "Do you really suppose San rubs against every girl's ass and tits, remaining courteous and refusing to accept confessions?"-" I could almost see his wolfy, naughty smirk as he was ready to continue when his phone went off. wondering why he did this.

"Titan! Do you have anything sexy to wear? I realize I sound strange but trust me eh?" His hands are already enthusiastically going through my clothes in the closet mid way of the question.

"I don't think I do?" I said "Mate, why all of a sudden?"

He was too preoccupied digging through my closet to respond. A few minutes later, his witchy chuckle took me completely by surprise.

"BITCH- YOU NEVER TOLD YOU OWNED A BUNNY COSTUME?" he screamed, making me go deaf almost.

"It's not that I'm insecure about my height; it's just that I've never tried stuff like that," I remarked, leaning onto the door. "I got that as a gift from a stupid friend of mine," I said.

"let me cook" He said.

After what seemed like an eternity, he made me wear a costume of a bunny, but with cat ears in place of the bunny ears. He also lightly styled my hair, applied smeared lipstick, and made me wear Yeosang's fishnet tights. Upon seeing my progress, Wooyoung seemed happy and led me into the living room, where the lights were dimmed a bit.

"Damn! dude, i thought you were flatboard-" Wooyoung was about to start talking when an obviously irate San stormed into the home, dropped groceries at the door, and came right toward us. I swear, in my twenty years of living, I have never seen San look so upset.

"Too bad, Mate!, too late" Wooyoung said as he gave San's shoulder a pat before leaving the our house.

"San-"

"Is it true that you are sending semi nudes to mr.Lee?" He inquired, obviously furious

I was so perplexed for a moment that I just stood there.

"Yeosang said that Wooyoung was helping you take pics"

Now that it was all coming together, it was clear to me why they were rushing to a lecture on Sunday in the first place—they never go to seminars on Sundays!

"I love you, It have always been you and only you,I loved you since the moment we met in the school"San said in a voice that seemed shattered."Why Mr.Lee? is it because he is taller and much more appealing than me, because he is caring and kind?, I swear atleast I never thought height was a thing to be considered to love a person"

My mind went blank listening to those words, is it for real? or am i tweaking? this must definitely be a dream, there's no way San loves me, but soon i was brought back to reality from my thoughts by the sudden hug.

"Dude, that's why you were fucking brushing against my breasts and ass the entire past week, coz you thought imma date Mr.Lee?" I questioned him "Bitch, no shit my nips were crazy sensitive"

He replied, his tone falling several octaves as he crept nearer and eye-fucked me till I hit the wall. "It's your fault for being irresistibly cute and sexy." He grabbed my neck, held me to the wall, and bent me slightly so he could plant a kiss.

"Kitten you are merely 4 to 5 cm taller, that doesn't mean that i can't lift you up, bend you over and fuck you senseless"

Oh boy, I hope i will make it out alive by tomorrow morning.

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let me know if you want part two(Smut)~ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

Re blogs are appreciated

DO NOT REPOST OR PLAGIARISE

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[zahri-melitor]

Thinking more about my post about the Core Four growing up (as I've now got Tynion's Detective Comics under my belt as the lead in to Young Justice 2019, and I still think the narrative that the Core Four need to move away to grow up like Dick's Titans did is flawed, because of how this narrative is shaped.

Tim spends all of Tynion's run playing with the idea of moving away, going to college outside Gotham to 'grow up' and find himself.

But he can't do it, and he realises he doesn't want to do it. And instead...he discovers he has a missing past, and 'leaves Gotham' as he goes to Zatanna to have his memories restored.

Tim's growth in finding himself is...restoring his childhood and teen years. It's in finding his old friends.

And similarly, through Young Justice 2019, there is a read on the text that for Tim and Cassie in particular, this is a period of restored memories. Their growth and change is regaining their pasts and their friends. You see this via Bart's return, where he escapes the Speed Force and then goes looking for his friends and family, and you can see some characters suddenly remember who he is by encountering him. Cassie in particular seems to literally regain her memories of Bart just by being in proximity to him at the start of Young Justice 2019. It feels like Speed Force shenanigans, in line with the ones that have variously been used on Donna and Wally in particular over the years to restore their existences, and given that as precedent, it's almost got to be a side effect of the fact the Core Four are lighting rods for Bart, even though I don't think that's ever been outright stated on panel.

And then Cassie and Tim have the same experience again while locked up by Opal in Gemworld, where they (and only they) sense something 'familiar' right before Conner appears and tears the top off the oubliettes they're trapped in. They can feel his TTK and they recognise it. By being near Conner they 'get' Conner back.

And this all happens in Gemworld, which is a setting of narrative about growing up for Amy herself. They grow up by restoring their old friendships and connections...and then returning home to their families.

And Bart manages to reintegrate by the Speed Force smoothing things out in terms of his family's memories being restored of him.

And Tim goes back to Gotham and slides back into being Robin in the aftermath of it all, as he knows who he is now.

And Conner has to rebuild all of his connections as he's once again a person without a past to all of the Supers, and his storylines are firstly about becoming part of the family again and then about pulling back away to check he still has family backing him up.

And Cassie goes back to the Wonders and has to navigate her feelings over being replaced because unlike everyone else this is the first time it's happened to her, but she's got her best friends back.

They didn't need to leave home to find themselves to grow up. They left home to find each other, and then returned, comfortable in their connections, to take their places in their communities and families as their sign of growing maturity.

[silverwhittlingknife]

hi Silver! o/ because that fanart made me wonder - would you happen to know when/where Dick's stuffed elephant plush Zitka turns up in the comics?

GREETINGS CAM <3333 THAT ART WAS SO CUTE

Yeah, I think your instincts are right - it's a truly adorable bit of transformative fandom, but I'm 95% percent sure it's not comics canon. Barbara has canon plushies, but I don't think anyone else does.

I got kinda invested in the investigation (it's hard to prove a negative!) and I ended up typing out an entire History of Elinore/Zitka, so, uh, if you're curious, meet me below the cut for:

Where does Elinore / Zitka - the animal - appear in comics?

Did Dick ever have a stuffed elephant toy in comics?

Where does Elinore / Zitka appear in comics?

We're gonna go in chronological order!

Dick's circus elephant friend was first created for practical reasons: in Batman 436, Marv Wolfman does a big expanded flashback to Dick's circus backstory as a way to subtly show us Tim before officially introducing him (so that we can have a technically-solvable mystery-of-Tim's-identity in LPoD). In this comic, there's an elephant named Elinore who loves Dick:

Aww. Such a cute elephant!

Batman 436 comes out in August 1989. New Titans 60 comes out a few months later, in November, and guess what? When Dick visits the circus, he is suddenly surprised by an unexpected blast from the past! It turns out that even though it's been years, Elinore still remembers him!

Here's the part where Elinore remembers Dick:

SUCH a cute elephant. I love her.

(Guess who else still remembers Dick even though it was so long ago. Guess which other character is about to be an unexpected blast from the past. Guess which character Elinore is directly paralleling guess guess guess sorry everything is about Dick and Tim in my mind but I can focus I swear)

Four years later, in 1993, Batman: The Animated Series retells Dick's origin story. They like and keep Wolfman's elephant, but they change her name to Zitka:

Wolfman doesn't return to the elephant beyond those two appearances, and a few years down the line, New Titans gets cancelled and Wolfman's not writing Dick anymore anyway. So the animal gets abandoned for a while, until Devin Grayson, a fan of both Wolfman and B:tAS, revives the Wolfman-era Titans team in JLA/Titans and then the ongoing series Titans 1999.

Grayson then brings back the elephant in a flashback to Dick's past in Titans 16 (Jun 2000), where she imports the B:tAS name. Sometimes I'm skeptical of TV-to-comics imports, but honestly, I endorse this one. You lose the alliteration, which is a shame, but IMO Zitka is a better elephant name than Elinore.

