#The lion guard: return of the roar | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

upsidedownwithsteve · 2 months

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A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [5.9K]

THE TIMELINE

"Oh no, you know you know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dying, For someone I could die for, someone I could try for Fall apart and cry for, go 'head, risk my life for."

-Someone I Could Die For by Lewis Capaldi

II. ROME, ITALY: 49 BC

The roar that came from the bowels of the Colosseum never became easier to hear.

The noise seemed to make the city shake, the streets empty, the market stalls abandoned in favour of bloodshed. The games took place in the summer, when the skies were an endless blue and there were no clouds to tamper down the climbing heat. The sun bore down on the sandy pit of the enormous Amphitheatre and the seats were filled, the doors that had already been closed still surrounded by regretful stragglers who were forced to listen to the chaos from outside of the walls.

Fourteen men had died already, three from the jaws of the lions, two from the bears and eleven from the swords of other imprisoned slaves. The cheering from the crowd made your stomach curl. The floor of the stage was covered in red, the sand streaked with spilled blood and the animals that were bullied back into their cages had their jaws tinted pink.

It wasn’t a joyous occasion, no matter how many people celebrated in the name of their emperor. The leader of Rome was sitting mere seats away from you, dressed in ruby robes that were slung like a cloak over his white toga and his laurel crown glinted with golden beads that sat tucked into the olive wreaths. He was drunk on wine and violence, and your father sat next to him in the royal box, ever eager to please as he clinked his chalice against his kings.

Being the daughter of Rome’s most beloved senator certainly had its positives. You were dressed just as finely as the royalty around you, the fabric that was made to fit your frame swept to the floor and only yesterday, the emperor’s cousin had gifted you a necklace made of the finest gold, inset with glittering emeralds, pretty enough for a princess.

The same cousin smiled at you from across the row, each seat in the royal box made from plush velvet, the high backs ornate and cushioned, unlike the stone carved benches the rest of the civilians were sitting on. You smile back, uneasy but polite, and your father nodded approvingly.

You were expected to marry, you knew that much. You were already considered too old to be unwed and you knew the rest of the court whispered about how you would now struggle to bear a child. But the man that was expected to be your husband wasn’t who you loved. He wasn’t unkind, he wasn’t cruel - not like you’d heard men could be. The girls in the kitchen would tell you stories of how their husband made demands. Shouting each night for their meals, their baths, how their shirts weren’t stitched right, how their beds would lay cold because their wives were too tired.

Some men visited the bath houses, you knew that much. Seeking out a lupa for the night, the ladies that were called she-wolves, with their painted lips and robes that showed so much skin. Some men decided that they didn’t need to listen to their wives at all, you were once told, horror etched on your face. Some men took what they thought they owned.

So no, the emperor’s cousin seemed kind enough. But you weren’t in love with him. You weren’t sure who you were in love with. A dream, perhaps. One that kept returning to you from a young, young age. A dream about a different town, one you’d never been to before. But in your sleep, it felt like home. White buildings and green gardens with tall, tall trees and pretty, ornate gazebos made of stone on the edges of shallow ponds. You were by the sea there, a blue-green ocean that seemed so calm.

Sometimes monsters came, the marble statues that guarded the city came to life and turned your dream into a nightmare. There was always fire and fury, storm clouds and too big waves and a man with skin the colour of death would try and take your hand. But even when the dream turned bad, there was always someone else.

A man, with a blurry face and a mess of almost too long hair. It hid his eyes from you and you could never make out too many details but you burned when you looked at him, you could weep when he touched you. Sometimes he led you through the burning town, his hand clasping your own as you both tried to run and run and run.

Other times, you lay in a bed with him, skin bare and your head on his chest as he murmured the sweetest poetry to you, words that made your heart race. Your dream was encased in white linen sheets, a hazy, soft light that always made it look like early morning and when the man’s lips met yours, you always woke up.

Him. You loved him.

You hadn’t been in love before, but whenever you dreamed of the stranger, you were sure that must have been what love felt like.

“Have some grapes, darling,” your thoughts were interrupted by your father as he thrust a plate of fruit and cheese under your nose.

But the fifteenth gladiator was being dragged through the gates by the armpits, a clawed hammer still sticking out from his chest and your insides turned over at the idea of eating such sweet treats as blood poured from the men in front of you. The emperor’s box was almost nauseatingly close to the fights.

You shook your head before you remembered your manners, smiling politely and murmuring, “I’m quite alright, thank you.” You blew out a breath, shaky and faint.

From your other side, one of the young girls who had been gifted to you on your sixteenth birthday waved a giant fan. A large peacock feather, a huge plume of colours that merely wafted the too warm air back and forth but you smiled your thanks at your lady in waiting, a pretty girl who’d turned into a prettier young woman. She was small and lithe, angular in the face with curls that came to her sharp jawbone and she smiled back.

Nancy, as she’d introduced herself to you a week after she’d arrived at your fathers house, from the Wheeler family of Liguria. She didn’t like the gladiator fights anymore than you did, always murmuring about the rights of the animals and how inhumane it was later in the night as she drew you your bath.

“—from Verona,” your father was saying with a mouth full of provolone. “One of their best, so they say, His Majesty simply had to have him.”

You blinked, frowning in confusion at your fathers words. You hadn’t been paying attention in the slightest and nothing you’d caught made any sense. “Sorry?” You grimaced apologetically and took a few pomegranate seeds from the plate of food in apology for your rudeness. “Who is from Verona?”

Your father rolled his eyes, a sure sign that you’d be lectured in his study later for your lack of respect. “The next gladiator, child.” He gestured to the stage where the soldiers were locking the gates to the tigers, each big cat growling with menace when the men came too close to the bars. “They say he’s unbeatable. Our Highness offered a more than generous helping of coin for his papers but Verona’s general didn’t seem to want to part with him.”

You frowned again. The crowd seemed to be aware of this man and his presence, murmuring and shifting in their seats in anticipation. “If that is the case,” you prodded. “Then how is he here? If the gladiators… owner—” the word left a terribly bitter taste in your mouth and you felt heavy with guilt when Nancy’s fan brushed your shoulder. “If his owner didn’t want to sell him?”

Your father snorted, an unattractive sound that made Nancy wince beside you. “No one tells the emperor of Rome ‘no’, dearest.” Your father shrugged. “The gladiator cannot be owned, if his owner is dead.”

Bloodshed. Always bloodshed.

A man came from the east side gates with chains around his ankles and wrists. You couldn’t quite see him for your seat, not yet, but the crowd above and around you roared, eager for the final fight to begin. The man already looked beaten and tired as soldiers stepped forward to unlock his manacles and you sat forward in your seat for the first time since you entered the Colosseum that day.

He had messy hair, dark brown and hanging just past his chin. It was already damp looking, matted and dirty from being kept god knows where as the emperor's new toy. He was shirtless, his body lean but corded with muscle. He had wide shoulders and a lithe waist, powerful thighs and skin that was tanned from the sun, a sure sign he spent too much time outside, training hard in the Italian heat.

As he moved closer to the middle of the stage, you saw the marks on his body, leftover scars and new slices in his flesh that still looked viciously red. The crowd got louder as a sword was thrown at his feet, a large, heavy looking thing with a bronze handle. Some cheered for the new warrior, hoping for some excitement, while others jeered and booed, already too attached to their darling reigning champion.

The gladiator picked up his sword and the crowd became wilder still, but he gave them no mind. He didn’t put on a show like some of the others, he didn’t flex his muscles or raise his weapon like it was already a prize. His leather loincloth was a deep wine colour, the tan leather pleats looking far from newly made and the material was already streaked with blood and dirt before his first opponent arrived.

Your heart felt heavy for him, as it did for all the others who were forced into the Colosseum - prisoners, slaves and animals alike. You watched the gladiator flex his wrist, testing the weight of his weapon just as the gates in the west cranked open.

Rome’s current champion strode out from the shadows and into the bright sun, his bare chest glinting with sweat and Hargrove held his hands aloft, grinning as the crowds went insane. He beat his chest, his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and when he was handed his own sword, he wasted no time in running towards the new fighter, the steel blade glinting.

You gasped, moving closer still to the edge of your seat and you couldn’t find it in you to bear much mind to the looks your father and Nancy shot you. It wasn’t like you to take such an interest in the sport, never mind be so heavily invested. You didn’t like to watch the wounded, preferring to close your eyes when the screams began, hiding cowardly behind Nancy’s fan when the blood turned the sandy stage pink and red.

But this new gladiator, he was fast.

He dove at the last second, dodging the tip of Hargrove’s blade and he rolled towards the section where you sat. Dust kicked up from the move, his sword tearing into the wreaths and sashes that hung from the Emperor’s box. You grasped the edge of the wooden frame, peering over the side and down to the stage, hoping to not see blood already.

Instead you found the gladiator looking back up at you, his sword still in his grasp and when his eyes met yours, they widened. Something like recognition hurtled through you, a feeling that sucked the breath from your lungs and you felt dizzy, like lightning itself had struck you from the sky. You thought the man perhaps felt the same, a frown on his face telling you that he felt just as confused as you did.

But before you could consider where on earth you could have possibly seen his face before, Hargrove attacked again, bringing his blade down to where the gladiator's shoulder should have been, if he hadn’t rolled once again.

You were on your feet now, the stares of your father be damned. Your eyes were wide, your heart beating far too fast, like you yourself were on the stage, being hunted for sport. Wood splintered into the space under your nails as you watched the man run, his muscles pumping, his eyes narrowed.

“Darling, are you quite alright?” Your father placed a hand on your arm, more confused than concerned.

“Yes, I just— yes.” You cleared your throat and sat down again, albeit back to the edge of your chair. You could feel the rest of the royal party staring at you. “Where did you say the man was brought from? The new gladiator?”

“Harrington?” One of the Emperor’s councilmen interjected. He pointed a pudgy finger at the brown haired gladiator, who was now swinging his sword with as much power as Hargrove. “Steven Harrington of Verona, best of his breed I heard. His general didn’t take too kindly to the King’s offering and well— you know what happens when his Highness is made to feel upset.”

The metallic clink of the swords filled the arena as everyone held their breaths. Not many had lasted this long against Hargrove before.

“Rumour has it that he didn’t take too kindly to his general being beheaded. Took six men to get him into the back of the cart, even more to make him train. He’s been refusing food all week.”

The idea of it made you feel unwell, a sickly, creeping kind of pain curling around each of your ribs and suddenly you were starving, just as much as you were sure the man would be. But still, I didn’t seem to make him move any slower, it didn’t hinder him in bringing his sword down any harder.

But strangely, every time the new gladiator was struck, every time his knees hit the raw sand, every time he got close enough for you to see him suck in a gasping breath— you felt it too.

It was a battle like you’d never seen before, more vicious than the others from that day, a showdown under the blazing heat of the high sun. No tiger seemed as powerful as Steven Harrington of Verona did. There was something animalistic in the way he moved, all power and lean muscle, a steely glint in his brown eyes that you didn’t dare look away from. He moved too quickly for Hargrove’s blade, dodging and diving as he flung up sand, blinding his opponent and slicing at his legs. Each move was a blur, the stage bleeding with fresh red, the blonde gladiator on his knees.

But Hargrove was ruthless, grappling with the newcomer until they were both wrestling in the dust cloud and the crowd went insane, people chanted and stomped their feet, the amphitheatre shaking down to its very bones. The imperial box quaked with the energy, but truly, you weren’t present enough to feel it.

Your eyes never left Steven’s fighting figure.

The swords seemed to be forgotten, the steel blades rusted with blood, both fresh and new, and they lay in the sand. Fists flew, knees pressed to chests to keep the other down and it was brutal, it was harsh, it was deadly.

You wanted to vomit. You feared you might.

You wondered what would happen if you leapt from your chair, if you let your skirts get torn and bloodied in the mess of the stage, if you threw yourself down onto the sand and begged for Hargrove to take his hands away from the new gladiator's throat.

Would you be punished? Beaten? Locked away? Killed?

You weren’t sure but somehow, all the options felt worth it. You couldn’t watch this man die before you. Not when it felt like you’d already witnessed his death before.

But Steven wrestled himself out of Hargrove’s hold, twisting and tumbling whilst he gasped, one hand clutching at his reddened neck and the other grappling for his blade. He swung it through the air, arching wide, his wounded shoulder ripping with effort it took but the sword landed where the warrior intended it to.

Silence settled over the colosseum, the air still enough for you to hear the surviving champion heave out gasping, heavy breaths. There was blood on his hands, his chest, his face.

His right eye was already bruising, red and lilac coming to the surface of his skin like fresh blooms in spring. His shoulder was a mess, his right leg causing him to buckle slightly as he rose to his feet.

The man turned, jaw slack, his sword falling limply to the ground once more, his opponent still and at his feet. His eyes found yours and time stilled, at least, to you. The crowd erupted, an explosion in its own right, the entirety of Rome cheering for their new champion.

A man you were sure you already loved.

By the time the fight had ended, you felt beaten and bruised. There were no marks on your skin, no blood seeping through your gown, but something inside of you hurt all the same. It felt like something was clawing at your heart, a memory that was banging on the front of your skull, screaming at you to remember.

When the guards dragged the gladiator from Hargrove’s limp figure, he dropped his sword to the sand and spat a mouthful of blood towards the ground at the royal pit. The Emperor merely chuckled as others around you gasped and before you could even hear your fathers protests, you were on your feet.

Steven Harrington was shackled once more, the metal chains clinking around his hands and feet. And as he was led away back into the arches, the gears of gates making an awful protesting noise, his eyes found yours once more.

A burning gaze, too intense to look away from and you could’ve sworn on the gods, on the stars above, that something inside of you tugged sharply. Like the pull of a string, tied in a bow between your ribcage, urging you forward.

Telling you to go.

So you did.

You gathered your skirts in your hands and made your way to the exit of the box, too focused to hear your fathers objections until the guards at the doorway halted you with their spears. The wooden stalks crossed themselves over your chest and you froze, the string tied to your heart pulling tighter and tighter and tighter—

The Emperor was staring at you, with cold eyes and a smile that wasn’t really a smile. He spoke to your father, not you. “Where, my dear senator, is your lovely daughter running off to?” The king turned back to you, brows raised. “Doesn’t she know that more wine will be served soon? My cousin is looking forward to her company.”

Your father stared at you, a stricken expression on his aged face because everyone in the royal box could read between the lines of the Emperor.

