#to live is to fight forever and haunt every battlefield | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tamedgod · 10 months

Text

RISE OF THE PARAGONAL MOTHER

When a new Paragon is born, it is always a beginning — a brush of paint on a fresh canvas to shape their equally new world around them. Çyreni, born with eyes of silver light and fair raven hair, wanted a society filled with beauty, and She quickly set to work. Instinct and brilliant creative mind made Her paint beautiful blue and purple trees, deer-like creatures with antlers made of crystal, and, of course, humans — all of them unique. But where there is creation, there is also destruction, and as life was breathed into this new world, Death came through the doors along with it. It was He who would explain to Her the duty She must keep as the Paragon of this world, and all She must endure as its creator. Wanting to please Death, who then introduced Himself as Dosha, Çyreni agreed to the terms — though She knew not the true stakes. It was painful, watching her creations pass and leave Her side — taken to a realm She could never cross into. But Dosha would always reassure Her, His haunting mouth whispering words of approval, respect, and adoration. Because of this, She endured, and in time would fall in love with Him; He, the only other creature who would live as long as She. Though their time together was always brief, Death traveling to and from His realm and Çyreni working to breathe more life into Relogae, they were happy. Worshipped like gods by mortal men, their trysts would last decades, centuries, millennia — the two ruling over the realm with benevolence. But, with every passing year and every passing soul, Çyreni would grow tired. She would watch Him take, soul after soul, here and gone, and She would become sad. The two could spend so little time together, and as more time passed Dosha’s words would no longer be enough to soothe Her. And when the first war in Relogae broke out, She’d grow sadder still. She’d watch as He came, a heavy heart about Him, to reap the battlefield, and suddenly Her sadness was a spark. A new feeling would begin to overtake Her, the spark fanning into a flame as creatures, landscapes, and people continued to die around Her. And when He came to take Her sister — a being She created to stay by Her side forever — the flame would become a wildfire, Çyreni unleashing Her fury upon Death in the only way She knew how — by giving Life.

THE GREAT AWAKENING

She would wait for Him — every time, everywhere, when a body would fall. Before He could take anything or anyone to the next plane, Çyreni would snatch them from His grasp, bringing them... a second life. Or, rather, a second kind of life. Plants and fungi would grow from the bodies like a plague, moving them and holding their sentience — their souls — hostage in their own minds. Dosha grew concerned, warning Çyreni of the heavy universal laws She was trying so desperately to fight, but it did not stop Her. The mass of growth forming from the dead would inspire Her further to Create, and so She began to change everything. The trees, the deer, the rivers, the rocks — everything began to gain its own sentience, the logic and morality of it escaping Her as all She wanted was to live with Her creations — Her family. She wanted them all to spend this eternal life with Her, forever. Humans became morally and ethically confused as the prey they would hunt and the trees they would chop came to life. More battles and wars of all kinds began anew, but alas, all was okay! Because Dosha couldn't take them — because Çyreni would seal their sentience in that second life She'd give them, never allowing them to leave. They could kill each other all they like; they need not eat nor sleep in their second lives. There would be no more fighting once they were all living their next lives... with Her. These infected bodies worshipped Çyreni like She was the Only. She was all they could see and all they would need. This grand event was later referred to as the Great Awakening, and would bring about what many would call the Age of Light.

ÇYRENI'S STAR

And just like that, suddenly He stopped appearing. Çyreni would look and look when the bodies would fall, but Dosha would not come. A grave sadness fell about Death, one He seldom felt, and one He knew must be overcome. Despite the love they had once shared, Dosha's duty was to what He was — He had been foolish to pretend to be anything else. And so, He stayed away, hidden on His plane, amongst the countless souls taken during his ageless duty. He traveled to all corners of the realm, searching for other Paragons and deities of power — seeking to restore balance to a plagued world. A Paragon with bias and without understanding was dangerous. And so, when the group He'd formed came together, they brought forth a new creation; Çyreni’s Star. If there was only one thing Death could not do, it was taking the eternal life of a Paragon — they were the only souls He could never touch. But He could — hold them. Lock them away... lock Her away. A balanced world without its Paragon would be better than an enslaved one with Her. And thus began a great battle; the Paragonal Mother, Çyreni, against the King of Dreams, the thirteen Aeges Mages, the Father of Battle, the Divine Conduit, Çyreni’s own blood, and Dosha, Himself. None could slay Her, but together they could — and would — subdue Her. Once She was sealed into the Star, the Twice Lived creatures all began to drop, one by one, their souls finally free. It was then that the Star would be given to Siro, the King of Dreams, to hold and to guard for eternity. And thus, the Age of Light would come to an end.

BIRTH OF THE LONG DYNASTY

Though Çyreni was gone, the scars She had left behind would never truly heal. The sentient creatures She'd created had to learn to survive and live in this new societal structure they had entered, though many humans still shun these so-called Beast-Kin even in the present age. Dosha was tired — even His own holiness not fully withstanding the battle... and the loss of His beloved. Because of this, He would travel, truly leaving His plane for the first time to walk the planet in the guise of a human named Bei'Faux. He learned every creature's name, new and old, and began to write. Bei'Faux's first book, Bei'Faux's Bestiary, was spread far and wide, entailing all of the beautiful creatures and plants living in Relogae. He would settle down only once, marrying a mortal woman and beginning a family — the Long family. They were to take over the old throne at the royal capital of Lodrorn in the heart of Pavisia, a great country to Relogae's west, when the time was right. His power would slowly trickle down the family line as the dynasty grew — one could tell they were Death’s children by the light of their golden eyes. All was peaceful for a small age, this relatively young world turning as it should — until a familiar face would come through the Long Palace’s halls.

SỈRO’S EXILE

Siro, the King of Dreams, was a lesser deity of Çyreni’s own Creation and one of Her most faithful disciples. They had been a difficult one to turn during the divine war — yet arguably the most pivotal. Despite the love shared between Çyreni and Dosha so long ago, Siro themself would grow close to the Paragonal Mother, using their divine control over sleep and dreams to influence the masses and further spread Her celestial plague. It took much sacrifice and the agreement that they would get to keep the Star in order for Siro to come to terms. The King of Dreams was crucial in subduing Çyreni, their power to induce sleep one of the only things that slowed Her down enough to enforce capture. Dosha had had His doubts about Siro, but entrusted them with the eternal protection of Çyreni’s Star nonetheless, as agreed. The flaws in Death’s plan would become apparent, however, as a hundred years later Siro would come through the doors of the grand Long Palace, a strange, silvery glint in their eye. They spoke strangely, speaking in riddles with undertones of threats, talking about the fall of the kingdom. Then, suddenly, they would strike out, grabbing Dosha by the throat and looking Him dead in the eye. It was then, as Siro was ripped off of Him by palace guards, that Death would recognize Her within them. One by one the guards, His friends, His family would fall into slumber, Çyreni abusing Siro’s power through their body to force a private audience with the other. She told Him there was nowhere He could run where She would not find Him, and nowhere He could hide Her away that She could not escape. After a moment of struggle, Siro came back to their senses, shocked and horrified by what they had done. Allowing the residents of the palace to reawaken, it was with newfound uneasiness that the warriors from the divine battle would once more reconvene. After a long, grave debate, the heroes would decide that the Star was to be split amongst them and locked away, and Siro would be banished. Sentenced to isolation on the isle of Yqq, a protective ward was placed upon the surrounding sea, turning its waters black. These new Void Depths held monstrosities beneath the dark currents, and would keep unwanted visitors away — and Siro locked inside.

DOSHA'S DISAPPEARANCE

It wasn’t long after the King of Dreams’ exile that Dosha would become filled with despair. Another hundred years passed, and with his blood lineage on the throne, He would leave the palace with His piece of the Star, journeying only once to the isle of Yqq to visit His old comrade. He would never speak of what He saw there, and He would not return to Lodrorn. He would walk, miles and miles and miles, only stopping in the eastern mountains when the frail human guise He’d worn for all those years could no longer go on. He would rest in a small village called Froska, hidden in the snowy alps, and begin to write once again. This time the book was called The Relogaen Archives, and was to be a written history of the realm, but it was never finished. One day, Dosha would simply disappear, and His piece of the Star would vanish along with Him.

WHERE OUR HEROES BEGIN

The Long dynasty eventually became a scourge to Relogae, some descendants of Death abusive of their power. In Relogae's current age, the birth of XiaoLong as the next Dosha encourages his family to wage war — to take over any corners of the realm that could be subjugated under the might of the long lived Long dynasty. On the other side of Relogae, the more industrialized country of Urvini massacres the Beast-Kin living on the island nation of Tiurs, turning its sights to the west to move through the mage kingdom of Aegesir and onto a full blown conflict with Pavisia. Amongst all this battling, humans and Beast-Kin alike are displaced, including a tribe of Rtali felines to the north of Pavisia. It is here we meet Haru'Niya, the oldest daughter in a small family struggling to survive their tribe's diaspora. It is here that the first piece of a Star is glimpsed, passed on to the young cat — and it is here that Life and Death would meet once again...

#m. long post #m. mine #m. edits #m. lore #sorry for the repost #the old post wouldn't allow edits #???#and it was frustrating me #so here #have a fresh post

1 note · View note

senatushq · 1 year

Photo

NAME. Sariel (Sarina Richter) AGE & BIRTH DATE. Appears 27 & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Demigirl & She/Her SPECIES. Seraphim (Fallen) OCCUPATION. Private Investigator FACE CLAIM. Florence Pugh

Biography

( tw war, violence ) War is an old comfort for those who were created by it, for it. Seraphim, they were called after their creation. The infantry of the Gods, the soldiers of their maker. Created for violence’s sake, it left an impression within the cosmos that contained their conscience. Every single of them were marked by this violence, Sariel included, but for a time, that did not matter.

For a time, it was just them, the seraphim, fighting the forces of evil and their soul singing with every victory. They were eternal, divinity coursing through their very essence and the battlefield called to them like a hearth called a home.

The war against the dark lasted an eternity, and yet the Gods were victorious at the end.

For a brief eternity, they had peace.

The realm Sariel and her kind had fought so hard to protect became a safe haven for those who had lost the fight against the very enemy they routed. Earth was a monument to the Seraphim’s strength, their cunning, their power, for they had done what many had failed to do: they had conquered over the evil that haunted the Gods and kept them at bay.

Then their creator threw the seraphim aside for their weakest and most pathetic creation, and ordered their kind to kneel before humanity. Humanity, that had known nothing of war or loss. Humanity, who had everything gifted to them without toil.

Lucifer might have been the first to defy Ulthar’s order, but Sariel wasn’t far behind.

Divinity coursed through the seraphim’s very essence, the cosmos gave them shape. How dare their creator order them to submit to another, when her kind had only ever submitted to them? How dare they reward humanity for their existence, when her kind had spilled ichor, efforts and years into their fight and had gotten nothing in return?

Her kind deserved more than being forever second to a race that could disappear in the blink of an eye, her kind deserved more than to be made to kneel to a man that had never known the price of war. Her kind deserved more than to be thrown aside for their creator’s most recent fixation.

Lucifer was beautiful and righteous in their fight, and she had no doubts that their kind would rally at the insult Ulthar had offered them.

Except, they did not.

The lines were drawn, fallen versus blessed. Those who would rather live in bondage than to seize what was rightfully theirs.

It was war.

Sariel saw the writing at the wall, and mourned for those that became lost to her, and yet, the only words in hermind as the tides of war swept over Earth once again were simple.

So be it.

If her creator would rather destroy her, than thank them for their service in their armies, so be it.

Lucifer would be victorious and they would dance upon their creator’s corpse.

Despite being part of the heavenly infantry, Sariel had never been one for open combat, preferring instead to rely on guile and wit to trap her enemies and consume them until they became nothing, and those skills were the ones they offered Lucifer at the beginning of the war. Not one of the Seraphim Prince’s generals, Sariel supported them doing what she did best, sowing resentment within the seraphim that only needed one simple push to fall, creating traps so that the rest might be destroyed.

They had been comrades at arms, once upon a time, but Sariel had been created to defeat her enemies, no matter who her enemy became.

The war continued, until it could not. Until the fallen’s grace was ripped to them and they were deprived from what was rightfully theirs. Until Lucifer and their visible generals were trapped upon the Inferno, and those who had avoided judgment were forced to wander the Earth in a shape not their own.

They lost the war, and yet, for a time, Sariel had peace. Hiding within humanity once Eve had left the garden — and wasn’t that a laugh? That even Ulthar’s beloved creations would rather desert them than worship them—, she had millennia to discover the world, learn their costumes. Always driven by curiosity, Sariel soon became acclimatized, learning to enjoy what she could, even when she longed for a time when she had been more than a being willingly joined with mortal flesh.

Then, the Eye was formed, and war found her once more.

The brief peace she had experienced, gone under the resentment of her creator’s fixation, and Sariel was at war once more, but one unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was a war of attrition, one she had to fight for her survival.

Her cunning and meticulous nature are the only reason she is alive when so many of her kind had been extinguished by humans with seraph blades.

For millennia, she did not stop running, did not stop hiding, every year feeding her anger, her spite.

She remains unchained, but has not had peace for longer than humanity has recorded history.

Weariness fills her, but so does anger. All she ever wanted was the freedom Ulthar never wanted to give the Seraphim. That is the first thing she ever wanted, freedom and free will. And yet, her creator never offered her kind either. Instead, they had to take them by force.

She got her free will, but freedom? Running gave her the opportunity to appreciate it.

It does not matter.

Freedom will no longer suffice, not after the millennia of indignity.

She wants Ulthar, her creator, brought down to their knees, their ichor flowing freely as they begged for the mercy that her kind was never allowed to have.

Sariel wants to grasp the throne of the Gods, if for nothing else but to destroy it.

Personality

+ cunning, curious, meticulous – vengeful, rebellious, envious

played by Ori. gmt. she/her.

#takenc #takennb #takenseraphim #the invidia #lsrp #supernatural rp

1 note · View note

roossie · 2 years

Text

Recommended anime and otome

Anime

Kaguya-sama : love is war

At the renowned Shuchiin Academy, Miyuki Shirogane and Kaguya Shinomiya are the student body's top representatives. Ranked the top student in the nation and respected by peers and mentors alike, Miyuki serves as the student council president. Alongside him, the vice president Kaguya—eldest daughter of the wealthy Shinomiya family—excels in every field imaginable. They are the envy of the entire student body, regarded as the perfect couple.

However, despite both having already developed feelings for the other, neither are willing to admit them. The first to confess loses, will be looked down upon, and will be considered the lesser. With their honor and pride at stake, Miyuki and Kaguya are both equally determined to be the one to emerge victorious on the battlefield of love!

Wolf girl and black prince

Erika Shinohara has taken to lying about her romantic exploits to earn the respect of her new friends. So when they ask for a picture of her "boyfriend," she hastily snaps a photo of a handsome stranger, whom her friends recognize as the popular and kind-hearted Kyouya Sata.

Trapped in her own web of lies and desperately trying to avoid humiliation, Erika explains her predicament to Kyouya, hoping he will pretend to be her boyfriend. But Kyouya is not the angel he appears to be: he is actually a mean-spirited sadist who forces Erika to become his "dog" in exchange for keeping her secret.

Begrudgingly accepting his deal, Erika soon begins to see glimpses of the real Kyouya beneath the multiple layers of his outer persona. As she finds herself falling for him, she can't help but question if he will ever feel the same way about her. Will Kyouya finally make an honest woman out of Erika, or is she destined to be a "wolf girl" forever?

A silent voice

As a wild youth, elementary school student Shouya Ishida sought to beat boredom in the cruelest ways. When the deaf Shouko Nishimiya transfers into his class, Shouya and the rest of his class thoughtlessly bully her for fun. However, when her mother notifies the school, he is singled out and blamed for everything done to her. With Shouko transferring out of the school, Shouya is left at the mercy of his classmates. He is heartlessly ostracized all throughout elementary and middle school, while teachers turn a blind eye.

Now in his third year of high school, Shouya is still plagued by his wrongdoings as a young boy. Sincerely regretting his past actions, he sets out on a journey of redemption: to meet Shouko once more and make amends.

Koe no Katachi tells the heartwarming tale of Shouya's reunion with Shouko and his honest attempts to redeem himself, all while being continually haunted by the shadows of his past.

Fruit basket

Tooru Honda has always been fascinated by the story of the Chinese Zodiac that her beloved mother told her as a child. However, a sudden family tragedy changes her life, and subsequent circumstances leave her all alone. Tooru is now forced to live in a tent, but little does she know that her temporary home resides on the private property of the esteemed Souma family. Stumbling upon their home one day, she encounters Shigure, an older Souma cousin, and Yuki, the "prince" of her school. Tooru explains that she lives nearby, but the Soumas eventually discover her well-kept secret of being homeless when they see her walking back to her tent one night.

Things start to look up for Tooru as they kindly offer to take her in after hearing about her situation. But soon after, she is caught up in a fight between Yuki and his hot-tempered cousin, Kyou. While trying to stop them, she learns that the Souma family has a well-kept secret of their own: whenever they are hugged by a member of the opposite sex, they transform into the animals of the Chinese Zodiac.

With this new revelation, Tooru will find that living with the Soumas is an unexpected adventure filled with laughter and romance.

Ao-chan can't study!

"Show them your A-O face!" As an innocent child, Ao Horie would unhesitantly proclaim the origins of her name. Now that she is in high school, she is determined to study hard in order to one day escape the influence of her lascivious father, a famous erotic author. However, when the amiable Takumi Kijima confesses to Horie, her mind runs wild with scandalous thoughts.

Moans eager to escape, legs crossing, and a warmth spreading through her body, Horie cannot help but misconstrue Kijima's rather pure motivations. To make things worse, no matter how hard she tries to ward off Kijima, his advances do not stop. Now, if only she could just study!