Here's Dick with the newly-christened Zitka in Titans 16:

Grayson also briefly references the elephant in Gotham Knights 20 and - in a final angsty callback - in Nightwing 88 (Feb 2004), where Zitka tries futilely to comfort Dick in the midst of his trauma conga line:

... And... honestly, I think that's it for comic appearances? The two Wolfman comics plus the three Grayson comics.

Both Wolfman and Grayson are writing multiple titles - Batman, New Titans, Titans, Gotham Knights, and Nightwing between the two of them, spanning a big chunk of Dick's post-Crisis canon - and both writers use the elephant for heartwarming moments of nostalgia, which means if you're doing a post-Crisis readthrough for Dick, Elinore/Zitka feels memorable. But I don't think she actually shows up that much.

For post-2011, I am not as well-informed - throwing this out to the dash? anyone know? - but I feel like Zitka the heartwarming symbol of Dick's heartwarming circus past is, uh, thematically very at odds with the Court of Owls evil!circus vibes, so my instinct is that this story element was almost certainly dropped in the reboot.

Did Dick ever have a stuffed elephant toy in comics?

In WFA, yes; in main comics continuity, no. Technically, I have not read every comic ever published, so I could be wrong!! But I don't think so.

Below, find my rambling reasoning on the tonal vibes of pre-Crisis, post-Crisis, and post-2011, and why this particular story element doesn't seem right to me for the first two.

Pre-Crisis (...okay, mostly the Silver Age): stuffed animal, yes or no?

tl;dr no, requires too much background knowledge on the part of the reader, plus the elephant wasn't a thing until later

Elinore doesn't get created until post-Crisis, but also just generally, pre-Crisis callbacks are more along the lines of this reference in Batman 129 (published in 1960), where, wow, Batman and Robin are hunting jewel thieves - and it turns out Robin recognized this strongman! BUT HOW?!

The comic goes on to recap Dick's entire origin story in flashback, on the assumption that you may not know it.

(BTW, if you'd like to know more about Haly's Circus throughout the years, nightwingology has a great post here summarizing a lot of fun plotlines and characters!)

Basically: Silver Age comics are very self-consciously episodic and kid-friendly; they're not generally gonna do overly-elaborate callbacks because they don't know what comics their kid readers may have randomly picked up or remember.

By the time of post-Crisis, comic books were being written for an adult audience buying from the direct market, i.e. readers who are collecting whole runs & don't need or want Dick's origin story to be recapped to us in full every time it's referenced. That's why in post-Crisis, we get stuff like "hey, neat, this particular soda brand is getting mentioned in several different books!!" or "in order to understand this story arc, buy SIXTEEN DIFFERENT COMICS in FIVE DIFFERENT RUNS and read them ALL ACCORDING TO A NUMBERED ORDER and also you better be following the individual plotlines and recognize these five minor characters who we don't bother to introduce!! Good luck!!" But the elaborate post-Crisis plotlines - and subtler worldbuilding like a stuffed animal callback to Dick's backstory - don't make a lot of story sense UNLESS you're imagining your readers as completionist adult fans.

So IMO a stuffed animal wouldn't be a pre-Crisis thing unless it was The Episodic Story Of the Week, and I don't think a stuffed animal is action-adventure-y enough for the fast-paced storytelling of the Silver Age. (Unless it, like, came to life and tried to eat you or something.)

Post-Crisis: stuffed animals, yes or no?

tl;dr: no, Dick's a manly tough guy, he's not gonna have a stuffed animal, that'd be lame, like something Tim might do

Part of the edgy grimdark adult vibes in 80s/90s comics is that some characters who used to be kinda silly & goofy & lighthearted - like Batman and Robin - get reimagined as Serious and Angsty and Edgy in a Tough Cool Manly Brooding Way. This massively affects characterization for Bruce, Dick, and Bruce and Dick's relationship.

(I obviously love this change & love the tense Bruce-and-Dick interactions, but plenty of fans of the earlier fluffy comics really disliked the edgy retcons of Miller / Wolfman / Starlin / et al.)

The upshot is that post-Crisis is a period when you could have a recurring reference like a stuffed elephant, but you wouldn't have a stuffed elephant, not for Dick. I think a toy like that would be too cutesy / childish / effeminate to give a male character in post-Crisis, unless you were poking fun at him.

Now, you could probably let Tim have a stuffed animal, because Tim is sometimes cool but also sometimes a tryhard loser who is faking being cool and not entirely pulling it off (see e.g. the Robin comic where he practices tough-guy faces in the mirror, or the Teen Titans comic where Conner discovers his cringy Enya CD, or when he's fanboying over Connor and it's awkward, etc etc.). A stuffed animal would be deeply embarrassing, and you'd have to be careful to compensate by having Tim do something cool afterward - but Tim's character concept allows for "he's kind of a loser sometimes."

But Dick isn't!! In post-Crisis, Dick's a tough / impressive / "cool guy" character, the kind of guy anyone would want to be, even in the flashbacks where he's Robin, and even in the stories where he's more lighthearted than angsty. It'd be kinda lame for Dick to have a stuffed elephant, so he wouldn't. I feel like Dick would be more likely to poke fun at it if someone had one, like when he's making fun of Wally for liking the Hardy Boys. Dick could have a Batman action figure, at most, and if he had one he would have it ironically.

Basically: in post-Crisis, a male character hugging a stuffed elephant feels more likely to be a punchline to me, not something poignant. (Even with Tim, Tim could have an embarrassing stuffed animal, but he couldn't hug it when sad - that's too far. Maybe Booster Gold might do this. Probably he wouldn't, but spiritually, he would. Sorry Booster ilu! <3)

Instead, Dick instinctively deals with his inner turmoil like the TORTURED ACTION HERO he is: by punching things and brooding and yelling and joining the mob and sleeping on rooftops and going on obsessive secret missions and acquiring Angsty Stubble!! Just like Batman!

(Technically I don't know if Bruce ever joined the mob but you know he would.)

Anyway as you know this is my favorite continuity and I am poking fun affectionately, but uh, yeah sdfsfdsfs. No stuffed animals.

Post-2011 / Infinite Frontier / Wayne Family Adventures: stuffed animals, yes or no?

tl;dr it's in WFA! Probably not anywhere else, but it could be.

Post-2011 stuff tends to be cutesier overall, most of all in the current Infinite Frontier era. So I don't feel like this would be tonally out-of-line with IF comics. Taylor tends to go for more meme-y references rather than fanfic references, though.

So the obvious best fit is WFA, which is aiming for a rough approximation of Silver Age family-friendly vibes - wholesome, episodic plots, Teaching Good Moral Lessons For The Youth, etc. - plus lots of Easter eggs for fanfic readers and some comic references.

And look, here we are:

Aww.

Whew - that's everything I could find!

Anyway as you can probably tell, I LOVE the elephant, so this was a very entertaining rabbit hole to go down, thank you <3

[spidernuggets]

Jason Todd x Reader

"Thought I was gonna lose you"

"Oh, baby, you can't get rid of me that easily"

You slammed into the hospital room where the nurse told you your boyfriend was at. You received a call from Dick almost 15 minutes ago while you were reading Jason's annotated Pride and Prejudice book, smiling at his little comments at the side. Once you heard "Jason" and "Hospital" in the same sentence, you quickly bookmarked the novel and ran out the door.

The four Titans accompanying Jason; Dick, Gar, Kori and Rachel, turn to you, but your main focus was on Jason. His eyes closed, bandages all over his torso, IV needles stuck all over and an oxygen mask over his face. Your heart beated faster, pushing the Titans out of the way to get a closer look of your lover, gently caressing his face.

"We were told he's in a coma," Dick immediately says. "There was a messy encounter with Deathstroke and-"

"And Jason jumps head in first like always," Kori interrupts, arms crossed, annoyed expression on her face, staring down at the boy.

"We don't know when he'll wake up," Gar says quietly.

You don't reply. All you can do is lean your forhead against his, praying that he'll wake.

You're not part of the Titans, but you've known Jason for years and he'd entrusted you with his identity, and soon after, neither of you could hide your feelings towards one another for long.