You cleared your throat, eyes still trained on the sharp metal points of the spears that were very much in your face. “Forgive me, father - your highness - I was merely hoping to get some fresh air.”

“The sight of all that blood makes her rather delicate,” your father agreed and the crowd of councilmen, generals and their wives tittered in their jewels. “She isn’t one for conflict.”

The Emperor stared at the side of your face, something you could feel despite bowing your head in his presence. You stared at the floor and waited, heart racing.

The royal tsked. “What a pity,” he declared but he waved a hand, each finger heavy with golden rings, and his soldiers stepped aside. “Be back in time for the parade, child, you have company to entertain.”

The Emperor’s cousin leered at you, his wine glass empty, his lips stained ruby but none of it mattered right now, not when you were taking off once more, skirts dragging across the dust and sand, your chest heaving as you tried to navigate your way through the crowd that was already dispersing.

More guards, heavily armoured and with their swords drawn, were too preoccupied with a fight that had broken out between the arches, two lower class men arguing over a coin they found on the ground. Taking your chance, you moved with your head down, your face hidden as you slipped through a door that was normally carefully watched.

The heavy wood slammed shut behind you, the sunlight swallowed whole. Burning torches lit the narrow corridor, a maze of them leading you underneath the Colosseum. The hypogeum was almost damp as you tried to navigate its many walkways, a gasp leaving your throat as you took a wrong turn and ended up face to face with the iron bars that separated you from the animals.

A huge tiger growled at you, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl, the stench of raw meat and faeces hanging in the cool air. You backed away, eyes flickering from cage to cage, each one filled with another poor creature. Lions, bears, a rhinoceros and its offspring, and beyond them, an even larger cell holding prisoners. They all stared at you, men and animals alike, but nothing was spoken.

You backed away, unable to breath, turning on your heel and walking quickly enough to spot the familiar grey robes of the healers used after the battles. You followed, your steps light, and watched him enter a small room. Between the door opening and closing, you spotted the gladiator perched on a wooden table, his head bent low and his face hidden behind his damp hair.

You weren’t sure what possessed you, but before you barged into the room too, both men staring at you from the table where the healer held a ragged cloth to the gladiator’s shoulder.

“Miss, you have no need here,” the healer announced, his voice strict and cold. He narrowed his eyes as he gestured to the door. “This is no place for—”

“My father sent me.” It was a lie, of course. A bold and bare faced one at that. But you stood a little taller and lifted your chin, the emerald necklace at your throat shining in the low light that came from the small fireplace in the corner. “The senate has questions I’ve been asked to deliver. I shall not leave without the appropriate answers.”

On the mantle, beside bottles of acids and other medicinal vials, sat a small statue of the goddess Veratis. Her marble eyes seemed to judge you and your lies and you swallowed down the bitter taste it left on your tongue. But looking at the man - this stranger from Verona - the need to speak to him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming you to the point of senselessness.

The trouble you could be in if you were to be caught in your lie… or worse, down in the hypogeum. This was no place for a woman of your standing, never mind to be alone with a gladiator, both of you unspoken for. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“If we may have some time alone?” You added with more authority than you should have held. “Unless you’d prefer that my father leave the Emperor’s side to ensure his orders are fulfilled?”

The healer sighed but placed down his tools. He flashed you a smile that was all crooked teeth, more bite than kindness, but he made his way to the door. “That won’t be necessary, My Lady,” he told you and he left, closing the wooden door behind him.

The silence was a deafening thing. The crackle of the fire was still there, the distant roar of some poor, wounded animal, but whatever was held between the two of you took on a life of its own. It seemed to suck the rest of the world into it until there was nothing left but you and this man. He was staring at you still, brown eyes wide and so familiar, looking as confused as you felt as you stared right back.

It felt too easy to take a step forward, but the warrior flinched. Your next was slower, softer, more cautious. Your hand found the rag that the healer had once held, what little water it had been soaked in was cold, the material harsh. It didn’t take you long to find a new cloth in one of the drawers of the apothecary table and you took your time to warm some fresh water over the hearth.

Honestly, you didn’t know too much about medicine, only the basics that your father’s head servant had taught you as a young child. You found the small bottle of alcohol with ease, plucking it from the shelf and adding it to the warm water before soaking the new rag.

You held it up in offering to the man, still far enough from you that his dirty hair hid most of his face. His tanned chest was streaked with sweat and dust, marred with old cuts and fresher wounds from Hargrove’s weapon, but for the most part, he seemed okay.

“Can I?”

The gladiator lifted his head then, his hair falling away from his cheeks and you took in a sharp breath at the sight of his face. He was handsome, painstakingly so, but over and above all else, he was someone you were sure you knew.

The man nodded, just once, lips pressed together and as you came closer, his nostrils flared and his large hands gripped the edge of the table. His eyes raced across your features, recognition coming to the surface and before he could ask the questions that were clawing at his throat, you lifted the cloth and pressed it to the cut on his shoulder.

He hissed, teeth bared and you frowned, hushing him softly, apologies murmured just as quiet. “I’m sorry,” you told him and gods, he knew you meant it. “I need the alcohol to soak the wound.”

Your heart stuttered when he let you, shoulders tight and back ramrod straight, but his eyes were on your face the entire time you worked. “You’re not a healer,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

His voice rung through you, a deep timber that was hoarse and scratchy, no doubt from refusing to speak since his capture. You hoped he’d been drinking enough water.

You shook your head as you pulled away, dipping the bloodied cloth back into the bucket. “No, I’m not,” you confirmed.

Another swipe at his skin had him jerking in response but the blood and dirt was finally clear of the cut. It would need stitches, you were almost sure of it, but your skills started and finished at the basics.

“Then why are you here?” The gladiator’s eyes were trained on your necklace, a sure fire way to recognise nobility and you were overcome with the urge to rip it from your throat. “Why did you follow me?” He spoke like he already knew the answer.

You were hesitant about it, but you couldn’t stop your hand from lifting to his neck, fingertips brushing two beauty marks on his skin. They felt electric under your touch and you were impossibly warmer now, despite the old cell lacking the heat from the summer above.

“I feel like I know you,” you whispered. Your voice cracked with an emotion you didn’t quite know the name of. “I feel like I’ve mourned you.”

The gladiator looked back at you from behind his damp hair, the long strands matted with his and his enemies blood. He didn’t look as concerned as he should have been at your strange words. In fact, he leaned into your touch, lashes fluttering at the sensation.

“What an odd thing to say to someone who hasn’t died,” he answered quietly. But his gaze roamed over your features and something about being so close to him felt cosmic, it felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen. “I think I’ve met you before,” the gladiator whispered. He sounded reverent now, his own hand shaking as he brought it to your face.

He cupped your jaw, your chin, his rough fingertips trailing over your soft skin and when his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, you gasped and pressed closer.

“I think I meet you when I sleep,” he said and he frowned at his own words, at how confusing he must’ve sounded. “Every night, when I close my eyes. You’re in a garden and then you’re in my arms.”

Flashes of a bed came to mind, white linen sheets and too much bare skin. A man’s chest, tanned and muscled from hard labour, your hands that roamed the expanse of his back. You remembered how he kissed you in your dreams, with a longing so intense it could waken the gods.

Like he had enough love for you that he could end the world.

You could only nod. His thumb was still pushed to your bottom lip, your mouth parted as if you were waiting and his stare was so intense you felt warmer than you had in the stadium above.

Who was this stranger?

And why did it feel like something inside of you was being stitched back together by the sheer sight of him? His touch felt healing, it felt like home. Like it was only made for you to feel. Like he was made only for you.

Above, something boomed. Loud enough to be heard underneath the hypogeum, over the roars of the unsettled animals. If you had been outside, you would’ve witnessed the blue sky turning grey, shades of moody lavender and navy, storm clouds rolling across Rome from seemingly nowhere.

Thunder rumbled, threatening noise, something that made you and the man move closer to each other, like you both knew you were in danger.

That you knew something bad was coming.

“I don’t understand,” you said, eyes blurring. You weren’t sure why you were crying but Steve didn’t seem to question it. He merely swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. “You’re a stranger— we’ve never— we’ve never met.”

Despite your words, the gladiator moved closer, standing from his seat on the wooden table to lean his forehead against your own. Your eyes slipped closed, nose bumping his. He smelled like metal, like blood and dirt and sweat but underneath there was something like fire there, like molten iron, like lavender fields and fresh cotton. Like a daydream, like something you weren’t sure was real.

His bottom lip touched your top one, only just, only barely. A whisper of a kiss, a small insight of something that could’ve been, of something that maybe once was.

Thunder rolled again, louder than before, as if it was right above you both. Even over the din of the crowds above, you could hear the heavy patter of rain that was now flooding the colosseum, the stage soaked. Another warning, something you’d seen before in a dream just before it turned to a nightmare.

“I was meant to find you,” Steve murmured. He had your face cradled in his hands, an overwhelmingly gentle touch despite the dried blood under his fingernails. His voice grew in urgency then, like he knew something was coming. Someone. “I was meant to come here. I can feel it. I understand now.”

“Someone once told me you’d come back,” you suddenly remembered, your voice eager, your eyes wide at the memory. “I don’t know— was it you? From before? From—”

From another life, you wanted to say.

How ridiculous those words were, how silly, how stupid. But there wasn’t any other way to explain. Logic didn’t seem to exist when everything you felt from this touch of this stranger led you to believe that somehow, someway, you’d spend a lifetime together.

Like you were supposed to spend this one with him too. And it didn’t seem long enough, decades wouldn’t make up for the time you’d lost searching for him, for this stranger who only came to you in your sleep. But he was very real now, solid flesh and bone underneath your own hands, brown eyes that seemed warmer than the Italian summer.

You didn’t want to let him go.

“In here, my King,” a voice interrupted. The door was open and the healer had returned, a cold look on his already stern face. The Emperor was behind him, ruby robes collecting dirt from the old floor. Four soldiers flanked him. “I have every reason to believe the Lady sold me lies, Your Highness.”

It happened too quick. Too fast.

The Emperor studied you, Steve’s hands still on your face as you stood too close, ready to kiss, ready to fulfil something neither of you were sure of. It felt catalytic.

“Seize him,” was all the Emperor said, one lazy flick of his wrist sending all four guards at you both.

There was too much movement in the tiny room, bottles of medicinal wares clattering to the ground and smashing at your feet. The table groaned as Steve was shoved into it, his own reactions too slow from his injuries. He grunted and reached for you too late, his hand slipping from your own, fingers barely touching, as he was shoved at from either side.

One soldier shoved the butt of his sword into Steve’s wounded soldier, the other bringing his armoured knee into his bare stomach. The gladiator doubled over, a gasp leaving his chest before he fell to his knees on the stone floor.

“Stop this!” You yelled, urging forward, trying your best to throw yourself into the mix of it all but someone’s arms - another soldier - caught your round the middle. “Unhand him! Your Highness - please - he hasn’t done any wrong, please—”

The Emperor just looked at you blankly before he picked at the jewels around your neck. He tutted, as if it were a shame, a waste. You could hear the shackles being placed back on the man, the low groan he gave as the metal was tightened around his sore wrists.

“He won,” you whispered, your voice low and choked. You were ready to beg. “Please, he won. He doesn’t deserve this—”

“I don’t like anyone else playing with my toys,” the Emperor interrupted. He said it like he was discussing what to have for lunch. “And my dear cousin doesn’t like anyone playing with his.” He motioned to the guards once more. “Take her back to her seat, where you make sure she stays. This isn’t any place for a Lady,” he told you mournfully.

You didn’t get to see what happened to the gladiator as you were escorted out of the room. But you did hear his yells when the door slammed shut, the dull thuds of impact that you were sure were on his already bruised and broken body. You hadn’t even told him your name, or that you dreamt of him too. That during your worst night terrors, he was the one that saved you.

When you reached the imperial box once more, your skirts dirtied from the sand, your face tear stricken, you felt broken. Like you’d been snapped in half, like someone had found that wound Steve had stitched up and pulled it apart again the seams. Like someone had ripped something important from you, half of your heart, perhaps.

You didn’t even notice that it had stopped raining. The skies were blue once more, the sun shining, the only evidence of the sudden storm were the drops of rain that had soaked into the pillow on your chair.

Steve was gone and the thunder was too.

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ornii · 4 days

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“I Do not love you, …I Tolerate You.”

Daenerys Targaryen X Male Lannister Reader

(Y/n) Lannister, King of House Lannister, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, and the Father of Golden Lions, Mourning the Death of his Love, an unknown force calls claim to the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons.

Warning: Hey, you like thighjobs? No? Well too bad we got them!

Kings Landing, the final destination for kings and queens to either rule or die trying. For you it was the first, but it came with much loss.

Being born a Lannister you had some obligations to uphold, son of an Imp, you had much to live up to and deal with. But more importantly, you had fallen for one woman specifically.. Margery. Unlike Tommen and Joffrey, you weren’t as Naive and Foolish as them, Tyrion made sure of that. Teaching you the way the game of thrones is played was essential to survive in this world. She respected your opinions, ideals, wishes. Her Marriage to Joffrey was one of necessity, yours was out of love. A love that was quickly shattered and burned by one Cersei Lannister.

Joffrey was Murdered, Your father Tyrion put on trial, and in return he escapes, Kills your grandfather Tywin, and escapes. Leaving Tommen to pick up the pieces, Tyrion was never seen in Kings Landing again. Still keeping your relationship a secret you continued your affairs, but it only had gotten worse, the Sparrows using their holy influence to capture Margery, Tommen, nothing but a mere child in the mind did nothing, and his Mother Cersei was also taken, her plan backfiring. You only wished that was the end of the nightmare.

Cersei executes a plan that lead to the explosion of the Sept, killing Margery, her brother, The High Sparrow and so many more. Your cousins, Grandfather, Father, and now your Love, all gone. All of that set in motion your path to the crown, forming the Golden Roar rebellion you overthrew Cersei and took the Iron Throne as your own, it didn’t take much of course, using your connection to the people you exposed her true nature, and her actions. The people rebelled, you rebelled, it was perfect. With all obstacles moved, you now have the power to change everything, to change the world, but one obstacle stood left; The Last Targaryen.

Sitting upon your iron throne, and Gregor at your side, you listened to the concerns of not only nobles but of the people. They were small at best, tedious. It wasn’t until your kings guard, your Uncle Jamie knelt down to slightly whisper.

“There is something I must speak to you about when time is available.”

