#the young veins my beloved sobs breaks down screaming crying | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

l-r-christian · 3 years

Note

Could you make a poly mikaelson smut??? Where they are jealous about another vampire flirting with reader and they get possessive.

Alright. We are going to break this off in little blurbs.

Warnings: Protective Mikaelsons, a bit smutty, Possessive Mikaelsons, Fluff

A/N: Gonna add my boy Finn as this was a little self indulgent 😌

Finn Mikaelson

It was a family ball that Klaus was throwing as a birthday party for Rebekah and Finn was watching over the ball. Finn really didn't feel like joining all this as he just wanted to curl up with their little wolf and sleep.

"You look grumpy."

"I do not Kol." Finn muttered as Kol smirked knowing it was Finn's turn to have the night with Y/N but it was kinda ruined when Klaus threw a party. Finn saw some vampire flirting with Y/N who looked uncomfortable and in a blur Finn was next to their little wolf.

"Darling, is this leech bothering you?" Finn said glaring as Y/N pressed close to Finn while vampire swallowed feeling nervous.

"A little bit but I would like to go upstairs."

"Of course." Finn said holding her with possessive hands picking her up. Y/N squealed finding herself on Finn's bed being kissed roughly as his hand was going under her dress.

"Finn.....the party." Y/N squeaked out as suddenly her dress was gone and his slightly cold skin met her warm skin.

"They won't miss us for a few moments." Finn whispered against her skin as his mouth moved along her neck. Y/N let out a breathy moan as Finn moved slowly touching her softly making her feel like her veins on fire.

"Finn......please." Y/N pleaded as Finn sucked on her her thigh closely to her heated center pulling a cry from her when he finally placed his mouth on her center. Y/N bit her fist shaking as Finn held her close tongue flattening against her clit and before she could cum Finn pulling away.

"Finn....no..fair." Y/N whined as he chuckled kissing her before easing into her slowly. Y/N whimpered clinging to Finn as he gripped her hips snapping his hips against hers.

"My beloved wolf, always so beautiful." Finn muttered burying his face in her neck as her walls fluttered around when he moved onto his forearms caging her under him. Y/N came with a soft cry as Finn groaned her name cumming after her nuzzling her neck listening to her pant gently tugging his hair and kissed the vampire softly.

Finn got up and cleaned her up then cuddled up to her pressing kisses on her neck as both muttered I love yous.

"They are going to come looking for us."

"I don't care. I just wanted to cuddle."

Elijah Mikaelson

Elijah glared hard at the vampire and wolf standing a little too close to Y/N while he understood that his little wolf was apart of Jackson's pack but that didn't mean he liked males being near her.

"The meeting is going a longer than thought Niklaus, Hayley seems to be adamant to make our little wolf miserable." Elijah said over the phone then looked to Y/N seeing a young vampire getting brave flirting with the woman.

"I need to go Niklaus." Elijah said eyes darken as he growled lowly hanging up. Elijah walked pass Hayley ignoring how she stared at at him.

"Just if you aren't busy we could hang out tonight? Show you a good time."

"No thank you. I am already in a relationship."

"Pffft, with the Mikaelsons. It isn't like I can't sleep with you too."

"Or I could tear your thoat out." Elijah said lowly picking Y/N up and way from the male. The vampire glared then realized he was looking at Elijah who was glaring at him.

"Eli?" Y/N squeaked whe in a flash you was pressed against a cabin wall with Elijah looking at her with hunger in his eyes. Y/N moaned when Elijah kissed her roughly his hand moving under her skirt fingers slipping pass lace as moved two fingers in her wet entrance.

"Wet already? You love it when I am rough, don't you? I want you to be nice and loud baby, let that baby vampire know who can satisfy you."

Y/N cried out gripping Elijah's shirt feeling his thumb rub her clit as Elijah bit at her neck leaving marks as his way to show she was taken. Elijah felt her wall tighten around his fingers when he added a third and moved his thumb more slowly against her clit. Elijah growled feeling Y/N move her hips against his fingers as he curled them.

"Look at you so needy. Such a good girl being loud, let him know who you belong to." Elijah said lowly in her ear feeling her shake against him, Y/N's face was flushed. Elijah smirked watching her cum with loud moan and bit Elijah's neck pulling a deep growl from his chest.

"Open." Elijah commanded as Y/N opened her mouth and Elijah placed his slick covered fingers in her mouth. Y/N's flush got worst as she tasted herself on his fingers, Elijah leaned in kissing her.

"Let's continue this at home."

Klaus Mikaelson

Y/N was in the kitchen on the phone with Damon as the two were close friends always playfully flirting. Klaus knew the two had no feelings for one another but couldn't help feel a bit possessive much like his siblings when ever Damon was around Y/N.

"Sounds like I should come and help you."

'No no. You don't have to. I'll just kill Kai then no more problems.' Damon tells her over the phone as Y/N smiled at Klaus seeing walk in.

"But my darling I would be happy to help."

'Seriously baby. No need we got it all under control.' Damon tells Y/N as she raised an eyebrow seeing Klaus down in front of her hands moving up her bare legs. Y/N only had on one of Klaus's shirts and laced panties and Y/N let out a squeal when Klaus lift her up having her legs over his shoulders then pulled off her panties and placed his mouth on her mound.

'You okay?'

"Y...y..yeah....saw...a spider." Y/N said gripping the counter as Klaus smirked against her making her ride his face while on the phone with Damon. Y/N let out a shuttering breath as Klaus groaned against her sending vibrations up her spine.

"D....D...Damon....call...you back." Y/N said hanging up feeling Klaus squeezing her ass as he ate her out. Y/N leaned forward on the counter shaking as she let out puffs of air babbling unable to think straight.

"Ni.....N....Nik....someone..could walk in." Y/N panted out trembling feeling him move to her clit sucking harshly making her cry out. Y/N bit her first teasr swelling in her eyes her face flushed and Klaus pulled her closer fucking her with his tongue. Y/N cummed hard shaking panting nearly sobbing as Klaus pulled away just as Y/N felt overstimulated.

"Are you okay, love?" Klaus asked picking her up kissing along her neck.

"Yeah...tired though." Y/N muttered as Klaus took her up stairs to clean her up.

"Oh love, I'm not done with you yet."

Kol Mikaelson

It happen in a blur when Kol threw a vampire that tried kissing Y/N which at first Kol was amused at the vampire's poor a tempt at flirting with the wolf but when he moved to kiss her, Kol wasn't having none of it. Y/N squeaked finding herself in the bathroom with Kol kissing her roughly and she kissed back.

"Kol?"

"Hmm?" Kol hummed moving his mouth along her neck hiking her higher grinding against her pulling a breathy moan from her.

"Are you sure, we can do it here?"

"Why not? You and Elijah had done it in semi public." Kol tells her rubbing her though her panties as she flushed remembering a month ago. Kol kissed her again this time much softer as small moans and huffs could be heard by anyone listening closely.

"Kol.....ah....fuck." Y/N babbled against the vampire's neck as Kol fucked her hard against the wall. Kol kissed her roughly as his thumb found her clit making her cry out throwing her head back.

"Letting all those vampires know who is railing you? Who you belong to." Kol whispered in her ear clearly enjoying the fact that Y/N was was a flushing mess as he fucked her. Y/N tighten her hold on him feeling her orgasm get closer and Kol could tell kissing her deeply swallowing her loud moans as she came hard pulling him with her.

"Let's get you home and cleaned up. We can watch a movie and cuddle."

"O..o..kay but carry me.....I can't feel my legs."

Rebekah Mikaelson

Y/N layed on bed with her face buried in a pillow as she was being loud and gripping the sheets while Rebekah fucked her from behind. Early that night Rebekah and Y/N was at Marcel's club enjoying a night out away from the brothers for once when a female vampire flirted with Y/N right in front of Rebekah.