"He's going to wake up. He'll wake up soon," was all you could say, just barely above a whisper.

"C'mon," Dick quietly says, motioning for the Titans to leave the two of you alone. When the three members leave, Dick places his hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"He was knocked out but.. he was calling your name when he got out of the ER," Dick tells you. "He's strong. He'll wake up."

When Dick leaves, you pull a chair up beside the bed, sitting down and laying your head beside Jason's torso, holding his hand.

And that's how it remained for the next few weeks. Jason didn't show any signs of movement but you still stayed in that chair, only getting up to use the bathroom. Even with Dick's authoritative commands, telling you to go home and that he'll watch over Jason, you didn't move an inch.

Gar was the only other person to visit Jason, and occasionally dropping of some food for you, while the others focus on missions.

"He never stops talking about you, y'know," Gar suddenly says, placing a paper bag full of greasy food on the small table beside you. "Training, fighting, debriefing, he's always bringing you up. 'Do you think Y/n would be impressed with this move?', 'I have to go, I want to hang out with Y/n', 'Don't tell Y/n I got stabbed'. I don't remember the last time he talked about anything other than you," Gar tells you, repeating all the things Jason had told him about you.

Your eyebrows scrunched together and lifted your head up to look at Gar as he handed you a burger. "He got stabbed? When??" You asked, accepting the burger.

Gar lightly laughed at the fact that you know Jason can take a punch or a stab, but would still be concerned even if Jason stubbed his toe.

"It was a month ago. He's more than fine now- well. The wound, I mean," He corrects, knowing Jason's current situation is definitely not more than fine.

You sighed, looking back at your boyfriend. "Thanks, Gar," You say, a smile tugging at your lips as your grip tightened on Jason's hand.

"For...," Gar's head tilted, confused what you were thanking him for while quickly stealing one of your fries.

You shrugged one of your shoulders. "For being his friend. He's told me some of the stuff he's gone through. How some of the other guys treat him. Without a shadow of a doubt he's wreckless and impulsive. But he's smart. And strong and brave. So.. thanks.. I guess. For believing that he is all of those things."

Gar sighed and gave you a lopsided hug. "Of course. He's my teammate amd my friend."

You leaned into Gar's hold, hand on his arm, giving it an accepting and gentle squeeze.

~

You remained by Jason's side a month and two weeks later, only leaving the room to go back to your house, asking Gar to look after Jason while grabbing a pair of extra clothes, plus a hoodie and leather jacket you stole from Jason.

You fell asleep, hugging Jason's arm, not noticing how his other arm went over his body and rested on your head, stroking your hair.

"Wakey wakey, gorgeous," You heard a raspy, groggy voice call out to you. You blinked twice before processing that someone was calling out to you. Your eyes widen as you jolt up from you seat and saw Jason smiling up at you.

"Don't tell me you've been sleeping in that position for long, babe, that could not be comfortable," Jason tried to joke. You didn't even realised what he said. You were still processing that he's awake.

A few seconds of realisation later, you start breaking down, tears cascading down for face and sobs choking out your throat.

"Oh, mama, c'mere," He whispers, weakly holding his arms out. You lunge forward, but careful not to lean over his bandages. You sobbed in his bare shoulder as he shushed you, stroking your hair.

"You scared me," you whimpered.

"I know, baby. 'm sorry, shh it's okay, I'm okay." he assures, pressing a light kiss to the crown of your head.

"I missed you," you mumbled, your finger tracing shapes along his skin.

"Missed you too, doll," he responded. "I heard you, y'know. Rereading Pride and Prejudice, saying how stupid my comments were. Asking me to wake up. Talking to Gar 'n all," he quietly explains.

"Thought I was gonna lose you"

"Oh, baby, you can't get rid of me that easily," he tried joking once more, this time earning a skicker from you as you left a soft, lingering kiss on his collerbone.

Jason shifted to one side of his bed, leaving a wider space beside him. He patted the empty space next to him, telling you to lie with him.

"Jay, I can’t, your bandages-"

"They'll be fine, I promise," he interrupts you. "Just come here with me. I'll heal faster if I'm holding you," he says with a cheeky smile dancing across his face.

You roll your eyes, but as much as you wanted him to have space to heal properly, the selfish part of you took over and slid in beside him, craving his touch that had you starved for too long.

You lay your head on his arm and you gently wrap your arm over his waist as Jason's arm cradles your head, the other draping over your body, pulling you closer, leaning in and connecting his lips with yours. It was a deep and hungry kiss that you both missed as you tiredly nuzzle your fave against his arm.

"Get some sleep, beautiful," Jason says. "You need some proper sleep," he kisses your forhead.

You hummed in response, quickly falling into a quick, comforting slumber, Jason closing his eyes shortly after.

Bonus:

After what felt like eternity, you finally slept, better yet, in the arms of the love of your life, knowing he's okay.

After finally getting a break from missions, the Titans made their way unto the hospital to see how Jason's doing.

"If Jason hadn't start the mission on his own, he wouldn't even be in this state," Rachel ranted to Dick, the two of them carrying plastic bags full of take away.

"Definitely taking a toll on Y/n," Kori says. "That kid's seen better days"

The group stopped in their tracks, looking through the window of Jason's room, seeing the couple in each other's embrace.

"Jason's awake!" Gar exclaims.

Dick smiled to himself and started shooing the Titans back.

"Alright, Jason's okay, we'll come back later when he and Y/n wake up". He said, smiling once more at the sight of the two.

♡Might be an ass fic seeing as I tried not to fall asleep. So.... definitely spelling/grammar errors somewhere.. Anyways, Hope you enjoyed reading! ♡

[kingarubin]

I was thinking about Collector and remembered that episode from season one. It's similar but at the same quite different to what Collector is going through.

Both King and Collector just want to spend time playing with their best friend, but things seem to never go they way. They are trying to have fun and it doesn't work.

And even when they all are together they feel like they don't belong with the rest. The others seem to have so much fun together while they are being left out.

Also, in both cases a villain took notice of their insecurites and use them to manipulate them.

But despite all these similarities there are major differences between those situations. And the most important one is the motivation behind King and Collector's actions.

The problem that King was dealing with was that he wasn't anymore Luz's only friend on the Boiling Isles. At first it was just the three of them (with Eda being Luz's mentor, not equal) and now she was meeting more and more new people. King never had any close friends besides Luz so seeing her have less and less time for him was really difficult. King was scared of losing Luz to others.

King was jealous of Willow and Gus. That resulted in him wanting to separate them from Luz so that she could spend all her time with him. He wanted to have her all for himself.

That desire manifested in him being desparate to obtain friendship braceletes for them. He needed to have a proof that he is the most important person to Luz, that they really are best friends.

But in the end the end King learned that it's okay that Luz has other friends. This was represented in frienship braceletes spiliting into four parts. Because you don't have to have one friend, you can have three or more. They all can be friends with each other.

Meanwhile Collector's problem was that they never really had any friends. Archivists, Belos and even King just wanted to use them. Titans who were kind to him were gone. He never had a chance to learn how to play and be a good friend.

And from what we know it's safe to assume that their way of "playing" by turning people into puppets is something that they were taught by the Archivists.

Collector was jealous of Luz because she had exactly what they wanted. She came to the Boiling Isles and managed to gain trust and friendship of a lot of people. Collector had no idea how to do that.

And there was also her relationship with King. King was Collector's best friend, but Collector wasn't King's best friend. King didn't have any close friends before Luz came but Collector had no one (King at least had Eda). King was not only the most important person in their life, he was the only one they had. But Collector wasn't even close to being as important to King as he was to them.

But unlike King, Collector was never trying to keep King for himself. He doesn't even seem to be a person who would get jealous easily. They released Lilith from the spell and they didn't want to turn Eda into a puppet, instead wanting to convince her to join the game. He wasn't trying to separate King from the others. Because in the end they just wanted to be everyone's friend. They just didn't know how.