“Is it important?” You asked calmly, your eyes darting to him. Jamie nodded, it was rare your uncle often spoke during your court. You ended the proceeding for now and walked to the high chambers with your uncle.

“It’s about—“ Jamie began but you had an idea of what he was going to ask.

“As I have said before uncle, I shall not Kill Aunt Cersei, as much as she deserves it.. I made that promise to you, I intend to keep it. She will be locked away. And when I have complete control, you can live out your days with her in Casterly Rock.” You said, while your blood boiled at the idea of Cersei living, for your uncle who treated you as equal, you honored your promise.

“No, House Tarly might consider to support the Targaryen.” He began, you knew about Her, but you didn’t care at the time. You picked up your pace, trying to focus and Jamie kept up.

“Really now?” You asked intrigued.

“They’re the only house that has not claimed loyalty, and if we lose their house—“

“We might have a problem.” You finish the statement for him. “We had the Tyrell’s but Cersei made sure of that.. although.” You slowly had an idea coming together, Jamie halted in his footsteps as a smirk crept on your face.

“We won’t need the Tyrells… if the False Queen truly wishes to take the throne. Then I should at least hear the woman out..” You said, admittedly you wished to see this last living Targaryen. Stepping into your bedchamber you overlooked Kings Landing, the debt slowly being pushed down, people attempting to rebuild after the sept, all your doing. And if this Targaryen Pureblooded Freak wished to take this from you, then she must kill you in order to take it. Your mind wandered until you stepped out to the balcony, enjoying the warm air, smells of earth and rock, but something else caught your attention.. something was moving across the horizon of the ocean.

Standing on the massive port gate of Kings Landing, You, Ser Jamie, Maester Quburn stood at the port, watching ships slowly enter, but they were not yours. They belonged to the Greyjoys. Standing with soldiers surrounding and arrows ready to massacre the platoons, you wait. They dock and descend out, and your eyes laid upon Euron Greyjoy, the sadistic cold bastard of what’s left of the Greyjoys, that shit eating grin was unsettling, as if he had some master plan for you. He gave a fake bow and kept his sly eye on you.

“My King.” He said, having your hands behind your back you calmly raised your hand, and placed your fingers down, allowing the archers to put their bows down.

“You must be, Euron.” You said, what could a Greyjoy Possibly want here?”

“It’s a simple request, although I expected the queen to be greeting me.” He replies, look around slowly, as if to expect Cersei.

“Unfortunately she’s been.. replaced. Allow me to welcome you and your men to kings Landing, Respect our Laws and you shall be respected in kind.” You offer him to walk with you, and he does.

“Your business here must be important if you wished to speak with me.” You look around, noting that there are still arrows trained on Euron, for your safety after all.

“Yes, what I ask requires some.. finesse. Finesse only the true king of Westeros would have.” Euron plays it up, but you knew better and cut though his words.

“What would you wish?” You reply, entering the throne room you said. “How would.. command over the waters of All Westeros sound?” He said, you halted, and slowly went up the stairs, ascending to a higher position than him. You sit down upon the throne, gently placing your hands together.

“I have the power to give this, but why would I give it to you, a Greyjoy in fact.. I gain, nothing.” You explain, and Euron snaps his fingers laughing.

“You see that is where you are wrong, my king. My loyalty, I will swear to you, and the entire Greyjoy fleet will be yours to command at your demand, all I ask is reign over the waters.”

“That is an imposing proposal.. but how do I know you will keep your word?” You reply, and Euron grins. “I have a.. gift.”

Minutes pass as you sit in your Throne, Jamie by your side waiting. Hoping this “Gift” will be of some worth. And it was, the doors open to Euron and his men, having three women captured and tied like cattle to follow. You looked at them, while two were from Dorne, the other wasn’t. Jamie gripped his saber hilt with his good hand. You noticed the shift in his emotion, and tilted your head.

“I believe these women are from Dorne.. why do you have them?” You asked, you vaguely recognize one as Oberon’s lover.

“This is Ellaria and Tyene Sand.. your Cousins Killers.” Euron smiles, presenting a good gift, your eyes slowly filled with malice and hate, a feeling you’ve only ever truly felt a few times in life. The feeling came back with a vengeance and you calmly but somehow with boiling fury stood up and walked down the stairs, you calmly approached Ellaria her eyes were wary off course, you were a Lannister unknown, meaning you were unpredictable.

“Ellaria sand… for your daughter’s Sake, tell the truth.. did you kill my cousin Marcella?” You whispered so coldly and raspy into her ear, like a growling lion before he pounces and tears apart zebras flesh. You watched her quiver, heavy breathing, and in the last moments of reality she nodded, confirming the truth. You took a step back and bit your lip to keep from showing tears. “The Cell.. all of them.” You gave the shallow order and the guards took them away. You could care less about the last one and allowed her to be taken away as well. Sitting back on your throne you looked to Euron, and gave the nod.

“The seas.. are yours.”

It had been a Week since Eurons reign, and all was calm, until you had an unexpected visitor, standing at the gates of Kings Landing with your men and council, you watched as an army of Unsullied and Dothraki approach, you couldn’t make out anyone you knew and prepared to rain Wildfire on them, but someone’s presence was well known, you heard the intense roar and the echo of massive wings in the sky, you saw the dragon, the most powerful beings in Westeros, they land on the ground. And its blood red eyes looked at you, admittedly a wave of fear hit you.

“Quburn.. are the Dragon Slayers reader?” You asked.

“Ready to launch, my King.” He replies, you sigh with relief and then watched a tiny figure step from the army.

“..Father?” You said, almost speechless. Tyrion approached, looking older, more stern. You signaled to let him in.

Sitting across from each other inside a Tent. You didn’t have much to say to him, even after all these years.

“You.. did it.” Tyrion said, seeing his son as king was, an unreal feeling. “You achieved greatness, as I always expected. Besides you’re half of me, so you should have.”

“Amusing father.. but, are you truly with this woman?”

“She.. has a vision for Westeros I simply cannot allow to go to the wayside, besides this place needs someone willing to show mercy instead of the blade.” Tyrion responds, you could somewhat understand his predicament.

“I suppose, but I won’t allow my throne to be taken by some Targaryen child. I will lead Westeros to peace, and she can go back to ruling whatever sand hill she wishes, as long as it isn’t on my soil.”

“That.. may not be your soil for much longer.” Tyrion quips, your eyes glare at him as he sips his wine.

“Not by us, the Winter.. the cold.. the undead. They’re real, and it seems their plan is to go from the wall and destroy along. Westeros, it would not be long before they raid Kings Landing..”

You consider your father’s words carefully, if this is true. Then the Queen of Dragons isn’t your main focus. “Is there a way to stop them?” You ask.

“Dragons glass and fire, that seems to be our only two, unfortunately the Queen lost one to the White Walkers. If we’re to survive and surpass this darkness, you and the Queen must come to an understanding and work together.”

“I.. see..” You rubbed your chin, truly considering all of this. “And where is the Queen?”

“Winterfell.”

“I can spare twenty thousand Men, leave a few here to run while I go.” You said, standing up you look out to the army still awaiting.

“May your return back to your Queen be swift father.. but know that when this is done, you must choose a side.” You left your father with those parting words, and Made way for The North.

Entering Winterfell felt like a death sentence, you felt eyes all over you, knowing at any moment you could be swarmed and killed, thankfully your army surrounded the rest of Winterfell, so a siege would immediately commence if you were killed. Standing in the Great Hall, you were gazed upon by Many house, and sitting at the center of the table was none other that the Queen, Denreyes Targaryen. You have a bow of courtesy.

“Your Grace, my father informed me of the.. issue we’re facing, this night king, these.. white walkers. They’re a plague slowly burrowing into the heart of Westeros, and it would take us all to stop them, so I fully intend to lend aid.” You said, it was silent besides a few Murmurs, some surprised you came here, others surprised you’re actually helping, Lannisters are usually selfish.

“Your help will be paramount to stopping this invasion. And I suppose the terms of your surrender was spoke about as well?”

“Apologies but I have no intent to surrender..” you reply, and smile. “A beautiful and intelligent woman such as yourself should know I am not here to surrender but to lend aid. We can discuss the throne when we know there will be a throne left.”

It was silence in the room now, and before Dany could say something she bit her tongue to keep it. “Understandable.. we shall discuss this when ample time is available. Please, enjoy Winterfell for the time being.” Her words sounded kind, but obviously it had a hint of malice behind it, knowing better you didn’t call her out, and simply went to your bedchambers. Walking along the frozen planks of Winterfell you felt unease, as if someone was watching you. You hit a corner and kept up the pace, knowing someone was there. As you turned the corner you prepared to face your chaser, you stepped out to attack but, no one was there. Something was wrong, but unfortunately it was too late.

You felt the cold steel against your neck and the abrupt grip of a hand around your wrist. Death was mere moments away, but it didn’t come, a voice came from behind you.

“Still too slow for your own good.” It said, it may have been years since you’ve seen her, but you recognized that voice from anywhere.

Arya.

“Always too slow for you.” You replied in jest and the cold steel was removed, you sigh and turn around to see her, she’s taller now and, you couldn’t help but notice that she’s a full fledged woman now. You met Arya when her Sister and Father were taken to Kings Landing, she had this tomboyish attitude that made you adore her, always being so friendly and practicing her fighting skills even as a girl, and now you both had grown up.

“You look..” you started, your eyes going up and down and back into her eyes.

“Scary?” She responds

“Amazing.” You said, she had a sly grin and gave you a playful poke with her finger. “And you look like a real king now.”

“I try.” You respond, “Arya.. about Kings Landing—“ you start but she stops you.

“You saved me when you made me leave when my father was killed, if not I’d end up like Sansa, your family isn’t you.” She said to you, so earnest and kind. That weight was taken off your shoulder. You nodded and Arya walks past you.

“I’ll see you soon. I’m sure you, have a lot deal with.” With those words Arya parted. You watched her leave, and the curves she developed would make a man’s steel resolve melt. You shook your head and pressed forward, entering the room you took a step in, and closed the door behind you, unfortunately you weren’t the only one in the room, Daenerys. She sat in your chair, as if she was awaiting your arrival.

“That did not take you long.” You said, ready to debate.

“Your presence has made it an issue with the northerners, not only do they question my rule as Queen of the North because of Jon, but so does yours.” She clenched her jaw slightly and you chuckled. You calmly removed your cape. You noticed the bottle of wine on the counter and didn’t hesitate to take it.

“Stop clenching your jaw. It’s bad for your teeth darling, you’re too pretty to lose your teeth now.” You calmly placed your cape on the table and approached to sit across from her.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Your Grace flattered has gotten me into a lot of things, thankfully one is the throne.” You gently combed back your hair, looking into her eyes, She was ferocious like a dragons, but also a merciful side. They were.. beautiful.

“Well I hope your flattery will work against the Night King and his horde of undead.” She obviously has a chip on her shoulder to say the least, a chip you intend to knock off.

“I doubt, he doesn’t seem the type to be swept off his cold decrepit feet.” You tapped the table, just to annoy her. “I say a good dagger to the heart does the same thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose it does. I am.. surprise you came.” She admits, you raised an eyebrow.

“You think of me as a liar?” You asked, She didn’t want to say yes but obviously you had your answer, your smirk fades and you calmly sit up, you popped the cork off the bottle and took a swig of it.

“I am nothing, if not a man of my word, and I came here to fight them myself as well. I said I would, so I would. And so you would know I truly mean it when I said.. I would Marry you and Make you Queen Denyeres Targaryen, you wouldn’t have to take my last name.” You meant every word, you offered the bottle of wine to Deny, she stared at it for a moment and took it for a drink of it. A warm smile was already on your face, hours of talking and drinking left you two actually getting along.

“You have no idea, it’s fucking cold, I hate it here, everyone cannot understand why I deserve the throne because I dont have a cock between my legs.” Deny rants on, and you slip up and said, “You could use mine.” You blurted out, jokingly but, she didn’t see it as a joke. She tilts her head a way that make you shutter a bit. You saw a sly smirk creep along her face.

“Is that a true request?” She asked you. You blinked a few times and decided why not and took the risk. “Sure, I don’t see why not. Just put it between your thighs.” You shrugged and watched Dany stand up, slowly unblocking her lower garments. You watched her smooth legs for show and an eyes trail upwards to what’s between her legs. A soft slightly trimmed bush, the blood stopped rushing to your head and to your dick. Kings Landing didn’t Lack whores and women, but something about Dany felt fresh, and desire burned. She giggled, seeing your thousand yard gaze at her privates. She knelt down, her soft legs stroking your thighs, and looking into your eyes. “Am I.. going to have to take them off myself?” She said, and you shook you head, gripping your trousers and pushed them down, and Dany got an eyeful of the Lions Tail.

“It’s… wow.” Dany was taken aback, but didn’t hesitate, she turned around, and plopped right on your lap, her bare ass brushing against your legs, she gently opens her legs and watched your dick fly up and softly slapped her couch. A dumbfounded giggle comes from her and she closes her legs. “So.. this is what it feels like.”

“It feels, amazing.” You leaned your head back, her soft thighs brushing and warmly gripping your dick. And softly moving around. It was mostly a Slightly Drunk Dany moving her legs around to play with her “Kings Cock.” Once it brushed against her crotch and a sensation catches her off guard. It felt good, and she wanted more. Dany placed her hands on the chair’s armrest to balance herself as she motions around, her breathing getting deeper and softer, the sensation you were feeling was something beyond imagination. Your hands gripped her waist to assist her.

“This is.. better than… i expected..” panting, Dany leaned her head back, and your hands slipped up her shirt, you slid your hands up, feeling her soft supple breasts underneath her. You leaned in, planting soft but deep kisses along her neck and it drove the Dragon Queen, a soft pinch of her nipple, a deep kiss on her neck. Her moaning filled the room, and you decided to give the dragon Queen what she deserved. Adjusting your cock you pressed against her pussy.

“Now, slide~” you held her body so warmly.

“Y-Yes~” she whines in your ear.

“Yes.. What?~” you replied.

“Yes.. my King~” she gasped, and with his Queens request you gently lowered her down on it, you felt your dick immediately get swallowed by warmth and wetness. Her gasp and deep moan signaled that she’s ready, you wrapped your arm around her waist and held onto the arm of the chair thrusting upward, you were stronger than her, making it easy to handle her body around with each punch and thrust, she bit her bottom lip to keep from yelling in pleasure.