Guomin laogong dai huijia

Lu Jin Nian and Qiao An Hao are a newly married couple—unfortunately, neither of them are willing participants. Now husband and wife, Qiao An Hao establishes a few ground rules: no one can know that they are married, their cohabitation is top-secret information, and under no circumstances is Lu Jin Nian permitted to touch her. As a result, their marriage remains strictly superficial.

Behind their broken union, however, there is a long and complicated history. A chance encounter while seeking shelter from the rain led to the lives of Lu Jin Nian and Qiao An Hao getting intertwined. But as fate would have it, the date also marked the moment Qiao An Hao's sister fell madly in love with the stoic and mysterious Lu Jin Nian. With emotional stakes flying high, the years leading up to this marriage have been long and complicated—but never boring. And even now, despite their long-standing friendship, the newlyweds are no closer to understanding each other.

Maid-sama

Misaki Ayuzawa is a unique phenomenon within Seika High School. In a predominantly male institution, she became the first-ever female student council president through her honesty and diligence. Ever since Misaki got promoted to the position, she has been working tirelessly to ensure a better school life for all girls. Despite that, Misaki is very strict with the boys, which has earned her the title "Demon President."

One day, after hearing a girl cry in the hallway, Misaki encounters Takumi Usui—the most popular boy in the school—as he rejects a love confession. Enraged at what she is seeing, Misaki reprimands him for making the girl cry. However, Usui is indifferent and brushes it off as nothing.

Unexpectedly, Misaki soon runs into Usui again, but this time when she is working at a maid cafe! Embarrassed that someone has found out about her secret occupation, Misaki promises herself not to let Usui destroy her reputation. However, the mysterious boy now begins to visit the same cafe regularly to observe and tease Misaki. When push comes to shove, will Usui still be able to keep the president's secret?

Masamune-kun's revange

When Masamune Makabe was a child, he was rejected by a rich, beautiful girl named Aki Adagaki, who gave him the nickname ''Piggy'' for being overweight. Devastated, Masamune put great effort into working out to improve his appearance. Now a handsome yet narcissistic high school student, Masamune is determined to exact revenge—he will have Aki fall madly in love with him and ultimately reject her the next time they meet.

To his surprise, Masamune discovers he has transferred into Aki's school. Setting his plan into motion, Masamune first begins to form a relationship with the ''Brutal Princess'' but, despite his efforts, fails miserably at his initial attempts. Shockingly, when Masamune finally progresses towards his vengeance, he receives a mysterious letter addressing him by his old nickname. Unless Masamune discovers the sender's identity, his plan is doomed before it even starts!

Your name

Mitsuha Miyamizu, a high school girl, yearns to live the life of a boy in the bustling city of Tokyo—a dream that stands in stark contrast to her present life in the countryside. Meanwhile in the city, Taki Tachibana lives a busy life as a high school student while juggling his part-time job and hopes for a future in architecture.

One day, Mitsuha awakens in a room that is not her own and suddenly finds herself living the dream life in Tokyo—but in Taki's body! Elsewhere, Taki finds himself living Mitsuha's life in the humble countryside. In pursuit of an answer to this strange phenomenon, they begin to search for one another.

Kimi no Na wa. revolves around Mitsuha and Taki's actions, which begin to have a dramatic impact on each other's lives, weaving them into a fabric held together by fate and circumstance.

Hiiro no kakera

Gods and ghosts only exist in fairy tales, right? That's the impression that high school girl Tamki Kasuga has before she goes to live with her grandmother in the remote village of Kifumura. After being attacked by strange creatures upon her arrival, she is soon informed that females in her family contain the blood of the Tamayori Princess, who has the responsibility and power of keeping gods and ghosts sealed away so that they can't harm the general public. At first Tamaki has trouble believing this, but having five beautiful young men following her everywhere she goes acting as her guardians goes a long way towards convincing her.

There's more to this job than Tamaki first realizes, however, and the path that lies ahead of her is fraught with peril and danger. Will she be able to successfully take on the heavy role that has been put on her shoulders?

Kiss him, not me

Kae Serinuma is a very kind second-year high school student and a devoted otaku. A little known fact about her, though, is that she's obsessed with BL, or Boy's Love. Serinuma can't help but to fantasize about her male classmates falling for each other and enjoys imagining them together. A more known fact about Serinuma, however, is that she’s noticeably overweight.

While watching her favorite show one day, Serinuma witnesses the death of her most beloved character. Utterly depressed, she can't muster up the energy to eat her meals, let alone attend school. After an entire week, she finally recovers. But now there's something unusual about her—during the time she refused to leave her room, she ended up losing a large amount of weight and has somehow become strikingly beautiful!

Now catching the eye of everyone who sees her, she finds herself at the center of attention of four boys she has always known at her school. Though they all wish to spend time with her, Serinuma would much rather they spend time falling in love with one another. How will Serinuma deal with the four boys pursuing her BL-obsessed self?

Otome

Mystic messenger, mobile

Ikemen sengoku, mobile

Dandelion - wishes brought to you, computer

Nameless - the one thing you must recall, computer

Cinderella phenomenon, computer

Heart baked, mobile and computer

Do you also have any recommendations?

#anime #anime recommendation #otome game #mystic messenger #kaguya sama love is war #fruit basket #ikemen sengoku #wolf girl and black prince #romance #nameless the one thing you must recall #dandelion wishes brought to you #maid sama #your name #kiss him not me #cinderella phenomenon

73 notes · View notes

wistfulrat · 3 years

Text

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

[ for my fellow fledgling drarry stans bc im also very new here! like tbh i think the last fic i read pre-pandemic was a 1D ziam series back in 2013?? lmao god. but alas, after reading HP fanfic for the first time during lockdown & subsequently 300+ drarry fics since then, it is time. it’s time to be embarrassing about it online via lengthy rec lists. and if you end up loving any of these fics? follow the authors, leave kudos & comments on their work, send them nice msgs bc they do all this shit for free & that’s wild ]

part 1: thrillers

mood: for when i need something exciting, haunting, immersive, fast-paced

includes: case fics, mystery fics, plotty adventures!! expansive world-building, time warps, magical theory, wizarding politics!! the thrill of a chase!!! you’ll get your drama & spicy sex but mostly it’s the unravelling that hooks you. because for these?? you’re here for the ride, bitch.

Shibboleths by @lol-zeitgeistic - 100k - E Douglas Adams sci-fi fantasy rom-com wet dream. i'm mad about how good it is. the boys are hogwarts professors and something Scary Big is happening in the magical world and the Dursleys are here?? i audibly gasped, i laughed, i remained on the edge of my fucking seat the whole time

Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run by @waspabi - 93k - T canon divergence excellence!! jkr*wling is punching the air rn. harry doesn’t learn he’s a wizard till he’s 17 and he’s Miffed. voldy is ruining everything, the Order is underground. hermione’s got her own band of rebel teens. also draco’s here and he's very gay for harry and very mad about it. road trips, tent sleeping, hijinks, guerilla warfare, seizing the press, feisty kids out to fuck ur shit uP while flirting a little. this is honestly an all-time fave.

If an Injury Is to Be Inflicted by @shealwaysreads - 45k - E ANARCHIST DRARRY IS GOD TIER and the pacing here is relentless. it’s a post-war hellscape and harry’s missing and draco is scheming. it’s violent, it’s sexy, it’s tightly written, it’s got observations on the cost of survival and revolution, it’s brilliant.

Azoth by @lol-zeitgeistic - 88k - E 8th year magical theory time and the boys are Ambitious in a hot-mad-scientist kind of way. harry is a late-bloomer Swot and has a heart-boner for genius!draco and draco tries not to have a gay panic about it?? there’s animagi, alchemy, poetic theories of change!! & lots of bird metaphors. immaculate

The Boy Who Only Lived Twice by @letteredlettered - 54k - E a spy and his handler ohmygoD I'm a hoe for missions of the impossible sort and secret identities!! & the unravelling of said identities!! the need to be seen at war with the need to escape. draco & harry as equals, evenly-matched and whip-smart and terrifying on the battlefield?? incredible

Who We Are in The Shadows by @quicksilvermaid - 100k - E an ex-auror. an elusive investigator. boys Gone Rouge. it’s very hot of them in a magical-bourne-identity kind of way. powerful werewolf harry + intelligent draco + outmaneuvering bad guys outside the law?? there’s a reason you’ve seen this specific creature fic in every drarry list bc IT’S FUCKING EXCELLENT IS WHAT IT IS

Turn From Stone by @harryromper - 45k - M post-war hogwarts castle-magic turned malevolent as shit and it might be lost forever except!! hermione’s going to save the day and her plan’s seedy as hell but the DA gang + draco are all here. an adventure fic feat. the black lake but even more ominous, haunted common rooms, libraries of death, flying daggers, deception, ancient spells, drarry fighting for their lives but in a hot way.

The Art of Shadow Boxing by @tommylane - 178k - E draco’s a professional fighter in Thailand and oh shit harry’s here but he hasn't seen harry in 7years?? and what the fuCK happened during their AU horcrux adventures with the trio that made draco disappear to Thailand?? something is amiss. mafia moms, wrestling sexily, so much pining, flashbacks, pentagrams. draco needs a hug.

The Fall of the Veils by @letteredlettered - 60k - M "muggles find out about wizards, wars are fought, apparition is abolished, political conspiracies abound, draco is asexual, and harry has legilimency sex with him” -- IS THAT SUMMARY NOT FUCKING WILD I WAS HOOKED. the scale of this fic is breathtaking and makes you appreciate the labor of world-building in genre fics bc the political and moral complexities of this fic, bitch??? lives rent free in my head

REVOLVELOVER by @firethesound @lol-zeitgeistic - 46k - E hit-wizard harry and anti-government extremist draco!! ethics, political corruption, car chases, subterfuge. and god the mood of this fic. the characterization! weaponized-stoic-hurting harry. obsessive-anarchist-yearning draco. carnal, us-against-the-world kind of love. hmm I would simply die for thEM.

Like Clockwork by agentmoppet - 40k - E curse-breaker draco and unspeakable harry!! they’re both hoes for puzzles. harry has a Secret and broods a lot. draco is pissy about it. they’re both too clever for their own good. featuring mysterious objects with a side of trust issues and wanting to murder your crush.

Burn the Curtains and the Wine by @nerdherderette - 24k - E mr. and mrs. smith but it’s harry and draco and it’s exactly as hot and exciting as it sounds. the secret lives of married assassins feat. car explosions, sexily dueling in the desert, draco wielding muggle weapons!

In The Hand by aideomai - 28k - T HELL YEA DRARRY MULTIVERSE BITCHES LOVE THE DRARRY MULTIVERSE. harry’s been missing for months and now we’re dabbling in other dimensions, messing with time travel, racing against the clock, meeting every version of drarry you’ve ever read about. fics within a fic!! god I love it I would read anything aideomai writes tbh, they invented thrill and they do it with less than 30k words?? the talent

Crossing Lines by ren @alcoholicrevo - 48k - E smuggle rings, undercover investigations, draco being hot, harry being flustered by draco being hot -- all of this taking place on a swank train with themed sections and everything. it’s magical murder on the orient express time, bitch!!

Tales from the Special Branch by @femmequixotic - 1.2m - E a 5-part, multiple pov, behemoth of an auror-fic series worthy of its hype bc you know what? it truly Has It All - murders, drama, sex, treason, spooky magical shit, political conflict, drama-ridden relationships, a truly complex & full-bodied cast featuring the Hot Slytherins. jkr*wling fucking WISHES she had the range

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

#drarry fic rec #drarry fic rec list #drarry #remember reading your first drarry fic and being like hmmm what's this about #oh #time to scream #and then one day your shitty safari app has like 367 ao3 bookmarks #its repressed 20 somethings returning to fandom mid-pandemic o'clock sweeties #let's ignore the drarry notes app poster bc lmao just imagine my stubby fingers trying to write legibly #a mESS

804 notes · View notes

littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 3

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 4,320

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: I don’t know much about starship mechanics so probably nothing in this is accurate but it’s fanfiction people so cut me some slack please, reader gets a nickname 🥳, plot plot plot, discussion of loss of loved ones, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, this is a slow burn but it’s also ridiculously self-indulgent so I’m including as many cute getting-to-know-you scenes as I can, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: Thank you anyone and everyone who has read even a sentence of this story! Special thanks and love to @dindja for creating this stunning, fantastic, amazing piece of fanart for me 💖💖💖 I still can’t believe how perfect it is. I mean, I’m such a sucker for pinky promises it’s not even funny and this is just beautiful 😍😍😍

Part 2

Cross-posted on AO3

For as grand and wide-reaching as the Galactic Empire has become in its ten years of existence, it had relatively small beginnings. A group of radical Force-wielders banded together under the leadership of an old, beady-eyed man named Sheev Palpatine who believed it was his divine destiny to seize control of the entire galaxy, rewriting the ancient laws to match his own beliefs. His cult, the Sith Order, gained attention by attacking Jedi temples, capital cities, places with large populations until every corner of the galaxy had heard of them. Most regarded them with fear, but over time they began garnering a startling amount of followers who were discontent with the status quo and willingly drafted themselves as soldiers in Palpatine’s fight for control.

At first everyone in your village thought Palpatine and his cult of followers weren’t worth worrying about—after all, Shili was a peaceful planet that never drew much attention to itself. But within the first year of its inception, the Sith Order captured Ryloth and the similar peaceful characteristics between the Twi’lek planet and Shili were too glaring to overlook. A seed of anxiety took root in every Togruta’s mind after that, and continued to grow with every planet seized as the years progressed.

The Decimation of Alderaan didn’t start as a tragedy, believe it or not. The Mandalorians, Jedi, and Alderaanians combined their numbers in an all-out fight against the Sith Order. It was the largest battle ever fought in the history of the galaxy, thousands of souls willing to die to defeat Palpatine’s followers. For the first three days of warfare, the fight seemed to be in favor of the allies with many noteworthy Sith members reportedly killed in the fray, such as Palpatine’s second-in-command Dooku and lethal Zabrak assassin Maul. You remember there was a sense of hope felt within your village as everyone listened to the news reports blaring across the Holonet. A belief that things were finally, finally going to return to normal after so much chaos.

But on the fourth day, the Sith Order brought their own ally onto the battlefield.

At the time there wasn’t a name for the droids that slaughtered every opponent they faced. They were described as indestructible, unharmed by blasters and the intense heat of Mandalorian flamethrowers. Not even lightsabers could damage them. The allies didn’t stand a chance, brutally murdered one by one, their dying screams echoing across the Holonet, forever haunting listeners far and wide.

The Dark Troopers were unleashed upon Mandalore afterwards and out of the ashes rose the Galactic Empire, except, in a twist nobody—not even the Sith Order—saw coming: Palpatine died before taking on the title of emperor, passing away in his sleep. A mediocre ending for the monster who permanently altered the foundations of the universe. One of his loyal followers from the cult’s early beginnings took control in his place, a vile man with a penchant for spilling blood and a deceptively bland name: Gideon.

Only seven years-old then, you didn’t understand the unbalance in the Force your aunt kept referencing. You didn’t understand the meaning of the word genocide either. But you did understand the galaxy would never be the same ever again, and the lesson was only further established as truth when the Imperials seized your village.

There is no normalcy to return to anymore.

And as long as Emperor Gideon remains in control, there is no future to hope for either.

Silence reigns in the aftermath of Maar’s explanation as the long list of tragedies hangs heavy over the four occupants. There is tension in the air as you await the Mandalorian’s response to the extinction of his people, whether that be an outburst of anger or tears, and each passing minute only intensifies the nervous energy thrumming through your veins. Your leg starts to bounce restlessly, a bad habit you have had since childhood.

The Mandalorian stands eerily motionless. Your eyes keep flicking from your lap to his visor though you know it is rude to stare. His helmet hides his expression, but you don’t need to see it to know he is floundering right now, mind scrambling to piece together all the details thrown at him. From personal experience, you know the loss of a loved one hits like a tidal wave, hitting you over and over again until you must decide if you are going to stand up or surrender to drowning. Grieving the loss of your parents is the hardest experience of your lifetime to date.

But this...this is vastly different. The Mandalorian didn’t just lose his loved ones. He has lost his friends, neighbors, comrades, acquaintances, everyone all at once. This loss isn’t a tidal wave. It is a kriffing avalanche, burying him ten feet under in total darkness, and there is no one he can count on to save him.

Finally, after the longest five minutes of your life, he shifts, resting his hands upon his belt with an unexpected air of seriousness. “I need to go.”

You frown, head tilting. That is his reaction?

“Go?” Ahsoka echoes, sounding as incredulous as you feel. “Go where?”

“To look for survivors,” he answers, blunt and harsh, the words forced through clenched teeth.

Ahsoka is struck silent, and you feel your heart break on his behalf. Your mother’s stories about the Mandalorians had always included, one way or another, their lifelong bonds with each other. You had felt those ties when you had connected with the Mandalorian, believed for a moment as strongly as he did that his fellow warriors would come search for him, that his absence would be noticed and missed amongst them. And here he is now, still desperately clutching to them, unable—or, perhaps unwilling is more apt—to believe a stranger telling him those bonds have been cruelly severed.

“What you need is to rest,” Maar says, gentle yet firm, letting her authority as the eldest in the room seep into her tone.

He shakes his head, not backing down. “I’ve been asleep for ten years. I don’t need any more rest.”

“Your ship, it, uh,” your shoulders hike up defensively when his visor snaps in your direction, pinning you with its blank stare. Clearing your throat, you continue with a slight grimace, “It’s going to need some repairs before it can take off. I can help you fix it.”

Ahsoka looks over at you in surprise, and then in worry. You don’t blame her, especially since the offer had slipped out without you consciously meaning it to. Once again, the Force is calling the shots and you are just along for the ride, a passenger in your own body.