So one threat and Y/N trying to calm Rebekah, both women went back to the compound that ended with Rebekah fucking her girlfriend. Y/N trembled crying out Rebekah's name when the blonde placed a vibrator on her cilt. Normally Rebekah wasn't one to get jealous nor feel possessive but something about the female vampire flirting with her wolf made Rebekah want to claim the wolf.

"Re...Re...Rebekah....please." Y/N whimpered shaking now as Rebekah moved the vibrator in time with her thrusts. Rebekah smirked seeing Y/N pulling at the sheets her face flushed with tears rolling down her face.

"Just one more beautiful. You are doing so well." Rebekah whispered kissing along the wolf's damp back. Rebekah had already pulled three orgasms from Y/N and six was going to be their personal record. Y/N pushed back against the strap on jolting when Rebekah turned the vibrator up. Y/N cummed letting out a silent scream arching as Rebekah pulled the vibrator away and pulled out.

"You did do well beautiful." Rebekah praised kissing Y/N's skin as the wolf panted trembling from the after shocks of her orgasm.

"Too rough?" Rebekah asked gently rubbing Y/N's back seeing the wolf falling asleep.

"No." Y/N mumbled as Rebekah smiled kissing her cheek then moved cleaning the wolf up and joined her in bed. Y/N nuzzled close to Rebekah muttering I love you as the vampire smiled kissing her head and both fell asleep but before doing so Y/N planned to talk to her mates about their possessive fucking as it hff and wore her out.

#L.R writes #mikaelson x reader #mikaelson family x reader #elijah mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson imagine #kol mikaelson imagine #rebekah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson smut #klaus mikaelson smut #kol mikaelson smut #Rebekah mikaelson smut

1K notes · View notes

lilyrachelcassidy · 4 years

Text

Blank

A/N: Everyone, care to explain why shit leaks out of me over here, instead of using it to study?? Probably, my brain is like: “I’m in refusal to do anything else, so just shut your mouth, and-”... Anyway, here is a little inspiration I got yesterday, under the shower (yes!! I know!!), and I decided to write it down today. It may or may not be cohesive - sorry! Hope you enjoy guys (:

Summary: The traumatic experience shows that commitments and choices bring up responsibilities for themselves. In an attempt to prove the rightness of this conviction, Voldemort forces Draco to make the next complex and life-changing decisions.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: a lot of injuries; death(!); language (very little of swearing, so congrats to me!); sexual allusions; crudeness; violence; Unforgivable curses; the dark themes; sooo angsty

Tags: @drawlfoy

Her insides were burning.

The body felt as if it was on fire, with every flame slowly and unbearably torturing each of her… well, everything.

Her throat was far too dry to be so-called on the regular standard, and was asking for an evident need of water; the eyes were watering with the same speed as the emotional roller-coaster she was undergoing through at this moment; the heart was pumping too much blood to her veins, making her head dizzy enough for her not being able to think clearly; the breath was rapid and shallow, and even if she had known what she wanted to say, it surely wouldn't have allowed her to do so; also the bone-breaking impression could be, as well, considered as one of the factors influencing on the sanity.

And the feelings she was experiencing? Helplessness, sorrow, and something similar to dejection. Perhaps, it was a realization of the final end that was about to show up soon.

The vision was way too blurry to let her see and get hanging on what was happening around her. Just the hearing was one and the only sense used as a hint on that she was still alive. Or, at least, she hopefully thought so.

“Please, make it stop!” Draco’s faint and breaking voice begged. It was so much different than a normal tone of her Draco’s she used to know. “I’ll do everything! Just make it… stop, please.”

Voldemort smiled broadly, revealing the slight part of his psychopathic nature and allowing view-access to his peculiarly yellowish teeth. “Young Draco, I want you to be well-aware of the consequences of the decisions you make next time. You did not obey the established rules and the task I have designated. And now the girl is suffering,” he laughed. “However, there is one proposition I could kindly persuade.”

Draco nodded merely for him to continue, his features expressing nothing else but supreme worry and anticipation on his words.

"Kill her," Voldemort demanded loudly, turning the wand around, in his slender fingers. Seeing as Draco's eyes widen with shock and at the absurd of this offer, the grin reappeared on his mouth. "Do as I say and spare her agony. Death caused by Crucio curse seems to be an extreme torment compared with simple Avada Kedavra."

The silence fell over, and the only sound heard in the room were quiet sobs coming out from the floor, where Y/N was laying. At the sight of the devastated state of the most relevant person in Draco's life, his heart felt as if broken into pieces. All he wanted to do was to run up to her curled on the ground body, taking it into a warm embrace and comforting her with the truth that everything had come up into the end.

But the truth it, unfortunately, wasn't. Or otherwise, not one he believed in anymore.

Draco shook his head. "I'm-I'm-" he stuttered, the gaze never leaving Y/N's figure. He tried to sound casual and failed completely. "It's impossible. I mean, I can't."

"Well, then - Crucio!" said a firm, deep voice, and the next surge of pain passed through Y/N, making the room fill with a rush of empty screams again. It was too much for her to endure.

"Stop, please. My Dark Lord, I swear I'll do eve-"

"Quiet boy!" hissed Voldemort, evidently coping with frustration at Draco's defensive attitude. "You have undertaken the task, in which the accomplishment was unsuccessful. Resolutions require choices, and choices need responsibility for themselves. So now, do as I say or enjoy the show of the girl's misery."

Draco ceased talking, seemingly making up his mind that it wasn’t worth arguing any longer on the matter. He tightly clenched his jaw, hating a little clutching in the chest at the imagination on what was about to happen and at the flashback of memories from previous years.

And a few things flitted through his brain, try as he might to suppress them.

The pair of the lips, their lips, synchronously moving along.

His pale hands wandering all over her soft skin, trailing small circles on her back, then quickly finding their way on her outer hips and her minty breath pleasantly tingling hair on the back of his neck.

A whisper, his own, half-subtle and half-assured: "I fucking love you."

A giggle in his ear, hers, accompanied with an answer, short and careless as if nothing mattered, and yet so meaningful to these days: "I fucking love you too, Dray."

Every recollection of those words and moments, after all, made him realize how ungrateful he had been for never truly appreciating this precious time he had had with her; for fulfilling his life with happiness that he couldn't thank her for enough. Bloody egocentric prick.

"I'm impatient, boy," Draco heard from behind. And indeed, as he turned, Voldemort was. Sauntering around with Nagini following shortly after his black cloak, he was still twirling the yew-wand around, and there was no bigger necessity than glancing briefly sideways to register radiating blinding rage.

Draco, for the first time, looked so pale and grimly. All of his attention was entirely focused on Y/N, attempting to memorize her beautiful face, as a photograph, for last. He stayed rotted to the ground, gulping, whilst Y/N shrank, letting out the small groans of pain induced by all the injuries on her body and not well-taking to the situation. "Could I just say a proper goodbye to her?"

"There is no need for that, boy," Voldemort answered before Draco could barely finish his sentence. Clearly, he had come up to the edge between boredom and irritability at the played out love-display he was taking part in. "It is your ultimate chance."

Draco blinked. As he was told and taught -by his parents- while developing his Death Eater skills, it was sometimes easier to try to have part of your brain switch on and off, if it was about... solving matters. Something just like a detachment, helping through emotional-muddling; an ability to approach to action matter-of-factly, clearing out with redundant thoughts, and just doing things that were required to be done. It was useful, his mother proclaimed, when it was about saving himself or beloved ones from affliction.

And that's what he did now.

"It was a pleasure knowing you," he said in a brisk, distanced tone; and before she could say those words back; before she could get a snatch of the intensive-green light being released out of his wand; before he could fall apart, crying out for forgiveness.