Both King and Collector know what it's like to feel unwanted and alone. They both know the feeling of wanting to spend time with a person that they consider to be their best friend, yet having trouble doing that. And they both know what it's like to feel unimportant to the person that is important to them. Although the circumstances and problems they were facing were quite different.

It turned out to be much bigger analysis that I expected, haha. At first I wanted to just point out similarities that I noticed (since King and Collector are very similar), but then I thought that if I'm comparing those episodes I can also take some time to look at the differences between them. So that would be it. Thank you for reading my thoughts!

[shat-on-the-dick]

Beautiful Carnage

tw: smut smut smut and feelings

Summary: Pauline goes to Marley just before the attack on Liberio to confront Reiner four years after his betrayal in Paradis, but things don't go as planned (in the best way possible)

Note: I wanna write a part 2, if people like part 1. I'd love to hear from you!!! If you liked it, or hated it, it's always a pleasure to hear y'all's thoughts!

They were not Reiner and Pauline, not eldians, not humans, not enemies, they were vessels. Vessels for each other’s love, desire. Rage, pain.

Especially the pain.

The pain of all the unlived dreams, the pain of having been born in this world, the unfairness of it all, the should’ve beens.

It should’ve been you | Yes, it should

The could’ve beens.

Could’ve been you - | I’d do anything…

- had you not betrayed us | I regret it every day

In the dim light of his humble room, two wounded animals licked their own wounds while hurting the other. 

Pauline dug her claws into the flesh of his back while Reiner bruised her on the inside with his cock. Their wails of sweet agony mixed with their gasps in an ugly cacophony. She looked at him like a deer in the headlights, shoving her slender body against his crushing grip. Doe eyes, so unlike her usually sharp gaze, stared back at his soul, daring him to unravel, to unfold, to lose all meaning and reason under her smaller body.

Use me like you’ve used me before, hurt me, bruise me, I won’t move, I can’t. I don’t want to

Reiner’s growls were of an exhausted beast, having fought too much for too long, finally coming undone under the one person he loved the most and whose presence made him feel ashamed the most. He bullied his fat cock into her, feeling Pauline’s cunt grip him tighter every time, pulsing around him, sucking him in despite the disgust she must’ve been feeling.

Why are you here? Why do you let me have you this way? Push me away | I can’t

Then, don’t ever let me go | I can’t either

“Fuck, Reiner!” Her pleasure finally tore through her throat. 

Her hips ondulated against his in a frantic and forceful dance, with his large hands sustaining her ass atop as he shoved his dick up her entrance, their shared bliss dripping from where they were joined onto his thighs and balls. 

The flimsy bed frame rattled under the weight of their fucking, the headboard banging against the wooden wall, the feet dragging against the floor. It was his childhood bedroom, the bedroom he spent so many sleepless nights in, dreaming of becoming a warrior, being recognized and famous for the violent judgment he would bring upon the devils. And now he had the most tragic and beautiful of consequences bouncing on his cock, full of hate and longing for him. What a scene.

Pauline stared down at his tired and lost eyes, lost in her, in her body, in her soul, in the world. 

They used to be the color of honey, the honey she would taste on her lips with each kiss they shared, the sweetness burning down her throat while his demanding hands roamed her body inside a dusty closet, sneaking around during their duties to steal a moment for themselves in their training days. 

Now she could see only ambers looking back at her, flaring the hellish remorse she had been feeling for the last four years. Golden, as in the flames of destruction he had left in his wake, burning down the world as she had known it, leaving nothing but a dry taste of ash in her mouth.

Not honey, ash.

Reiner looked up into her light gray irises. They used to be the color of a taciturn cloudy sky, where the clouds would languidly draw together to pour down a placid rain, to soothe his aching body and mind. To ground him on earth, to ground him in her presence, her quiet but imposing presence, like a stormy sky.

Now he could only see steel gazing back at him. Steel like the blade that would pierce through his chest every time he remembered what he’d done to her, to them. Steel, like the blades she used to cut through his Titan, burning betrayal in her misty eyes, lightnings of hatred coursing through them, thunder in her voice as she screamed curses at him.

No soothing rain, just thunder in a despondent sky.

I’m sorry - | Don’t fucking dare

A whine escaped his mouth after a particularly rough drag of her hips, pleasure shooting up his navel, spreading across his chest and warming his cheeks, sweat gathering on his forehead, and his hands dug into the soft flesh of her ass, bruising under his fingertips. 

Pauline stopped moving on top of him, heaving with the effort of her body, Reiner’s cock twitched inside of her, as if protesting against her sudden stop. He looked up at her in question, chest rising and falling with his rapid breathing, sweat doting his chest amidst the light blonde hair there.

She took her eyes off him for a moment, searching the floor where their discarded clothes laid forgotten. Reaching next to the bed, she grabbed his red armband, unfolding it and exposing the eldian star, the proud symbol of an honorary marleyan, and a token of his shame.

“You worked so damn hard for this, right?” She turned back to him, contempt clear on her face.

Before he could reply, she shoved the fabric into his mouth, making him gag in surprise.

“Then, I’ll make you fucking swallow it.” She grabbed his jaw and directed his wide eyes to hers, “Eyes on me.” 

His eyes rolled back at her command, his length twitching with her display of authority. Pauline resumed her movements, harder and more desperate than before.

Reiner reached back to hold the headboard, muscles in his arms and chest jutting with the tension she was building within him, light skin shimmering with sweat against the weak light of a single lamp. The vulnerability of his position made his head spin, swimming in pleasure and anticipation, gagged, under her mercy and her trembling body, weakness and guilt displayed fully to her for scrutiny, no armor for the first time in a decade. He looked ethereal to her eyes, a blush covered his cheeks and chest, brows knotted in concentration, biting down the fabric obediently, knuckles white from gripping the wood too tight, amber eyes glazed over in a fucked out expression, with fire dancing around them.

Her tits bounced with each rise and fall of her hot cunt, body twitching every time her clit hit his navel, the light blonde hair there creating the perfect friction to make her whine and moan, his dick stretching her walls just right, his engorged tip bruising her cervix when she dropped her weight onto him. She looked like a goddess, wavy hair disheveled with her efforts, her olive skin shimmered in gold with the lightning of the room, her full lips loose around her open mouth, delirious whines escaping from it, light freckles dotting her beautiful curves and hard muscles from years of training, accentuated by the long shadows. The pleasure spread like threads of lighting from her lower belly to the tips of her fingers, the wrongness of their situation made it all the more exhilarating. 

A wicked part of her loved the idea of hurting him, of breaking him, leaving him more desperate and desolated than he already was, granting him this sweet reprieve just to take it away once the night was over. Just like he had done to her. To give him a glimpse of a better reality just to trample it afterwards, to let the memory of this sweet and vain moment linger in the back of his mind for the rest of his pathetic life, a wistful reminder of what they could have had, if he hadn’t done what he did.

But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Her façade cracked and she brought her hands down his chest, clawing at where his heart beat. Reiner’s eyes softened at her touch.

For the first time since they’ve met again after four years, Pauline’s eyes shone in a pleading light. Maybe it was the bliss he was making her feel, maybe she hadn’t been authentic about her emotions before, but her vulnerability spiked the sensations in them, bringing them closer to the edge they desperately wanted to topple over.

She clawed at his chest, drawing small droplets of blood. 

Show me

Her nails continued to dig into the hard muscles of his pectorals, as if she wanted to peel back his skin.

Show me where it hurts 

Everywhere

Let me lick, let me taste it, let me know it

Reiner felt as if Pauline was cutting open his sternum, pulling his ribs apart, exposing the dark cavity that was his intimacy, clawing at his heart and gorging herself on his cold blood. 

And oh how he wished to cover himself with hers as well, so he’d never feel cold again. To dress himself in her skin, so he’d never be alone again. To nest his madness inside her ribcage, pump his desperation away into her womb, to let the fire of her burn his skin for eternity, to let the sight of her blind his eyes to all the insanity of this world.