He considers you for a long moment, then asks, “What do you know about the mechanics of a gunship?”

If anyone else had asked you that same exact question, you would have bristled at their condescension and retracted your offer in the next breath. But with the Mandalorian, there isn’t even the slightest hint of patronizing courtesy. It is a serious question prompted from genuine curiosity.

You sit up straighter, smiling at him now. “Enough to confidently say I’m your best shot at getting off the ground.”

“What’s your plan, exactly?” Ahsoka asks you, braced against the wall with one eye on you and one on the Mandalorian across the garage, patiently waiting for you to finish assembling your tool kit.

“Huh?” You reply distractedly, trying to decide if you should bring your carbon chisel or not.

“You don’t have one, do you?”

Not. There are bigger concerns than a bit of carbon scoring. You move to grab your favorite screwdriver with a tapered socket, only for Ahsoka to snatch it away, holding the tool hostage.

“Hey!”

“Have you thought about what you’re doing?” Ahsoka asks slowly, staring you directly in the eyes. “Once you fix his ship, he’s gone. And he’s taking our best chance at escaping Shili with him.”

A quick glance over your shoulder shows the Mandalorian studying the scattered BB unit parts on your workbench. You are missing a few vital components needed in order to bring the little droid back to life after a stormtrooper shot a plasma bolt through it for accidentally bumping into his leg, and haven’t had any luck convincing the village traders to track them down for you when they went to the capital.

“We can’t keep him here against his will,” you manage at last, turning back to your sister. “Otherwise we’re no better than the Imps.”

When Ahsoka doesn’t say anything, you shrug a shoulder, adding, “Besides, I think I’m supposed to fix it for him. The Force seems pretty insistent about it.”

She makes a face at that. “I liked you better when you ignored your Force instincts. You didn’t make me worry as much.”

A laugh escapes you, embarrassingly loud in the otherwise quiet space, and your cheeks immediately start burning. Ahsoka’s lip twitches like she wants to smile, but instead she schools her features into a blank expression when the Mandalorian’s head turns at the sound. Only once he diverts his attention elsewhere again does her stare lose some of its intensity, looking less like she wants to dissect him beneath a microscope. You can practically see her protective-older-sister-instincts buzzing, reacting to the warrior’s presence.

As much as he is a chance at providing an escape, he is also first and foremost a complete and total stranger. Even worse, he is a complete and total stranger who knows how to handle weapons.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” You squeeze her arm reassuringly. “Shouldn’t take longer than a couple of hours. You’ll be so busy smoothing the Elders’ ruffled feathers you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Ahsoka finally relinquishes the tool, exhaling a quiet sigh. “You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.”

Walking side by side with the Mandalorian in silence isn’t awkward, per se, but it definitely isn’t comfortable either. He is close enough your arm keeps accidentally grazing against his, the cold brush of metal against your skin startling you each time. You would have considered his nearness strange if you hadn’t heard Ahsoka threaten to castrate him if you wound up hurt before she sent him flying at the juni tree branch outside your window with an unnecessarily strong push of Force.

To his credit, the warrior handled her rough treatment with the same ease he has handled everything else thrown at him. You are beginning to think Mandalorians don’t just wear beskar—they are made of it too. Other than the few glimpses of frustration earlier in Maar’s office, he keeps his cards close to his chest, impossible to read.

He watches everything though, reacting to the slightest of movements and sounds. Constantly alert. You are certain he is watching you right now, despite the fact his helmet is facing forward, your nerves prickling in response to the sensation of eyes upon you.

To your surprise, he is the one to break the silence first. “You sneak out often.”

It is a statement, not a question.

You suppose the dots are easy enough to connect to reach that conclusion. Still, the certainty in his voice has your heart skipping a nervous beat. He hasn’t even known you a day and yet he is privy to secrets no one outside your community is aware of. “Yeah,” you nod your head after a brief lapse of silence, “Ahsoka can’t train in the village. Not with the stormtroopers around.”

“Has your village tried to run them out? Fight back?”

It is only because you know he is just trying to understand your village’s predicament with the little bits of information he has that you don’t snap at him for being so insensitive. He has no idea what these past five years have been like for you all. No idea the amount of losses and sacrifices the community has suffered.

Your grip on your tool kit tightens. “I was twelve when they came. The community is mostly traders and hunters, not trained fighters. The few weapons we had were nothing compared to their blaster rifles, but some of the adults tried to defend the village, including our parents. They...” You swallow, or try to, at least, your throat suddenly dry as sand. “Our aunt looked after us until last year we woke up one morning to find a note she’d left to join the rebellion. We haven’t had any contact with her since.”

The Mandalorian’s gloved hand brushes against your knuckles. This time you think it might have been on purpose.

“I lost my parents as a child, too. There was a riot and they died protecting me,” he offers his own private details with the same reluctance as one volunteering to have their teeth pulled out. “The Mandalorians took me in, raised me as one of their own.”

You say nothing about the way his breath slightly hitches when he says Mandalorians, appreciating his openness as it puts you both on somewhat equal footing with each other.

“I owe it to them to look for survivors,” he tells you, and your montrals detect the quietest hint of a plea in his voice.

“I understand,” you answer, keeping your tone light to preserve the fragility of this moment. This kind of situation doesn’t happen often—two strangers on the same wavelength, exposing their vulnerable underbellies, desperate to be heard and yet skittish at the same time—and it is oddly therapeutic.

A decision is made right then and there in the span of a heartbeat. And even more significantly, it is 100% your own choice without any intervention or manipulation from the Force.

You stop walking, causing the Mandalorian to halt as well. He scans the area for a threat, then visibly jerks when he turns back to find you have your hand held out towards him, pinky raised high, reacting as if you are pointing a weapon at him.

“I don’t understand,” he says, blunt and almost suspicious sounding. Are you just imagining it or can you actually hear him frowning? “What are you doing?”

“Haven’t you ever made a pinky promise with someone before?”

“...A what?”

You snort, ducking your head to hide your smile, and then reach for his hand. Surprisingly, he doesn’t protest your touch.

“A pinky promise,” you repeat as you make his hand form a fist, curling his fingers towards his palm, and then adjust his pinky so you can wrap yours around it. He watches the whole process wordlessly. “It’s a sacred vow shared between two people. The Elders say once it’s sworn, the promise can never be broken.”

He cocks his head, skeptical. “Never?”

“Never,” you reaffirm with a nod. Licking your lips, you look at his visor, right where you instinctively know his eyes are staring back. “I promise I’m going to help you. No matter the odds.”

And something leaks into your voice then, something resolute and binding and otherworldly. A tremor shoots down your spine, too quick for you to make sense of it.

Your sister’s words echo in the back of your mind, ‘You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.’

You try to pull away, self-doubt gnawing a hole in your stomach, only for the Mandalorian to wrap his pinky tighter around yours, holding you still. A gasp escapes your lips, muffled by the bleeding sincerity in his voice as he swears:

“I promise I will be there when you need me. No matter the odds.”

And although your sister could undoubtedly provide you with a long list of reasons why you shouldn’t, you believe his promise to be true.

The Mandalorian heaves a heavy sigh at the sight of his crashed ship.

“I can’t do much about the landing gear,” you inform him, believing honesty to be the best policy for cases like this. “And I brought some foam-jet for the cockpit viewport, but it’s not a permanent fix. You’re going to have to find someone offworld to replace them.”

“Right,” he agrees absently without turning his eyes away. It occurs to you then that this ship is the closest thing to a home he has now. One of the few precious relics from his past he can still physically cling to.

“Does your ship have a name?” you ask.

He looks at you, as if coming back to self-awareness, and answers, “Razor Crest.”

A good name, you think. Strong. A bit mysterious. Just like its owner.

You nod decisively. “I like it.”

His modulator crackles faintly, a quiet noise produced from a sudden exhale of air. You blink at the unexpected sound, surprised to realize you recognize it. A laugh. The Mandalorian just laughed at something you said. What is next in store for you? Are akul going to sprout wings and start flying?

He steps around you, heading for the side entry door still open from yesterday with its ramp laying on the ground, pebbles shifting noisily beneath his boots with each step. You don’t realize you are staring, oddly entranced by the swish of his cape and his purposeful strides, until he calls out your name to ask if you are coming.

You nearly drop your tool kit in your haste to follow after him into the Crest’s interior, ignoring the flaring heat radiating from your cheeks.

For the next few hours, you and the Mandalorian work in companionable silence, engrossed in rerouting wires and welding damaged components with your trusty hand torch. The gunship is older than you initially assumed, perhaps even as old as yourself, and you idly wonder if the Mandalorian found it in a scrapyard somewhere or maybe inherited it from another Mandalorian. You notice the way he handles each piece with an experienced and respectful touch; the same kind of care someone reserves for their most cherished possessions. Anyone with eyes can see how much he loves the Crest just by watching him.

Once you have finished sealing the numerous cracks dissecting the cockpit’s viewport like a spiderweb with foam, you approach the Mandalorian to see his progress on returning power to the dashboard. He is on his back beneath the steering controls, rearranging a mess of wires, and barely acknowledges your presence when you squeeze yourself into the tight space next to him.

“The red wire goes before the white one,” you point out, noticing the mistake immediately. “Fire hazard.”

He pauses, looks at where you have gestured, and corrects his error without criticizing your intervention. You bite back a smile, pleased to be heard. Within your community, even though you have proven your skills time and time again, some of the villagers, usually men, don’t always adhere to your advice, thinking you are too young and too female to know about technology, until they inevitably make their problems worse for themselves and come back to you with their metaphorical tail between their legs.

You help him reattach the cover plating once he has finished, screwing the bolts back into their corners, and then watch, fingers crossed, as he attempts the ignition sequence, flipping a series of switches.

None of them light up with even the faintest flicker of life.

“Dank farrik,” he growls under his breath, slamming a fist upon the console.

You take a tiny step forward, hesitant to direct his frustration your way. “Can I try?”

He tilts his head, probably thinking he knows this ship better than anyone and if it doesn’t work for him then you aren’t going to have any luck either.

Eventually he steps back with a shrug, uttering a simple, “Sure.”

Although you can’t remember the last time you were on a ship, it doesn’t take long to refamiliarize yourself with the various controls and screens once you take a seat in the pilot chair. When your hobby for fixing broken machines changed into a passion you wanted to pursue as a future career, you started memorizing any reading material you could find on the Holonet, including the flight manuals for different classes of starships. You flip through the stored information in your mind about gunships as you press a few buttons on the panel overhead, trying out different sequences for a response.

When your third attempt fails, you bite your lip, racking your brain for a solution. You think about Huno’s kitchen droid and how you had been on the verge of ripping off one of your head-tails trying to repair it after one of its fuses blew, causing it to malfunction. Your tools and knowledge hadn’t been able to fix it in the end. It had required a special remedy to bring it back to life.

You lay your palms flat on the console, just as you had held onto the droid’s square torso. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the Mandalorian fidget, as if he wants to come closer but is hesitant to crowd you. You ignore him, pressing your fingertips harder against the metal, visualizing in your mind the unseen gears, cables, and components stiff and powerless. You imagine the parts working properly, a current of electricity running through each wire, life ultimately returning to the entire ship, and whisper under your breath a request to the Force.

“Please work, please work, please work…”

An invisible pulse of energy burns down the length of your arms and discharges through your fingertips, strong enough you jerk backwards against the seat. Every button and screen on the dashboard lights up all at once, beeping with alarm at being so rudely resurrected.

You sit there helplessly, stunned and breathless, hands twitching in your lap. The kitchen droid hadn’t required even half as much energy to restart, barely a pinch. Now your body feels like you have been thrown against the electric fence a dozen times. Wordlessly, the Mandalorian comes to your side to help, punching buttons and turning knobs until the alarms quit blaring. A distant part of your brain thinks the Razor Crest as a whole seems strangely soothed by his presence, not quite as cold and dark, but it is hard to follow that train of thought due to the distracting pain throbbing along your temples.

“That’s quite a spark you’ve got,” he says, not unkindly or accusingly, just a statement of the obvious. He looks down at you, not outright asking for an explanation, but giving you the opportunity to open up if you wanted to.

“Yep, that’s me,” you reply, forcing a cheerful smile, praying it doesn’t resemble a grimace. “Sparks Tano at your service.”

He chuckles again, oblivious to how your heart stutters at its raspiness. “Thank you, Sparks. I appreciate it.”

“Well, we’re not done yet.” You rub at your temples under the guise of adjusting your headband. “I need to take a closer look at the engines before we attempt flying out of here. I—”

“I’ll do it,” he cuts in, already heading for the ladder. “You stay here, see if you can update the navicomputer settings.”

You know he knows that updating the navicomputer is child’s play for you. Clearly you aren’t as great at concealing your pain as you thought you were and this is his way of giving you a break. A small part of you is irritated at being treated like a porcelain doll, but you push those negative feelings aside as quickly as they develop. Your aunt always used to remind you and Ahsoka it was okay to accept help when it was offered, that needing support didn’t in any way make you weak.

“Hey, wait a second,” you call out as you spin around in your seat, freezing him right before he disappears from view into the hull. He holds onto the ladder, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“Back at Maar’s place you didn’t introduce yourself and it’s weird just calling you Mandalorian in my head,” you say, awkwardly drumming your fingers on top of the armrests. He doesn’t answer, eliciting a sigh from your mouth after a drawn-out beat of silence. “What’s your name? You do have one, right?”

“I do, but I can’t tell you it,” he admits at last. “By Mandalorian Creed, only other Mandalorians or my riduur—my spouse,” he corrects, seeing your confusion, “are allowed to know my name and see my face. This is the Way.”

He doesn’t linger to hear your response, dropping down into the hull with a resounding thud. You slowly turn back around, staring absently out the glass. Every culture is unique, including your own, but you think there is something especially interesting about the Mandalorians’. It sounds like a lonely existence, only able to show your face while in select company. What would have happened if he had been unconscious and you had slipped the helmet off his head? What consequence would he have faced?

And if there truly aren’t any Mandalorians left besides him, his spouse will be the only one to ever know him completely. It almost sounds like a love story, if not a little bit heart-wrenching.

Two high-pitched dings from the console jerk you out of your thoughts with a wince. You look for the source, finding the radar lit up and actively scanning the area, and bristle when you see a pair of red dots moving across the screen.

Not even a minute later you are sprinting out of the cave, ignoring the Mandalorian’s alarmed shout from the roof of the Razor Crest. They’re early, you think with panic, looking towards the sky where two starships with Imperial logos are heading straight for your village. Why have they come back so soon?

You push your legs to run faster, your surroundings a blur beyond the trail in front of you, but the effort is meaningless. You won’t make it back home before they land.

And when your absence is noted, bloodshed is not a possibility.

It is a guarantee.

Series taglist: @pedro4ever @cannedsoupsucks

Din Djarin Taglist: @a-skov @pedrosbisch @quica-quica-quica @stevie75 @iamskyereads @banga-sama @dincrypt @ohlawdthebirds

Permanent taglist: @promiscuoussatan @vintagesaph @over300books @chibi-yuki @theocatkov @oh-no-a-whovian @absurdthirst @freeshavocadoooo @you-and-i-deserve-the-world @lin-djarin @happiestsparkleofall @randomness501 @gallowsjoker @coaaster @captain-jebi @leilei-draws @disgruntledspacedad @melobee @stilllivindue2spite @pointy-sharp @artsymaddie @waywardmando @asta-lily @thisshipwillsail316 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @grogusmum @sherala007 @mejswho @uncle-kenobi @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @tacticalsparkles @mandocrasis @littlebopper96 @you-got-me-starry-eyed @kiss-evans @writeforfandoms @pbeatriz @anaaaispunk

#my fic #my writing #Mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfic #Din Djarin #din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #togruta reader #ahsoka tano #the last mandalorian #pedrostories #art

80 notes · View notes

pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

What makes a monster

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is my entry for @youbloodymadgenius‘ 1k Followers Celebration, with the prompt “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mentions of war, blood, and death (and a passing description of it, nothing too graphic), descriptions of injury.

A/N: I had a lot of fun with this prompt, though whether or not this is any good remains to be decided. I sincerely hope this makes some sense lol

Thank you for the chance to participate in this!! Congratulations again!!

Ivar taught you many things, in the time that has passed since he made you his wife.

He taught you to play chess. You could never beat him.

Not until you found a way to distract him, to get close enough to make his heart quicken, to touch him just right to make his eyes drawn to you and not the board.

It was easy to take over the board when he was distracted, when words of love poured from his lips like spells, when his eyes -open and maddeningly in love- focused on you instead of the move you’d made.

Ivar taught you how to get his heart.

____

The sword trembles in your grasp, a myriad of emotions swirling inside you and stealing the steadiness of your hand.

The woman guides you into exchanging the weapon, tells you which words to repeat.

You give him your father’s sword, and at the sight of his smile you offer the same, and your lips form the three words that make his smile wider, softer.

The woman finishes speaking, and you don’t hear the words, too trapped in this moment, but you know what they mean, you know what has changed, you know what just started.

The ring on his finger is cold against your skin when Ivar cups your face and brings you close to him for a kiss that steals your breath and your every thought.

His other hand grips at your waist, and you pull away from his lips.

“Ivar!” You chastise lowly, a small delighted laugh leaving your lips. Your own hand grips at his forearm, careful to keep him upright now that he has exchanged holding onto the crutch for holding onto you.

He only smiles, a light and enamored chuckle leaving his lips as he tilts your head to him again, and kisses you passionately as the people around you cheer.

“I love you.” He promises against your lips, before claiming your mouth again. You kiss him back, with all the emotion you can muster.

When he parts one final time, brow pressed against yours and eyes shinning and light and happy as he looks at you; there’s nothing that could keep you from returning that smile, from bestowing the gentlest of touches on the side of his face, tracing the contour of his wide smile.

“My wife.” He calls out, lowly, a whisper, a secret.