Final blank.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x oc #draco x you #Draco Malfoy #hp #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x you #hp fandom #hp fanfic #draco malfoy fanfiction #voldemort #draco malfoy fic #harry potter imagine #draco malfoy drabble #pottermore

152 notes · View notes

fvrxdrm · 3 years

Text

Personal - Songfic (Leon Kennedy x Reader)

Pairing: RE6!Leon x Bisexual!Reader

Warning(s): Angst, death, slight fluff at the end

Song: Personal by Against the Current

*****

Death is the gateway to rebirth, and at someone beloved passes through, we both mourn and celebrate. We fee their loss in our life and community, yet we celebrate all that they achieved in their lifetime for goodness, for love, for the natural world, for humanity.

People think I look crazy Picking fights with the clear blue wall Hard to reach you lately Straining my neck, just to talk You got caught in the hunger And I know it was chemical Didn't plan to go under But I took it personal

Brick by brick, your walls tumbled down, collapsing into a million pieces as you held onto the trembling hand of your best friend. The tears of fire did not matter to you nor did the monsters that slowly took the life of the girl you loved. All that mattered to you was holding onto her until the last breath trickled away from her paling lips for you knew that was the last you'll ever see her.

You held onto each other, tightly clutching the other as quiet sobs spilled from both of your lips. As much as you tried to hold it in, trying to appear stronger just for her, you couldn't. The pain came out like an uproar from your throat in the form of a silent scream. The beads of water falling down one after another, without a sign of stopping.

"Please, don't go," you cried, your grip on her tightening as you pleaded.

Death wasn't kind. You knew that. It snatched where it could, taking people who were far too young, far too good. It didn't pretend to care, it didn't pretend to distinguish. The hooded vale of death had hung over the world for a long time, always threatening. Death had ripped away a part of her, the part of her that was most loved. Now, your friend would sit staring for hours, her face sunken and haunted, her mind cold and empty. This was another proof that the world had gone cold because of greed, war, and death.

"I have to, Y/N," she replied as her free hand cradled your face. Despite her skin feeling cold and dead, you found comfort in her touch and the fact that that would be the last time you would ever feel it against yours sent another wave of pain in your chest; clenching and twisting your heart as if it was a fruit being plucked from a tree.

You pressed your face against her neck at her reply and cried louder than before, letting her sway your body as she tried to comfort both you and her as much as she could.

When you let those blue eyes turn grey I took it personal

She knew her time was limited. She could feel it. She could feel the disease running through her veins and it wouldn't be long before she would turn into one of the things she was fighting against...for the world.

When you took my hero away Death isn't personal

Slowly, her eyes started turning feeble and lamented, her bloodied skin being embellished by purple and none, her body was losing strength...she was dying...and she accepted it. However, before she could lose everything that she had on earth, she wanted to tell you her last words, to tell you to live your happiest in that drunken world. She wanted to tell you to live your life with the person you loved the most.

"Hey, Y/N, listen to me," she said, holding both of your cheeks in her hands while her thumb gently wiped the crystal tears of agony away. She hated seeing you like that but there was no choice. She had to go. "You...take care of each other, okay?"

"What?" You questioned, confused as to what she was talking about.

"You know what I mean. Take care of each other and...don't let each other end up like me. Don't let each other go," she said. She stared at you for a few seconds, taking in the last face she would ever see before she finally leaves the world before pressing her lips against yours. The kiss spoke a million emotions, a volume of passion that transcended the works of the great poets combined. But then you realized, that was your first and last kiss.

"I love you, Y/N."

***

The sun shone brightly above you, funnily contrasting to the emotions you felt as you clutched onto the bouquet of your late friend and lover's favorite flowers. You took your time approaching her gravestone, taking slow steps as you knew that once you saw her name perfectly engraved on the hardened material, you would break down and you wouldn't figure out how to let her go without feeling so much pain and distress.

I scream at your ghost When I miss you the most

But the thing is...you made a silent promise.

I'll lace up my armour and fight for us both Finish what you started and crown your stone

But even so, do you have it in you to let her go?

Maybe I could let go, let go, let go

Maybe.

There was still a maybe.

You knew it was going to be hard, but you have to...for her.

You have to be a hero for her, to gear up and fight for the both of you...you have to.

As your eyes lingered on the slab of stone implanted on the ground with your everything buried beneath it, a man watched you fall apart from afar. He had heard about what happened and he knew about how you felt about the deceased girl. Oh, how he wished it was him you loved but he knew it was impossible so he pretended to throw those feelings aside and be a friend for you.

"Y/N?" He called out your name as he approached you from where his partner was still grieving for her sister. You slowly turned your head around, afraid to show how vulnerable you felt right at that moment but you knew there was no hiding it so you just let it be.

And his heart stopped.

He already expected you to be like that but shit. He still didn't know what to do. All he could think about right at that moment was engulf you in his warmth and tell you that everything was going to be okay even though he knew that was the opposite. But he did it anyway.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you close, gently rubbing your arm. Despite the heaviness in your stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of your body pressed against his. You sunk into the warmth of his body, appreciative of the simple gesture. His touch made everything warmer somehow, your future within its walls seeming a little less bleak.

But that didn't mean it stopped you from sniveling.

He held you tighter as soon as he heard you sniffle, seemingly puzzled as to what he was supposed to do next to comfort you a little bit more.

As you were crying all your torment and affliction out from losing someone so important to you, you couldn't but think about how lucky you were to have somebody like Leon.

Yes, Leon.

The man who guided you through your journey in that greedy world. The man who fought by your side. The man who...who you also loved the most.

You couldn't help it. You couldn't help but admire him. You couldn't help but fall in love with the man who you had grown close with through the years of fighting off the monstrosities that lurked in the face of the earth... And you you sure as hell couldn't help but pull his face to yours and feel those lips of his.

Now, you knew what she meant.

She wanted you to be happy with Leon, to be happy with each other. She wanted you both to not let each other go. She wanted you to love each other. She saw it through your eyes right when you first saw Leon and she did see it through his...and she didn't want you to give that up...so she let you be even if it hurt.

Maybe I could let go, let go, let go

I loved you both, you know. It was hard to choose between the two of you but I know I gotta keep my promise and let you go...maybe.

I promise I'll finish what you started in honor of you, of us. I won't give up on anything, ever.

So, I guess this is goodbye. I'll see you in the afterlife.

Never let go

*****

So, how was this? I kind of rushed this because I got school things to do. I would write this later when I'm not busy but I don't want my inspiration to go away so I wrote this now. Hope you enjoyed this though.

#leonkennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagines #leon s kennedy x reader #leonxreader #leon kennedy x you #leon+kennedy+fanfic #leon+kennedy+imagine #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #resident evil x reader #resident evil #resident evil fanfic

79 notes · View notes

seafleece · 4 years

Text

“you know, you’re not very brave.”

he thinks vax missed being taller than him. it’s hard to give a statement like that any weight when you’re looking up to someone.

he puts a hand to his heart. “well, thank you.”

“it’s not a compliment.”