They tortured themselves in the most delicious way, bodies trembling in sweet agony, chasing that blissful and ephemeral moment of nothingness in each other’s arms, pouring their desolation into their movements, letting their sweat wash away any pretense they might still have, wailing their elation and pain away into each other’s ears, pulling the scabs of every scar with their teeth, smearing the dirt under their fingernails into each other’s skin.

Pauline took the armband from his mouth.

“Let me hear you, Reiner.”

“Pauline…” was the only word that escaped from his mouth in a broken sigh.

She lowered her torso onto his and his hands flew from the headboard to envelop her tired body in his strong arms, driving his cock up into her cunt, since her trembling legs couldn’t sustain her weight anymore.

A few more thrusts and the knot snapped inside both of them. They came together in a symphony for this gorgeous carnage. They voiced the blazing heat running through their nerves against each other's neck. Pauline whines intertwined with Reiner’s moans and grunts as he shot his hot seed inside her heat. His cock spasmed with his spurts as her cunt gripped it tight, milking and squeezing every last drop, squirting on his heavy balls and navel.

Her legs finally collapsed and she let her full weight rest on top of the man for whom she felt so conflicted. He continued to rock their torn bodies back and forth, lazily dragging his cock in and out of her sensitive pussy, to grasp for any of the dazzling threads of euphoria that still lingered, as their breath quietened.

Disdain and affection swam through her hazy mind. She should get up and leave, forget this happened, pretend it didn't happen. She should hate him. But she couldn't feel the resolve that pushed her to come here and confront him in the first place.

Why had she traveled so far, only to fall under his spell again? She was weak. Disdain for him turned into disdain for herself, and it prevented her from basking completely in the misty afterglow of their eruption.

Despite herself, she lifted a tired hand to lay it gently on his cheek, running her thumb from his beautiful nose to his strong jaw. He responded with a low moan, leaning further into her tender touch.

Aching muscles occasionally spasmed still, a cozy tiredness settling on their tangled sweaty bodies like a blanket. Both knew they would eventually have to move, face one another after their unexpected hunger and address what happened, but none had the courage to do so. Pauline because of the turmoil inside her heart, Reiner because he didn't want this illusion to end already.

He never thought he'd see her again outside the battlefield, let alone touch her like he did. She didn't come here to make amends, to forgive him, she made that very clear. But he still got to hold her like this, have her like this, make her feel good like he did years ago. How many nights had he laid awake, dreaming the vain dream of having Pauline again, a dream where he had stayed and fought by her side, stayed and protected her instead of hurting her, shame and despair consuming the idyllic vision like a shadow at the edge of his withering mind, until nothing was left but desolation and loneliness.

But he wasn't alone now, and she was in his arms, instead of in his memory. Breaking this moment meant having to face the wrath she still rightfully felt, and he couldn't bear this thought right now. So Reiner settled for a shy touch of his fingers, threading them lightly through the strands of hair on her nape.

They stayed silent, not daring to say a word, willing this mirage to last as much as possible.

Eventually, the tension within Pauline became too much to bear in silence, she disentangled herself from him and rose shily, letting her long hair fall like a curtain in front of her face, hiding her cowardice and immaturity behind it.

Reiner observed her movements with a keen eye, her inconsistency and hesitancy, and couldn't help but ask:

"What are you doing here, Pauline?"

"I don't know anymore", when she faced him, sadness was clear in her eyes.

[artbyblastweave]

I was thinking the other day that Red Hood is a compelling character but inherently an extremely high context one. It's really obvious that he's a character who required the two-decades and change of publication history, editorial evolution and fandom debate that it took for him to bake. Red hood presupposes, bare minimum:

that there's an established Batman/Joker rivalry that's been going for a while

That Batman has gotten past the year-one section of his career and brought at least one Robin into the fold

That after the crowbar incident Batman has continued to operate as Batman for a significant amount of time

That the version of the DCU you're looking at includes some method of resurrection, be that the Lazarus Pit or the retcon punch

Ideally, you'd have Dick Grayson as Robin first, because you obviously lose a lot of the crunch if Jason doesn't exist uncomfortably in Dick's shadow prior to his death, but if you had an executive breathing down your neck about how the narrative has too many moving parts you could maybe drop this

On top of all this the story arc also presupposes audience familiarity with the out-of-universe debate about the no-kill rule, and moreover it presupposes that the version of Joker you're looking is specifically awful enough that there's an actual utilitarian argument in favor of breaking the no-kill rule- Can't do Under the Red Hood with Ceaser Romero's take on the character. You may or may not have had time to establish his track record.

Oh, yeah, and it's gotta be a version of the continuity where the censors let you kill people on screen! Nearly forgot that. I recall thinking that despite the obvious scramble to introduce all the priors, Under The Red Hood was remarkably effective for being able to import everything it needed to create the sense of time, place and progression of Batman's character, the very specific point in his development where you need to catch him for Red Hood to make any sense. By contrast I remember thinking that the half-hearted attempt to backport Red Hood into the DCAU in the comics-IIRC he actually post-dates that continuity- was just very obviously doomed, like come on, you're trying to cram a third robin into an established timeline? You already made a decision to hopscotch him when you went right from Dick to Tim, no backsies! There are other characters I bucket like this, characters who I think have some there-there, but are immensely high-context in a way that seems tough to negotiate in an adaptation. Miles Morales is one, and I was amazed at how gracefully the Spider-verse films navigated that, how gracefully something with a four-or-five hour runtime integrated the broader concept of continuity lockout/creep/what-have you into the story. Power Girl is another, and they've never really figured out how to integrate her as far as I'm aware- Galatea in JLU being the closest I know of. I have no doubt that if I were more familiar with the Teen Titans side of things I could start rattling off ancillary characters from that space. I don't have anywhere in particular I was going with this, I just think about this category of character a lot.

[sunflowersunite]

A study of Zeke's role in Levihan fanfiction

(Levihan filter on, obviously)

I want to talk about Zeke as portrayed in the various fics I've read. When Zeke shows up in a Levihan story, his role is of a love rival to Levi, courting Hange and making him jealous (and I eat it up every single time without fail). It's unrequited more often than not, Hange is usually creeped out by him, it's so funny to read.

I love that trope, okay? I love it because there is nothing in canon that suggests a romantic attraction on Zeke's part towards Hange. Zeke isn't even interested in romance, he wants to die and take everyone down with him, romance is the last thing in his mind. He even asks Armin why people would want to have kids. He just doesn't understand it.

He and Hange don't even interact! I don't remember seeing them talking, maybe they've exchanged a few words, but nothing deep about their beliefs that would build some semblance of a connection between them.

BUT. I sincerely believe that under different circumstances, Zeke would be infatuated with Hange. I mean, strong independent intelligent scientist who built those deadly thunder spears and accumulated knowledge about the titans with barely any resources and primitive technology?? If Zeke wasn't so depressed, he'd be head over heels for Hange.

What's more, ever since I found out that Hange is four years older than Zeke, I picture him having this schoolboy celebrity crush on her because she's just so cool and awesome, and he's interested in science. Their views and methods are different and they wouldn't agree on anything if they were in the same team, but for now he wants to talk to her about science.

And it's not one author who has assigned the role of the love rival to Zeke! It's agreed within a (not small) portion of the Levihan fandom. Someone saw that blond disaster nerd and said "y know what? This one would crush on Hange so hard, he's a serious rival" and we all said yes without missing a beat because even though it's not canon, it just makes sense.

(this isn't a Zekehan post, I mostly took the chance to talk about how awesome Hange is, and how Zeke would see it and totally have a crush on her, interested in science as they both are. Therefore despite him not having canonical interest in romance, this just works for me.)

Maybe in an AU, when Eren goes to Marley and meets Zeke in the hospital, Zeke kind of directs the conversation towards Hange and asks stuff about her. And Eren just stares at him deadpan because yeah, no, Hange's taken mate. (and he wouldn't let his brother hit on his adoptive mother commander)

Consequentially, Levi's hatred towards Zeke is fuelled by annoyance because Zeke lowkey wants to fangirl to Hange about her accomplishments in Paradis while she was locked in the walls. Hange is super not interested, seeing as he killed Erwin, but she ends up talking to him because he knows about titans. Levi glares daggers at Zeke the whole time and pulls Hange out of there first chance he gets. (I live for jealous slightly possessive Levi, like a disgruntled cat)

In conclusion: I'm all in for love rival Zeke if he makes Levi jealous (and if Hange low-key or high-key doesn't want to be there, it's so funny watching her being all stiff around him) because it makes sense

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Welcome my the new masterlist. Yes thats vhagar you saw that right.