“My husband,” You return, and a promise of your own, “I love you.”

You sit up on the bed, but no matter how slight you try to keep your movements, Ivar still mumbles something that sounds quite close to your name, hand stretched in search for you even as he continues to sleep.

And to the silent command that you return to him you give in, and put your hand over his, and take a moment to let your fingertips trace over the ring on his finger.

There’s two completely different men making up the one you married, and you have known that for a while.

A side of him that takes your hand roughly in his and makes you stand at his side even as the gore and blood of the last result of his rage still stains him and the room around you.

And a side of him that offers disbelieving eyes and trembles at the softest of your touches, that whispers your name like a prayer before a dream that threatens to shatter.

Whenever you are together in public, Ivar always finds a way to be touching you. To anyone else, anyone that didn’t know him the way you do, the gestures would be insignificant, would be thoughtless.

Nothing in the way Ivar behaves when he is surrounded by people is thoughtless, none of the ways he moves his body are insignificant.

And the weight of his arm around you, or the comforting grip of his hand on yours, or even the slightest of touches of his lips over your skin; mean something to you, something you couldn’t even begin to put words to.

And that change that takes over him, that softening of his features at the sight of you, that lowering of his guard when you are near, that release of tension when you touch him; it is only accentuated when you are alone.

When you are alone, side by side on the bed you share, secrets spill from his lips as easily as moans, and his eyes never cease to look at you like you remain something out of a dream.

With the months that follow your wedding, you banish the side of him that is made of jagged edges and cruelty and biting coldness from ever entering the room you share. And he remains, he always will -and you wouldn’t feel for him what you do if it weren’t so- made out of two sides of him, but you lay claim to one, the same way you lay claim to his heart.

Your heart beats quickly in your chest, and the shadows envelop you but you still fear, you still jump at every step and every voice.

Because these people know your face, these people know the way you walk, know what your body looks like. No cloak, no hood, no lowered gaze will help you hide.

Which is why you need the shadows. Which is why the darkness of the forest ahead is comforting.

Which is why when the shouted commands reach your ears, and out they go like hounds searching for Kattegat’s Queen, you run for the comfort of the darkness.

“I am sorry,” He starts one night, startling you from your lazy exploration of the lines of ink on his chest. You lift your head to find pale blue eyes focused intently on you, searching your gaze with a blend of pain and devotion that tugs your heart in two different directions. Ivar swallows, and continues, “For what I do, for…for what I did.”

His hand reaches to take the one that was wandering on his chest, and Ivar holds on tight to it.

You look into his eyes and say, “You have done nothing but make me happy.”

His expression falters, as if for a moment he wants to believe you, but with a furrow that trembles on his brows he insists, “I did many things wrong, when it came to you.”

But you shake your head, “You owe me no apologies. It is in the past.”

“The Gods…uh, they…they have never given much to me, not without…” He stops, licks his lips, avoids your gaze. You watch in silence, hanging onto the words that are yet to leave his lips, “Not without taking just as much. I…I had my father treat me like he did my brothers and…and I lost him, then I came back and I lost my mother, my home,” He frowns, and his hand tightens on yours. The anger that accompanies the grief, that always will. Ivar continues, “I…I was one more among my brothers, even Björn had to listen to me and I-…Sigurd made me kill him, and they hated me for it, I lost him, and I lost them too.”

“Ivar…” The word is hoarse as it leaves your lips, but you don’t know what to say, what to do.

“Now I have you, and I…I love you,” Each time he says it there’s a fragility in the three words, there’s a fear in the admission that some days is louder than others. Today is the loudest. “I am happy, with you, and I…”

His words die with what feels like a dying breath leaving his lips, and you offer the only words you can.

“You won’t lose me.”

You never wanted to fight, you never bothered learning. But you know about hiding.

You wait for the man to run past where you are, measure your breathing as you watch him turn his back to you. Your grip on the heavy log is tight, and you pray for strength before you move.

He grunts when you hit his legs, making him fall on the ground. Startled eyes look up at you before you bring the log down again, the scream this time shrill and echoing over the dark forest.

His leg bends wrong at the knee now, and the man pants and keens in pain, but you kneel next to him, and make him listen to you with frantic eyes.

“Go back where you came from, I am not going with you. Tell Ivar…tell Ivar I’m going home, tell him there’s no other way.”

You leave him there, darting for the comfort of the woods with your mind set on the next stage.

On the docks of the small fishing town neighboring Kattegat a ship awaits, Ribe’s flag on it, welcoming you back.

You board it, feeling eyes on you, as if Ivar could see all the way from the place he made you call home what you are doing. The ghost of who still lives, the ghost that haunts you with the burden of what you have betrayed.

You leave him behind, but he follows.

____

Ivar taught you many things, in the time that has passed since he invaded a kingdom and forced you to be at his side.

He taught you to wage war. You could never beat him.

Not until you found a way to get his focus on you, to make him face across a battlefield the eyes of one that promised him love and forever, to grip his heart tight enough in your fist that even across the board where warriors become pawns you see his pain.

It was easy to win each battle when he was distracted, when pain and grief left his lips like blood from a fatal wound, when his eyes -betrayed and still maddeningly in love- focused on you instead of the move you’d made.

Because Ivar taught you how to get his heart.

____

Ribe greets you with a feast and a sacrifice of which you still bear the blood of.

“We have word from across the sea. Kattegat is weakened. Once the King falls, we will be able to take over.” Your mother states, and you nod, swirling the drink in your cup and keeping your eyes on your brother, who seems to cling to her every word, just like when you were children.

“But Ivar the Boneless lives.” A shieldmaiden argues, scarred face frowning at her plate.

“Not for long,” The once Queen consort of Ribe states, spine straightened when she looks at you. You lift your eyebrows, but wait for your mother to speak. “I taught you better than to fail.”

“I haven’t failed. I lured him here, I weakened his army,” You snarl back, not caring for the sudden stillness in the room as mother and daughter face one another. After a breath, you motion with your head and insist, “What is the plan, when they land here? When his army is at our door?”

She sighs, “Your brother-…”

“My brother is too much of a coward to lead his own men into battle, I know,” You silence Emil’s complaint with a gesture of your hand, and your brother obediently stays silent. Turning your gaze to your mother, you insist, “And you were never a good Queen, mother, our men won’t follow you. So, tell me, who will lead them?”

“You,” She doesn’t miss a beat, always so certain the ground will be solid under her feet. You admire that, more than you could ever admit. She lifts a cup your way, “You were the one to return when they believed you had died. If our army is to listen to any of the people of our blood, it is you.”

“You’re making a mistake,” You warn her, but she is certain. You accept her words with a shrug, but one last time you offer, “This mistake will cost you, mother.”

____

Your mother taught you many things, ever since you were old enough to understand the ways of the world.

She taught you to betray. To be a lie in a world of men.

And a lie would know to put on a smile and to summon softness to her gaze, a lie would be able to whisper empty promises of devotion, a lie would do whatever it took to keep the lie alive.

A lie would survive, in a world of men. A world of monsters with the pleading blue eyes of someone a better woman could love, a world of beasts that are soothed at the vow of love sealed over hungry lips.

Your mother taught you to betray it all in the name of love.

____

The King of Kattegat limps away from the body as if it were nothing, turning to your mother and faking a bow with his free hand.

“The Princess is coming with me to Kattegat, or I raze this kingdom to ash. Your choice, Dane.”

When he leaves, the carefully held breaths in the room seem to stutter past all your lips, and your hand falls slowly from your mouth, no longer trying to keep at bay a scream you didn’t let out anyways.

“F-Father…” You whimper, and distantly you hear voices, you hear sounds. But you cannot take your eyes off of the lifeless ones of your father, who lays on the floor of his own throne room with a knife deep in his chest.

Your mother’s hands are trembling as she holds your face and makes you look into her tear-filled eyes. You can still hear her scream in your head, the shrill keen of a woman that saw the man she loved be killed in front of her.

“We have to kill him,” You whisper, and you wonder dazedly if it isn’t her hands that tremble, but the whole of you. “We have to make him pay. Mother-…”

“We will,” She vows, and her voice doesn’t waver, her resolve doesn’t crumble even if she does. “Remember what I told you? You keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

Realization dawns on you, and you start shaking your head. Please, Gods…

“No, n-no, don’t make me do this,” You beg, and you feel your shoulders rise and fall but no breath enters your lungs. You refuse to honor a deal your father made when the man he made the deal with still has his blood warm on his hands. “Mother, please, I can’t-…don’t-…”

“You will be his wife. It is as arranged,” She snarls, her hands on the sides of your face shaking you slightly. “You will take your father’s sword with you, and you will give it to Ivar the Boneless, and you will bear his ring in exchange.”

The men that mere months ago bowed their heads to you now look you over with distrust; the word -the title- that they once echoed respectfully is now a sneer as you walk them by.

Hvitserk looks at you like you saw him look at his enemies across a battlefield, unbridled rage and nothing but hate in a once-warm gaze. You still offer a smile as you pass him by, as you walk into Ivar’s tent.

“Do you have to…to leave so soon? We’ve barely been married a fortnight, Ivar.”

Your smile is soft when he turns to you, and you know he only sees love shining in your eyes.

“Will you miss me?” He teases, but there’s truth behind the question, there’s longing and the need to be reassured of love behind that practiced smile.

You lift your hand to his face, a teasing yet gentle push of your finger to his temple, before you cup his cheek and delight yourself in the way armor crumbles to dust at your touch.

“What kind of question is that?” You insist, shaking your head, pretend-fondness on your voice.

He turns back to his brother, promises the attack on Ribe will happen soon, that the Danes will be theirs. But, he acquiesces with a soft squeeze of your hand on his, after the winter has passed.

And it dawns on you that with but a touch you’ve bought them more time, almost a year.

Later that night you lay on his chest, tracing absently the ink marks on it, wondering if he notices how your touch lingers on the skin over his heart. Wondering if he would be naïve enough to believe it a gesture of love.

When you married him, when you followed your mother’s orders and set not to be devoured by the monster that ruled Kattegat, but to satiate his hunger for long enough that you could escape; you were startled by the…rawness of him.

The anger always too-quick to flare, the easily infuriated gaze of a man that revels in death, the bare truth of a monster made out of jagged edges and blades that broke as soon as they pierced the skin. That didn’t surprise you.

But the vulnerability that seemed to startle him as much as you, the secrets spilling from his lips with pale eyes looking up at you expecting answers, the bloodied hands that offered you a battered and cold heart with the unwavering trust that you’d keep it safe. That did surprise you.

It also surprised you how easily you made him believe you loved him. How easily you got his heart.

And when his hand grasps yours, stops your aimless wandering over his chest, you smile up at him, warmth in your chest.

What a terrible thing, what a dangerous thing, to crave love.

You walk out of that tent alive, something no one with a sound mind would believe. No enemy of Ivar the Boneless survives him, much less one that dared betray him.

But you do. And past the disdain, past the disgust, now in the army that surrounds you in this place they have decided to set camp in; there’s surprise, there’s fear.

Something, a question, a seed of doubt, shines in Hvitserk’s eyes when he sees you again, and once again you offer only a smile.

Your feet are bare on the cold ground, and you peer out the small opening into the cold world around you. You don’t have much time left.

Your heart trembles in your chest as you walk back to the bed, sitting down and hearing the soft rustling of Ivar moving at your back. His hand, almost by instinct, almost by heart, finds your leg, and he moves closer, a sleepy hum leaving his lips.

His voice, roughened by sleep and something else, calls out your name.

“I’m here, love.” You tell him quietly, a promise.

Your thoughts linger on the last word, though. Love.

You grew up hearing the stories of how love turned Gods into mere men, and made men believe themselves to be Gods. There was always a part of you drawn to those tales of how love made the worst of monsters human again.

They don’t talk about the other way around, though, you think to yourself as your fingertips dance over the ring on Ivar’s finger.

About how love makes monsters out of humans.

And, terrifyingly enough, it is not in the absence of love, or the loss of it. No, just in its existence, something as pure, as selfless, as vital as love can make a monster.

You close your eyes and you can see that horizon that is so familiar yet so strange, so wrong, and as Ivar sits behind you, hand loving even if threatening at your throat, lips reverent and fervent against the skin of your neck; you feel truth pour from your lips.

“My mother, she…she taught me to lie. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, she’d say.”

“Hm. And who is your enemy?”

Your mind lingers on that horizon, on the distant monsters that walk those streets you so loathe. And you have your answer.

You walk through familiar doors again, and Ribe’s people, Ribe’s warriors, greet you warmly.

You walk up to your mother, who stands by Emil where he sits on his throne, always the voice in his ear. Her eyes are cold when she gazes at you, but there’s the beginning of a smile on her lips.

You bow your head, a show of deference, before you tell her, “Ivar has agreed to a cease fire. He will be here come dawn to…negotiate.”

Once, he would have been a welcome sight in Ribe, when your father let a King from Norway ally himself with Danes, when your family rejoiced at the prospect of having the Princess of Ribe marrying a son of Ragnar. But with his arrival came war, and death; not the peace and allegiance your father was promised.

Last time Ivar the Boneless and the King of Ribe negotiated, your father ended up with a knife in his heart.

There’s hunger in her expression, a hunger you only saw once before. When she wiped your father’s blood from your face and whispered keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, when she turned you into something worse than a monster and told you to kill one.

And dawn comes, and death follows.

____

Your mother taught you many things, ever since you were hungry enough to understand ambition.

She taught you to betray. To be a lie in a world of men.

And a lie would know when to bow her head and fake deference, a lie would be able to weave tales of victory to those underserving, a lie would do whatever it took to keep him alive.

A lie would survive, in a world of men. A world of monsters with blood that runs red from the throat slit on the undeserved throne he sat on, a world of beasts that pretended to have the bond of family run deeper than a bond before the Gods, and lie dead because of that mistake.

Because your mother taught you to betray it all in the name of love.

____

The blood stains your hands, your dress, the knife you still hold on to as you stand in that throne room, the evidence of your betrayal still dripping slowly to the wooden floor.

But you smile, and when you lift your gaze, you find the smile mirrored in familiar lips.

The knife clatters on the blood-soaked floor under your feet, and there’s a little bit of madness in the laugh that leaves your lips as you cross the space between you.

But, as your laugh dissolves against Ivar’s lips, you gather it doesn’t matter.

You close your eyes and surrender to his kiss, you let bloodied hands cup his face and bring him closer to you, and stave off the cold of so many months away from him with the warmth of having him back in your arms.

When you part, his brow presses against yours, and there’s shaky relief in the way he breathes out your name, there’s a heart that was threatened with breaking shining in pale blue eyes.

But there’s love in the way he makes love to you that night, and there’s love in the way your fingers dance over the ink traces of his chest again.

There’s love, and you do not dare ask what it made out of him, or what it made out of you.

____ ____ ____

I hope to have taken you by surprise, hopefully more than once lol

Idk if this is any good but it was fun to write, I hope you liked it, and thank you so much for reading!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @maggiescarborough @chibisgotovalhalla @fae-sedai @zuxiezendler @crazybunnyladysworld

#Youbloodymadgenius1kCelebration #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar

157 notes · View notes

hissterical-nyaan · 3 years

Text

The Promise

Pairing - Bucky Barnes/Desi! Female reader

Warning - Angst, sad ending, more angst

Summary - Bucky Barnes broke one promise that meant the most to Y/N

Word count - 1.5K

A/N - This is my first ever fanfic, I am very anxious so please be gentle with me :) This was created purely to make y'all cry lol. This is a songfic of "Lag ja gale" of Lata Mangeshkar ji. I absolutely adore that song and found it quite fit for this story!!! Also English isn't my first language and there might be grammatical mistakes. Thanks to @soradragon for beta reading this and helping me complete it, you are a blessing. Love you 💙 happy reading folks!

It was peaceful in Wakanda, a cool night had taken its place from the hot humid air of the day, the stars were shining bright and serenity hung in the air. It was impossible to imagine what the next day would have in store for everyone. No one had a clue that tomorrow was the day that would change everyone's lives forever.

There was the sound of soft humming coming from the modest hut which housed the one and only the White Wolf and his lover.

Inside was you, singing songs softly in your mother’s tongue before the two would go to bed for the night. It was a nightly ritual the two of you shared. For Bucky had found your voice so soothing it would chase away the recurring nightmares that would haunt his sleep every night. Bucky Barnes was unable to sleep without his love in his arms, without her angelic voice singing for him, and without her soft hand weaving through his hair.

You had an awful day today, throughout the day you felt anxious and restless. As if your mind has been screaming at you that something bad was about to transpire. You had no idea what, but it was bad. if there is one thing you hated most, it would be not knowing what will happen next.

You liked being prepared for everything! Your distressed state made you itch for your ma's presence and her wise words. So the next best thing to feel like she was there was to sing your ma's favourite song. It was a song you had beautiful emotional memories attached to.

Lata ji's masterpiece ‘Lag ja gale’. The song that always left you peaceful.

"What's on your mind, chaand? No cheesy love songs today?" Bucky teased lightly, slightly puzzled by the song choice. Normally, you would sing more happy, sweet love songs when you were in a good mood, not to forget how out of character you acted the entire day.

"Acha? You said you don't like my cheesy songs na, so I thought today I will comply with your wish and not sing my ‘overly romantic, Shona Babu songs.’” You shot back, poking your tongue out as not to worry him. Bucky pouted slightly.

"Arre baba okay now don't pout, I was just joking. I will sing the cheesy songs again tomorrow, right now this song just feels right to me.” Hearing that, Bucky mumbled a quiet yes and snuggled deeper into you, holding you tightly and moving his head ever so slightly to listen to your voice.