“D-Dany.. you feel so.. fucking good! You squeezed tighter around her, the hot and sweat bending off your bodies hit the hard wood floor, which creaked slightly as you rammed your dick inside her.

“Damn you… for being so good!~” Dany let out a heavy groan. You felt the clenching of her walls on your cock, trying to drain it. You let her have it, bucking like a horse, making Dany bounce. “Fuck!” You held her waist, letting your seed erupt from the tip and into the air tight hold her pussy had on your cock. You watched her body stiffen up and her legs quiver as she has an actual orgasm. Panting, Dany leans back against you, panting, didn’t know what to say.

“Was that.. your first Orgasm?” You asked

“My.. First what?” She asked, still a bit confused of what she just felt, you laughed, softly putting your arms around her as she rested.

“.. So, you must love me now.” You say jokingly, “To have sex with me when you’ve barely known me for a day.”

Dany realized how it looked, and scoffed.

“I don’t.. I don’t love you, I.. Tolerate you.” She replied.

“Oh, well when we marry.. you can tolerate me like this for years.” You joke and snuggle up with her, Dany didn’t have the energy to argue with you, feeling your hot sweet pour down her leg. She thought to herself that yes.

She can tolerate you.

#male reader #game of throne x male reader #daenerys targeryan x male reader #daenerys targeryan #queen daenerys #smut #game of thrones smut #Ornii #game of thrones daenerys #lemon

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waddlewaddlewaddlewaddle · 3 months

Text

ᵤₙfₒᵣₜᵤₙₐₜₑₗy ₛₘᵢₜₜₑₙ ₍ₘₐfᵢₐ bₒₛₛ! Gₒⱼₒ ₓ ᵣₑₐdₑᵣ₎

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

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Pilot!

Summary: Life leads you to treacherous roads after deciding to enter the dangerous life you knew well not to follow.Having gojo by your side inviting you deeper and deeper into all that’s wrong in the world, inciting you to be selfish and carefree wasn’t supposed to be to your liking, so why do you shiver with adrenaline every time he decides to be the devil on your shoulder?

Contents: Mafia boss gojo x secretary reader.(civilian au ig)

Gojo being an egocentric bitch! Wealthy gojo! X no nonsense reader.

Warnings: trigger warning if you’re not interested in anything mafia related. The narration of this story is inspired by Latin and Asian mafia.

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It was a usual lovely Sunday night, you stepped out of the shower after carefully washing yourself with the most luxurious products money could by, the sage burning on top of the marble sink is enticing all your senses into pure relaxation.

You stepped out of the shower to your cozy heated floors and quickly threw on your fluffy bathrobe, god forbid your body ever threatens to even shiver. Your gorgeous figure is seen walking to your sink to plug in your airwrap so you could dry your Fresh deep conditioned hair so you could prep your hair for work tomorrow.

You were about to turn on your hair dryer when you heard a easily recognizable motorcycle exhaust pipe roar near your street, you chuckled to your self seems like some neighbor of yours managed to get a Harley Road glide cvo for themselves. You cringe at yourself after recognizing some work vehicles on your day off. After visibly shaking your head , your hands seem to newly glide towards the dyson but unfortunately a knock on your door seems to disrupt your short lived peace.

You slip on some Sanrio themed slippers and head to the door, thinking that maybe it’s your new neighbor, Alyssa; a mid aged single mom that always seemed to be missing a cup of sugar or a stick of butter to which you always glad fully gave some to.

But to your surprise, when you open the door your gaze is set upon a black suit with a gray dress shirt underneath, your nose is immediately hit with the smell of a jean Paul Gaultier perfume as the notes of bergamot , orange and amber hit your nose, you painfully raise your head to meet the eyes of the owner of the eccentric aura that is invading your foyer.

His eyes are cold and dead;hidden behind some luscious white lashes. His skin white as a ghost you wouldn’t want to approach in your worst nightmare , as your vision started to descend you crossed his tall nose bridged and visually visited his plump pink lips. Naturally this is where you would stop staring but you couldn’t help but notice how beautifully your bossess sharp jawline decorated his Addams apple.

There were few times you stood this close to him,then you realized. He was at your house,as reality set in you took a step back as fear slowly flooded your system, but for the sake of your job you couldn’t show it; so you quickly put on your resting bitch face and crossed your arms.

You sigh.

-“Where’s your god mother?”- you ask referring to where’s his body guard. He points his head to the motorcycle parked behind the 2024 BMW 7 series sedan. Geto always trailed behind your boss vehicle like a shadow; ironic considering the roar the motorcycles emits is similar to that of a lions.

After returning his gaze to you he trails his eyes from the crown of your head to your freshly manicured toes while lifting the corner of his lips.

-“The more important question is, did you get all dolled up, so pretty, just for me?”- He asked with a smug expression adorning his face.

When you started the job as his secretary, you were freshly graduated from business school. Plenty of companies were desperate to have you as their employee after some internships. But you were set on owning your own company that was until one morning on your door arrived a fruit basket adorned with a letter made out of thick and soft boujee ass paper, all that was written on it was the address of the restaurant of the city and a time stamp. You decided to go out of pure curiosity. As soon as you arrived you were led to a private room that’s where you met the curious man that’s currently crouching under your door frame.

As you sat down and talked , he talked about his business, all was well until he mentioned his business was humbly the proud owner of the tittle of the biggest drug exporter to south east Asia.

You did what any rational person would do , calmly get up and book it to the door but before you could reach your destiny , your now boss clicked his fingers and a pair of gorillas came and grabbed you by your arms and forced you to sit down.

Gojo smiled cynically while laying down your 2 options.

1.You ratting your meeting out to the feds and having your pretty little pink tongue off.

2.Accepting the job offer to be his secretary earning a ridiculously high salary , health care , pension anything you could think of.

You decided for the latter.

Getting back to reality;you had to figure out what to do with the sexy giant at your door.

-“Gojo you know my boundaries, no out of office meetings and no Gore-y things in front of me.Cmon dude you’re better than this. Plus how did you even find me I’ve moved like twice in the last 2 years.”- you muttered looking at his serious face.

After finishing your dialogue you couldn’t help but notice a hint of uneasiness, he couldn’t be mad at you for reminding him your boundaries, right? You know him, you know him like the palm of your hand, or so you thought.

-“I have my ways. Aren’t you going to let me in? You hiding something?”- He says leaning forward scoping your house out.

-“Um, fuck , mean yeah sure go ahead.”- You responded moving to the side letting his breeze by you.

His tall figure literally invaded you apartment, he rested his hands in his pockets as he examined your living space, after memorizing you living room he sat down on your puffy jade sofa.

-“So this is what they call a woman’s touch huh, I’ll be brief, I need you to take your little bathrobe off and put on some decent clothes and pack your little passport and follow me to the car.We’re going to Shanghai baby ,I’ll explain later.”-He ordered wishing you would run to obey his every command

You cackled in disbelief. Truth be told you were scared of the business you were in ,that’s why to protect yourself you set up a rule that you wouldn’t work outside of an office or a meeting room. For the moment you were only used to having reunions with new money idiots who wanted to get even richer fast. You knew nothing good waited for you in Shanghai.

You weren’t afraid to joke around him and push his buttons, he made it clear he needed you, his business flourished the minute you stepped in, you organized his accounting’s in many banks over seas , you created plenty of paper companies to launder his money , you charmed his business associates into shady business and secured international funding. He could never dream of hurting you. Well, not in a way you wouldn’t like of course.

-“I think you’re tripping balls man, no fucking way.Why would I ever do that?”-You striked back as you violently shake your head.

He grinned at the way you thought you could say no to him, he also grinned at the sight of your robe becoming loose.

-“I’ll pay you triple your hourly wage , 5 personal staff , 2 bullet proof trucks for the duration of the trip and all the arrangements paid by me of course. And since I’m feeling nice I’ll even throw in a shopping spree so you don’t have to worry that cute head of yours on packing clothes.”- He smiled being charmed by his own charisma.

You scrunched your eyebrows and turned around having your hair flip behind you.

-“Call Geto in to help me with his bags.”

-“Yes, mam.”

Gojo’s ears glowed red after realizing he could virtually get you to do anything to satiate his desires.

You had no idea about what’s about to come.

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A/n: hello, I literally started writing this frantically at 12 am knowing I had class from how inspired I was , I plan this to be a full story ig idk how to describe itanyways , suggestions or request accepted!! Comments are appreciated!!!😘

#gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #gojo imagine #jjk smut #jjk fluff #mafia gojo #jjk mafia #smart business school reader #idk really #idk what tags to use #idk how to tag this #dark romance #mafia romance #geto suguru #if he’s a serial killer then what’s the worst that can happen to a girl who’s already hurt

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dilvuc · 15 days

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Is it okay for me to do another Yandere request for your event thing? If it's not, just ignore it. If it's okay, can I have Yandere gender neutral reader and Leona where the reader tries to make Leona number one at everything and then eventually kills all of his family and says, "Now you're finally have everything you wanted, my lovely king~" while holding Falena's and Cheka's heads in their hands please?

❝MY LOVELY KING❞

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: angst

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗: gender neutral

𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊: my lovely king

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: leona x yandere!gn!reader

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: blood, headless, gore, sorry cheka😭

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: if leona wants to become recognized, then…perhaps you can…get his family out of the picture

“Leona! At least let me help you with it. Maybe I can make people recognize you.” you told the lion beastman as you followed him in the hall. leona let out a soft sigh, “...I appreciate your gratitude, but…just give it up. No one will recognize my hard work. Thanks…”

you frowned as you watched leona walk away in the distance. you gritted your teeth, knowing how everyone not seeing leona as number one.

you heard cheka laughing from across the hall. he rushed past you and leaped on leona's back, making him annoyed.

if only that his family were out of the picture…

perhaps…

nighttime hit, felena’s wife just put cheka in bed. everything would've gone peacefully, but unfortunately…cheka noticed a figure in a cloak creeping up behind his mother. before he could scream and warn his mother, the intruder swung their weapon on the back of the queen’s head, killing her instantly.

cheka stared at his dead mother with a look of pure horror. the poor child was unable to move because he's paranoid. the intruder turned their attention to the prince with a mischievous, “If I take you out of the picture, then Leona will be number one…”

“...Ojita—”

TWACK!

a guard barged into felena's office, nearly caused him to knock over the paperwork, “Y-your majesty!”

“What is it?” felena sweatdropped as he stacked up the paperwork. the guard shuddered, “A…an assassin…murdered the queen and prince Cheka in the prince's bedroom!”

hearing the gruesome news, caused the king to drop everything from his grasp. is he hearing this correctly? an assassin just murder his wife and son? he abruptly stood up and slammed his fists on the desk, “You're lying! Tell me you're lying!”

“Unfortunately…I…”

felena rushed out of his office and rushed to cheka’s bedroom, trying to make sure that it wasn't true. he noticed some dead guards lying at the entrance of cheka’s room, without a head. feeling his heart dropped, he barged the door opened and to his horror, he saw his own son's head on the lap of the intruder.

“Cheka…” felena's eyes widened in horror. he then glared at the intruder in rage, “You! What have you done to my family?! If you kill Leona too, I'll—”

“Your majesty. I wouldn't harm my future king. I couldn't bare seeing my Leona as #2.” the intruder stated while stroking the head of cheka's hair, “He gave up trying to work hard, so I try to put matter in my own hands. By wiping you and your family out.”

“...You…How could you do this?! I'll kill you myself!” felena roared. you sigh with disappointment before standing up, “You're so annoying. How can my Leona have such a brother like yourself…? It won't take long.”

leona returns to the castle to take a nap. though, it was odd. he doesn't see cheka or his brother running up to him. are they asleep?

“Whatever. I should take my nap. I hope that brat isn't in my room again…” leona yawned as he was about to head to his room, only to trip over something. “Oof! Ow! The hell? Did Cheka leave his toys lying around?”

the lion beastman's eyes widened when it turned out to be the head of the attendant, “What…?”

he looks ahead of him and finds a gruesome sight. there are headless guards lying around with blood splatter everywhere. that's not the worst part, their heads were all hanging on the wall.

“W…what…?” leona gasped before vomiting on the floor at the sight and smell. he coughed out, “W…w…what's going on…?”

leona’s mind turns its focus on his nephew. in panic, he rushed over to his nephew's room and barged in, “CHEKA!”

to his pure horror, he finds his headless nephew and brother lying around on the ground along with his sister-in-law, who isn't headless. leona realized that he was too late. he family…are gone…

“Who…? WHO DID THIS?!” leona roared, falling to his knees.

“Leona…” a familiar voice spoke. to leona’s relief, you were aliv— the lion beastman froze in shock when he realized his nephew and brother's heads were in your bloody hands.

“You…” leona whispered. “You did this…?”

“Yep~ I wouldn't want you to feel bad, so I got rid of everyone. They're gone now…” you beamed, playing with the heads like they're dolls.

“Now you're finally have everything you wanted, my lovely king~”

╰┈➤ author note: please note that this is a slow update. i will still accept your request, but it will take a while since i'll be working on my books on wattpad. if you wish to read those books, here's my wattpad account.

twst masterlist

rules

#male reader #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere reader #yandere male reader #twst leona #leona kingscholar #I'M SORRY CHEKA😭

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drconstellation · 6 months

Text

The Golden Lions of Heaven

S2 has several prominent lion symbols in it, and at first watch they don’t appear to have anything to do with the main story line. But there are lions in both seasons, and they are all connected.

Lions are intrinsically linked with royalty, and are often called King of the Beasts or King of the Jungle. They also symbolize courage, nobility and strength.

Whenever lions appear in GO they are always coloured gold, which is associated with Heaven. Nearly all the angels have some bit of gold on them somewhere - unless they have just discorporated.

In Christian iconography Jesus is represented as a lion upon his return. When he was crucified he was a sacrificial lamb, but the Second Coming is a time when he returns to reign again. As a descendant of the royal house of David, it therefore seems quite logical to assign this symbol to the king of kings.

There is also this paragraph from the Medieval Bestiary:

“In Christian allegory, the three main natures of the lion each have a meaning. The lion erasing its tracks with its tail represents the way Jesus concealed his divinity, only revealing himself to his followers. The lion sleeping with its eyes open represents Jesus, physically dead after crucifixion, but still spiritually alive in his divine nature. The lion roaring over his dead cubs to bring them to life represents how God the father woke Jesus after three days in his tomb.”