UPDATED ON 16-5-2024

Hello, welcome, welcome welcome!

I hope you brought cookies

Aemond Targaryen

The girl in the silver dress (Modern royalty au) (Completed)

🔷Summary: You are invited to become a selected girl for Prince Jacaerys's selection. You never thought you would fall for his uncle, prince Aemond instead

part one part two Part three (completed)

Heaven knows (We belong way down below) (slasher au)

🔷Summary: Reader or oc (You) is the new resident of a seemingly peaceful town, which hides dark secrets.

prologue, part one (Mini series) (NOT CONTINUED!!)

Wicked dark and twisted dreams part one (vampire au)

🔷Summary: After you have been kidnapped, you get sold to the vampire king's brother, Aemond Targaryen.

One part, possibly being rewritten into a bigger series, but thats a maybe. A really big maybe. (NOT CONTINUED!!!)

Sweet Nothings (College au) formally known as ''Games in the library''

🔷Summary: Your GPA is tanking and you need help. Luckily there is the grumpy antisocial Aemond to help you out.

PART 1 PART 2, updates planned but it will be a mini series. (Maybe continued)

The heart is an ocean (Aemond titanic au) (mini series)

🔷Summary: You attend the ship of dreams, the Balerion in hope of finding your match to enrichen your family. But fate is cruel for those who dream. And the Balerion might not even reach the harbor of Valyria.

Part one, part two

updates are planned but it will remain a mini series.

the doomed jaessa (???) (aemond avatar au) ONE SHOT

🔷Summary: You are a witch hunter, looking for the witches that killed your family all those years ago. Those people are called Heyks or Summoners.

Part one, one shot.

maffia au (aemond maffia au) One shot

🔷Summary: Its your 21st birthday. You dont expect to spent it as the captive of your new criminal husband, but here we are.

Part one, one shot, but might be rewritten in a bigger series.

Sandstorm (Dornish oc x aemond request) (One-shot)

🔷Summary: You are Elna/Reader Martell and before you marry you go on a vacation to the land that always held a close space to your heart: The Six Kingdoms. You become the captive of Aemond Targaryen.

One shot, Part one

A little wicked (dark prince regent x niece)

🔷Summary: After your husband dies, his brother claims his throne and also you.

Part one, one shot

Ashes Burn

🔷Summary: Dark aemond fic about a girl who becomes aemonds bedmate. Very dark.

part one, part two, part three, updates planned but might become a smaller series.

What power looks like dark prince regent one shot

🔷Summary: You once bullied Aemond and fell in favour with his brother, but now that Aegon is uhm...not able to talk right now, Aemond wants revenge for all you did to him. And he means all of it.

Part one, finished one shot

Fight and die (Main series)

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

Part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part 6.

The Song of Ice and Fire (Mini series)

🔷Summary: After getting kidnapped on your way to King's Landing, you end up in another time where you meet a dangerous prince

Part one, updates planned.

Mis characters

Daemon Targaryen

Daddy dearest (stepdaughter request) (One shot)

🔷Summary: You are Rhaenyra's and Harwin's daughter and you just proposed to Aemond, your stepdaddys worst enemy.

Part one, one shot, finished.

Vhagar

Vhagars diary (on hiatus for now)

Summary: The majestic dragon Vhagar shares her story, in a exclusive interview/tell all biography. What does she remember and what can she tell us about the past? What do we know? Vhagar tells all is part of a mini series featuring three parts of Vhagars life leading up to house of the dragon, with her ...unique thoughts and perspective!

Part one

Aegon Targaryen II/ Attention

Summary:🔷Summary: You are studying in college and you fall for a mysterious boy named Aeg. Who hides a dark secret.

Part One, more updates planned, mini series.

Older masterlist with old work (mind your step please) series

Old and mostly very dark fanfics about aemond.

Ready to read somewhere else?: Bitterballetje - Works | Archive of Our Own

last update 9-7-2024

[heyimkana]

MULTIFANDOM BLOG - 18+ ONLY - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

24 Hours with You

Pairings: Gojo Satoru X Female Reader, Okkotsu Yuuta X Female Reader, Fushiguro Megumi X Female Reader, Itadori Yuuji X Female Reader

Genre: Domestic AU, Fluff, Romance, Smut, Humor

Summary: Take a 24-hour peek into the life you share with your husband! This is a mini-series where you’ll live through the hours you spend together with your favorite JJK men. There are four pairings planned so far, and each pairing will have its own episodes.

Remember Me: Part I - Part II (WIP)

Pairing: Okkotsu Yuuta X Female Reader X Fushiguro Megumi

Genre: Soulmate AU, High School / College AU, Chilhood Friends to Lovers, Romance, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Word Count: 25K+

Summary: “The mysterious cuts and bruises that suddenly appear on your skin are injuries that your soulmate has.” For Yuuta and Megumi, it's not just an old saying, it's not merely a concept, it's the truth. But as they grow older in a world where everyone puts their faith in the marks that attach their hearts to their soulmates, they have to stop believing.

Attack on Titan Fanfics

SNIPPETS

HEADCANONS / DRABBLES

DOUJINSHI SCANS

Jujutsu Kaisen

Attack on Titan

Chainsaw Man

ACTION FIGURES

DRAMA CDs

© All content belongs to HEYIMKANA / FICSFOREREN / SUNDAYSUNDAES. Do not plagiarize, translate, modify, or repost my works on other platforms WITHOUT permission. You are allowed to recommend my works on other platforms (including on TikTok) but make sure to give a warning on your post. My stories contain mature themes and they are NOT suitable for minors. I have NEVER posted my stories outside Tumblr so please inform me if you find my works being posted on other websites.

[ourmondobongo]

JJK 251 delivered one of the most intense fights till now, and honestly, I can't wait to see it animated! (if I'm still alive 10 years from now, that is lol).

That said, I need to write a little about this chapter because it has been eating me out since Thursday, and the HQ scan release is MAGNIFICENT. So let’s go!

Yuta used Cleave on Sukuna!

But, alas, he wasn’t the one to eat Sukuna’s finger. It was prolly Rika.

I don’t think anyone would think it makes sense that Yuta - second only to Gojo, the strongest modern sorcerer  - could be the one to eat the King of Curse’s finger. While he IS powerful, it is still so risky to think he could ingest a piece of Sukuna’s soul and keep it inside himself for God knows how long.

Also, if a human had eaten one of his fingers, it seems a bit unlikely Sukuna wouldn’t have noticed somehow, as the cursed object holds a part of his very soul.

On the other hand, Rika hasn’t fully manifested. It seems an odd thing since this battle is even more dangerous and important than all previous battles Yuta had since his 2vs1 with Geto. Which may be just a wild speculation, but that has me thinking that maybe - just maybe - he hasn’t allowed her to fully manifest because she ate the finger. Like with the finger bearers at the beginning of the manga, Sukuna would know it is there, and he could target Rika more fiercely. Perhaps get to even retrieve it.

But this is speculation only - and I hope we will be sure of it in the next chapters.

It’s good to remember tho that it was Rika who ate Uro’s arm, not Yuta. And I doubt Yuta himself could have also eaten Hana’s and Inumaki’s arms…

Yuta was right in thinking that Sukuna would be surprised at being hit by his own technique.

However, something pretty nice happening here is that Sukuna looks pleased at tasting his own technique.