Lag Ja Gale Ki Phir Ye Hasin Raat Ho Na Ho

Shaayad Phir Is Janam Men Mulaaqaat Ho Na Ho

Lag Jaa Gale Ae Ae… (Embrace me, dear, who knows whether or not this beautiful night will ever come again. Maybe in this life we may or may not meet again)

You remember the first time you met Bucky, in Shuri's lab. You were a good friend of Shuri. You were a researcher staying in Wakanda with T'challa's permission and eventually befriended the Princess. The two of you loved to talk about anything and nothing. One day Shuri told you about the Winter soldier staying here in Wakanda. You had heard many things about him, but never had you seen him in the flesh. Till you saw him come into the lab, bruised and eyes swiming full of emotions, but the distraught was the most clear in those blue piercing eyes.

It was at that moment that you had decided you would help him, and try to soothe the aches and scars that had been covering his fragile heart. He was put in the cryo soon after your first encounter, but you couldn't help but think about him often.

Ham Ko Mili Hain Aaj Ye, Ghadiyaan Nasib Se

Ji Bhar Ke Dekh Lijiye, Ham Ko Qarib Se

Phir Aap Ke Nasib Men, Ye Baat Ho Na Ho (I have been given today, this time by destiny. To your hearts content see me closely, who knows, if your destiny, may present this situation again.)

Six months later, Bucky came out of the cryo and on his request, was given a small hut away from the palace in the fields. You often saw him, with his tiny herd of goats. You remember how one tiny goat - which Bucky had endearingly called Steve - was the one who caused you to talk to Bucky. Maybe that's why he was still your favourite goat, afterall he was responsible for giving you the love of your life.

Shaayad Phir Is Janam Men Mulaaqaat Ho Na Ho

Lag Ja Gale Ki Phir Ye Hasin Raat Ho Na Ho (Maybe, in this life, we may or may not meet again. Embrace me dear for this beautiful night may not come again)

Your phone rang suddenly. Bucky moved his head from your lap as you moved to get the phone, it was your brother who was calling you. It puzzled you, it was nearly midnight in India. "Y/N….jaldi aaja yaha… ma aur papa ki car crash ho gayi...I am so sorry, hum unhe bacha nahi paye." You went numb...The words didn’t make sense, you couldn’t make sense of them... Ma papa? No, no this can't be happening. You...you just talked to your mom a few hours ago! Bucky’s arms wrapped around you, holding you so close. He whispered some words into your ear trying to soothe you. But you couldn’t hear them, your mind just kept repeating your brother’s words inside your head like a mantra. That’s when the tears fell, soaking Bucky’s shirt. You didn’t remember you screamed.

Paas Aaiye Ki Ham Nahin Aaenge Baar-Baar

Baahen Gale Men Daal Ke Ham Ro Le Zaar-Zaar

Aankhon Se Phir Ye Pyaar Ki Barsaat Ho Na Ho (Come closer to me, as I will not be able to come to you every time. Put your arms around me and let us cry our hearts out. Who knows, if our eyes will ever see these tears of love again.)

You couldn’t imagine what you would be without Bucky, your Bucky. He was your rock, You couldn't live a day without him. From the day you confessed your love for each other till today, not a day has gone where he wasn't showering you with love. Even through all his trauma and pain, he did his absolute best to be there for you, his sweet, sweet Y/N.

Shaayad Phir Is Janam Men Mulaaqaat Ho Na Ho

Lag Ja Gale Ki Phir Ye Hassin Raat Ho Na Ho

Shaayad Phir Is Janam Men Mulaaqaat Ho Na Ho

Lag Ja Gale Ki Phir Ye Hassin Raat Ho Na Ho (Maybe, in this life, we may or may not meet again. Embrace me dear for this beautiful night may not come again)

Remembering the past left you in an emotional mess, you didn't even realise when the waterworks started.

"Chaand? Hey, no shhh why are you crying? Is everything okay? Talk to me."

"Bucky?"

"Haan chaand?"

"Promise me that you will never leave me." You uttered in a broken whisper

"I promise."

He broke that promise. Bucky Barnes broke his promise and left his chaand. It happened so fast, the Avengers fighting Thanos, and suddenly everyone turning into dust.

You felt helpless and scared, numb and cold. what was happening? Bucky had told you to not come out of the palace unless told. He didn't want you to be in harm's way. No, his Y/N was too precious, he can't risk it. You reluctantly agreed, but you weren't of much use on the battlefield anyway. You just hoped your love would return to you very soon.

Steve broke the news, and your whole world collapsed in front of your eyes.

"Steve, no..no it can't be... please tell me you are lying. This isn't the time to joke around! Where is he!?" you couldn't help but scream at him. All your dreams, hopes and future with Bucky shattered. He was gone, in just a snap. It couldn’t be real, this was a sick joke. that had to be it. A sick joke…

But deep inside, you knew it was real. All of it was real. The world around you seemed to crumble, all of it came down, it was as if someone let a glass cup fall and it shattered in a million pieces. Unable to be put back together again…

Now you had no one, no mom and dad, no Bucky...He was your rock wasn't he? He wasn't supposed to go...

After a few days, Steve offered to take you to America with him. The least he could do for his pal was to make sure the girl who had his heart was taken care of. But you couldn't go, it was too painful. Brooklyn will always remind you of Bucky, and you promised him when the time came to go back to his home, you will go together. No, unlike him Y/N L/N knew how to keep her promise.

You went back to India, to start a new life. A miserable one. If only you would have known that the last song you’ve sung to him would come true.

You never sang your mother's favourite song again

Tagging - @spiderrpcrker @a-dragon-under-the-stars @lil-stark @jacquessouvenier @soradragon (I hope you won't mind me tagging you!) And I also hope you liked it :))

Translations (please let me know if I forgot to translate something) -

Chaand - Moon (an affectionate term in this context)

Acha - Really (in this context, it can mean many things otherwise)

"Y/N….jaldi aaja yaha… ma aur papa ki car crash ho gayi...I am so sorry, hum unhe bacha nahi paye." - "Y/N please come fast here, mom and dad were in an car crash, I am so sorry but we couldn't save them" (ma = mom, papa = dad)

Haan - yes

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #desi fic #marvel fanfic #Bucky Barnes x desi reader #indian reader #marvel #mcu #idk what other tags to use 🤦

115 notes · View notes

animekit · 2 years

Text

Love on the Battlefield

-Haikyuu! Military AU

-Reader X Kuroo

Pt 6: Nightmares

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{You were running, you had to report to the Compound. There’s no time. You only had one thought running through your head: ‘What if I’m late and the enemy attacks? I don’t want to lose him.’

Finally, you got through to the compound on the radio.

“Hello? Is this Alpha Team?”

“Yes! Yes sir! This is Lieutenant Y/N, reporting. The enemy is closing in. We need reinforcements.”

A long pause.

Then finally, “Understood. We’re sending reinforcements now. Hold out until then. It might take an hour.”

“Understood, thank you.”

You cut the radio. Now, to get back to the team. As you ran back, you met what seemed like an endless amount of enemies, all of which you shot dead. You prayed that everyone else was fine… that you’d all hold out until help arrived.

But things weren’t looking as good as you hoped. You saw all your comrades dead on the ground, each had been brutally slaughtered. You heart sunk, as long as he was alive, that was all it would take for you to be fine.

After killing all the enemies, you decided to look for him. “Ryuji! Ryuji, where are you?!”

You ran around, almost in a panic, desperately searching for your childhood best friend… who happened to be your lover. You’re only 18 and had just been promoted to 2nd Lieutenant. This wasn’t how you wanted your mission to go.

You screamed his name, making sure to look thoroughly, hoping to find him. And you did… but not the way you wished you found him.

“Ryuji!” You ran to your lover’s body, splayed out on the ground, blood spilling out. “Ryuji!”

He looked up at you and smiled. “Y/N, love…” Ryuji coughed, blooding splattering onto you. “I… I’m sorry. We couldn’t hold out. The whole team was wiped out… the enemies surrounded us almost instantly. There were too many. I’m sorry I have to leave you.”

Tears fell from your eyes. “No! Ryuji, don’t say that! You’re not gonna die! I won’t let you! Help is coming, please… just… just hold on until then. We’ll get out of this together, and then we can get married and live together forever! We’ll finally have a family together! You can’t go… not like this. Please… don’t leave me.”

His hand brushed against your cheek. “Sorry, love. I can’t make it any longer. I’ve lost too much blood. I love you… I always have… please don’t let this break you. Keep being a great soldier. Keep living and fighting for me… and for the others that won’t be going home. Stay strong love, then when it’s your time… come join me and we’ll live together for the rest of eternity.”

“No… I-I can’t. Not without you. Ryuji… please… please don’t die. I can’t lose you. I’ve already lost everything else. I need you… Ryuji… I love you.”

He smiled, closing his eyes. His hand fell from your face. His breath stopped. You cried as you realized that he was dead.

You turned your head to the gray sky, rain already pouring down. You screamed and sobbed, mourning over the loss of the only person you’ve ever had in your life… the only love you ever knew.}

You awoke with a start. The remnants of the dream still haunting you. That night you lost everything, and that was the last mission you ever went on.

Here you are, in a tent in the middle of nowhere, trembling with fear. You felt tears prick from the corners of your eyes. It felt hot in the tent, too hot. You get out of the tent and sit by the field next to your temporary camp, crying your eyes out.

Thinking about your last mission always made you cry. And who wouldn’t cry? You lost your lover, with whom you had enlisted together and had spent every moment with. His death killed you, you refused to work with anyone after that. And now here you are, doing it all over again.

You heard a rustle behind you, but didn’t turn around. You had no energy. If it was something or someone coming to kill you, you’d never know. Your instincts were gone, all you had at this moment was sorrow, loneliness, and despair.

“Lieutenant?” The Captain’s voice. “Is everything ok?”

“No.” Your voice was barely a whisper.

It must’ve been obvious in your voice that something was wrong… and that you had been crying. Kuroo sat down next to you.

“What’s wrong? I mean… it has to be pretty bad if you didn’t put your hair back up in that tight bun. Wow, I didn’t know you had such long hair.” His joking didn’t help.

“I just… my last mission.”

“Hm? What about it?”

“I lost so many people then. Even my closest friend, someone I had been with for my entire life. When my parents died when I was a child, his family took me in. We were so close and he’s gone. I never thought I’d go out on a mission again… I want to go back before something bad happens.”

Kuroo wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close to his chest. “I never knew any of that.”

“Of course not.” You snapped, moving away from him. “I wasn’t going to go around telling everyone when I returned. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does though, Lieutenant. You’re hurting. And it’s all because of you going on missions. You should be sleeping right now, but you’re in so much pain. You must’ve dreamt about that night…”

“So what? You don’t need to have any part in my problems, Captain. Just leave me alone and go back to sleep.”

“No.” Kuroo’s voice was firm. “You need someone here with you right now. I figured something was wrong when you didn’t react prior to me speaking.”

“So?”

“Lieutenant.” He turned you to face him, his dark eyes filled with sadness when he saw the tears falling from your eyes. “Right now, you’re in a weak state. It’s my job to protect you when you can’t protect yourself.”

The realization of how weak you became hit you hard. You leaned up against the Captain’s chest, trying to muffle your sobs. You wrap your arms around him and grip the back of his shirt tightly.

“Sorry.”

He stroked your head. “For what, Lieutenant?”

“For being weak when I should be at my strongest. You and the rest of the team need me right now, yet I can’t even control my emotions when I dreamt of something that happened in the past.”

“It’s fine. We all get like that. But that’s never gonna happen again. I won’t let it. Tomorrow, we’re gonna get all of this figured out and we’ll all get back home alive and well. I promise.”

That was enough to comfort you. It was what you really needed to hear. And it made you feel better. You slept peacefully for the rest of the night in your tent.

#haikyuu!!#kuroo #military au #reader x kuroo #fanfic

5 notes · View notes

sarenhale · 3 years

Note

Out of curiosity, do you have any ships for the Silver Snakes? If you do, could you name them and elaborate on why you like them? I love your art style btw it just looks so smooth to me!

I do, IN FACT!!!! I wonder if you mean couples within the silver snakes only (oc x oc) or with fe3h canon characters as well? Well, I’ll write about both and the ideas I have here... brace yourself, It’s gonna be a long ask cause you unleashed my love for couples....

Nicolai and Leon is one of my faves, basically brother in arms that become closer as time passes. Nicolai can’t socialize and deal with people for shit so having someone like Leon that has a very sunny and patient personality around is very comforting. Plus Leon has a lot of energy and will to live, and with time manages to... uh... maybe influence Nicolai with it a little? Or, at least, grab his skinny ass when he’s about to sacrifice himself in battle AGAIN and save him. Nicolai has an ardent desire to die and Leon is just not gonna let him, you know? When war starts Leon promises him he’ll bring him to his village in Dagda to meet his family.... and then when war is over they move there and fuck off forever, living in peace for the rest of their days. Nicolai finally has the opportunity to be who he wants and not have to pass down his crest or being haunted by his family legacy anymore.

Nicolai and Kristjan, they’re both very quiet and not exactly socially adapt, but that’s kind of what they enjoy from eachother, the possibility to just enjoy eachother’s presence without pressure or having to talk/break the silence. Incredibly enough, I think that when confronted with another shy person, Nicolai would be the one to step up and be more protective and supportive. I think that this relationship would bring out the protective / chivalrous side in him..... yeah....... I don’t know I just imagine how quiet, peaceful and swee those times would be

Nicolai and Bernadetta, reject humanity, return to being social recluse... I feel like they have similar personalities and kinda vibe together well, after of course the trials and tribulations of Bernie trying to escape everytime she sees him because she thinks Nicolai is the spectre of death that was sent to kill her or something. But that just adds to the fun part of it and ridicolousness of the couple edhjfcghjdgfh. Plus Nicolai likes reading edgy poetry and novels so he would be really supportive of Bernie’s books.

Nicolai and Sylvain... hee hoo you know me, I do enjoy a sprinkle of Sylvain content here and there... basically Sylvain is the only one from Blue Lions that doesn’t hate him after they discovered the Haandrastsz family had a part into killing Dimitri’s father. The Haandrastsz family terriroties were also near the Gautier's, so they knew eachother when they were little. (I cannot escape the childhood friends trope I am sorry) After the war, before rejoining with the other Silver Snakes, Nicolai retires to Sreng (where him and his uncle were exiled to by the Kingdom) and stays there, commanding a small army and gaining the trust/leadership of the local warlords. One time he leads an attack on Gautier territory and Sylvain is like ‘Oh hey Nico- HEY WHAT THE FUCK’ And I don’t know... I just think it’s kinda funny... Also Sylvain is the only one in Blue Lions from the original group of childhood friends that doesn’t really... judge people for who they are, you know (that’s why I love him), so it feels realistic that he wouldn’t think less of Nicolai for what his family did. Knowing the guy, he would probably try to find a peaceful solution to the situation, and even if Nicolai usually doesn’t give a shit about people, he would be like “Yeah okay I GUESS I can try talking to Sylvain instead of just brutally murdering him”. So yeah, the sheer contrast between personalities, and the similar trauma from crests/ families... I just think it makes for a cool combo.

Cassandra and Esther, another one of my fave couples, Esther grew up in poverty in the Empire’s capital and hating nobles for the huge power imbalance in Fòdlan, so seeing Cassandra’s objective to completion is one of the most important things in her life. Despite the big differences in their upbringing, they discovered that they shared a lot of things in common, and felt very comfortable and safe in the company of the other. Cassandra always felt like an outcast even between her family, so she finds Esther’s point of view on life very important and close to her heart. Cassandra loves how much of a free spirit she is, and wants to eventually be free and feel like she’s allowed to be herself, two things she can really experience when she’s with her. Esther’s story is part of why Cassandra feels like she needs to succeed and bring a change to Fòdlan, and made a promise to her that if she ever loses sight of her original dream and becomes yet another swayed ruler, Esther has to kill her 👀 Also, that good old “ruler and their right hand” kind of ship... you know?

Cassandra and Mithra, another good ruler and their right hand ship... Mithra has trust in Cassandra as a leader and person, and is willing to do anything to help her achieve her dream! I think Mithra is a very silent person that doesn’t share her feelings and emotion easily because she’s always on high guard, expecting an attack from every direction, and focused on her duty almost too much to allow herself to be human and not only a soldier. That why it’s really cute when i think about how she would open up and eventually fall in love... YEAH

Cassandra and Sayid, this is a bit of a ‘what if’ kind of ship because Cassandra is gay, so I see this couple as more of a “platonic soulmates” kind of situation. Sayid and Cassandra’s relationship is one of my favourites because it starts from childhood friends, then changes to rivals, to frenemies, and then grows to trusted friends who will never be able to leave eachother. Cassandra was promised to marry one of Sayid’s older brothers when she was little, so he often jokes about how Sayid lost to his brothers even to that. (”Yes, but I was the one that had the honor to be right next to you” he would probably reply) They are eachother’s most trusted person, and Sayid grows from wanting Cassandra’s spot as leader and thinking she is inadequate to the role to being her most trusted advisor, that wholeheartedly supports her. It’s mostly the growth of the relationship that does it for me.

Mithra and Dedue...OKAY No joke I made Mithra Duscurian also because so Dedue could have a friend from the same country... so they can share Duscur stories and culture. Mithra left Duscur when she was little so she feels like she’s missing a part of her culture, and I just feel like her supports and relationship with him would be an amazing opportunity to both expand more on Duscurian culture and allow both to enjoy their home country and bond over it! And then maybe at the end of the war they can move back to what’s left of Duscur and start to rebuild together.