“oh, but it is, vax’ildan.” he casts a look over all of them— out of their mechs, showing the signs of being rattled in them, like yolks in an egg. “seeing how well bravery treats all of you. i don’t need to be brave. i need to be smart. in fact, i would say the latter prevents the former.”

they all look rather stonily at him, so he pretends to be interested suddenly in the haphazard schematic on his desk and deflects. “so the materials. i won’t be getting them myself, of course— bruises would ruin my cowardly complexion, you see—“

—

they do the damn thing, of course.

vecna builds himself a beautiful beast, all right, but aspirations are like a tower— you need to build ever higher, but the resources stay finite. you scrape the sky only to find you’ve been cutting at your foundation to craft your spire, and a tap has you tumbling back to earth.

he works and works on the traveler, and doesn’t think about the psychopomp or the friends he left behind when the blaze of him across the sky burnt out.

he never comes up with a better name for it, too busy thinking about what it’ll be like to stand beneath a blue sky. a traveler for a traveler— it suffices. you only need a name if you’re going to be introduced to someone else, and that’s not exactly the plan.

he’d never thought about it before vax’ildan, but he takes a moment as he puts the finishing touches on the cloaking mechanism to enjoy cowardice, to revel in safety by his own hand. he’s always been good at avoidance, and now he sees it realized.

the thought leaps unbidden that cowards only live to watch the brave die for them, and he laughs shakily to dispel it. maybe vax’ildan is waiting on some gray shore to ferry him to places unknown, but he’ll be waiting forever.

—

it’s not brave, talking to her.

it’s one of the safest things he could do— she’s a child. no friends, no risk of exposure. there’s so much to be afraid of here that it becomes what keeps him going, just cataloguing it all. strange big loud world, ocean roaring and ships crashing and business and politics and people and life always happening, so fast and so short, like lit brush, like moths. he sees a girl with her head propped on her fist, idly coloring in a flower on her bedroom wall, and he’s unafraid of what she could do.

talking to jester isn’t brave. it’s not breaking the rules he’s got for laying low.

but it is stupid.

—

“what’s it called?”

“the traveler.”

never named, never meant to be introduced. a rule broken. jester punctuates it by clapping her little hands giddily. “it’s beautiful. did you make it all yourself?”

“i did indeed.”

“momma says dad had one, but i don’t think it was this pretty. she said he even let her fly it one time, but that they ran into some bad guys and that’s how he decided he had to leave, to keep her safe.”

“ah,” he says, having nothing better to say.

“can i try yours out?”

she’s maybe three or four feet tall. her hands wouldn’t even reach all of the controls, he thinks, from the chair.

“i don’t think so,” he says, and then surprises himself by tacking on “i’m sorry” when her face crumples, even moreso when he realizes he means it.

—

“did you see the kids down at the beach?”

“i did.”

“do you think—“ she twists her hands nervously. “i never had any friends before you. i don’t know how to make them.”

it’s like she’s punched him.

(scanlan was funny. he’d offered even to take a look over bigby the night before saundor, and he’d seen a picture taped to scanlan’s control panel, a young woman, scowling at the camera. who’s this, he’d said, tongue a little loose with borrowed wine, and scanlan had sighed with his tongue and heart even looser and said, my daughter, and the understanding had fizzled right out of him. he didn’t even try with the others, but losing the feeling of having a mirror in someone else for the first time, of commiserating, of talking, even, it lingers.

scanlan came back ready to fight a god, and he mourned the loss of something he never really succeeded in having at all.)

“it just takes practice,” he says. “making friends.”

he can see she’s close to crying, and it stabs at him. “how am i supposed to practice?” she whispers. “i can’t leave.”

he excuses himself and listens to her start to cry, sniffles and then sobs too full of feeling for a child, and then he goes to the traveler sitting cloaked and cowardly in a cliff alcove, and gets to work.

—

“you know, i’m proud of you.”

“thanks? i’m a little busy right now.”

he keeps talking like he hasn’t heard her.

on her dash, the indicator is bright, green and steady. it’s not the first time she’s run out of power on a mission before. not even the second, or third, or fourth. it switches over automatically— not a big deal, but seeing that light blink on, she feels safe. whole.

“you’re braver than me.”

she doesn’t say anything.

“you always were. i made this ship so it could never be found, and you’ve done more with it in plain view then i ever did in hiding. more with me.”

vokodo’s an ugly thing, swimming bulbous in the thin atmosphere. heat ripples around him, distorting the sky. fire bursts in tiny pockets where debris is caught too close or simply sheds from him, and when it burns out the remains trail ash down, down to the distant earth.

“hope you’re watching, psychopomp.”

“hmm?”

“ah, don’t worry.”

then, she gets shot.

—

he doesn’t finish before it breaks bad.

the mechanism is— it’s complicated. hard to keep himself himself.

he’s just decided to call it for the day when he hears feet kicking up sand towards the entrance, tearing at the hanging coastal plants.

“i messed up.”

she looks distraught when she gets through, breathing hard and face tracked with tears.

“um—“

“i can’t go home. i don’t have anywhere else.”

he darts his eyes over to the traveler and back again. not finished, but serviceable.

“i—“

“you can drop me off in port damali, or at the gorge, or anywhere, just,” and she swipes at her eyes, “take me with you.”

“you can have it.”

“what?”

he’s surprised by it, too. surprised it was that simple to cross over that last threshold— all the planning was easier when he was unsure it would come to fruition.

“i’ve been working on it. you’ll be able to pilot it, reach all the controls and everything.”

“what about you?”

“i’ll come with you— i. i can’t always be there, but uh— it’s me. the traveler. it’s part of me, a version of me. i can try to be it when you need me.”

“why?”

in his mind’s eye he sees a little girl in the alcove of a hidden beach. watching with wide eyes as ships cut smooth trails across the water and fade against the horizon, as people gather on the sand in loud clusters and hold each other’s hands to wade into the surf.

watching the world pass by without her.

“friendship, i guess. i’m not good at it either.”

—

it’s quiet, is the thing. falling from the sky.

it’s a wobbly spiral they cut, like a bird broken. jester’s hands slip from the controls— sweat or blood, he can’t quite tell.

“jester.”

he doesn’t think she could even say anything— the speed would tear it from her throat into a million shreds. he speaks in her mind instead, the way he hasn’t for a long time.

below them the wings of the stormlord burst from the sides, a symphony of metal pinions. they shoot past her and she dives, too slow, too slow.

beau and expositor 008 are clinging to him, still. its rotating claws are deep and the paint, the outer plates are searing away, dripping from its titanium bones. he thinks beau is probably screaming.

if it were a better day to die he thinks he would spin a speech, his best one. she’d cry, and then laugh through it. he’d go offline in a shower of sparks.

but it’s never a good day to die. jester is about to black out from hypoxia. The ground lurches to meet them like an eager magnet. he doesn’t even know if she can hear him.

“love you, jester.”

no swirl. no green. just the thing you say to someone beloved if you think it’ll be the last.

it looks beautiful. the invisible paneling unfolds, like a flower in reverse. heat skates on the surface, red and blue and white.

deep in the dissolving wires, he closes his eyes. the panels drip invisibility as it burns from them. they close on jester like a shell, bright and obvious in the sky.

then, it breaks into spinning shards on the sea.

they float like feathers, silent and empty.

jester’s father has water in his veins. she goes under and sinks for a long moment. blood is washed from her nose, her ears, carried away and lost.

then, she breaks the surface.

#my writing #mech au #jester lavorre #the traveler #artagan #vax'ildan #death mention #ask to tag #!!

19 notes · View notes

inforapound · 4 years

Text

Ease The Dawn Pt. 2 Ch.6

A/N - Thank you for reading. The comments last week were so motivating.

Warnings - angst, blood

Words - 1,500

Catching Aethelswith's lips with his one last time, he released his grip on her waist, allowing her to slip free. Her tiny fingers slid out of his outstretched hand and she looked back at him and smiled. Soft wisps of strawberry golden hair framed her perfect face and Ivar thought she looked breathtaking. Turning away, she moved down the steps and toward their chambre; his blue eyes fixed on her lissom form, his body still warmed from her attention, as she made her way back to their chamber to prepare for the evening.