You know, we are well aware by now that Sukuna is a hedonist to the fullest. So I’m actually pleased that, rather than being really pissed off for getting a taste of his own medicine, he really experienced this little moment in a way that couldn’t show better how a being can be more self centered lol

I mean, his smile as he says ‘I see. Quite the meal.’ or "Oh, I get it. You ate it." feels like he is amused at tasting some of the power his own technique holds. I can hear Suwabe-san making it sound like he is having a foodgasm. And Yuta’s face turning worried is a sign that he oughta move to his next attack against the King of Hedonism ASAP.

Yuji and Yuta’s hand-to-hand-fight with Sukuna is beautiful, my god.

Sukuna is a good +4m tall muscle-built four-armed TITAN GIANT. Yuta and mostly Yuji are making him bend, making him bleed, making him blind by spitting blood on his cursed eyes, and FUCK - THIS FIGHT IS GOLD!!

Details I gotta highlight:

This is the second time Yuji survives Cleave at point blank, showing how much his endurance is up in such a crucial moment.

It was so smart of him to spit blood on Sukuna’s face. Reminds a little how his lil brother Kechizu spat his cursed blood on him back in s01 times.

Yuji’s determination to save defeat Sukuna and save Megumi with ‘heal up, heal up, HEAL UP’ makes me wanna chomp on wood T_T (C’mon baby, you can do it!)

Count on Sukuna to keep looking amused as he is being wrecked to the bones lmao. But also, this means he is thinking, analyzing, plotting, and soon preparing to counterattack.

The way Rika grabs him by the leg and throws him at Yuji’s soul shaking kick IS PERFECT.

The beating is so well delivered that, in fact, Sukuna is pushed to a deadly gamble.

I love when Sukuna gambles. He does it so many times throughout the story that I don’t think anyone can actually be surprised to see him doing this again in this chapter.

And I really mean it, cause not even our MCs are surprised. They had a solid plan of what to do once they had pushed Sukuna to the point they wanted: aka, releasing the HWC to try using Space Dismantle while tanking Jacob’s Ladder.

In less than a blink, Sukuna is 3/4 immobilized.

Rika, half manifested, gets his upper arms while Yuji goes for the lower right.

Yuta, though, goes straight to his guts, and bravely shoves his hand inside his belly mouth while Sukuna's only free arm goes straight to his head.

The cost for such a risky attack? A Cleave delivered directly on his bloody head.

But Yuta’s RCT doesn’t fail him. And he also still gets to rip out the Cursed Tongue - leaving Sukuna to have only one way to chant curses now. Confirming their suspicions that the King needs to use hand signs and chants or both to use “Space Dismantle”, which is an opening they can take an important advantage of to both use the domain's sure hit and reach Megumi.

This page made me scream!

The sight of Sukuna’s cheek exploding is bloody horrible.

Yuta tanking another slash attack shook me.

But Yuta coming up at the fucking King of Curses absolutely confident he can face him off FEARLESSLY is even more gobsmacking. I love my son!

ALSO: DID YUTA REALLY USE DISMANTLE ON SUKUNA’S ARM RIGHT HERE????

Also, the fact that Sukuna’s output is low to that point is both a sign that 1) his deadly efficiency is truly getting compromised by the biggest jjk team jump this manga had to this day,  2) Yuta and Yuji really leveled up to an impressive stage!

I don’t think we have ever seen Sukuna getting so overwhelmed and shocked.

Yuta’s next sword attack happens simultaneously with Yuji’s blood manipulation attack, and Sukuna loses his free hand while he realizes Yuji in fact just used his spitted blood to blow half his face off, rendering unable to speak.

A little thought I want to share though is that, while it has been long hinted that Yuji is able to use Blood Manipulation in any form after eating his brothers and training with both Choso and Noritoshi, I still have a little doubt whether the piercing blood attack in chapter 247 really comes from Yuji or not.

From the pov in 247, PB comes from somewhere really high and far from where Sukuna is. And in chapter 244, we see Mei Mei and Momo observing the battle from a tall building not too far away. I could see Choso being taken somewhere safe up to and despite being heavily wounded, still trying to help his lil brother. But also, I can picture Yuji rushing up some of the destroyed buildings to locate Sukuna and Higuruma, and desperately PB Sukuna to buy some time until he gets there. 

I mean, if it had been really Yuji, I half expected Sukuna to have a lil flashback not only of the moment Yuji spat on him, but also from when he was attacked back in 247. That would solidify the fact he shockingly realized Yuji is using BM. So I will wait for a clear confirmation...

This talk is pretty interesting and important.

We discovered through Yuki’s search that: 

Even when souls mix to some degree, they don’t become one single soul.

Choso can’t feel the OG soul of the human whose (his) body belongs to, and that’s why he asks if Yuji and Sukuna aren’t a special case. A fair question that made me think Choso could actually give back his body to the guy if he knew the poor man was trapped inside.

Yuji explains that CE plays an important role in the case of cursed objects and non-sorcerers then. Yet, no matter how deep a living soul may sink, it won’t merge or disappear in such cases.

Choso proposes another special case: since Yuji said, “in general level things are unmergeable”,  what if Megumi and Sukuna are different tho? What if that could happen to them?

Yuji proceeds to say he added the “general” thing cause he had dealt with Mahito. Also, uniting souls transform them into other separate being. So as long as a soul CT like Mahito’s is NOT at play, then the merging of souls can’t happen.

And trusting fully in Yuki’s search, Yuji promises he will shake Megumi’s soul awake.

And after learning all of this, I wished for real that Yuki had not died so prematurely. The fact she was a former Star Plasma Vessel, that she could hear the voices of the souls Tengen had absorbed throughout the millennium, and that she had now Maki, Yuji/Sukuna, Choso and Mahito to deepen her research on souls and find a “scientific way” for how to break free from CE, BUT she never could do it… is a PAIN. We can’t undo what GG did, tho, so let's move on to the next topic.

Angel’s technique is special.

But it has a well defined role in the story: one that is NOT what some ppl think.

In an incarnated body, there is the mix of one’s technique + the personality + cursed object. So, since Angel’s CT can eradicate CTs, they can erase Sukuna. As they all want to save Megumi, tho, they will need to do the same thing Hana tried back in chapter 213: using the attack to FIRST weaken the connection between Sukuna and Megumi so Megumi’s chances of surviving the brain damage are better, and THEN move on to finish off the King of Curses.

And here I want to point out how absurd it is for anyone to expect a MINOR side character to end the history of the final MAIN antagonist of this series. Because, truly, unless you are being really disingenuous or purposefully kidding yourself just to hate and badmouth JJK, one cannot be serious over Hana EVER standing a chance against Sukuna. Even more with one of her arms torn off by the King himself.

And that’s why Yuta - the one second only to Gojo - is the one side-handling this freaking final battle. 

Sukuna is damn right roughen and wrecked.

Yuji has one of his arms, Rika has two arms + a bite on his shoulder, his free arm is handless, his main mouth is half blown, and his belly mouth is tongueless and dripping blood.

There is a seriousness to his features that is different though. I mean he is the king of smiles, but he is deadly serious right here...

He KNOWS what is coming. He has chosen to gamble his endurance power against Yutangel’s Max Jacob’s ladder. So he is definitely mentally preparing to receive one of the hardest blows on his unstable (connected to Megumi) form.

And then Sukuna takes it.

His reaction is highly different from last time though, and it’s kinda obvious why. In chapter 213,  he had just barely taken over Megumi’s body as well as he was at 15 fingers. Here he is in his incarnated true form, 19 fingers + his very mummified head in.

That said, the way he only growls/grunts/gasps tanking a DE’s sure hit from someone with a CE around the same as his own is impressive. Not only that, but also another crystal clear hint that he is the fucking King of JJK for a reason. You can’t break him easily. You can’t beat him conventionally. You can’t kill him until his last drop of CE is gone, until his brain is incapacitated, until his self-serving wish to keep existing - even if meaninglessly - is obliterated together with his cursed soul. As long as he holds the overwhelming power to exist, he will keep existing.