Mithra and Felix, this is a bit of weird one, especially because of Felix’s shitty views on Duscur, but I’m mostly looking at the promise for a good character development and how cool an idea of a ‘warrior couple’ is. They start off as sparring partner, Mithra shares Felix’s dedication for battle and training, so they often find eachother at the training grounds until they start to train together. They develop a kind of friendly rivalry over wanting to beat the other, and being the two strongest students at the monastery. Felix gets his ass handed to him a couple of times, and his mental process is ‘holy shit how > fuck you > groagrhaprfgakdfgh > okay but she’s strong, I can learn from her if i continue to fight her’ to eventually respecting her skill and position. Mithra recognizes his strenght and unparalleled ability on the battlefield, but comments on his lack of teamwork and how fighting alone and not following orders is going to get him killed someday. (Being that she’s lived her life in the military, diligence is a very important value- and a way of life to her) Their rivalry/competition translates to keeping the other safe in battle (”you’re not allowed to die before I beat you” kind of deal) and eventually... uh... wow... emotions???

Sayid and Ferdinand, dhsgchdgsh To be honest this is boys being fancy and bisexual... They do share some values and morals, Ferdinand’s view on nobility are akin to Sayid’s, even though Sayid is a bit more like ‘earning what you and your family have’ rather than simply inheriting a role. I do like that they mirror eachother by being a leader’s right hand man, and growing their rivalry into a frienship with them, so I feel like they’d have that in common, and some interesting conversations could spark from that! Plus yeah have I mentioned fancy bisexual boys...

Leon and Hilda, okay this one too is like... nothing too deep stort wise, I just feel that they’d be such a cute good couple?? Mostly because of how they both have sunny personalities and how Leon would indulge Hilda and protect her... and they also give me some big domestic vibes?

Esther and Annette is just... listen... I don’t know exactly why I can see the two of them so well together, I just think their personalities would align really well and would lead up to some really cute support conversations and eventually relationship...

Kristjan and Linhardt is an interesting couple because while I think they have similar interests on magic/ crest studies, they have very opposite personalities. I like that Lin is very blunt and unapologetic about his interests and peculiar way of life, while Kristjan feels like even his presence is a bother and something he needs to apologize about. I think they could bond over their shared interests (you know Lin wouldn’t resist to analyze the peculiar crest situation Kristjan has going on) but also count as interesting opposites to eachother. Lin would definitely be a positive influence over how insecure Kristjan is, and have a role in him accepting himself. Also.... cute nerdy boyfriends who love to read and study together??? Yeah...

Kristjan and Lysithea another cute couple, but this time based on how interesting it would be to see them interact and talk about their similar stories with crest experiments. I feel like they would both benefit from being able to talk honestly about the trauma and experience of it all. And I also like that two individuals that feel like their life is not in their hands anymore- CAN grow and create their own life together.

Kristjan and Olympia is... one of the first couples I thought about back when I created the silver snakes! I really like how they’re polar opposites (again) and how well they mesh together. One of the consequences of the experiments done on Kristjan is that he can channel the power of his crest stone to enhance his abilities, and eventually, also to get really physically strong for a short moment of time. I imagined that it would be really cool and unexpected if the one person that managed to beat Olympia in a duel is in fact not even someone who’s an expert with physical combat! Olympia is a very romantic and affectionate person, and I just really like the idea of Kristjan being showered with the love he deserves. (Plus I love the ship dynamic of mage/studious male character with strong/warrior female character a lot AHAH)

Olympia and Lorenz are... there to be fancy, cute and gorgeous together?? Despite some parts of his ideologies (that luckily he works and grows on), Lorenz’s ‘romantic’ idea of chivalry is very fascinating at the eyes of Olympia, and he kind of represents the idea of the ‘knight in shining (purple with roses) armor’ that she always looked for! They also both love fashion, art, drinking tea and little things like that... and I, AGAIN, love the idea of a couple where the woman is the strongest in the relationship dhgchjdsgcdsh There’s something really cute and powerful about her living her romantic fantasy with someone.

Olympia and Dorothea... JUST GALS BEING PALS... or not. They’re bisexuals together. I think they’d start to bond over Olympia’s idea of romance and research for someone that could beat her in a duel/ win her heart, and eventually really come close due to their experiences in dating/ finding out what they really want from love and relationship. And then they find that together!!!

I think you could sum up the types of couples I like with ‘similar personalities’ and ‘complete opposites’ AHAHAH It’s something that intrigues me with people in real life too! I discovered I tend to feel as fascinated by people that are similar to me, as much as people who are really different from me. This was a LOOONG response, but I loved to think about these couples and write down their dynamics! I hope you’re ready for a very detailed and long response! Thanks again for the compliments on my art and for asking about my babies <3

#i love thinking and actually writing down things about my characters so thanks for asking :D #fe3h #answered #the silver snakes #Anonymous

11 notes · View notes

prongsisabadger · 3 years

Text

TWP Chapter 30

CT-1304 had gone into battle once before, under the command of Jedi General Pong Krell. He had done everything his training demanded and had followed every rule in the hopes that, some day, he might get acknowledged by one of his superiors. They never had the chance. CT-1304 had been to battle once, and all of his supervising officers had died right in front of him. The number of troopers that survived that battle were all reassigned to different battalions, those with the most experience went to Generals like Kit Fisto or Ayla Sekura, but CT-1304 had not acquired any experience before that gruesome battle on a planet he couldn’t remember the name of.

He had survived because he had been lucky, and the thought that he hadn’t been as worthy of living as many of his brothers who had died there, haunted him each and every one of his waking hours. He knew this because when no one offered him a place in another battalion, his superiors contacted the one they hoped would take him, the one who took every trooper no one else wanted: the 104th.

The Wolf Pack they called themselves, a title one of their commanders had bestowed upon them. CT-1304 thought it was pretentious, but he kept his mouth shut. He had learned, under the care of his first Jedi General, that there was no room for sentiment on the battlefield. He had learned that protocol and rules were there to be followed, and failing to do so only got you sent back to Kamino for reconditioning. Sentiment, and freedom of ideology and speech had no place in war.

When he arrived on Coruscant to meet with his new battalion, he identified them immediately, the gray markings and canine imagery on white armour were hard to miss. The first thing that surprised him was that the Jedi Commander herself was there to welcome him, an honour he had not expected a lowly clone like himself to receive. Although Zabraks were an intimidating kind, there was nothing hostile in the way his Commander welcomed him. There was, in fact, a certain warmth to her as she showed him around and introduced him to the men. She even asked for his name, not his designation, and the face she made when he told her he didn’t have one was one of confusion and sadness. That look had stayed with him for a long time. Commander Foreas was young, but her friendliness did nothing to take away the aura of authority she carried with her. She held herself confidently, with her head held high and her body language relaxed, at ease.

It did not take long for him to be given a name, one of his brothers, Art, had found him sketching away on his datapad while he was off duty. He was immediately baptized Sketcher. Now, with a new name, new brothers and new leadership he could let his guard down around, Sketcher went to battle once more.

They had been tasked with occupying a planet, and their forces had been divided to cover as much terrain as they could. That was the first time he saw his Jedi Commander fight. Kriari Foreas had been a force to be reckoned with, tearing through enemy lines with ease and protecting the men, his brothers, at the expense of her own safety. She had almost died in an explosion trying to save one of his brothers. From that day, Sketcher decided he was no longer fighting for the Republic, he would be fighting for his Battalion, for his brothers, and yes, for his Jedi. It was a decision that he never could bring himself to regret. The Wolf Pack had embraced him, given him a name, a place to belong to and people to fight for. The 104th battalion never made him question his loyalties like General Krell had, they had never given him a reason to be afraid.

Until now.

The wind made visibility hard as it picked up snow and ice and wiped the outside of his winter armour, and still he could see them both perfectly, facing each other and engulfing the area around them with a presence, a pressure that would suffocate him. Commander Foreas had abandoned her fighter the second she found out Wolffe had engaged the assassin. Now, she stood with her back to them, lightsaber drawn and stance wide. Sketcher knew then, she was just as dangerous as the woman in front of them, if not more. She was protecting them both, Sketcher knew, she was protecting him and his wounded Commander, who seemed on the very doors of death. The bald lady, Ventress The Commander had called her, would have split Wolffe’s head in half had he not dodged her strike on time. He hadn’t come out of the encounter unharmed. Now, he lay in his brother's arms, missing one eye and bleeding more than he should have been. And their Commander was there to protect what was left of them.

Sketcher knew this, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was drowning in Kriari’s grief, her rage, her urge to kill, to maim, to avenge, but most of all, her urge to protect. Sketcher had never been afraid of a Jedi, until now. The woman in front of him was powerful, more than he could have ever imagined, more than her friendly demeanor and her warm countenance would ever let on. But now, as she struggled to keep her emotions in check, as the assassin in front of them boasted and teased and mocked her, she felt like the most terrifying thing the trooper had ever seen, had ever felt.

The wind flapped and snapped her robes around her, and the snow in the wind created an eerie glow around her green blade. They were speaking, but Sketcher couldn’t hear them over the howl of the incoming storm. He tried to take his eyes off the warriors' face off, his brother needed first aid or he would die.

He forced himself to look down at what he knew would be a gruesome sight. The image he saw would haunt him forever. The helmet had melted under the heat of Ventress’ saber, fusing itself to his brother’s skin and making it impossible to remove without hurting him even further. The medic of their squad had been killed, and their comms were down in the face of the incoming snowstorm. He was Wolffe’s only hope for survival, and he would not let his brother die, not that day, not in his arms.

Sketcher got to work immediately, taking the vibroblade Commander Foreas had given him when she arrived. Ventress had destroyed all of their weapons and had left them unarmed. “You need to get him out of here” his commander had told him when she threw the blade at his feet, “if you see me fall, don’t look back, Sketcher.” He had never seen his Commander look so grimm, so conflicted, but so determined. He understood she hadn’t been giving him an option. Kriari Foreas knew that, in desperate situations, orders saved lives.

Without thinking too much about it, Sketcher cut his brother’s helmet open with their Commander’s blade, taking great care to leave the edges of the wound alone. Those pieces would have to be taken out by someone who knew what they were doing. For now, he wanted to stop the bleeding and prevent the wound from getting infected. He got his medical pouch loose from his belt and put all of the bacta wipes he had on Wolffe’s face. He then took his only bacta shot and injected it into his brother’s neck. Sketcher then bandaged his brother’s head as generously as he could, not only to keep the wound clean, but to avoid him getting frostbite.

When he was done, Sinker looked up to see the fiercest battle he had ever witnessed in his life. His Commander had engaged the woman with the red sabers and was locked in a battle that looked like it belonged in legends. He had only seen Kriari fight droids up until then, but this was much different. Green and red flew from side to side, clashed in a hypnotic show of lights, speed and skill, and disengaged only to start all over again.

The red lady was clearly much more experienced, but Kriari was being pushed forward by something, a feeling, a being, an entity, a force that drove her, guided her and allowed her to meet her adversary blow by blow. She seemed more calm, more in control of herself, infinitely focused on her task. Revenge no longer raged in her eyes, instead, there was determination and the will to protect what was hers at any cost.

And Sketcher knew they were hers, and she was theirs. And for the first time in his short life, Sketcher felt seen, felt like a unique being, felt like a man and not a clone. Because his Commander was fighting for him and his brother to live, because his commander had asked his name when they met, because his commander was willing to die to save two clones in an army that had hundreds of thousands of them. Sketcher felt like a man because right there, right then, Kriari Foreas was fighting for him and Wolffe and nobody else. A Jedi, a peace keeper, the warriors who had fought and beaten the mandalorians, the very people who had trained them. A member of the most prestigious order in the galaxy, who were not allowed emotional attachments, was fighting so that he and his brother would live.

Sketcher would make sure her efforts weren’t wasted.

He took his brother and threw him over his shoulder. Once he was sure Wolffe wouldn’t slip, he grabbed his Commander’s blade in a steel grip and started marching back to where he knew the rest of the troops were. Once he got Wolffe the care he needed, he could send reinforcements to Commander Foreas’ position.

The storm gave no signs of letting up, comms were still jammed by the wind’s interference and visibility was very low. But he would not let a damned snow storm prevent him from getting his brother to safety, from getting his commander the backup she needed. The Republic could buy all the clones they liked, but only a few Jedi could say they had their unreserved loyalty, Plo Koon and Kriari Foreas were two of them.

Sketcher’s legs were burning and the inside of his helmet’s visor was starting to fog with how hard he was breathing, but he refused to stop. He would get his brother clear, he would get help for his commander. Sketcher repeated the words in his head and under his breath like a mantra, like a prayer. He said the words once and again and again as if the reminder was the only thing that kept him on his feet.

Suddenly, out of the white wall of wind and snow that surrounded him, came one of his brothers. It was Art, he was saying something, but Sketcher couldn’t hear a thing. His brother changed comms channels and repeated himself.

“Sketcher, what the fuck happened? Where’s the Commander?” His brother’s tone was agitated, almost desperate. They had all been trying to reach the three of them for hours and the storm had put a sudden stop to any attempt they made.

“Wolffe and our squad went after the assassin, we are the only survivors. We wouldn’t be here if the Commander hadn’t showed up. Wolffe needs urgent medical attention, and the Commander needs backup.” He rushed through the words, almost choking on air as he tried to debrief his brother. “I’ll give you the coordinates of their last location- we, we need to help her, Art. She took on the crazy lady on her own, we need to help her.” He was frantic, he needed to get her back up, she couldn’t die, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she did.

Twitch took Wolffe from Sketcher’s arms and dragged him into one of the tents they had set up when they landed.

“We will, trooper,” said Art, trying to hide his worry so as not to agitate his brother even more. “This is the Wolf Pack, no one is ever left behind.”

#TWP #clone wars fan fiction #star wars the clone wars #plo koon #obi-wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #commander wolffe #captain rex #padawan!oc

6 notes · View notes

peonybane · 3 years

Text

Beyond the Veil: Part 1

Pairing: Choi Youngjae (GOT7) x Psychopomp!Reader

Word Count: 8.3 k

Genre: Fantasy, Fluff, Angst, Psychopomp AU, Doctor AU

Warnings: Mentions and depictions of death (I don’t know how to word this as… this is a story about a Grim Reaper), Pining (so much pining)

Summary: Life is a gift. Every Spirit of Death knew this. They weren’t allowed to touch Life — weren’t allowed to experience it. Every once in a while they can, the unspoken rule being that Death can only fall in love once with Life. And never again.

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone for your patience with me on this. Especially since this was suppose to be a one-shot and I’ve learn my lesson that it is not. Thank you to the platonic love of my life, @ropeseok for putting up with me through this whole process.

If you’d like to notified/tagged when PART 2 comes out, please reblog this part!

White. Sterile. The overwhelming use of anti-septic burned your nose slightly. A hospital. Here you were again. You practically lived here. Though, you supposed there was worse places you could end up as a Spirit of Death. You could’ve ended up like some of your brethren, always seeming to be summoned to battlefields. Or worse….

You shook the thought from your head. No, things could be far worse. Besides, Death was inevitable. No one could run from it. No one could fight it… not really. It was just a matter of how each soul would meet their escort.

You wandered the halls, the humans not noticing you at all. Looking down, you watched as the threads of your dress — thin, wispy grey tendrils, really — swayed and snaked around you, eventually fading away into nothing as they connected to the souls that you’d eventually escort, all varying shades of grey. One of the threads pulsed and darkened — this was the reason why you were here today — you were here to escort a soul.

Wandering around the hospital, you kept an eye on the thread — you had some time before you had to collect the soul. No need to rush being a voyeur to pain and grief.

Instead, you wandered over to the ward that was your secret pleasure: the maternity ward.

Babies were… fascinating to you. After all, most of those you interacted with were the aged and sick. You dealt with the inevitable. But birth… birth was practically magic to you. Despite the tales told by humans, your kind was not omnipotent — you just knew a few more certainties than humans did. But birth… was the greatest mystery of all….

It was the greatest forbidden fruit.

But more than just the babies, you came to this ward for a particular reason: Dr. Choi.

You nearly missed him — his back facing towards you, the white lab coat obstructing his figure before he turned at the last moment. He was excusing himself from a patient’s room, just down the hall from you. You probably would have missed him entirely if it wasn’t for his laugh. The place where you should’ve had a heart gave a small pitter patter when you saw him. He was… so full of life. The dedication he had for his patients. His zest for life. His laugh. He fascinated you in ways you never knew was possible.

He still made you feel the way you had the first time you saw him.

You got lost, actually, ending up in the wrong operating room. As an OB/GYN surgeon, he was skilled as he performed a c-section. What fascinated you was that as he was performing the operation, he kept speaking to the mother, reassuring her of how well she was doing. Even cracking a joke or two when he realized she was starting to freak out.

You were so distracted in that moment, you almost missed getting the soul you needed to retrieve, lest their soul wander free and reek havoc, haunting the world as they looked for their bodies or searched for the Forest.

Dr. Choi (you’d yet to hear his first name, you didn’t want to, you didn’t want to get too attached) adjusted his sterile blue scrubs before he made his way towards his office. You were tempted to follow him, just to watch him from afar… just like you always had.

“If you stare at him any harder, you’re going to set him on fire.”

You jumped at the sound of Jaebeom’s voice. “Dammit, Jaebeom! Don’t do that.”

You turned around, staring up into the dark eyes of Jaebeom, a named Spirit of Death — your brother in some sense. His shaggy, long black hair was pulled away from his face, showing off his piecing dark eyes. He smirked down at you, his stance utterly relaxed under his own Death Shroud, a duster jacket. On his shoulders, his Bombay feline familiar, Haneul, laid across his broad shoulders, her sleek, black fur almost disappearing under the blanket of Jaebeom’s own hair, her bright yellow eyes staring at you sleepily.

“Long time no see, little Morana.”

You rolled your eyes at him. You hated it when he called you that. Though to be fair… you didn’t have a name. None of the Spirits of Death did; instead — they’d take on a title of sorts, using names the humans made up if need be. The only way to have a Name, one that no one could take or abuse, was to live a Life.

A Life which Jaebeom lived to the fullest.

“It’s good to see you, Jaebeom.” You looked around. “Where’s the kittens?”