There is also an often misquoted line “when the lion shall lie down with the lamb,” but it’s not that at all. The full verse is:

“The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.” [Isiah 11:6]

It is referring to a time of peace that should come once Jesus returns. Somehow I don't think we are going to get that in S3.

The Two Lions in the Dirty Donkey

There are two large golden lions sitting on the ends of the bar in the Dirty Donkey. Because one of the underlying themes in S2 is about the Second Coming, even if its not obvious until the end, its fairly easy then to interpret these two as being connected to this event. The Dirty Donkey itself can be seen in several ways: a simple donkey that needs a wash, or a black horse. Both are relevant to referencing Jesus. In the former, Jesus rode a donkey into Jerusalem the first time to signify he came in peace, but the second time he arrives will be like on the back of the black horse of a conqueror come to rule. One lion for each occurrence.

The Lion under the lamp in Jimbriel’s room

While there is some argument for Jim’s character in S2 re-creating parts of the life of Jesus from two thousand years ago, such as the cleansing of the temple and facing temptation from demons. I think we shouldn’t also forget that this is also Gabriel the Herald, and he was doing some ominous heralding of doom at various points in S2 that in hindsight we can see were warning us about the Second Coming. So this lion at the base of the lamp Jimbriel is playing with has to alert us to Jimbriel’s connection with Jesus. (I will probably revisit and add/rewrite this one in the future, I think there is a bit more to it)

The Lion Rampant on Aziraphale’s Ring

At the end of S2 we learn that Aziraphale has been manipulated into going back to Heaven to run the Second Coming by the Metatron. In hindsight, its hard to see how he wouldn't be involved, somehow. What is surprising, however, is that this expert in prophecy didn't see it coming - but then he didn't expect to see Jimbriel arriving either!

Usually the first thing we notice about Aziraphale's ring is the stylized lion rampant on the shield. We know it's definitely a lion because it upright - if it was down on all four paws it would be referred to as a leopard. The upright tail tells us its on guard.

There are more elements to the ring that also add to the story here, it's a much more complex ring than Michael's. The crown on the top is a symbol of victory and sovereignty, and also a connection to God, who considered the "King of all." On either side of the shield are two stylized sprigs of laurel, reinforcing a picture of triumph and fame.

Then there are a fringe of feathers, banded in sharp triangular spikes. Feathers signify willing obedience and serenity of mind in heraldry, so I would tend to lean towards the former. The triangles represent celestial rays, so they reinforce his obedience to the will of Heaven.

You might think, "well this makes sense, Aziraphale is a Principality, he's a protector, that's why there is a lion," but I think it more complicated than that. It tells us something about both the past and the future at the same time. The purpose of the rings remain a mystery to us at the moment, in that we don't know why some angels have them and others don't, or if they have any function. Aziraphale has a tendency to touch his when he is feeling troubled or worried (its easy to miss if you aren't paying attention,) so perhaps it helps to strengthen his connection to Heaven somehow, or is a reminder of his duties.

There is another connection Aziraphale has to a lion, and that is through his past status as a cherubim in the Job minisode in S2E2.

As pointed out in this post, the pattern is stylized to represent the four wings that Cherubim are said to have, with a pearl in the center for an eye. These Cherubim also have four faces: an ox, an eagle, a lion and a man. Well, we sort of get all of those with Aziraphale at some point in the wider story. And the angel set at the eastern gate of Eden with the flaming sword was supposed to be a Cherubim, too. Yes, Aziraphale changed rank from Cherubim to Principality, we just don't technically know whether it was a step up or down...

The Honolulu Roast Lion

There is a lion you don’t see in S2 – the lion logo for the Honolulu roast coffee, mentioned briefly on a blackboard in the background of a shot inside the coffee shop.

The islands of Hawaii were a kingdom up until 1893, when a commercial coup took them over and allowed them to be annexed by the US. You can read more about it here. While the op in that post relates it the Eldritch Ball in S2E5, it still connects a lion to royalty.

The lion at the beginning of S1E1

Right at the beginning we have a lion as well – a real live lion! After Adam and Eve leave the Garden of Eden they meet a big lion out on the dunes. As Aziraphale and Crowley watch and talk atop the walls of the Garden, Adam confronts the lion with the flaming sword Aziraphale gave him and eventually kills the lion before he walks away with Eve.

What are we to think of this? I've see one op suggest that it was Aziraphale "throwing them to the lions" as his first act. To me it seems more like Adam has just slain God instead to gain their freedom.

The Lions on Crowley’s “throne”

There are two lion heads on the arm rest of Crowley’s “throne” (I don’t know what else to call it, really) in his Mayfair flat in S1. If I understand correctly, this should first be viewed as a homage to the US show Supernatural, as this chair is the exact copy of the one the demon Crowley in that show sits in, only his one is black. But if I’m to look at it in terms of GO symbology, my brain keeps going [error 503: Server cannot process the request due to a system overload; should be a temporary condition...] because I can’t quite believe what its telling me. And I should, because I’m the one running around touting a list that is now 22 items long for why Crowley was once a very powerful archangel and written a batshit-crazy meta on King Arthur themes presenting in GO. So I’ll just present my quandary this way: There are lions, they are golden, of course, so they are connected to Heaven, and a symbol of royalty – but they are being used by a demon in a residence paid for by Hell…(too.much.gold...! what were they thinking?)

Further reading: The Golden Lion by Cobragardens

#good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #good omens meta #good omens analysis #lions #gold #golden lions of heaven #the second coming #angel rings #celestial crown #laurel #celestial rays #cherubim #honolulu roast #being thrown to the lions #royalty

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theonemarvelousness · 1 year

Text

Scar of King's Roar [TW]

Leona's eye hurts.

A lot of stuff hurts. His eyes are dry.

It's rare he sees his father.

Talking to the doctor in the other room.

His ears ache; but he catches some words.

"--Unique Magic..."

"--sand? Everything?"

"--blot--"

"--blind?"

He can't see out of his patched-up eye.

Things are weird.

He wants a bath.

A nap.

"And STAY here. No one wants to look after a cursed prince!" The servant scolds, hauling him in the--well. He's not sure where he is, really. It's dark. And small. And there's no one here.

If he wasn't a lion, he wouldn't be able to make out this small, box-like space. He has to sit to fit.

Jiggling the handle does nothing. He can hear the clatter of a lock.

Maybe if he just naps?

---

The door's still locked when he wakes up. He's thirsty, and his stomach growls. Hungry, too.

Pressing his ear against the door...

"Hello?!" He calls, maybe he can't hear them?

"HELLO?!"

Nothing.

He takes another nap.

---

Sleep is nice, but when he's awake he's remembering how hungry and thirst he is.

Why are there no servants? That's... how it's supposed to be, right?

Why did the nanny leave him in here?

---

His tummy hurts.

His throat hurts.

He's hit the door, and tried to use some magic. But he's not strong enough to get out. His claws aren't as long or as sharp as Farenah's, either. He can't just slash through things like his big brother.

Farenah's at school, far away, too.

---

Why can't the door disappear?

Words--strange words bubble in his throat. "I am your hunger, I am your thirst. I am what steals your tomorrows. Kneel before me! King’s Roar!" He doesn't know where it comes from. This strong magic takes nothing, but--but the door!

The door he was pushing against... it's sand?

"What is THAT?" A servant yells, looking at him in horror.

"What did he do!?" Another.

Coming toward them, he grasps their pant leg. "I--"

The cloth turns to sand.

The servant screams. And shoves at him--hard. Their claws pierce and cut his skin, as he's shoved away by his face. It hurts.

It hurts so much.

Stumbling, he falls into a cabinet.

It turns to sand, slowly, as he uses it to get up.

It's.

There's a lot of shouts.

He sees guards.

He...

---

Waking up here...

King's Roar.

That was the magic he used. His Unique Magic.

He isn't sure anymore.

Did kids get their Unique Magics?

He's so tired.

"PRINCE LEONA!" The shout of Kifaji startles him. Ears back.

Leona doesn't want...

"Oh no--what did they do to you? My little prince..." The bird flutters and all that.

But he doesn't want to talk. "Thirsty." He gets out, stomach grumbling. Suddenly, all of it's back. The hunger and thirst.

"Yes, yes!" And off the bird goes, coming back with a fresh glass of water. "Slow sips, Leona."

Taking it, he downs it gratefully. It soothes a lot. But he listens. Slow sips.

"I want a nap, Kifaji." He wants his room.

"The doctor hasn't finished--but what happened, Leona?" The soft tone of the adult. The old bird bends to look him in the eyes. Eye.

"...The nanny put me somewhere..." He mumbles, looking away. "And I got out with sand."

The King and the doctor return then.

His father looks just like Farenah.

Sunset hair. Gold eyes. Large. Proud.

He looks like his mother, the late queen. Dirt hair. Green eyes.

But he's only seen her in paintings. Farenah's photos.

Leona bows to the king, as he should, and keeps his gaze to the ground.

The doctor pulls up his chin. "His Blot levels are high, he's severely dehydrated. He needs water. Several good meals. That is an impressive amount of magic for a five-year-old..." He doesn't like looking at the old doctor. But he doesn't pull away like he wants to. "My King, you should be quite proud. You have two powerful princes in magic!"

"He summons sand." The king cuts back.

Leona's ears press flat to his skull.

The doctor is older than even Kifaji. "My, yes, we... are unsure if he'll keep his sight. Kifaji, make sure he's here after dinner. We'll do twice-a-day looks until it's healed."

"Yes, of course."

"He can go now." The doctor releases Leona.

"Come, my Prince." Kifaji gestures for him to come along.

Leona slides off the table, and bows to his father quietly before he leaves.

He doesn't stumble until he's out of the older lion's sight.

---

The servants are scared now.

They were just mean before... cursed is thrown around a lot, more.

They say, in their whispers they think he can't hear, that he killed the queen when he was born.

He took too much.

Of course he did, look at that magic.

Sand.

---

It left a scar over his eye, but he can see out it.

His fingers trace over it again and again.

"It does make you look like the King of Beasts, Leona." Kifaji points out.

"Really?" He turns back, looking at the old bird, curious.

The bird gives a big smile. "Yes, and I think you'll follow a path of greatness too, one day."

Kifaji's just saying that.

#leona kingscholar #farenah kingscholar #kifaji #sunset savannah #twst writing #twst writings #twst fic #twst fanfic #twst fanfiction #twst angst

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mask-of-prime · 7 months

Text

VG: Something in the Water - PART 2

Weeks of rejoicing in the clear weather had lifted everyone's spirits. Taking advantage of the right weather, talks of Kiara and Kovu's official crowning as king and queen had made its way through the Pridelands. Dear friends and family were invited, including Kiara's brother, Kion, and his queen, Rani, who had not yet seen the Pridelands for herself.

The last few weeks consisted of rehearsals that both the royals and the Guard had to practice. However, in these same weeks, sudden, mysterious disappearances had taken place. It was recently found out that said disappearances had been drownings, as the unfortunate victims would be found risen to the surface of bodies of water.

The incidents made Simba and Nala wonder if maybe the ceremony once again had to be postponed, but their son and his friends were already on their way. Vitani and her Guard promised to investigate the situation with caution.

____

Today was the big day, the day of Kiara and Kovu's official coronation. It wasn't common for a predecessor to step down and watch their successor rise. For generations, it was tradition for the old monarch to pass away in order for their child to succeed the title. Simba wanted to see Kiara rule so he could someday join the Kings of the Past knowing that the kingdom was in good paws.

Simba believed Kiara was ready. Kiara, herself, however, was a nervous wreck. She didn't tell anyone except Kovu, who knew the feelings of the pressure of filling a role very well.

Meanwhile, Vitani and her Lion Guard flanked Pride Rock. They proudly watched as Kovu and Kiara walked up the ledge upon being called over by Makini, who had also made her return to the Pridelands.

During the ceremonial march, the Guard chatted amongst themselves in hushed voices. The clearing of the weather reminded them of the strange monsoon that had taken place for nearly a month, and a conversation came up where nightmares they'd all seem to simultaneuously have had come to a stop the minute the monsoon ended. Nightmares that all had to do with their youth in the Outlands.

Vitani felt correct in her theory that these dreams would occur every time it rained. She considered Tiifu's theory that the dreams had been trauma-related due to the scent and sound of rain. Lately, there was also the addition of these drowning incidents.

Did the stress of these investigations play into these nightmares, too? No matter what, It all seemed to involve water... No... That's too superstitious. That's jumping to conclusions... But, was superstition so out of the ordinary for one who possessed the Roar of the Elders?

"Lion Guard!"

The five lions in question looked to the sky. It was Anga.

She perched to their level, standing at Vitani's shoulder. The Fiercest lent an ear. Anga had told them she caught sight of a violent drowning incident near Misingi Falls.

Not another one... The Lion Guard left Pride Rock on yet another detective mission, hoping they could maybe save this latest victim. ____

"We should split up to shorten the investigation. We don't want to be gone too long before their official crowning." whispered Vitani.

The Guard obeyed the order, deeming it a sound idea. They all went their separate ways to inspect each area of Misingi Falls that they were assigned to. Vitani walked towards the grove that was on the way to the namesake waterfall, lost in the fond memories of falling in love with Tiifu in that very place. She hadn't noticed the mist rising from the ground. Mist that made her disappearance undetectable to the rest of the Guard.

Meanwhile, the sky seemed to grow dark unusually sooner than it normally would. It had been getting oddly dark for the past hour, now. Vitani gazed up at the sky, hoping it not to be any more rainclouds. It felt as if the sun was being blocked by something, but Vitani couldn't truly check without risking blinding herself. Overall, the phenomenon could not be more eerily-timed...

A noise from above scared Vitani out of her wits. She gasped as she jolted. She looked towards the source of the sound to find that it had only been an eagle owl, which flew away from its perch just then. It was confused by the sudden darkness of the sky, thinking it to already be evening.

Vitani chuckled to herself in relief and from the comedic timing for a mere owl to be there. She sighed after catching her breath, inspecting her surroundings to find that she'd wandered rather far from the group, unbeknownst to her, and apparently the rest.

All of a sudden, an all-surrounding, enticing hum rang through Vitani's ears. In order to get a better listen, Vitani followed the sound, not realizing she was, in fact, being involuntarily pulled towards the source of the song.

The song echoing in the mist sounded familiar... nostalgic... comforting... a lullaby Vitani once knew, one sung to her and her brothers in anticipation of victory and a new home. Though, it was unusually slow in tempo, with a somewhat unnerving, demented tone.