The small blonde slave stepped out from where she had been waiting against the wall and rushed to follow as Aethelswith made her way down the corridor. Ivar did not miss the way Freydis glanced back over her shoulder, with a hopeful look that his eyes might focussed on her. Forgetting herself, she swayed her hips and Ivar thought Hvitserk, or any other man, would take it for what it was, an invitation.

Wincing, he adjusted on his chair, hoping to find a position that might ease the stabbing in his legs. It was of no use, of course, and despite the added strain, he already missed the feel of Aethelswith's bottom pressing down on his lap.

"Gods," he exclaimed and closed his eyes. Withdrawing from her felt impossible. It forced him to question the strength of his resolve. He felt at war with himself yet avoiding her was his only chance of her experiencing just a sliver of the rejection he felt. It would be so easy to give in and plunge under the warm waters of her affection; her skin, her scent, her taste and feel, her curiosity, and the way she subtly smirked before saying something witty. He loved her. The fact that she could place her god or some nothing man between them felt like a knife splaying his ribs apart. But now, tasting her sweetness after so long made his mind soar but he could not undo his ultimatum. What kind of man would break his word? No man worthy of her, he assured himself. For the time being he would feel lost without her touch until she chose what he had to believe was their fate.

As nothing beyond them had any true meaning and at times he wondered, if he was a less greedy man, could he turn his back on everything, his throne, his legacy, his need for victory. No, he scoffed out loud, clearing his throat and straightening on his seat. They would have it all. Why should he ever choose? He was the favoured son of Ragnar Lothbrok. A Viking king, and with her at his side, more powerful than any man. Glory for him was not a question of deserving but taking.

Sinking down further into his chair, he slumped onto an elbow feeling the heaviness in his limbs. The worry struck that he might not be able to make it back to their room upright because of the degree of his pain. If the hall had been less occupied, he would simply drop to the ground and crawl back. He had pushed his limits inspecting the new sections of the wall. Still under construction, he had walked the areas his chariot could not reach before heading to the yard to oversee the training. Since starting the fortification, he had surveyed the progress each day, unrelenting in his demands for speed and excellence.

Holding his cup out to the side, it was refilled for the third time. If it did not quell the pain in his lower half he would concede and drink the tea Aethelswith kept in supply from the healers.

Hurried voices cut through his thoughts, jabbing at his foulness. He growled in the direction of the divide leading into the kitchen and took a slow drink from his topped-up ale, his eyes staring out above the rim of his horn. He could still hear the faceless thralls, jabbering on.

"Quiet!" he roared, spittle flying from his mouth as he lowered his cup down onto his armrest. Glaring out as if to challenge the room, he scanned all those occupying benches drinking his ale. No one met his stare, but everyone seemed to tense, holding their breath, waiting.

Brigit, a stout, matronly dressed slave raced around the divide, stopping below his throne at the foot of the stairs. Shifting her feet side to side she gave the impression that she might wet herself. Opening his mouth as if to deliver his wrath, Brigit cut him off.

"My king, it is Lady Aethelswith."

Closing his mouth, he listened.

"You must come. Quickly."

Hearing nothing after she spoke his beloved's name, Ivar was already up and out of his chair, down the stairs, making his way through the corridor, hardly leaning on his crutch.

The shrill voices coming from their chambre reached him before he rounded the threshold. Entering, he lurched to a stop. Blood. Her blood. Her precious, sacred, crimson blood, everywhere. Smeared across the floor from the tub to where she lay, carelessly dropped on their bed like she had been discarded. Her face was coated with what looked like red honey and Ivar's his mind raced, attempting to make sense of the scene. His love! Unconscious and nude but for a loose sheet tossed across her front.

A young thrall, no more than sixteen, crouched over Aethelswith stroking back the damp hair stuck to the side her face; the girl's hands were shaking and coated with blood. Kneeling, as if in prayer, Freydis crouched on the far side of the room, sobbing into her hands.

"No," the word tumbled from his tongue. "Nooo!" he screamed; his eyes wild with confusion. "Do not touch her!" he shouted, rushing forward, and dropping onto his stomach onto the bed. "Who did this! Get your hands off her!" he snarled grabbing her small body and pulling her limp shoulders toward him. Her eyes were closed and her slack mouth hung open.

The thralls scattered back from the bed like mice.

"My sweet? My sweet?" Frantically, his eyes darted between her features, his hands skimming her body, searching for a wound. Letting go, he heaved himself closer and pressed his ear to her chest, letting out a cry of a relief detecting the steady rhythm of her heart.

"What happened?" he roared so loud it echoed into the hall.

The older slave stepped forward, pressing a cloth to Aethelswith's forehead. Lifting the cloth, Ivar saw the dark opening of a deep gash buried within her hairline. Off-center and hard to detect with the amount of blood flowing out. Flipping the rag over, the Brigit pressed down on it with a firm hand.

"What happened!" he demanded again, snapping his head up, his cold furious eyes cutting into the woman.

Turning to look behind her, the old thrall eyed Freydis who now sat on the floor against the wall, her arms hugging her knees to her chest.

Glancing down to Aethelswith, he snatched the blood-soaked rag from Brigit and pressed it himself just above her temple. The gaze he returned to Freydis was beyond a threat, he was marking her death.

As if trying to escape, she dropped her hands to either side, pushing herself harder against the wall.

"I am so sorry, my King," her face twisted in fear. "She slipped climbing from the tub. There must have been soap on the floor. I,'I, I" she stuttered, choking on tears, "I am so sorry. Please, my King. Please forgive....."

"Get out!" Ivar shrieked, his grip around Aethelswith was the only reason his ax had not already been hurled in her direction.

Ivar flung the drenched cloth onto the floor as the older woman quickly pressed another rag to her wound. Ivar smacked her hand away and held it himself.

"Get the healer!" he barked into the air. "Run! Tell her it is the queen and she will need to be stitched. How could you have let this happen?" he hissed, dropping his eyes back to Aethelswith, too angry to cry.

Having driven a blade into countless skulls on the battlefield, he knew head wounds could be the most gruesome. Hers made worse by the hot bath opening her veins and after a blunt blow, her thin blood was raging. Pressing his lips to her sticky red face, he rushed out whispered assurance and how much he loved her while pulling the stained covers up to shield her body.

It was hard for him to breathe, feeling cold spread through his chest. The sensation making a memory flash of him breaking through ice on his chariot. Lifting the cloth, he watched the jagged tear in her skin fill again with blood. Pressing harder, he could only stare and pray to the Gods.

She lay peacefully still with her eyes gently closed looking like a perfect doll but soiled with gore and blood. He wanted to kill everyone in the room and the hall, Kattegat even, but he would not let go of his sweet. She was his heart, his dreams, everything; his beautiful Aethelswith.