Jaebeom laughed. He reached into the deep pockets of his jacket and with withdrew his two other familiars, Yugyeom and Kunpimook. The older of the two, Kunpimook was lovingly called BamBam for all the trouble he caused as a lanky, white haired, green-eyed Oriental Shorthair. Yugyeom was a giant, blue eyed, fluffy, grey Maine Coon. Both of them looked at you, almost angrily, having their naps disturbed.

You smiled as Jaebeom passed off Yugyeom to you, the big boy immediately purring into your arms. Jaebeom smiled as he cuddled BamBam in his own arms. “He missed you.”

You smiled a little. You couldn’t hear Jaebeom’s familiars. Only he could. His mind was connected to theirs, their bond cemented when the foursome was human.

“I can tell.”

Everything was silent for a moment. Even the sound of nurses wandering around the ward seemed to have quieted down for a moment. You hadn’t seen Jaebeom for a while. Not since he came back from living amongst humans. You, Jaebeom, and Haneul were inseparable for the first few years after Haneul died, helping Jaebeom return to his previous duties as a Spirit of Death.

“What are you doing here, Jaebeom?”

Jaebeom practically bristled. Well, Haneul did anyways. “It’s your 1,500th year, right?”

You sighed. Of course. That was why he was here.

Yugyeom nuzzled further into your touch, smushing his face into the crook of your arm. Jaebeom continued. “I just... I heard that you were thinking about not accepting Hermes’ gift for once. You’ve always accept his gift before. Do — Do you want to talk about it?”

Sighing, you looked away from Jaebeom, no longer able to meet his gaze. He leaned down to be eye level with you. Haneul pushed off his broad shoulder a little to head butt you to get your attention. “Do you want to talk about him?”

You scoffed. “I’m not in love.”

“Could have fooled me. Besides, I never mentioned anything about love.”

Biting your lower lip, you asked, “Am I actually in love with him? Or do I just want what you have and see him as a means to an end? Either way — I shouldn’t tempt Fate.”

He was silent as he thought about it. “Only you can answer that. But I would give him a chance, either way. I wasn’t sure if I was truly in love with Haneul. But I trusted my instincts. How could I not take a chance when I couldn’t take my eyes off her? How could I not want her with me forever from the moment her gaze fell upon me? Not through me.”

His voice grew softer as he continued. “Our existence is a lonely one. Do you know why Hermes lets us live as humans for just one day every 500 years? Or why we’re allowed to live amongst them for a single lifetime?”

Swallowing, you shook your head. In comparisons to Jaebeom, you were practically a baby. Hermes was distant. He didn’t interact with his… children too much anymore.

Jaebeom stroked your hair, his gaze growing soft and tender. “Because he wants his children to have what he never could: to experience Life. To find companionship. There are nearly a million of us. But each of us is alone; our existence just an inevitable truth. A kindness. A tragic truth. We are alone, even when we’re together. But a lifetime with humans — the memories are fulfilling. We can fall in love —“

Haneul nuzzled Jaebeom, purring. In Life, they were married. For a moment, you wondered if their souls (or at least whatever your kind had) were entwined from the beginning of time. “— We can have a family.”

His gaze fell to the cats happily snoozing in both of your arms. In Life, they were Jaebeom and Haneul’s adopted sons, Jaebeom never being able to father any.

“Please… talk to me. Out of all our nameless brothers and sisters, I worry about you the most.”

Sniffling, you wiped the tears threatening to fall from your eyes, nearly dropping Yugyeom in the process. “I — I don’t want to condemn him. Like you said, our existence is a lonely one. And — And he’s just so full of Life. How could I surround him by death? Human always see us as a horribly dark thing.”

Jaebeom kissed your forehead. “Don’t make that decision for him. Let him choose.”

You opened your mouth to reply, to argue, then you felt the pull.

It was time.

It was time to collect the soul.

As if sensing it, Jaebeom took Yugyeom from your arms again, cradling the two overgrown kittens like babies. Your dress slowly started to change. From the simple dress, your Death Shroud changed into that of a military uniform, the grey threads unweaved themselves then reweaved, forming the new garment as it paled, turning white. Like it always did when it was time to guide a soul.

You no longer felt your body change — you had long since lost interest in the change. Your form changed to whatever the soul needed from you to find comfort. Sometimes it was just your face. Other times you might physically regress back to the form of a child, making the tragic loss a little less painful. At times, you might have ‘aged,’ providing comfort in being a quiet companion in their final stroll. And on rare occasions, your sex would change — a moment of familiarity or perhaps even safety, a small reassurance that everything would be ok — that you were nothing like the monsters they were finally escaping.

Glancing up, or rather, to, Jaebeom, your gaze no longer turned upward to meet his piercing eyes. Ah, probably meant you either resembled someone much taller than you’d normally stand, or your apparent sex had changed.

Looking you over, Jaebeom gave you a solemn nod. “Whatever you choose, little one….”

“I know,” sounding the same to your own ears, but probably vastly different to Jaebeom’s as his eyes widened slightly.

You gave him a casual salute before walking off in the direction of the soul you needed to collect. Glancing around, you tried to catch another glimpse of Dr. Choi. But he was nowhere to be seen. You let out a small sigh, disappointed before you headed towards the intensive care ward.

You phased through various walls until you found yourself in the right place. You could practically smell his soul becoming weaker and weaker. Your gaze following the thread that led from your Shroud, the thread this time at your left wrist, to his right hand, having wrapped around it along his life line.

There, in a hospital bed, laid an old man on a ventilator, his wife sitting next to him, her hand clutching his. His heartbeat grew slower, his eyes glassy. Slowly, you joined the two of them as you stood to the opposite side of the bed of his wife. He let out an exhale as his eyes focused in on you, finally seeing you.

It was time.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his forehead. He took his last breath, his eyes falling closed. The heart rate monitor flat lined; his wife began to sob.

As you pulled away, you grasped his now lifeless hands, gently coaxing his soul from his body. Standing before you was not the withered, old man that laid in the bed. No, instead, it was a man in his prime, adorned in a perfectly maintained uniform and various medals on his chest.

You smiled at him. “On your feet, Captain. It’s time for your next mission.”

He looked around, dazed. He seemed solid enough. At least until he reached out to touch his wife, his hand going right through her. Staring at his hand, he asking you, shakily, “Am I dead?”

Gently, you replied, “Yes,” taking his hands in yours.

His eyes grew large. You squeezed his hands, trying to help him keep calm. “What… What about my wife?”

You glanced over to the woman, still weeping for the loss of her husband as a nurse entered the room. You were not her guide. You didn’t know when exactly when she’d die. But you could tell… she had a few years left in her.

“Do you have children? Grandchildren?”

He nodded. “Three daughters. Four grandbabies with two more on the way.”

You smiled at him. “She’ll be ok. As long as she has them, the rest of her life will be good. Even as she misses you. But you’ll be together soon. You just have to wait for her on the other side.”

He nodded again, slowly. He let go of your hands, turning back towards his wife. He leaned over and did the best he could, kissing her forehead. He whispered, “I love you, yeobo. I’ll wait for you.”

Turning back towards you, stood at attention, saluting you. In turn, you returned the gesture. “Shall we go, Captain?”

“Yes.”

You nodded. At your hip, you reached for your Sickle. Instead of the small, practical instrument that usually hung at your hip, it too had transformed to accompany your Shroud. At your hip was a ceremonial saber. How appropriate, you couldn’t help but think.

Unsheathing it, you admired its elegance. A small part of you wished your Sickle could have been a sword or a saber. Perhaps then humans wouldn’t fear a monstrosity of a sickle, fearful of it taking their souls by force. Taking a deep breath (despite not really needing one) you swung it in front of you, it’s blade cutting through space and time, opening a hole to the Forest.

The portal expanded, the edges shimmering as you sheathed the saber once more. You held your hand out again for him. “Come.”

As he took your hand, almost hesitantly, you led him through.

The Forest. Or, at least, that’s what you called it. Like everything else, it was nameless. But it had to be called something. Some called it Eden. Shangri-La. Arcadia. Xanadu. Yomi. Purgatory.

So many different names… and yet none of them quite correct. Perhaps the closest was Axis Mundi— where Life and the Afterlife met.

Your charge looked around the Forest in wonder as you closed the portal. You were surrounded by giant trees — trees that were sturdy even before Hermes began his sacred duty. In their bark was inscribed with uncountable names, each one belonging to a single soul that’s passed over. Their large leaves overhead provided ample shade, creating the illusion that there was a blue sky and shining sun above you. But there was nothing. It was just an endless void up there.

But that didn’t matter.

Not with the thousands of flowers blooming at your feet and the countless tendrils of ivy and moss dancing across the multitude of trees. Between the trees, you’d sometimes catch glimpses of other psychpomps out of the corner of your eye, finding themselves in comfortable silence with their familiars — whether as beasts or as humans. Wind rustled the leaves above, creating a sweet, comforting melody as it engulfed you in the familiar, loving smell of the flowers that were in eternal bloom. But there was no chattering of squirrels or the jubilant song of a bird, just the sound of leaves rustling and the bubbling of the creek up ahead.

No.

This was no place for them. This was no place for the living — no matter their form.

Your charge turned back to you. “Is — Is this Heaven?”

Smiling, you shook your head. So, he was the hopeful type. “No. This is only the threshold between your Life and what comes after this. Come.”

He followed behind you as you led the way down a very well worn path, the grass and flowers long gone. Even the top soil had been eroded away, leaving an almost polished alabaster stone path exposed. You led him down the path towards a creek, a bridge, born from the over grown roots of many trees, running over it.

“What… What is this?”

“Like this Forest and me, it has no name. But, I suppose humans would think of it as something like the River Styx. It’s a threshold into the Afterlife.”

His voice was strained as he looked between you and the bridge. “What — What comes next?”

You sighed, gazing at him in sympathy. You hated this question. “I don’t know.”

His anger fueled gazed turned its wrath upon you as he cried, “What do you mean you don’t know?!”

“I’m a Spirit of Death. I am bound forever to this plane, this side of the threshold between Life and what comes next. I cannot ever know what is beyond this point. But, I can tell you that you will not cease to exist. There is something after this. I just don’t know what it is.”

He seemed to have calmed down a bit. “Can I wait for my wife?”

You shook your head. “If you wait here, your soul will become restless. You’ll forget who you are. You’ll wreak havoc not only here, but also in the human world. You’ll be condemned to wander for eternity until one of my kind must Reap your soul.”

He glanced at the saber at your hip, understanding your meaning. “And your wife will not have you with her.”

He swallowed, absorbing what you’re saying. “So… do I just crossover? And that’s it?”

You smiled at him, nodding. “Yes. I’ve heard that supposedly, someone will be on the other side of the creek to greet you.”

He saluted you, one final time before he headed for the bridge. You stood there, watching him as he found his footing on the bridge. Your Shroud and Sickle slowly returned to their natural form, your body shifting as well back to its natural state.

As he walked further and further away, he began to glow, his luminosity increasing, a light that almost rivaled the sun until… he disappeared. The thread of your Shroud connecting you to him snapped, the sound as sudden and as loud as thunder. It took you awhile, but you at least no longer jumped at the sound.

Walking forward, you reached your hand out towards the bridge. You stopped just short of it, your hand shaking as you slowly tried to cross over that threshold, muscle memory reminding you that this wasn’t a good idea. And just as it had the few dozen thousand times before, the barrier zapped you, forcing you to retract your hand. You hissed, holding onto your slightly burnt fingertip as you glared at the barrier that now shimmered and rippled.

“I see you still haven’t learnt your lesson.”

You jumped, turning to face Hermes. He stood before you, intimidating and beautiful as always, this form suiting him well… even if the sight of him set you on edge.

Ebony skin glowed, a stark contrast to his billowy white cloak. His hood framed his lovely face as he looked down at you, almost making him appear angelic. And in a way, he was. At least in the sense that humans would think of him. It instead set you on edge when he changed his form to be… more ‘approachable.’ Like everything else here, he had no name — instead choosing to take on various mythical mantles: Hermes, Azrael, the Grim, Charon, Anubis, and so many others. You knew him as Hermes.

From his back emerged a pair of large, iridescent, black wings, the feathers fluttering with the wind. You couldn’t help but notice how a couple of the feathers were barely hanging on, signally that once they’d fall from his wings, new Spirits of Death would rise from them.

Bowing your head, you said, “No, Lord Hermes. But I want to answer their question. Almost all of them ask me the same thing over and over again.”

His deep voice rumbled, “And I wish I could give you that answer. But I cannot. I do not know what lies beyond the Veil. And we will never know.”

You nodded in understanding. The same answer… as always. He continued, “I heard that you do not want to accept my gift. Why is that?”

You cringed. You completely forgot about that. Silent, you hesitated to answer.

He sighed. “What are you afraid of? Is it answering the question of what comes next? Are you afraid of rejection? Are you afraid to Live?”

You shot him a glare. You hated this. Hated that he knew. Hated the fact that Hermes was connected to all of you, knowing your deepest, darkest secrets. All because he shed you as a Feather.

He smirked at you, crossing his arms across his chest. “Ah… I see. You’re afraid to Live.”

You hissed back, “I can’t live! I was never alive to begin with.”

“You are very much alive, my child. You just have to go and discover it.” He waved his hand, a gust of wind spiraled around you. Instinct took over, raising your arms to shield your face from the cyclone of wind and leaves. But still, you glared daggers at Hermes as he took away your choice once more.

Irony dripped from his lips as he muttered, “Happy Birthday.”

—~—~—~—

The sky was still dark in Seoul. The sun hasn’t risen yet. But you could see the sky taking on intense shades of blue and grey — the world quiet and still outside of the temple you found yourself in.

With a groan, you stood up from the cold wooden floor, goosebumps rising on your skin uncontrollably. You shivered. At least when you weren’t masquerading as human temperature never bothered you.

“Ahh. I thought her vision didn’t sound quite right. I’ll go get you a different set of clothes.”

Turning around, you came face to face with the caretaker of the temple, a young priest. Slightly bowed, his obsidian black hair barely hid the darting of his eyes, looking everywhere but you. He was dressed in a simple, traditional hanbok as he stood there, a pile of red clothes in his arms.

Ahh…. A seer must have mistaken you for some other kind of spirit. Some sort of Pyro or Asmod if the colors and style were anything to go by.

The priest continued to look everywhere but you. You tilted your head in curiosity before you remembered — oh, humans and their modesty. Glancing down at yourself, you noted breasts and the small patch of hair upon your mons pubis. Oh, good. At least this time you’re in your preferred form it seems.

Clearing your throat, you said, “Thank you, Priest — ?”

“Jinyoung. Park Jinyoung.”

You smiled at him, covering up yourself as much as possible, for his sake. You didn’t particularly care. “Thank you, Jinyoung-ie. And yes,” You glanced at the clothes he held tightly in his hands. “I would like a different set of clothes.”

He gave you a curt nod before scurrying off to get you something more appropriate.

You sighed.

24 hours. 24 hours of being human. The last time you were human… you were in Venice. Boy was that an interesting time with the Renaissance and all. Had… had it really been that long?

There was a knock on the door. This time it was a girl’s voice. “Grim? I’ve brought you your clothes. I’d also like to apologize for the mistake in my vision.”

Grim. Out of all the things humans called your kind… it wasn’t the kindest… nor the most horrendous.

“Come in.”

The door opened and a girl entered, her gaze was to the ground as she held a bundle of light grey clothing. She looked young, perhaps no older than 20. Certainly not of the age to know exactly what she was seeing in her visions. She had no control of what she’d see. She would probably just be finishing learning how to identify various demons and spirits from her visions if you had to take a guess.

She knelt before you, laying the clothes on the ground before bowing. “My name is Chaewon. I’d like to apologize, Grim. It was my mistake that my brother brought you the wrong type of clothes.”

You picked up the bundle of clothing, starting to dress yourself. “There’s no need to apologize. You’re the youngest seer I’ve seen in a very long time. I’m curious though, what did you see?”

Chaewon looked down, her face flushed and she turned red all the way to her ears. Oh?

Her voice shook. “I... I saw a man. He was naked. His face covered in shadows. And he made,” she paused, turning even redder before she continued, “a noise. A very… happy noise.”

“Oh.”

You felt your own face heat.

You may have lived for well over a millennia, but you still had some sense of shame. Or at least hers made you hyperaware of your own. As you finished dressing, you replied, “In that case, I don’t blame you for thinking I was an Asmod. A vision like that… I don’t know if I would have chosen any differently.”

“But I should’ve —“

“How old are you?”

You knelt down in front of her, your simple cotton dress pooling slightly around you as you knelt to get down on Chaewon’s level. She finally looked you in the eye. A small thrill went through you — the Living never looked you in the eye.

“Seventeen.”

Just as you thought. “You’re young. Younger than I would have expected. Despite your age, you interpreted what you saw well. If you saw sex, anyone would assume that it were an Asmod or some other daemon.”

She did not look reassured. You continued. “Do you what my kind typical do on our one day amongst the Living?”

She quickly shook her head. You smirked a little.

“We wander. The one day we’re allowed to interact with the Living, we tend to do what we did before: observe. Perhaps, we’d join in on festivities. Perhaps, we spend the day at a park, watching children play. Perhaps, we play with them. But sex? Sex is not something we are particularly interested in. You interpreted correctly.”

She didn’t say anything, but you knew she understood — that she didn’t make a real mistake. She interpreted what she saw correctly. But what she saw… concerned you. Why? Why you would you have… sex? It was such a… human activity. Your kind, especially those who had yet to live a Lifetime, didn’t understand it. It wasn’t like you could reproduce, so it never really made sense to you.

Your quiet moment was broken by Jinyoung clearing his throat. You looked up at him, he had changed into ordinary clothes. “Grim? Please let me know where’d you like me to take you. I’ll take you anywhere in the city.”

Standing up, you nodded. “Thank you, Priest. Lead the way.”