No matter... It made her feel like a child again...

She had to find the voice, it was calling to her. She continued to mindlessly make her way through the grove, stepping carefully through bushes as her head remained perfectly still, staring straight ahead.

She felt desire... desire that was being... deliberately preyed upon...

The owner of the voice was elated at the creature she caught this time. She was going to spare this one...

"Yes, come to your mother..." it crooned. She had her now... The Fiercest found herself slowly stepping into the pool at the base of the waterfall. The splash of her paws and the cold, wet sensation up her legs had snapped her out of her trance. She frantically looked around at her surroundings, not sure how she ended up at Misingi Falls. Her bewilderment was cut short when she saw a glowing form emerge from the waterfall. A familiar face eagerly grinned down at her.

"It's been too long, my dear..." Vitani was shocked, to say the least. The water had taken the form of her deceased mother. She knew that smile, that singsong voice, that petname she'd sometimes call her. It was her, it really was her...

"I... I couldn't agree more..." Vitani finally responded, choking up a bit as she smiled.

She quickly caught herself, wiping away tears that were just beginning to form in her eyes. She knew her mother would comment on her crying. It was unprofessional, immature, dramatic, she would say.

"Hah, sorry..." the daughter sniffled.

"Now, now," Zira's apparition purred, "it's alright. I'm here, now, and that's what matters."

Vitani spent a good while reeling from what was happening. She still wasn't sure if it was a dream, hallucination, something. She had seen ghosts, before, possessing the divine Roar of the Elders. She knew very well that it was possible. She felt her paws dig into the muddy ground under the rushing water, her mother's bellowing voice rattling her chest. The sensation was absolutely real, as far as she knew.

"You've really bulked up," Zira remarked, "and I see a certain marking on your shoulder. That's new..."

Vitani expected that, she'd always been prepared to hear her mother comment on her physical attributes. She did gain quite a bit of muscle mass in her upper body, making her resemble her mother all the more.

"Oh, Mother. You have no idea... So much has happened since you've been gone. I'm a leader, now. I'm in charge of the new Lion Guard, and we've been keeping Kovu and our pridesisters safe like you'd always hoped we would. You'll be proud to hear this, Kovu and Kiara, they're about to b -- "

"King and Queen of the Pridelands?" Zira's tone and face were unreadable, either intrigued or unimpressed. Possibly both.

"Y-Yes..." Vitani's soldier-like stance dropped as her head craned closer, "How did you know that...?"

"How else? It's like you said before, my dear; I have been watching you from the clouds." her voice barely contained a slight hint of a grudge, "I've been watching all of you. All. This. Time. I was there to watch you become corrupted by the Pridelander since you left me to die in favor of them..."

Vitani's mind flashed back to all of the rainstorms that took place since her mother's death, from the weeks-long monsoon to the occasional thunderstorms scattered throughout the past year. It all made sense. The strange dreams everyone seemed to have at a time, the faint whispers in the raindrops that Vitani could swear was the voice of her own mother's, her scent, the flashbacks... It had all played a part in something that the Lions of the Past were trying to tell the Roar-wielder for some time.

"But... shouldn't you have been with the Lions of the Past all this time if you lived in the clouds?"

"I did, until you conjured a Dark Roar and sacrificed one of your precious subjects to turn me into this vengeful spirit." "S-Sacrifice?" Vitani's eyes grew wide, "What are you talking about?"

"Does this look familiar?

Suddenly, something was being pulled out of the water under Zira's hydrokinetic control. A large, greenish-gray form was plopped down in front of Vitani, as if she were being presented a kill from a hunt. Vitani grew sick to her stomach.

It had been the bloated, rotting corpse of Ngurumo. He was barely recognizable, yet there wasn't a single scratch on him. It seemed as if his cadaver was protected from the predators that lived below.

"Take a good, long look, my child..." Zira deadpanned, seeming to disregard her daughter's visible distress.

"You're... you're a monster..." Vitani muttered, petrified.

"You made me, Vitani. You let your temper slip when you unleashed your Roar. I'm a monster -- BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"No..." Vitani grew hot. She felt herself shaking as her heart began to pound. "Yes..." purred Zira, "Help me, Vitani. Help me, and I won't appear this way again..." Fear overcame Vitani. It wasn't like her to disobey her mother, but she could not stay here. She frantically trotted out of the water, and turned for the grove. "DON'T LEAVE ME! I AM WHAT YOU MADE ME!" Zira's voice echoed through the trees, not seeming to grow any quieter the further Vitani bolted through the confusing maze. Vitani ran for her life. Twigs snapped and bushes flattened as the lioness brushed through them. She could still her her mother, and felt like she was right behind her if she were to ever dare to look back. Just before the drop down the hill, Vitani hadn't noticed a large branch hanging about, near eye-level. She smacked her temple against it. It had only been the beginning of misfortune, as she made a painful tumble down to the hill's base. She landed on her back, out cold. Zira lost track of where Vitani had ran shortly into the chase. She stared on hatefully, feeling once again betrayed by her only daughter. She idly sifted the water that surrounded her, letting it softly rise and fall. Her hydrokinesis growing more powerful the more she stewed. Until... The blood that dripped from the branch that Vitani cut herself on began to move as well. Zira watched the droplets defy gravity like the water did. A low chuckle escaped her throat. A plan had been forming. She learned more and more of new ways to start total chaos with anyone she's ever known. Everyone who ever wronged her will now pay... ____ "Vitani? You okay?" said a muffled voice. The lioness on the ground blinked away her double-vision. The twelve -- no, eight? Four grayish forms became clearer. It was her Lion Guard, staring down at her with concern. "Uhhh..." Vitani moaned, squeezing her eyes shut from the pain on her temple becoming exasperated by the bright yellow sunset. "That was quite a tumble, dude." said Shabaha. "Hnngg... how long was I out...?" Vitani slurred. "Couple of hours." Imara replied. Vitani shot up, becoming more alert. "The ceremony! I-Is it too late?!" "The ceremony... kinda didn't happen..." Kasi cringed awkwardly. Vitani stood up, "What?" "Kiara panicked. Bad." Imara answered, "Ran back into the cave. When we got back to Pride Rock, everyone was checking on her." "When it started getting late, we noticed you were gone. We had Tazama locate you while we ran back home real quick. She stayed by you until we came back." Kasi said. "C'mon, Vitani..." Shabaha let her leader put her weight on her shoulder, "Gonna wanna get that thing patched up. I mean, might give Tiifu a panic attack on top of Kiara's, but... it's... y'know..." Shabaha's voice trailed off. Vitani absentmindedly nodded just before glancing back. She looked into the grove, gazing at the glow of the falls deep within. Did her interaction with her mother even happen, or was it all just a bad dream? She couldn't bring it up, now. Not with a gash on her head. No one would believe her... ____ ((Author's Note: Water Spirit Zira is finally revealed! Looks like Vitani's having a not-so-good (belated) Friday the 13th 😱. A MUCH fuller version of this story will be uploaded later on my Ao3, including that very summarized prelude as well as Kiara and Kovu's B-plot. Here, I just provided the portion of the story providing context for the thumbnails. Art Note: You may have noticed a strange phenomenon in the sky in the first image. This is a nod to an annual solar eclipse that happened today that both Americas had the opportunity to witness. Also, as you may have noticed, I did indeed do a paint-over of my one drawing of Water Spirit Zira when I first introduced her in her model sheet. I liked the drawing too much that I thought I'd adapt it into a more detailed, full image with her daughter included four years later.))

#The Lion King #The Lion Guard #Vitani's Guard #TLK #TLG #Vitani #Zira #My Art

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amillieaway · 1 year

Text

prompt: snowed in

It was snowing in their common room.

Hermione didn’t sleep. Darkness toyed with her every night until she succumbed to the dusty lamp above her shoulder.

There was always a book on the bedside table. Soft leather covers with cracking spines, second-hand shop prices penciled on the top right corner of the title page; always under ten quid because post-war Hermione did not have the luxuries that her former self used to do.

Bleary-eyed restlessness kept her up consistently, unveiling highly unusual nocturnal activities in her shared dorm.

If someone had told her who would be Head Boy in eighth year, she may not have returned to Hogwarts. He would be cruel and condescending and completely unbearable. But Draco turned out to be a decent roommate. Tidy and polite and quiet, he kept to his room, and covered most patrol shifts, giving her ample time off.

Only, he was a profoundly dramatic sleeper.

Hermione raised the covers to her chin, shielding herself from a gust of snowflakes falling from the ceiling.

Forever in a state of apathy, Draco’s emotions were guarded heavily behind stony mental walls. Except for when he slept. Last night, their rooms trembled in the wake of a roaring wind storm. Hermione’s History essay flew across the floor, quills and bobby pins and sweet wrappers tornadoing around the rug. The night before that, the temperature dropped so low, her breath clouded; the trembling fern on her windowsill shed three leaves. Separated only by a thin wall, Hermione experienced the brunt of Draco’s unruly magic night after night.

She’d contemplated waking him, conjured a list of pros and cons. He would be embarrassed. He might lash out. But his unconscious was too heartbreaking to stomach. Every night was cold, chaotic, a shade, or many, uncomfortable. Leaving him alone would be a disservice to them both.

Clumsily, she wiggled into yesterday’s socks, tugging them above her knees. The carpet was damp beneath her feet. She wore cotton shorts and a tank, her blanket tucked tightly around her shoulders.

She paused behind his door.

Boys were always more agreeable after sugar.

She detoured.

Minutes later, Hermione crossed the corridor’s frosty white floors, mug in hand, entering Draco’s room without knocking. Snow melted into a layer of glimmering wet upon her shoulders.

Draco slept on his side, hugging himself, brows furrowed.

Hermione called his name once, quietly, and again, louder, when he didn’t stir.

Draco blinked drowsily. Then shot up like a spark. The triangle of light flooding the doorway illuminated the panic on his face.

“It’s only me,” Hermione said sheepishly, trying to sound soothing. “You were having a bad dream.”

He frowned, his hair sticking up in all directions. He was shirtless.

Hermione’s pulse quickened. “Uhm… I brought you hot chocolate.” She gestured awkwardly to the lion-head mug in her hands, cocoa-scented steam swirling through the clean boyish scent of Draco’s room.

He followed her gaze, appearing more confused. The mattress creaked as he shuffled away, silver-scarred ribs expanding. “Did I wake you?” His voice was raspy.

Hermione wanted to tell him about the snow. About the way his dreams manifested into magic. But like each enchanted dream before, any indication of it was gone. Her shoulders were dry. The floors clean. The temperature had risen to castle norm, which was never warm enough anyway.

“I never sleep,” she admitted instead, resigned.

“Never?”

“It’s difficult. My head’s not a happy place.”

“Nor mine.” He relaxed a little, repositioning himself against the carved headboard, a generous gap of space stretched between him and the edge of the bed. He shot her a pointed look.

Blushing, Hermione hugged her blanket closely and crawled up beside him. She could have told him why she was there, but the words would not come. If Draco knew the truth, he would stop sleeping. They shouldn't both have to suffer.

“Will you stay up with me for a while?” she asked.

For once his eyes twinkled, shot with exhaustion, but unguarded. And interested? “Only because you brought me hot chocolate,” he said, nudging his chin in silent demand.

She rolled her eyes as she handed him the mug, hiding her grin.

His throat pulsed as he swallowed slowly, licking his lower lip. Their fingers brushed when he handed it back to her. His skin was warm.

Hermione took a small sip.

“I thought you would be the shittiest roommate,” Draco admitted a while later, eyes fixed carefully ahead. “I thought—Hermione Granger? She’ll preach rules any time I toe out of line and hog all the bookshelf space and be condescending twenty-four hours a day. I nearly didn’t come back.” He met her gaze. “But you surprised me.”

A spark of awareness shot down her spine.

He took the hot chocolate back, drinking from exactly where her mouth had been, a sneaky smile curling the edges of his lips.

They sat until dawn, bickering but not seriously. Laughing, but sleepily and more out of politeness. They were just getting to know one another. There were awkward gaps, moments of wordlessness, ceaselessly thinking ‘what do I say next?’. But there was always a next, even if it took a while. A thoughtful next. A next that led to a longer conversation, and a longer one after that. Thighs brushing, then pressing, shoulders caving towards one another. Eventually, Hermione’s blanket encircled them both, her head resting upon his shoulder.

Drowsily, she told him, “Yeah. You surprised me too.”

For the first time in weeks, Hermione experienced the sensation of waking from a deep sleep.

#amillieaway #dhr #draco malfoy #draco x hermione #dramione #dramione drabble #hermione granger #drabble

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annonniiiiieeeee · 1 year

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I just love the fact that Usagi gets so nervous after he found out that turtle babies are tiny. I wonder what the rest of the Tenshu gang think/react to Kaida being so tiny. I know the tmnt gang is like it’s just normal, but what is there reactions? I’m guessing Katsuichi’s reaction is just as worried

Part 2

It was early in the afternoon when they finally made it to the Tenshu. Jotaro walked between Usagi and Leo happy to hold onto Usagi’s hand, Leo’s cane was on that side but he would latch onto the fabric tied around it as away to hold on to his Dad as well. Leo had Sakura resting in his hip and Usagi had Ume on his. Kaida was resting in a small pouch around Leo’s chest. They walked though the portal that opened up where it always did now, underneath their tree.

Kitsune and Gen were there waiting for them as the stepped out. “Finally what took you so long Bunny butt?” Gen asked. Ume caught sight to them and imidiatly made grabby hands towards Kitsune. Her godmother quickly moving to pluck her from her Usagi’s arms. She blew a kiss into her niece’s cheek causing the girl to squeal.

“Sorry guys there was a bit of a mishaps this morning.” Leo excused their late arrival as best he could. They were all suppose to come together, but obviously Leo and Usagi had missed the meeting time. The last thing Leo wanted to do was to tell them why they were late.

Usagi’s worry about their daughter’s small size was endearing. But Kitsune and Gen were just as bad. If they knew that the reason the family was late was because Leo and Usagi thought they lost their youngest the two would lose their minds. Kitsune had already considered tying a ballon around the baby’s waist. Which Depending on how big she was when she started crawling Leo might just have to do that. Gen had wanted to stand guard over the little girl as she was ‘much to small’ to be left alone.