@youbloodymadgenius @naaladareia @whenimaunicorn @lol-haha-joke @ceridwenofwales @youbelongeverywhere @jaydelesley4 @equalstrashflavoredtrash @sweeneythots @funmadnessandbadassvikings @fangirl-nonsense @thiahilmarsdottir @redama @mdredwine @didiintheblog @yourpurplequeen @justanothershelby @londongal2810 @fields-and-fields-of-poppies @readsalot73 @hexqueensupreme @silly-bullshit-collector @littlecarolina94 @oddsnendsfanfics

#ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar's heathen army #Ivar and Aethelswith #ivar fanfic #ivar fic #vikings ivar #vikings fanfiction #ease the dawn #ivar love #ivar romance #ivar smut #ivar slow burn #ivar and princess #king ivar

68 notes · View notes

mia-madness · 5 years

Text

Hi all. Not sure why I wrote this. A scene popped into my head while at work, and it demanded to be written. Ive never written fanfic before (rdr2 is taking over my life i s2g) Hope you like 💚

•FemaleReader

~~~~

It'll Be Okay

*February 19th, 1899*

A single lifeless body lay sprawled on the ground, staining the snow red. The cabin behind him belched smoke out of the windows framed in shattered glass; the door hung haphazardly from a single hinge. The roof groaned from the heat of the blaze, caving in and sending sparks into the sky. A group of rambunctious young men whooped and hollered, firing pistols into the sky, riding horses around the property in celebration.

"People'll think next time about messing with the O'Driscolls! Ha! Steal from us and we'll make you pay!"

A lone figure watched from the treeline. Soot-smudged face streaked with tears, hair a tangled mess, a mass of bruises already forming on her arms and face. A frightened filly stomped a hoof next to her, echoing muffled sobs.

The fire continued to rage through the night, but the hatred that seethed through the woman's veins burned even brighter.

*4 months later*

"Do you think Dutch'll want the strawberries or the pineapple?"

You held both in your hands, halfheatedly looking in Tilly's direction. She shrugged, and continued to focus on the selection of candies and assorted sweets.

It was just a quick run into Valentine. You,Tilly, and Uncle were tasked with food and general supplies. Arthur wanted to look for a new horse. John needed a new pistol.

Placing both cans on the counter, you wandered over to the open window. It was a beautiful early summer day, the sun was finally shining after 3 days of torrential downpours.

You were glad to get out and do something. The last few days had been tough. With everybody holed up hiding from the rain, it gave you plenty of time to mourn, and think back to the months before. Before you were introduced to the gang. Before, when the O'Driscolls murdered your husband, when they burned your picture-perfect home to the ground; When they took everything away from you.

You were told it was a similar situation to Sadie's. She offered her condolences and a shoulder to lean on. You never took her up on the offer, instead turning to Charles.

Charles had a way of always being able to calm your thoughts. A smile, a quiet song in what little of his Native tongue he remembered, or a steady hand on your shoulder. There wasn't any sort of romance blossoming, nay. He just knew how to help, what to say to calm the rage or quell your tears.

A sudden flash of white-blonde hair caught your eye, snapping you out of your thoughts. You had seen that shade before, a few months ago. Rage blossomed in your chest and you quietly slipped outside, leaving Tilly and Uncle to debate the pros and cons of different fishing baits.

The blonde man strolled down the main street, chatting with a friend. You stepped down to the road, turning away a bit and pretending to be interested in a spot on the ground.

"Michael, you know Colm's not gonna be pleased if we don't make this bust," you heard his partner say softly. "Joshua botched the last one, but we ain't planning on taking him this time."

You waited until the pair was almost past you, then grabbed Michael's arm. Using as much strength as you could muster, you punched him square in the temple, then shoved him onto the porch.

He staggered, tripped onto the stairs, then climbed up onto the porch front with a snarl. His anger only lasted for a moment, before his eyes lit up as he recognized you, a smirk tugging at his lips. He waved a hand, almost nonchalant, and his partner holstered the pistol he had withdrawn seconds earlier.

"Was wondering when I'd see your pretty face again," Michael drawled, leaning against the railing. "Yous were out by Lake Isabella, right? You and your no-good, thieving husband."

Face twisted in anguish, a cry tore from your lips as you pulled out your knife and rushed him, practically leaping up the steps. Michael was ready though; He grabbed you by the throat with one hand, the other holding your wrist so tightly you feared it would break. He laughed, spit in your face, and threw you down the steps.

You landed hard, mud soaking into your pants and spattering your face. A familiar voice shouted a short distance away, but you were abruptly distracted by a boot bending your ribs. The breath was knocked from your lungs and you rolled onto your side with a wheeze.

"Uncle get her out of here!"

John, bless his soul, had tackled Michael and was struggling to hold him in a headlock. You knew John was stronger than he looked, but his lean frame twisted as he fought to keep the brawny man in check.

You could feel warm hands gently lifting you to your feet. Through bleary eyes, you could see the crumpled form of the second man, and Arthur shaking his hand with a grimace.

Shoving yourself away from Uncle, you bolted towards the 2 men now going punch for punch.

"Whoa there, you need to get out of here," Arthur caught you as you ran past him, spinning you around and trapping you in his arms. "Uncle, take her back to camp. Make her stay there." You struggled to break free, but Arthur held you easily; he was almost a foot taller, with muscular bulk brought on from hard living.

You thrashed and screamed obscenities as you were passed from one to another, and Uncle all but dragged you towards the wagon. Tilly held the reins, watching with a sense of nervous readiness. A yelp of pain, followed by a groan that sounded suspiciously like John sounded behind you.

"Leave!" Arthur snapped, rolling up his sleeves and turning towards Michael. "Tilly, go!"

Your vision blurred as you sank, sobbing, into Uncle's arms. One hand was half-supporting you, the other awkwardly smoothing hair away from your face.

"You'll be okay. It'll all be okay." Uncle kept murmuring to you, pulling you into his arms, repeating over and over as reassurance, or perhaps in prayer.

You couldn't bring yourself to reply. Your heart was breaking all over again. The pain of losing your beloved was rekindled, burning with the heat of a red-hot iron.

Some day it would be okay.

Not today.

But perhaps some day.

#rdr2 #reddeadredemption2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #john marston #charles smith #sadie adler #female reader

17 notes · View notes

andtheywereroom-mates · 4 years

Text

imprisoned

“Loki, son of Laufey—”

The god in question is knelt upon a raised platform, chained and bloody, bound at his wrists, feet, and neck and restrained by two unmoving guards before a crowd of furious Asgardians. He’d been beaten before he was brought here, Dagny is sure, probably tortured for information that he could not give. She strains against Sigyn’s vicelike grip trying to assess the damage, panic rising in her throat like bile.

“For your crimes against this Realm—”

A general cry erupts in the hall, mixed voices of both support and denial from the surrounding crowd, though Loki’s face betrays nothing. Undeterred, the representative presses on.

“—you have lost your right to trial. Your fate will shortly be decided. Take him away.”

The two guards drag Loki roughly to his feet. Dagny opens her mouth to scream in protest, but a hand is pressed to her mouth and an insistent, irresistibly strong arm crosses her body, dragging her out of the crowd whose frenzy has reached an even higher pitch. She is powerless against Sigyn’s strength; for all that she is half a goddess, she cannot compare to the real, full-blooded thing. She does not see what becomes of her father as she is pulled from the hall.

Sigyn releases her in a side corridor, and Dagny shoves her away, shaking, eyes wild. “Why did you do that? I need to get back in there, he needs me!”

“No.”

“Fuck you!” Dagny screams in an uncommon display of irreverence. “No? My father’s in danger and you expect me to—?”

Sigyn is implacable, blocking her re-entrance into the hall. “Your father entrusted me with your safety, and right now, that means getting as far away from here as possible. We have to go.”

“We have to help him, who knows what they’ll do, he couldn’t have done this, there’s no way—”

“Dagny . . .”

“My father and uncle may have had their differences, but he couldn’t . . . he couldn’t have . . . not this!” Dagny’s hands are balled in ineffectual fists, battering against Sigyn’s shoulders as if against a wall of stone. “Please, you have to believe me! He needs my help!”

“Dagny,” Sigyn grabs her wrists in steady hands, a pillar of strength as Dagny’s life collapses around her. “Calm yourself. I can get you to him. But we need to be smart. First, I need you to breathe.”