Knowing the enemy is NOT down yet, Rika chomps her mouth on Sukuna’s shoulder again as she holds his arms again while Yuta butchers his lower right arm in half, buying the time Yuji needs to fuel the special punch that he hopes will shake Megumi’s soul awake from the depths of this nearly unkillable monster. And if my eyes are not deceiving me, I think that -  by the shape of Sukuna’s tattoo - Yuji hits him in the middle of his chest. Right over his heart.

Megumi’s breakdown deserves an analysis of its own.

But, yeah, IT HURTS.

As Yuji is shaken by Megumi’s state, though, the inevitable happens.

Sukuna, following his gamble of tanking and surviving JL to throw the WCD, does exactly that. The chants come on the page on a background a little similar to how his DE first appeared in animation. It’s eerie, cursed, and we know shit will happen on the next page…

Using what seems to be the arm Yuta had slashed in half (or is it the hand Rika was holding before), Sukuna strikes ALL his enemies with a seemingly WCD. 

Way too close to him, Yuta takes the bruntest of it - the slash rips/slants his abdomen (letting we peek what is probably his liver), his back and his ring fingered hand (strongest way of connection with Rika) is severed from his wrist. Rika is slashed all over her face, the lower jaw which had bitten onto Sukuna’s shoulder is cut off and falling, her monstrous hands all cut and bloodied when they release Sukuna. Yuji is slashed on his forehead, across his face, and by the blood trajectory, from his collarbone down to abdomen. 

There is NO WAY THO that Yuji is dying like that, though.

So before we find out how Yuji - and prolly Yuta too - will survive this attack, it is important to notice here that Sukuna does not say “Dismantle” when he unleashes this attack on them. And, YES, chants ARE important in JJK. (I know a lot of ppl will complain about this, especially since “Gojo died with this attack!”, but I’m just saying what is drawn in the manga.)

Sukuna is back to his menacingly smiling aura as Yuta’s domain starts crumbling on top of him.

But while he is RCTing his injuries and tasting what seems to finally be the end of this cursed battle day, he is struck by the sneakiest signature attack of the modern era.

Maki Zenin, the demon with zero cursed energy, pierces his heart - and soul - with her Split Soul katana.

If I said I haven't screamed at this whole sequence, I would be a liar. This was absolutely INCREDIBLE!

Now I hope GG won't switch the pov back to Hakari x Uraume, but I feel like he might as well do again T_T

Anyway, I just had to write all this to say how PERFECT Gege is weaving Gojo's pupils battle against the greatest King of Curses!!

[emilythescribbler]

What Eren Said To Levi [Attack On Titan]

It seemed to only last for a second in real time, as each member of this small group consisting of friends and enemies, all, for the most part, Eldian, and all with some kind of connection to Eren Jaeger, followed the path inside their mind to that very same faraway, suicidal man, as he knew they would, as was by design. He wished to speak to them all, his old friends, he wished to spend what would inevitably be his last moments with them, through this new power he had unlocked, through the great power he had obtained in his quest to destroy the world. 

With Mikasa, it was slightly different, for he didn't just speak with her, to comfort her in this distressing time, but slowed time down to a snail's pace, spending what amounted to four years, using what amounted to all his remaining time left on this earth to live in relative peace with the woman he loved: he built their cabin, brick by brick, and allowed the anxiety to wash from his face, revealing beauty and hope beneath. It was all he could do for the woman he loved.

With Armin, he confided in his best friend, spoke of things he dared not speak of before anyone else. And he was punched, sense broken into him as he finally found the strength to say how much he adored the dark-haired girl of his youth, but how it could never be, how he wished them all to forget him. He spoke of such things to the former spy, his friend in understanding and similarity, the girl frozen in ice, Annie, and how he wished them all to live a long life, but knew they would follow him into the depths of hell. 

With Connie, it was a simple sense of reassurance, on Eren's part, that his mother would return to her usual, human self, and on Connie's part, he spoke of their dead friend, the girl who loved food, and how, finally, Connie knew, he understood, he held no blame or hatred in his heart for all of it, and how he wished he had seen before it was too late.

For Jean, not much could be said, but as they appeared to each other, at first as themselves when they pair first met, then in the present day: rivals at first glance, they could see how much the pair they grown, and how much distance lay between them: two who were, Jean could see that now more than ever, the same, at least then, and how Eren had allowed hatred to take hold of his heart, and never let go, while Jean lay suspended in air, gripping the hand of the person who had betrayed them, and who he still considered brother until the end. 

For others, they wished to speak to him, to know, to understand, but it was simply for those he loved, for he would have burned the world if it meant they could be safe, could live their lives on their own terms - just as he had always longed for, if only that path hadn't been bathed in blood, hadn't come with sacrifices: both personal and political, both personal, for the self, and international, of the world.

Levi recalled, in those moments after that final battle, where he pushed himself further and further than he thought possible, and still pushed further, to give his all, to give his heart, how he had seen Eren, the brat that he had always been, and felt the urge to start kicking him, just as he had back then, then to rain blows angry and resentful upon the younger's face - who appeared saddened, guilty, asking for forgiveness. 

Despite these feelings which threatened to overwhelm the elder, Levi stood firm, and remembered his friends, his comrades, and all they had sacrificed. He remembered what they had once believed, and all they had to forsake in order to break down those barriers which once stood so tall, to protect the world, at the cost of their home, their once sacred values, to be the heroes this boy wanted them to be. He was the enemy, and yet... Levi couldn't hate him, not entirely, not truly. 

Would Erwin hate him? Would Hange? Would any of those long dead faces he saw every time he closed his eyes?

He knelt before Eren then, and sighed, ordering him to lift his head. Eren obeyed, with no argument, just appearing as he was: a mentor to pupil, a commander to a soldier, a father to a son.

"You can't run away from this, y'know." Levi's voice was merely a whisper in the face of the carnage yet to come, for the blood which soaked their feet remained a omen of all Eren would accomplish for the sake of freedom - liberty he would never truly hold in his hands. 

Eren didn't say anything at first, and still found he could not look his elder counterpart in the eye. Guilt ate away at him, but he knew this was the only way. Still, it did not change one simple fact about him, the destroyer of this world: he did not want to die.

"If you're going to force our hand, if all of this will be worth it, you have to own your actions, Eren. Look at me."

When he finally did, Levi saw that Eren's eyes were full of tears. Another memory came back into his mind then, brought force by the sadness which resided in the young boy before him: his friends, his squad, crushed under foot, torn apart by another just like him, followed only by the sense of denial which had been held in the voice of Petra's father, who spoke and continued to speak, fearing that, if he stopped, it would make the reality of his daughter's death so much more real. 

Levi couldn't hold back when he struck the younger boy, full force against his cheek. Levi felt his eyes well with tears of his own, and the angry came rushing to the surface, for he could find no reason in the blood spilled - he hated this world, but he hated himself most of all. 

He wanted to yell and scream, but found himself unable to do much else except land a blow which brought the younger lower, further still, away from the light, forcing him to look upon himself with a face twisted, riddled with shame, unable to bear it, all of it, yet still marching forth, still on the path to death. 

But then, Levi held out his hand, to which Eren hesitated for a moment, before he accepted it. And then, for what was the first and only time in his life, with nothing left between leader and follower, corporal and cadet, Levi embraced him, strong and true, a hug to convey the understanding and empathy both wished they could obtain, yet knew it would forever be out of reach, outside those eternal paths - the connections formed over thousands of years, all to serve a singular purpose: to unite.

Eren felt a fresh wave of tears then, and allowed them to fall. "I wish you had known me better than the version of myself you saw these past few years, Captain."

Levi felt himself smile then, only for a moment, before it sunk deeper within himself, only to reveal itself again once he saw his friends again, when the fight was well and truly over. "Eren, I knew you well enough. A monster, no doubt, but I saw that in you from the start."

The scene faded away like a dream, but Levi found himself looking to the sky, with his hand, broken and fractured from the eternal struggle, as fresh tears appeared upon his own features, and spoke, so only the wind would be able to hear. "We're all monsters, this world makes us cruel."

It makes us cruel, and yet it also makes us kind. It makes it all worth it to finally see the sun once more.