Leo love them, truly he did, he hit the jackpot when it came to in-laws. But he wished they’d calm down about Kaida’s size, he had been the same size once. She also inherited his strength, just as Jotaro had, she was far more durable then her size would have you believe. Not that Leo wanted to put that to the test, but he also didn’t want to over baby his daughter.

He had a feeling it wouldn’t get any better once Katsuichi saw her for the first time.

Speaking of which.

“Jiji!” Jotaro cried letting go of his Tou-san’s hand and running off down the hill. There walked Katsuichi who bent down so Jotaro could run straight into his arms. He picked the boy up and spun him around with a playful roar.

“How are you Lionheart?” Katsuichi asked as he tossed the boy in the air and caught him again. The little bunny was giggling up a storm as the big lion approached his parent. “My boy it’s good to see you.” Katsuichi moved Jotaro to rest on his hip and placed his now free hand on Usagi’s shoulder.

“It’s good to see you to Sensei.” Usagi smiled and gave his old master a respectful bow. Sakura started reaching for the lion as soon as he was in sight. Katsuichi turned to face her and Leo with a smile.

“Hello Blossom.” He said as he gently lowered Jotaro down so he could pluck Sakura from Leo’s arms. “Good to see you to Leo-kun.” He smiled at his son-in-law who returned the smile. Leo watched as the old lion hugged his daughter close placing a kiss on her head. “Now where is your sister?” Sakura pointed over at Ume who was still sitting happily in Kitsune’s arms. Katsuichi smiled at the girl and moved over to place a kiss on her forehead as well. “Hello Petals.” He knew better then to separate the little girl from her godmother. He would wait his turn to hold her.

Katsuichi gently handed Sakura off to Gen before turning to face the two parents. “So where’s my new granddaughter?” He was worried when he didn’t see the little one immediately. He had worried about their delay all day. After the twins had been born there had been some health complications. Leo had said that the girls had come a little early and just need extra care. He hadn’t seen them in almost six months after they left. He knew that the children’s health came first, he would never argue that. But he did miss his family terrible when they left. He had been thinking of retiring in Leo’s world so he could be closer to his children and grandchildren.

He still had yet to meet the newest. When he didn’t see a baby or a baby sling as he knew the boys had worn with the others, he started to grow worried. What if their delay this morning was to drop Kaida off as she had gotten sick like the twins had. No Leo and Usagi never would have left her if that were true. But then where was his granddaughter. He was more then happy with the first three children being here, but he really wanted to meet the newest member of their family.

Leo smiled at him and reached in to a little strap across his chest. It was far to small to hold a baby. Then Leo pulled his hand out and resting in his palm was the smallest little baby Katsuichi had ever seen.

He leaned down close to the little turtle unable to process what he was seeing. She was small, fitting in Leo’s palm well. They had put a little yellow bow around her waist. The little girl yawned and blinked her eyes open. She had Usagi’s ruby red eyes. Katsuichi knew some people found the color creepy but to him his boy’s eyes had always been warm and inquisitive. His daughters eyes were much the same as she blinked up at him. She then reached out and patted his nose with her little hand.

Just like that Katsuichi knew he would burn villages to the ground for her. Just as he would for his other grandchildren.

“Do you want to hold her?” Usagi had moved to stand at Katsuichi’s side also staring down at his littlest girl. Katsuichi nodded and held his hands up cupping them together to make sure she had a stable place to rest. Usagi gently picked his daughter up from Leo’s hand and transferred her over to Katsuichi.

The little turtle chirped up at him, before snuggling into his hands.” His heart melted.

“She does the same thing to Usagi-chan. My guess is it’s because you’re warm blooded and she’s cold blooded. The warmth from your hands feels nice.” Leo explained watching his daughter find a new napping spot.

“She’s so small.” Katsuichi whisper in awe drawling her close to his face.

“That’s what I said.” Gen agreed as he held Sakura close. “Strips, you sure she wasn’t early to?” He asked. He was worried that Kaida was to small for her age but he had no frame of reference for turtles. He just knew she was to small.

Leo sighed. “I’m sure, she’s perfectly healthy. She’ll catch up with her siblings in no time. Dad said by the time we were two we were the average size of a toddler if not slightly bigger.” Leo explained to Gen again.

“She’s so small.” Katsuichi repeated looking at the sleeping turtle in his hands. He looked up quickly at Leo and Usagi. “What happens if you lose her?”

Leo chocked on air. Well if they hadn’t answered that question this morning. Unfortunately Usagi chocked at the exact same moment giving them away.

Katsuichi’s head snapped up to look at both of them. “You already lost her.” He said it in a whisper as if horrified, and to be fair to him, Leo would be to if he didn’t have context to the story.

“You lost her!” Gen let out on an angry huff.

“When did this happen?” Kitsune questioned them. Both parties stepped closer holding the twins closer as the did so. Jotaro who had been standing beside Leo shuffled to hide behind his legs. Griping onto his pant leg for comfort. Leo reached his hand down to rest comfortingly on the boys head.

“We didn’t lose her.” Leo started to explain. He was keeping his voice calm for Jotaro’s sake as he didn’t want the boy to feel like anyone was mad at him.

“Then what happened?” That was Gen. Straight to the point and blunt. Leo knew he wasn’t trying to be combative, he just had a gruff way of putting things and always wanted his loved ones safe, so he tried to not let the tone get under his skin.

“This morning when I went to go get her, she wasn’t in her bassinet.” Usagi began to explain.

Leo picked up the story, giving Jotaro’s ears a ruffle as he did. “You all know how much Jotaro-chan loves his sisters.” There was a subtle nod from the group of adults in front of them. “Well he decided he wanted to help us out this morning by getting Kaida-chan for us.” Leo smiled down at his son who gave a shy smile back.

Usagi looked over at them fondly as he continued the story. “He just didn’t tell us what he was doing. So when I went to go get her I thought she was lost.”

“Not lost.” Leo reassured the group. “Just on an adventure with her big brother.” Jotaro’s shy face poked out from behind Leo to look at the group in front of them. Kitsune awed while Gen and Katsuichi let out a laugh. Now that there was context the whole story was rather adorable then horrifying as they initially worried.

“That’s our Lionheart always there for his family.” Katsuichi said smiling down at the small boy. Jotaro ran forward to hug his leg tilting his head up to beam at his Jiji. Katsuichi carefully handed Kaida to Usagi before scooping up the little boy again. “Well we should head inside. We were all quite worried at your delay this morning though I do understand it.” Katsuichi said smiling at the young parents. “But Lord Mifune and Lord Noriyuki have been anxiously awaiting your arrival.” Translation Lord Mifune wanted to see his grandnephew and grandnieces, and Lord Noriyuki wanted to see his big brother Leo and his children.

The family started making their way towards the Tenshu. It was almost lunch time so it was a perfect time to gather everyone together. Usagi watched as his family walked ahead. His children in the arms of his siblings and father. He held his youngest close to his chest and took Leo’s hand with his free one. They shared a smile and a quick kiss before following behind their family.

It was the start of a wonderful visit.

#a world of samurais and ninjas #asks #leosagi #awosan kaida #awosan ume #awosan sakura #awosan jotaro #awosan kitsune #awosan gen #awosan Katsuichi #oneshot

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talkshitgetcrit · 2 years

Text

above us only sky / Aemond Targaryen x Allyria Dayne (OFC)

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: Hi there - this is the first fanfic I’m posting anywhere online since a break that lasted roughly three years. English isn’t my first language. Also, in this chapter Aemond and the OFC don’t even meet yet. Idk, I have a good feeling about this. Maybe you would still like to give it a read?

Summary: A historian stumbles over a lost record of the ‘Dance of Dragons’, aka the Targaryen civil war. He excitedly tells his boss about it. We get to see the first part of those records, set in 128 AC, a few months prior to Viserys’s death and the events of episode 8 of HotD. Aemond attends a family meeting.

Warnings: Slight fat phobia at one point, mention of NSFW themes, canon-typical violence later on.

Words: 2,8k

I have a lot more to say, but I promised myself I will keep it short. So I will leave you to it, and keep my comments till the end.

To the honored Archmaester of the Citadel,

And my good friend and fellow scholar –

Dear Perestan,

Often have we discussed the history of house Targaryen, and the three colorful and turbulent centuries spent under their reign.

You know me to be a true scholar, determined to pass on the most accurate version of events, and therefore always cautious not to rely too much on any biased source, be it an overly piteous septon, a certain court fool who could have done with a bit more piety in his life, or an old and withered bearer of the maesters’ chain, much like ourselves. I am a scholar, and I do my best to only tell of what is true – I must plead with you to keep this in mind while you study the transcripts of my most recent source, for otherwise it must sound all too much like hogwash and old women’s tales.

But from all I know, this is the most truthful retelling regarding the fates of Aemond Targaryen and one of the women – no, I cannot say it otherwise; the woman in his life. It holds little bearing for the overall history of Westeros, but it shall be answering some questions we have long asked ourselves. Inconsequential as it may be, since stumbling across this little booklet in the dusty depths of the Starfall library, I find myself returning to my research with renewed vigor every morning.

I ask you, dear friend; if even we, as life-long students of the Dance, could be so blind, what other tales and truths may rest in other libraries strewn across the continent?Mayhaps another maester in another time will unearth those. For now, the both of us have to be content with some new knowledge regarding the tale of Aemond One Eye and Allyria, the Sunken Star of Dayne.

Your good friend,

Yandel

From The Diary of Allyria Dayne:

Today I saw my first dragon. We had finished our morning meal and were about to depart, when we all heard it – a strange noise in the distance, at first like the cry of a rooster, a piercing, solitary note, before it developed into a full roar.

I have never heard anything like it – no wounded boar or stag, not even a cornered mountain lion can scream like that.

It died down again after some moments, and we all were silent.

Servants and guards alike stopped in their steps for a breath of time, just like the horses and birds and beasts of the forest.

It was a bit like we were all children, each waiting to be coddled and told this was nothing to worry about.

Though of course, no words like those were said.

The animals seemed to shake off their stupor a moment earlier than us – horses neighing and thrashing around, and suddenly the sky was dark with swarms of birds, each sounding their own alarm as they made their exit.

I was looking up at that storm of wings and fathers, so I was among those who actually saw the dragon.

Our tross is composed of many riders, wheelhouses and even city guards at this point, and yet wherever they stood today, they all were touched by the shadow of the giant beast's wings.

For just a moment I saw it in its entirety; a dark outline against the bright morning sky, terrible and mighty. I wish I could describe it more closely, but the next moment it was already gone, like a bad dream in the morning sun, so neither I nor anyone else got a good look at it.

But the chaos in the camp remained – and weirdly enough everybody immediately got to work to set things straight again, without even losing a word about the dragon.

Chests had spilled their precious cargo over the rotting leaves, along with fallen crates full of provisions. One of Lady Fowler’s court dresses is stained with mead now, and it smells like it, too. One of my nephews cut his hand on some broken pottery while he fell, and there was plenty of crying, snot and blood and dirt all mixing on little reddened face.

He was the one who asked it, too:

“What was that, mother?”

And just like that, the spell of silence over the whole company seemed suddenly broken.

CIty guards were cursing the dragon, and so we learned its name – her name.

Vhagar.

“My old nan used to tell tales of Balerion, the black dread, but I can’t think he could have been much worse than that bronze beast”, I heard one of them say, and another told one of our guards:

“They used to fly out only over Blackwater Bay, where they would disturb no one but the fishes. Out to Dragonstone and back, and it only took one ring of the bell, or maybe two,”

His eyes were shining when he said it, as if what he really wished to say was:

‘They terrorize us small folk, us ground-dwellers, but I would not find it all that bad, if only I was one of them.’

I asked him ‘why do they come here now?’, and for a moment he looked at me all gruff under the rim of his helmet and over his beard.

“Fought with each other, m’lady. Or so they say. So one half stay on Dragonstone now, and the other here, and avoid each other like the plague, that they do.”

He snorted and spit out while I was still trying to make sense of this.

“The dragons?”, one of our guardsmen asked him, and he looked confused.

“The dragons were the one who fought?”

The city guard laughed. “Aye, you could say so. Dragons they do call ‘em… Nah, lad, I’m talking about the Targaryens. Rhaenyra and her black lot on the ‘Stone, and in King’s Landing we have our Greens.”

He probably could tell he was not making much sense to us and fell silent. Lady Fowler called for me then, and I bid them goodbye, and as I left I only heard some more talk of princes and dragons and that we were lucky to have none of that down in Dorne.

I’m not much of a believer, but in terms of bad omens it does not get much worse than that, I suppose.

Vaghar, the scourge of Starfall, they call her at home, – though I assume a beast like that , nearly 200 years old, gets called ‘scourge of’ in a hundred and one places.

And this very same dragon is the first I see of King’s Landing. This morning, we were 5 days from the city, and this evening as I write this it’s five days, still.

An axis on the Fawnton’s wheelhouse broke, and by the time it was fixed it was nearly turning dark.

I must admit, at least to me there is something good to it, too; Soren wants to ride ahead with some men, maybe to hunt, maybe to stock up on provisions, and Lady Fowler has allowed me to come with.

I think I’m a bit of a disappointment to her – not another daughter to adorn her happy, pretty family, but a thorn in her side.

She disagreed when I found the courage to ask her about it last week.

“You come after your mother, Allyria. Maybe not in looks, but your spirit is all the same. And that is just fine with me. I must confess, more than once I have almost called you by her name, too.”

I don’t remember my mother as well as I wish I could, but tonight I miss her terribly. I miss home, and grandfather, and my little brother. But above all, both those living and dead, I miss Raydan.

And that is what drives me forward. I still believe that the only way to get justice for my big brother’s death leads through King’s Landing.

Aemond

“You stink of dragon shit”, prince Aegon greeted his younger brother, before grabbing a maid that had tried to sneak past him unnoticed.

“What are you waiting for, girl? Get my brother a cup as well.” Then he let go and she hastened away, lips pressed shut and eyes blank.

Aemond stepped aside to let her through, looking after her as he pulled off his gloves.

“Watered down”, he reminded her, and the servant girl turned again, eyes widening a bit as she stared at his eyepatch and the scar, before she hastily curtsied and fled the room.

“You know I don’t”- “You don’t drink wine during the day, yes”, Aegon interrupted. “But I also know you usually crack during these nice family gatherings, and then you can even be fun to be around”.

He grinned, and Aemond found himself grinning back. He and Aegon had not much in common – but they were family. The blood of the dragon. The True Blood, as their mother had hammered in, time and time again, from the moment she deemed them old enough.