Dagny does so, deep and grounding, fighting with everything she has to keep the tears from spilling over, to reign in the hysteria that has a vice around her heart. As soon as it seems that she is once again in control of herself, Sigyn releases her.

“It is imperative that we stay out of sight. I can get you to see him, but we don’t have much time. And afterwards, you’ll have to leave this Realm.”

Dagny cannot find it within herself to argue, all her thoughts bent upon her father and reaching him by whatever means necessary. Everything else could wait.

Deep in the bowels of the palace resides the dungeon, with its dark hallways and glowing barriers. This is not the first time that Sigyn has seen her husband in one of these cages, but that does nothing to soften the blow as she steps from the shadows of a hidden passageway towards his cell. Before she can truly assess the damage that has been done to him, a solidly built body steps in front of her, blocking her path.

“Brunnhilde,” Sigyn says, assessing the last of the Valkyrie who stands before her. Her arms are crossed, eyes narrowed as she, too, sizes Sigyn up, as if she could discern her motives simply by looking at her.

“Sigyn,” Brunnhilde replies, softening. She glances over her shoulder, though there doesn’t seem to be anyone around. “Listen, I know things can’t have happened the way they’re saying. But it’s complicated. If you take him, we can’t guarantee anyone’s safety—”

“I know. That’s not it. It’s Dagny. She needs to see him before I can convince her to get out of here.”

The Valkyrie throws another look over her shoulder. “I can buy you some time, but that’s it.” She looks past Sigyn’s shoulder to where the young Lokidottir is hiding in the shadows. Her expression seems almost sad. “Make it fast.”

Sigyn nods as Brunnhilde steps aside, moving down the corridor to keep watch for them. She crosses to the cell in a few short strides, her hand finding purchase in the stone to release the hidden mechanism that would open the magical barrier and allow access. She nods her head quickly, and Dagny rushes past her into the cell, offering a quick ‘thank you’ as she passes.

Inside the cell, Loki is bound against the wall in a sitting position, shackles at his neck and wrists. He’s half slumped in on himself, head lolling down and to the side, his long, tangled hair obscuring his face. He is bloody and bruised, barefoot and dressed only in a torn shirt and pants. It is not the worst he’s ever looked, but it’s certainly the worst his daughter has ever seen him.

“Papa?” Dagny says, kneeling before him. Her voice sounds small, like it did when she was young. She suddenly feels like no more than a child in the face of overwhelming unfairness, of her world dissolving beneath her feet.

Loki stirs weakly, lifting his head to meet her gaze with bruised, red-rimmed eyes that instantly soften with recognition when he realizes who it is before him.

“Dagny,” he rasps through parched lips, voice hoarse from — what?

Screaming, probably, though Dagny quickly pushes such a horrifying thought from her mind. She reaches out a hand to comfort, soothe, only to withdraw it with a hiss when it meets the metal of the shackles, her fingers blue and burned. Her eyes narrow as she realizes: the shackles are heated. Not that much, not enough to harm anyone but those of Jotun blood, whose sensitivity would make them nigh-unbearable. Her resolve steels into flint at her core, everything within her hardening with a hatred she didn’t know she was capable of.

Dagny calls on the ice in her veins, swirling frost encircling her fingertips, staining them that familiar blue, and reaches towards the shackles once more, this time with intent. She can cool them, temporarily, to a manageable level. It won’t last, but it should offer at least the smallest bit of relief for her father. The only thing she can offer him.

Loki sighs, not quite with relief, but with the absence of pain. It’s a sound that Dagny recognizes; he’s made it often enough.

“Dagny,” he repeats, softer this time, eyes full of some unnamable emotion.

“Papa,” she says again, forcing a reassuring smile onto her face.

“What are you doing here?” His green eyes blaze into hers, intense despite how weak he seems. He strains slightly against his shackles as he attempts to sit up, to focus on her, to regain some semblance of parental control. “You can’t be here, it’s not safe; where is Sigyn, where—?” He winces against the restraints as his wrists twist within them, already rubbed raw.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Dagny rushes to reassure him. She knows they don’t have much time. “Aunt Sigyn brought me here, she’s standing watch, we’re leaving soon, I promise I’ll go, I just—” she bites her lip, fighting back tears. She will be strong, for him. She’ll be strong for them all. “I had to see you.”

Loki stills, eyes tight. Before he can open his mouth to say anything, to defend himself, to assume that Dagny could ever doubt him, she rushes on.

“I know you can’t have done this, father, I know you,” Dagny’s eyes burn with conviction, and Loki could almost cry with the fierce pride and love he feels for his daughter. The only person in his life who had never, even for a second, believed anything but the best of him. And now . . .

“I’m so sorry,” his voice breaks and he sags, defeated. “I’m so sorry for everything. My daughter. My beloved.” Tears well up, unbidden, in his eyes, as he imagines the future that may now await her. He should have kept her far away from Asgard, far from all of this. He’d hoped that the Realm could change, that things would be different, but he’d had Thor at his side then, he’d never counted on this. “I wanted to protect you from all that I was. I tried so hard to atone for my past. But I couldn’t. I’ve failed you. Forgive me.”

“No, father, that’s not true!” Dagny’s heart is a bird in her chest, fluttering and frantic, screaming and caged. Angry tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she trembles with repressed sobs. “You’ve worked so hard. You’re innocent! We’ll prove it. We can. We will!”

Loki seems not to hear her; he looks at her with tender, faraway eyes. “Zabuza will look after you, I know, like one of his own. We’ve had our differences, but he loves your mother. And she will be so happy to have you with her. You’re so loved, Dagny, you will be so loved.”

“Papa, stop it,” Dagny sobs, “Don’t talk like that.”

But what can he say? All Dagny wants with all her heart is for her father to tell her that everything will be okay. He can’t. They both know it won’t be.

He can’t even reach out to embrace his child, restrained as he is. All he can do is give her a weak, teary-eyed smile.

“You will be safe, my love, and that’s what matters.”

But what about justice? she thinks, angrily, What about the truth? Surely these things matter too.

“You can’t just give up.” She tries for strength, but her voice is hushed and strained. “We could run. You could escape. You don’t have to do this.”

Loki looks pained, but still he tries to smile. There may have been a time he would have done just that — saved himself, consequences be damned — but the days of such selfishness are long since past. Dagny had changed everything for him.

“I can’t escape without putting you and the rest of our family in danger,” he says, gently. “And that is something I won’t do.”

A sound comes from behind them; Sigyn tapping on the forcefield barrier of the cell. They’re running out of time . . .

“Papa . . .” Dangy is suddenly afraid, so much more afraid than she’s ever been in her life. She tries desperately not to show it, but she’s sure it must come through in her eyes as they rove over her father’s face, suddenly certain that this is the last time she will see get to see him. He seems to be doing the same, memorizing each of his daughter’s features as if they weren’t already branded on his mind.

“It’s alright, Dagny,” he says — a lie, they both know it — but she is grateful, nonetheless. “You must go. I’ll be fine.”

Dagny leans forward, wraps her arms around her father’s battered torso, knowing full well that he would return her embrace if he could. She buries her face against his shoulder just as she would when she was small, after a nightmare. But there is no waking from this. No soothing reassurances to ease her back into a dreamless sleep. Loki leans his head against hers, turns his face to smell her hair and kiss the top of her head. His daughter. His child. His only.

“Go,” he whispers, and she pulls away, nodding, wiping her eyes. Sigyn has opened the cell once more, is waving her frantically forward. Just before she is pulled from the cell, Dagny turns back to her father, frantic.

“Papa, I love you, I’ll free you, I’ll fix this, I promise!”

Then the barrier is shut between them.

#romeo post #drabble #c: trust my rage #c: starchild #f: imprisoned

0 notes

moonlit-maiden · 7 years

Photo

The Archer’s 1000 Picspam —> 61: Polyamourous Snow White

Fairy Re-Tellings

There was once a kingdom that gave birth to two sons. The eldest was to rule, as was tradition, while the other married into a neighboring kingdom. The Princess of that kingdom loved the younger prince dearly and the arrangement was a perfect match. However, the eldest prince too needed to take a wife and he did. A princess with skin as white as snow and hair as black as deepest ebony. With flush cheeks and lips red as the rose she was given the nickname Snow White.