You made your way past Chaewon, following the young priest down the hall. He brought you to an entryway, several cubicles lined up with shoes. He indicated for you to take a pair. As you sat down to slip on a pair of black, flat ankle boots, he rejoined you. When did he disappear?

In his hand, he held a bag. “These are for you, Grim. Inside you’ll find money and other amenities you’ll need.”

You took the bag from him, looking at the contents. “I’m surprised you’re able to give me this much. Especially since I’ll only be here a day.”

He shook his head. “The Guardian Spirit of this temple makes sure that when you return to the Veil, the things we gave you find their way back here in due time. There is no need to worry.”

Smiling, you nodded. You stood up, ready to follow him. Nodding, he lead you out to a car. It wasn’t the fanciest car in the world, certainly not one of those sports cars you never bothered learning about. But it looked well taken care of.

Jinyoung opened the passenger side door for you. You nodded to him in thanks as you slipped inside. After shutting your door, he quickly made his way to the driver’s side.

After a brief explanation on how and why you should be wearing a seatbelt (How were you suppose to know that, at the very least, you could get him in trouble if you didn’t wear one?), he drove you out of the temple.

“Where would you like me to take you?”

Biting your lip, you hesitated to answer. Did you want to see him? Or did you want to avoid him completely. Before you could completely think it through, you found yourself replying, “Jung-gu. Near the hospital.”

He made a small noise of confirmation, taking you towards the district.

—~—~—~—

The drive was longer than you had expected. Who knew Seoul traffic was so congested?

Glancing out the window, you caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time, nearly jumping out of your skin. Normally, you had no reflection. The rare times you’d ever see your own reflection would be if you caught a glimpse of it mirroring you in the creek back in the Forest. Staring at yourself in the passenger side mirror, you couldn’t help but touch your face, brow knit together in concentration.

“So it’s true then.”

The sound of Jinyoung’s voice made you jump. Phoenix farts, why were you so jumpy lately? Turning to him, you noted the smirk on his lips and figured that behind those sunglasses his eyes were full of mirth.

“Is what true?”

“That you don’t see your reflections.”

You swallowed. “Rarely. Very rarely. Even when we do… they’re not quite as… solid as they when we’re occasionally human.”

He made a small noise of understanding, turning his full attention back on the road. Outside of the car, for a brief moment, between the shadows of buildings, you caught a glimpse of the hospital. It was an unusual feeling, but your heart thundered in your chest. You couldn’t tell if you were excited or scared. A part of you wanted to beg Jinyoung to take you somewhere else in the city. Anywhere. But another part of you, the stronger part, wanted to be there, to be near him.

All too soon, Jinyoung pulled into a parking space. You struggled for a moment, thinking that just tugging on the seatbelt would set you free before putting two and two together that there was a button. Heat flared up in your cheeks out of embarrassment — such an unusual feeling, not one that you’re sure you’ll ever get used to, you don’t think. Stepping out of the car, you politely bowed, ready to walk away from Jinyoung.

It’s a shame really… even as a human you would have been able to see the thread wrapped around his hand, following the pattern of his life line if he was a soul you were to collect. You would have liked to speak to him once again.

“Saja-nim!”

You paused. There was one you hadn’t heard in a while. A rather polite one at that. “Yes, Priest?”

His gaze was almost painful as he looked you in the eye. It was unnerving really — having someone looking directly at you like this. With utter certainty, as if he just knew, he cryptically said, “I look forward to speaking with you again.”

Before you could inquire further as to exactly what he meant, he reached across the passenger and pulled the car door shut and practically shot out of the parking space like a bat out of hell. What a weird priest.

Stepping away from the street, you took in your surroundings. The sun was out, filtering through the buildings of Seoul, this part of the city still relatively quiet though, still just early enough for most people to have not quite left home for work. It was peaceful. It was Life. And you could close your eyes, take a deep breath, and take it all in — truly take it in.

A piercing cry of “COCO-YAH!!!” broke your peace and quiet.

Turning towards the voice, you lost your footing as small white ball of fuzz on four legs bolted towards you, or rather, attempting to bolt past you. Attempting was the operative word. As you teetered backwards, sort of regaining your footing, the almost panicked ringing of a bicycle bell was the only warning you got before making eye contact with a startled bicyclist.

If you weren’t fighting instinct, perhaps you would have moved. But time and time against, you never had to worry about moving — danger would just move right through you.

But not now.

No, your brain had shut down in shock. Of course you would get hurt the one day you were human.

Before the cyclist could collide with you, you were harshly pulled out of his way. Instead of someone colliding into you… you were the one doing the colliding.

Foot catching on uneven cobblestone, your center of mass shifted, your body landing against a very warm, soft, yet very solid body, nearly taking him to the ground.

A sweet voice, one that sent shivers down you spine — one that you almost dreadfully recognized — asked, “Are you ok?”

Hesitantly, you looked up, holding your breath, trying to imprint this memory of his warm hold on you forever into your skin. When yours eyes met… you finally understood what Jaebeom was talking about.

You were absolutely and utterly fucked.

It was the moon-like face you’d seen from a distance more times than you could count. Except unlike the moon, he was close enough to worship with your lips if you tried. From afar you had always thought he was handsome, but up close, he was deadly — the combination of soft and sharp features were too tempting and dangerous.

Your eyes flicked for a moment to his lips, his breath faltering for a moment across your face before you dared to finally look him in the eye.

Definitely fucked. Hopeless fucked, really.

His eyes were gentle, in spite of their sharp, intense shape. So curious. So full of concern. And there was something else. You had seen it before, though you couldn’t place it where. All you knew was that you could get lost in those eyes… and happily so.

The spell was broken as his large wire-framed round glasses slowly slipped down the bridge of his nose. You pulled away from his hold, regaining your footing as you cleared your throat, hoping to buy another moment to clear your mind. Get a hold of yourself, you said you wouldn’t get involved with him. But, oh, the thought was so very tempting.

Your voice cracked. “Ye — Yes. Thank you for catching me.”

He nodded, wiping his hands on his pants, almost unsure of himself. At your feet, a couple of small barks got your attention. The little white dog from earlier was at your feet, barking, her little tail wagging as she gazed up at Dr. Choi.

Dr. Choi exclaimed, “COCO-YAH!!!!!” as he picked up the little, almost contrary, cotton ball.

Lifting her up to eye level, he asked, “Yah! What was that for? I lose my grip on your leash for a moment to grab the mail and you just bolt? No! Don’t you try that sweet act on me, you spoilt, little princess.”

He sighed in defeat as she wagged her tail, tongue flicking out to lick his nose, his face scrunching up cutely in response. You couldn’t help but laugh as he brought her in close, coddling her even as he continued to look exasperatedly annoyed.

He turned his gaze back on you, his eyes soft as he took a moment to wet his lips. He held his hand out to you. “I’m Choi Youngjae. And this little, fluffy, white hell spawn is Coco.”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

This was the last thing you needed. You swallowed, a poor attempt at controlling your breathing. You placed your hand in his.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

There was a pause for a moment before Youngjae — no — Dr. Choi (he had to stay as Dr. Choi), smiled gently at you. Bending at the hips, he lowered himself just enough so he could tilt his gaze up to look up at you, a small smile on his lips as he cutely asked, “And what is your name?”

The usual spike of anxiety that would come with this question never came. Instead, automatically, almost as if you had answer this questions hundreds of time like a human, you gave him a name.

Not Morana. Nor Saja. But an actual name. It was… your name.

He repeated it quietly to himself. It struck you like lightning. This must be the feeling Jaebeom told you about so many times but never understood.

For a moment it was silent between the two of you. You wanted this feeling to last, whatever it was. You had never known such an inner warmth. What you wouldn’t give to have him whisper your name once more.

Of course, Coco had to ruin the moment, having had enough. She started wriggling around in his hold, desperately wanting to be free to reek havoc like she had before. Dr. Choi sighed, bending down further to place her back on the ground. A firm hold on the leash this time.

As he straightened up, he looked at you shyly from behind his glasses. “So, umm, where are you from? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before?”

You swallowed. Never in a million years would you have thought you’d have to answer such a simple question.

You blurted out, “Visting! Umm, just for the day.”

“Well, umm, I guess I should let you get back to it then. I’m sure you must have plans.”

He went to turn, his shoulders slumping. “No!”

Dr. Choi turned back to you, eyes wide and eyebrow raised at your outburst. More calming you repeated, “No. Umm, actually, I don’t have plans. Despite wanting to come here for a while now….” You laughed out your response, “I have no idea what I’m going to do now that I’m here.”

A moment of clarity graced his features before the brightest smile you had ever seen revealed itself.

“In that case, how would you like a local to show you around?”

A smile found its way onto your lips. “I’d like that very much.”

He offered you his hand. You hesitated, glancing between the soft and dexterous hand and his hopeful face. “I know a great dog friendly cafe near by if you’d like to join me.”

You found yourself squeaking out a reply, barely above a whisper, “I’d love to.”

You placed your hand in his and for a moment, you swore sparks flew. His palm was warm, a stark contrast to your own chilly one. Dr. Choi gave a small laugh. You glanced up to him, brows knit. He licked his lips almost nervously before he shyly replied, “It’s just something my mother used to tell me: the kindest, most caring people are so worried about everyone else that they don’t even notice when their hands are cold.”

For some reason… him just saying that… it created a pressure in your chest, an almost overwhelming feeling, as if you were a pitcher ready to overflow with emotion. It was… it was gentlest thing anyone had ever said to you.

You felt the tears threatening to overflow, but you kept them hidden. After all, why would anyone cry at that?

All you could do was purse your lips as you look down at the ground, half-heartedly nodding your head, hoping that it was enough to hide the emotion threaten to escape. If Dr. Choi noticed, he didn’t say anything. He simply made a hum of acknowledgement, squeezing your hand before gently tugging you to an unspecified direction.

Little Coco couldn’t seem to make up her mind on whether or not she wanted to be carried or to lead the charge. Either way, Youngj — Dr. Choi — seemed to give in to her each time, never letting go of your hand no matter what. Coco was in his arms when she realized where we were and she started swimming frantically in the air, barking excitedly.

You couldn’t help but giggle as Dr. Choi sighed in defeat, setting the little hellion on the ground as she tried to mush her way through the people trying to go about their lives as she focused in on one target: MeongMeong Cafe.

The little cafe was on the ground floor, almost tucked away between the buildings, the light pastels and sepia tones a strong contrast to the grey buildings around it. The sun rise hadn’t quite yet turned this part of the city golden, the tones still a cool blue, just waiting to be woken by the spell of the sun. But that little cafe, with its little picket fence surrounding a small area of grass and it’s sepia shingles waiting for the sun to bring them to life, was already bustling to life inside. The cafe owner you presumed, was running about inside, setting up tables for the day and placing bread in the display cases.

As you approached the cafe, through the window, you saw the cafe owner look up, a look of surprise graced his features before a gummy smile took over as he opened the front door to the three of you. “Youngjae-yah!! Coco-ssi!! Welcome back!”

Dr. Choi returned the warm greeting, letting go of hand for a moment to wave at him, leaving your hand almost unbearably cold. “Hello, Mark-hyung! How’s it’s going?”

Coco’s barks suddenly came more rapidly as she pulled Dr. Choi after her even harder as a small (but most definitely larger than Coco), white poodle looked around the corner of the door. The shop owner, Mark, muttered something as he looked down at the dog at his feet, prompting the dog to sit down at him feet, its little paws tapping in excitement as it sat there.

Mark shook his head with an exasperated sigh, smiling slightly as Coco continued to lead the charge towards the cafe. “You know how it is, Youngjae-yah. But that’s besides the point.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Who is this lovely lady?”

Your face flushed with heat and you couldn’t help but look down at your shoes. Youngjae — no, Dr. Choi — gently entangled his fingers within your own, giving your hand a very gentle squeeze in assurance. He introduced you to Mark. “She’s from out of town and I’m giving her the local’s tour of the city.”

Mark’s eyes crinkled in the corner as he shot you a smile. “Then welcome to MeongMeong Cafe.”

You muttered your thanks as Dr. Choi led you inside to a table in the corner.

Sitting down, you noted that the cafe was the same on the inside as it was on the outside with pastel and sepia colors furniture all over the place. Nothing was a matching set it seemed, almost like repurposed yard sale items, but all dog friendly. In the corner of the shop was a blackboard, the menu items scrawled across it in different colors with their prices trailing after it.

Mark wiped his hands on his apron before pulling out a notepad from his apron pocket, the poodle (while Dr. Choi affectionately greeted as ‘Mimi’) following him, seemingly waiting for a command. He shot Dr. Choi an almost pointed look. “The usual for you and the cottonball, I take it?”

Dr. Choi glanced sheepishly at you before turning his gaze back to Mark. “Yeah.”

Mark hummed his understanding and jotted it down then turned to you. “And for the lovely lady?”

Your insides clenched in anxiety? What did you want? You looked past the two of them at the chalkboard covered in what felt like hundreds of choices. Did you want something sweet? Savory? Salty? Sour? Did you like bitter? 500 years was a long time between meals.

Dr. Choi placed his hand over yours, grabbing your attention. “If you’re up for it, I suggest the mocha latte and the croissant of the day.”

Mark piped in, “Which is Eggs Benedict, by the way.”

You swallowed looking between the two of them. “Um, then I will go with that then.”

“Alright then. Come on, Milo.”

Mark smiled as he jotted down your orders on his little notepad before making his way back towards what you supposed was the kitchen, Milo hot on his heels. You turned your attention back to Dr. Choi and you found yourself shrinking in on yourself, blushing under the intensity of his gaze.

Is this what it was like to be human? Is this what Jaebeom felt like? To feel constantly overwhelmed?

“Since you mentioned that this was the first time in Seoul for you, where do you live?”

For a moment your reply caught in your throat. Nowhere, just a forest between life and death.

“Busan! Yes, it took quite a while to get here.”

Dr. Choi smiled. “Ahhh. An overnight train ride then. I love Busan: the architecture, the food!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that. He leaned back in his chair as he hummed. “And the people, so it seems.”

You knew that wasn’t true, but nonetheless, heat rose to your cheeks like an inferno. Youngjae — no, stop it — Dr. Choi asked, “Tell me about what you do for a living?”

Yeah… ‘living.’ Laughable.

Chewing on your bottom lip for a moment, you thought on how to answer it. “I’m in the family business.”

Dr. Choi sat forward, interest piqued as Mark returned with two coffees on adorable little plates, decorated with watercolor paw prints. “What does your family do?”

Before you could think better on it, you spat out, “Funerary services: cremations, burials, wakes, and the likes.”

Mark… poor Mark paused, his expression unreadable before he quietly excused himself. Dr. Choi on the other hand surprised you; he laughed. You stared at him, jaw slack and brow knit.

“I’m sorry…. I shouldn’t have laughed. I found it ironic. You give souls their final farewells while I welcome them into the world.”

Again, your heart gave a stuttering tap as a tsunami of emotion washed over you. How could he know the words you needed to hear? Or at least the ones that made you feel real at the very least. You took a sip of your coffee to try to distract yourself from the squall of emotion in your chest, only to hiss as you burn your tongue.

Dr. Choi is immediately at your side. “You ok?”

You touched the back of your hand to your mouth, looking away. “Yes, I was just being stupid.”

He laughed again and you couldn’t help but shoot him a pointed look. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Just that, some times watching you do things is like watching a child discovering something new for the first time.” He smiled down at you sweetly. “I think it’s endearingly adorable.”

Your throat felt try and your face hot and your chest felt heavy. Adorable? You? You looked away from him, trying to appear as if his words didn’t do anything to you. As if your attention was taken up by something else on the far side of the shop.

But out of the corner of your eye, as he raised his own cup of coffee to his lips, there was a twinkle of mischief and mirth in his eye. Taking a chance, you lifted your own cup to your lips, blowing on it before taking a tentative sip. Immediately you hummed in appreciation. It was delicious.

Mark came back over with another set of adorable plates, one was your croissant (looking absolutely delicious covered in Hollandaise sauce) and Dr. Choi’s waffle. From the pocket of his apron he produced some sort of gourmet dog chew setting it down on the ground for Coco to try to conquer. You thanked Mark, who gave you a gracious but overly exaggerated bow before he excused himself.

You turned back to Dr. Choi as you mentally went over a game plan on how to tackle your delicious looking (and smelling) food. “You said you welcome souls into the world. What do you mean by that?”

You knew what he did. Did it count as stalking if you’re not alive and they’re just a form of entertainment between reapings? But you had the forethought to be mindful of that. You didn’t want this illusion to burst by muttering something suspicious.

He hid a small laugh as he took a bite of his waffle. “You promise not to laugh?”

You mimicked the way he cut into his waffle, the same way with your croissant, albeit it didn’t go as smoothly as his. “Promise.”

He took a moment to chew, almost thoughtfully before he said, “I’m, uh, well… I’m an OB/GYN. I deliver babies.”

You smiled at him as he tried to hide his blush behind shoveling food into his mouth. Barely above a whisper, you replied, “I think it suits you perfectly.”

He shot you a brilliant smile, looking away from you as his cheeks began to glow a nice shade of pink. As you sat there in the golden hours of the morning, you admired his features, realization dawned on you.

You were hopelessly in love with Youngjae.

Want more like this? Check out the following:

STAR-CROSSED, a science fiction series with Jackson Wang of GOT7

As always, reviews, comments, asks, and tags are always loved! ~Peony

Also, please note that I do NOT do tagging lists. Please see my FAQ for why.

GOT7 Masterlist

Masterlist

#got7 #got7 youngjae #youngjae #choi youngjae #youngjae got7 #got7 fluff #got7 angst #Beyond the Veil #BtV #peonybane #got7 jinyoung #got7 jaebeom #got7 bambam #got7 yugyeom #got7 mark

14 notes · View notes