The now-King saw how Snow White’s eyes roamed to his younger brother’s form when he and his wife visited. And so, he conspired with his advisor to kill the Queen. For what use was an unfaithful wife? There were more than enough women who would take her place; being easy on the eyes was not worth the inevitable humiliation.

The advisor came upon the young Queen in the gardens and attempted to drown her in the pond. But Snow White was cleaver and played dead. When her would-be murderer relaxed she fought him and escaped into the thick woods. For days she wandered, drinking from the pure rivers and praying to come upon someone or something soon.

Eventually she came upon a small home built of wood. She broke through the glass window and saw that the place was not abandoned like she had first thought but rather currently in use! Starving and exhausted she ate the stores of apples and dried meats, drank her fill by the stream and finally fell asleep on one of the three beds. When she came to, three people loomed over her; a man and two women. She apologized for the breaking of the window and theft of food before begging to stay, offering housekeeping in exchange. After some discussion the three agreed.

For a time the four lived in harmony. The man was a close confidant and advisor of the king of the land Snow White was now in. One of the women was a healer and the shorter woman, the advisor's wife. They spent days, sometimes weeks at a time away from home, leaving Snow White to clean, cure the game meat and keep the food stores in order. The exiled Queen had never done work like this before but over time she became deft at it as one always dose with continuous practice.

Snow White’s husband, however, was not so content. For he eventually learned of the failed assassination. Infuriated and now with a liability, he went to an old mirror that his family had said was forbidden to use. Calling upon its dark magic, the King demanded it tell him the location of his wife. The mirror agreed to help but in exchange it would take the King's soul; nothing comes for free. After agreeing, the mirror revealed Snow White’s location; a forest in his sister-in-law’s kingdom, one that crossed the border of both his kingdom and hers. ‘Tell me how to kill her!’ he demanded of the mirror and for weeks the King locked himself away, pouring over forbidden tombs under the instruction of the magic mirror.

When he was ready, the King disguised himself as a young maid and traveled to where Snow White had fled. Upon seeing her once more he was overcome by her beauty and his rage at the memory of her unfaithful eyes. Snow White, meanwhile, was none the wiser, happy to see a new face and a new friend to chat with. Being a proper hostess, she invited the wandering maid into her home and offered her tea. As she went to retrieve some snacks to go with the tea, the disguised king poured belladonna poison into the teapot. However, she poured tea for her guest and not for herself; Snow White had never been fond of tea and now without royal protocol to follow she felt no guilt in denying the tea. In fact, she felt it better, for tea was such a rare thing out here and she would rather spend it on her guest. After the visit the King stole away and quickly drank the antidote for the poison, lest he die by his own stupidity.

Infuriated, the king once again returned in his guise, this time with a basket of freshly baked cookies. A sweet gift for a sweet hostess. Snow White thanked the maid, flattered at the gift. When she invited her in for more tea, the maid declined, feigning a need to return quickly to her master. The king left for home, certain his Queen would finally die by her own lust for sweet things. As evening fell, the three house owners returned. Excited to share the gift, Snow White showed off the delicately decorated cookies, unknowing they too were laced with belladonna. As dinner was made and the four recounted the events of the week, the healer accidentally knocked the basket of cookies over, spilling them into the hearth and ruining both them and the stew. When the King returned to his castle, many books were thrown as the magic mirror informed him of Snow White’s still-beating heart.

Once calm the King realized what would ensure her death and set into motion a cruel plan. A few months later he returned, masquerading as the maid once more. With a flourish Snow White was presented with an invitation to court from the apple of her eye, the younger brother of her estranged husband. The letter, forged by the King that stood before her in magical glamour, spoke of longing for her presence, of shelter promised and love returned. To seal the deal, a beautiful hair comb glittering with sapphires and set in gold was enclosed.

The ever-helpful friend, the maid offered to help Snow White get ready and then ride with her to her beloved and his wife. In earnest she agreed and she pulled her gown from months before when she’d run, mended as best she could and stored in cedar for this fated day. The disguised king laced up Snow White’s corset just right and combed her hair. He helped her pat berry juice on her lips and cheeks and finally placed the jeweled comb on her hair for the finishing touch. As Snow White smiled at her friend and she smiled back, a strong buzzing filled her limbs. They felt heavy and weak and she collapsed on the floor, gasping. The King ripped the glamour from himself and sneered down at his dying wife. ‘You will sleep and in three days die from lack of water. And you will never see your love; my face will be the last one you ever see.’ Snow White sobbed as fatigue settled in, the spell embedded in the comb weaving its way through her veins. ‘Disgusting whore. Your beauty will not arouse my pity. You should have had your happily ever after with me.’ With those cruel words ringing in her ears, Snow White fell asleep, alone in the forest with little hope of aid.

Meanwhile, the advisor who owned the cabin Snow White had been staying in was finally able to grab the private ear of the King. He told him of Snow White, living in the woods and not dead as the elder brother had claimed. Shocked and infuriated, he set to ride off at once to retrieve his sister-in-law. In truth, the younger King had fallen for her and had been mourning with his wife at her loss. For in an ideal world, he would have happily married both women and given them all the happiness he could. But alas, Fate had forced him to choose in order to retain proprietary. His Queen stopped him, warning that he would draw attention and be missed at court. So instead, the Queen of the younger King took flight on her white mare, chest bound and body clothed as that of a man. It was she who would bring her and her King’s precious lover home and, maybe, finally bring them their happily ever after. The trio who had been hosting Snow White rode with her for protection and secrecy.

Three days went by and as the sun traveled across the sky on the final day Snow White barely breathed in her slumbering state. Her tongue was swollen, almost choking her, throat dry and skin like paper. With the hard pace, the four travelers arrived in late afternoon and saw the door ajar. Terror seized the disguised Queen as she ran in to find her beloved seemingly expired on the wood floor. With a wail that shook the forest she fell to the floor, gathering the other Queen in her arms and sobbing in sorrow. The advisor and his wife stared in shock as the healer began to cry at the death of her friend.

As she stroked Snow White’s black hair, the Queen’s hand was stopped by the comb nestled firmly in it. Enraged, she ripped the comb out from the locks and threw it violently across the room with a scream before collapsing into sobs again, cradling the woman she loved. With the comb gone Snow White was able to arise and moaned in agony, needing water. The other Queen stared in shock as the advisor’s wife quickly grabbed water for the ill girl. Snow White was alive and safe.

For a week the Queen stayed with Snow White as she recovered, exchanging confessions of love long-overdue. The exiled Queen cried when she was told of her love for the younger King being returned and she happily agreed to come home. Once recovered, Snow White rode with the Queen and when back at the castle, the younger King embraced her, stealing a hasty kiss and sealing the love the three shared.

However, once Snow White told of the whole story, the pair were enraged at the older brother’s actions. She begged her lovers to leave him be, to let him rule in peace and think she was dead. The King agreed but the Queen did not. Instead, she secretly plotted and one day invited her cruel brother-in-law to visit. She gifted him with a crown made of gold and studded in stunning sapphires. Unbeknownst to the arrogant king, the crown was painted with mercury and when he placed it on his head it burned. As he reached to rip it off, the Queen shoved it firmly on his skull so he could not remove it and watched coldly as her lover’s husband died, begged at her feet for forgiveness. Sadly she had none.

With the King’s disappearance Snow White returned to her husband’s kingdom a widow. She claimed the throne for herself and ruled with the aid of her brother-in-law. There was peace and happiness within the two kingdoms as the King, his Queen, and their lover, Queen Snow White, lived happily ever after.

#thearchers1000picspam #snow white #polyamory #polyamourous #poly #crown #queen #king #woods #rings #belladonna #fairy retelling series

103 notes · View notes