For Aemond, that time had come a bit earlier. On dragon wings, and with a blade and searing pain.

There was that phantom itch under his eyepatch again, and he balled his hand shut to keep himself from scratching at it.

He had told them, back then, that he deemed it a fair trade – an eye for the biggest dragon alive.

Nowadays he thought it more than fair – what was an eye lost, for the insight he had gained?

Otherwise he might have grown up as spoilt and unfocused as Aegon.

The doors opened again and their mother Alicent entered, along with their sister Helaena and their grandfather Otto Hightower, followed by Sir Criston of the Kingsguard.

“You may leave”, his mother told the other two guards who had been waiting in the shadows like pale silver ghosts.

They left, and a moment before the doors closed, the servant girl entered, carrying the cup of wine for Aemond, keeping her gaze on his shoes and fleeing from the room the second he had taken it from her.

He was not much of a gambler, but he was willing to bet his eye – or maybe one of his brother’s eyes – she had waited for the queen to arrive.

In his mother’s presence Aegon would not dare to touch them, the servant girls all knew that.

They all sat down at the table, and Aemond did his best to follow along as his mother and grandfather recollected the events at court this week; Which ones of their highborn sheeps, always flocking to the throne had died, had given birth, would soon marry. Who came and went, and what had happened elsewhere in the realm.

Aemond paid little mind to it – there was only one family in this realm he cared about, only one that really mattered.

The rest of them were just sheep, no matter if they called themselves nameless peasant, son of a long line of nameless peasants, or Lannisters or Tully or Baratheon.

His family had dragons, and dragons ate sheep, whether they walked on four feet or two.

Alicent maybe was a Targaryen in name, but in name only. She would never understand, for she had never seen King’s Landing and all of Westeros shrink beneath as you rose up into the sky, until even the mightiest stronghold looked like you could squash it with your thumb.

And so she chose to bore him and his siblings with the fates of their people.

“Then there is the arrival of Lord and Lady Fowler later this week. They bring some other Dornish nobles with them – a son of the Yronwoods, and a lady of the Daynes” – “Sweetstar Dayne?”, Aegon interrupted.

Alicent frowned, looking down at the raven message in her hands again.

“Sweetstar?”, Haelena asked. “Do they call her that because she is nice?”

Aegon grinned. “No, because she’s fat.”

Aemond choked on his wine.

“Aegon!” Alicent's voice cracked sharp as a dragon whip.

Helaena flinched at the loud noise, as she usually did.

Otto cleared his throat.

“It’s not Lysa Dayne, and not one of her daughters, either. Just a girl from a minor family branch they want to marry off. Ellyn, Alana, something like that.”

“Why?” Aegon asked.

Aemond began to wonder if he was dragging this out on purpose, to taunt their mother or simply to steal everybody’s time.

Maybe his brother had nothing to do but drink and whore himself into an early grave, but Aemond himself had other plans – for this afternoon, and life in general.

“Family died of Spring Fever. Or was it Dornish Cold? I’m not sure, though Lysa and Aspin Dayne sent a letter to inform us – something her surviving relatives always neglect, even though the Crown has an interest and a right to know what is going on in any keep in the realm, even if it’s just an inconsequential sheep shack with a wooden palisade and a handful men to it’s banner.”

Aemond had closed his eye and had barely listened, but that seemed like a good time to interrupt his grandfather.

“Shall we discuss something that actually matters instead? Is it true Rhaenyra is pregnant? Again?”

Otto and Alicent shared a glance.

“We have not had a raven carrying such news yet”, Alicent then stiffly replied.

“Strange. It is all the keep seems to talk about these days.”

Aemond leaned forwards in his chair. “Should the crown wish I could ride to Dragonstone, find out if there is any truth to these rumors.”

“The crown wants you and Vhagar to stay here. To serve. By your brother’s side.”

“And father’s”, Haelena added. No one paid her any mind, except Aegon who rolled his eyes about his sister-wife.

Aemond was not ready to back down.

He would follow his mother’s and grandfather’s wishes, but it could not hurt to remind them once in a while he could do more than fight on the training grounds, and Vaghar could do more than shit and feed and sleep.

“We might actually be of better use elsewhere. I don’t know if you noticed, mother, but neither I nor Vhagar particularly care for council meetings or dances.”

Aegon snickered.

“Imagine, though. Take mother’s seat in the council, and have Vhagar look on through the window, and maybe then all those little lordlings would learn to hold their tongues.”

Alicent looked at Aemond, as if she had not even heard her other son’s words. Then, suddenly she reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Your time will come, and once it does, you might wish for slow times like these to return. Use this time to prepare. Do not squander it-“ Finally, she took her eyes off him, Hightower-brown eyes meeting two Targaryen-lilac ones instead.

Aegon lowered his head in faux-acceptance, though Aemond was sure his brother had probably not been listening and certainly did not care.

Mother turned back to him again, and Aemond evenly met her gaze.

“And you, Aemond… do not squander it by forgetting to live. There is a whole world outside the dragons pit and training grounds, and in time you shall find something you enjoy in it.”

Aemond felt his lips stretch into a sour, ironic smile.

Dear mother. How could she understand that the rest of the world only saw a missing eye and the rider of Vaghar, death-bringer and city-burner, where she saw her darling son?

The eyepatch meant the high-born ladies did not scream or faint when they saw him, but none of them could stand to even look at him for long.

That did not mean he didn’t know what the world had to offer – if you had the coin to pay for it, and as a son of the crown, his pockets were deep. Music and booze and women, pretty girls in the houses along the streets of silk, who would try not to wince when they looked at him, who always preferred if he took them from behind.

“Go to dragonstone. If you must.”

For a moment, he was speechless as he looked first at her, then at his grandfather and brother, before he slowly rose off his seat.

“But know that I ask you not to. You have mended yourself into this family’s sword and shield over the years. But even the sharpest blade can fail when used in the wrong way.”

So she would let him go, and grandfather too, judging from the lack of protest. He considered it for a few moments, before he slowly sat down again. His mother had said it, and in his heart of hearts he knew it to be true: Now was not the time. Not yet.

Aemond sat down again.

“No, mother. I shall stay and listen.”

Alicent returned to her notes about taxes and Tyrells and the king’s name-day tournament, and Aemond did his best to listen, though soon he found himself wondering if that afternoon, he should try to fight not one, but two men of the Kingsguard during practice.

End of Part one

A/N: Hm. Would honestly be kind of surprised if anybody makes it till here. Well, just in case you did: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! While you read it, it probably became clear WHY this thing needed some sort of prologue - I spent way too much time on the ‘a song of ice and fire’ wiki and set myself the goal to write a story that is mostly canon-compliant. The great thing about Westeros is that it is huge. There are hundreds of noble families where for entire centuries we don’t know what they were up to. The terrible thing about Westeros is that it is awfully detailed, and you first have to fine a corner where your story can bloom. Is it entirely canon-compliant? Definitely not. You would probably have to be a hardcore fan to point out most of the discrepancies.

The other reason I formatted the story like this is, that this story lives somewhere on the middle ground between the TV show and the book, and the comments from the historians were some of my favorite parts about the book.

Last but not least: Please hit me up if you like Aemond, or just HotD in general, and you want to talk about it! Let me know if you like my writing, or if there is something you would like me to write about Aemond (or some of the other characters on the show, this is very much not a one way street!). I’m honestly just excited about being able to return to Westeros again, and I’m excited to share my excitement with other people - and because I am very excited, I will overuse the tagging system a bit, to get this baby *slaps roof of this fic* out there. Is this considered very rude? Idk. Let me know?

#prince aemond #aemond targaryen #HotD #hotd fic #aemond x oc #aemond fic #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #house of the dragon #aemond one shot #hotd one shot

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str8aura-no-not-that-one · 2 months

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The Lion King Quadrilogy Chronological Order edition is here

FEATURING:

4 movies (Lion King, Simba's Pride, 1 1/2, Return of the Roar)

Complete and true chronological order detailing the history of Pride Rock's royalty

20+ songs

attempts at seamless visual and musical transitions between each scene

4 hours of pure lion

NOT FEATURING:

A coherent narrative for people who are experiencing this for the first time

The Lion Guard season 3 finale

Anything from the Timon and Pumbaa television show

any nonsense about a cub named Kopa

i dont have a trailer like some of these fan cuts ive seen have, so heres two of my favorite edits i made, the 'I Just Can't Wait To Be King' splicing and the finale revamp

PLEASE NOTE: This version is being held on Mega currently, but I'm keeping the finished cut on my hard drive. If any complications arise or the Mega link is taken down, please notify me immediately and I will try to find a workaround.

#my posts #lion king #ill pin this for a bit so it can be seen as much as possible

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lichrisen · 1 month

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⚔ ’ 𝐍𝐘𝐋𝐍𝐘𝐒𝐀'𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐌. as she held it up to the waning or radiant light of others , colours she had once saw the world in would flash out at her & transform into more brilliant hues . as the shadow fell & she found herself alone again , straying from the warmth of the living , the beauty of the crystal though preserved grew dull & harsh . made of nothing but sharp edges with memories of laughter, love & gentleness remained locked away deep within its chambers, protected by its hardened walls.

she barely remembered the face of her mother nor the purr of the nightsaber that had bonded his life to hers. she barely remembered how in love she had once been with an elf druid who brought the rain and called down the stars.

𝐍𝐘𝐋𝐍𝐘𝐒𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐋, & 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐋𝐘, the scent of her own blood mixing with the earthy muck the downpour had stirred . her shattered bow she’d not let go as the wound at her abdomen, wide and gaping, spilled her innards out into the open . the sensation of the abomination’s jagged axe had torn her tender flesh , the hulking horror’s strike had knocked her into the mud below & she’d lain there like a rag-doll. un-moving. unwanted . the feather light splatter of rain on her cheeks had been so comforting then ; she hadn’t noticed the dark clouds swirling over head or the roar of thunder like an angry lion before . her senses had been kind leaving her as life slipped further into the grasp of the shadowlands , but there was no moonlight within sight . rain turned to snowfall, cold and bitter -- and He, rode.

𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍, 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐃𝐄.

❛ and how do you intend to pay for your misdeeds ? ❜ reverie is broken at the paladin’s scolding & soon , the death knight raises her head slowly, to fix them with her phantasm gaze . the shackles that bound her wrists stung against her skin were no doubt blessed by one of the priestesses that so viewed this vapid ordeal. LIGHT’S HOPE CHAPEL remained a holy place to them, where its grounds sapped the strength of her kind ; where ordinarily one firm pull would fracture her bonds , here in this place -- she was no more powerful than a human babe . eyes in the stands bored into nylnysa from all angles within that painfully bright & circular room . stripped from her saronite plate and forced onto her knees before the judge , she felt each cold gaze wrought with disgust .

❛ not with my life , i no longer have one to give . ❜ she chuckled, the sound a chilling echo . ❛ you bore me with this posturing . the SILVER HAND’S attempt at making their little pawns feel safe is futile -- there is no protection in the LIGHT'S embrace.❜ the elf feels her reigns tighten, yanked with viciousness by her guard. it golden bracelets eat deeper into her skin & she lets out a hiss that bares sharp fangs . like a misbehaved dog -- to them, she is nothing more .

❛ the EBONBLADE betrayed our trust , tirion fordring’s body was not yours to claim . your subordinates killed our brethren trying to take what did not belong to you . ❜ such an air of authority from this sin’dorei , nylnysa notes . she wonders what this woman would see her dead for first: her kaldorei heritage her undeath.

❛ and he belongs to you on the grounds of what, shared faith ? where was your precious LIGHT when the legion burned him alive before us all ? ❜ she retorts, leaning forward but her chains remained taut . ❛ likely , the same place elune has been while her children were killed and made slaves to the frozen throne . we offered tirion second life -- free from the weight of fear and through him, azeroth’s salvation. you whine about your fallen comrades, but would turn your nose up at the thought of having them returning as one of us . your own scorn is what led us here . ❜ ❛ insolence -- ❜ ❛ the mere truth. is that not why the SCARLET CRUSADE was born?❜

𝐍𝐘𝐋𝐍𝐘𝐒𝐀 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃, 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 between each word. ❛ the living are not willing, even if the shackles are broken, to see us as true allies. yet still we lend our skill, all that we are: guilt, agony, woe, rage, vengeance...to protect you. even if you were to slay me, my order would continue to carry this mantle. underserving as you all are. ❜

the paladin's lip curled above her teeth in snarl, her eyes blazing with anger....loss. someone amongst them she'd cared for dearly, had been lost. more to her than just another soldier or comrade who hoped to defend the BROKEN SHORE. she wore this grief upon her face, nylnysa recognized it like an old friend. her head canted, her expression flat as she looked up t the blood elf, her gaze devoid of compassion. ❛ you've lost. if their body does not lay in parts, if it hasn't been boiled into a fleshy puddle -- perhaps they are amongst our salvaged and raised. shall i check ? ❜

before any rebuttal could be made, the large doors of the room swung in upon themselves, soldiers of the alliance pilled through the sound of the boots heavy against the polished floor. nylnysa regarded them all with a grin, sharp and white. ❛ im afraid our little party has come to an end. i need no longer to entertain this farce. ❜ untouchable when one of the crown's best. & one of its worst.

#drabble #TIMELINE: POST LEGION

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deathslittlebird · 1 year

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Moonlit Terror

A/N: This is my first Sladewing fanfic, and I hope you all enjoy! Dick looks like @poiverine‘s depiction, since I cannot help but find him as the cutest, submissive thing.

Dick should had seen him, should had noticed the hard smell of dried blood, old leather, and the sharp tang of rain-socked metal. He should had heard his steps, the low muffling of hard, mud-lathered boots splashing on the puddle-specked roof. But the rain strained his ears well passed hearing and made him more blind than an old man. Gray-golden smears shifted through the billowing darkness, like stars shrouded in night-fog. A poor night to go out patrolling, he knew. But he could not sit still in his cramped apartment, listening to the dull ceaseless patter of the rain slapping against his window, splashes of lightning spilling through the glass, harsh as cold and harsh as winter, bellowing a lion’s roar.

All excuses, but that was all his mind could come up with, when he felt the cold mouth of the gun’s muzzle pressing against his temple, the rain-soaked leather clinging taunt on a hard, powerful arm that grasped him firm at his waist. The smells grew stronger, bursting through the crisp scent of the rains, a familiar smell that stirred something hot in his stomach and boiled his veins. A hard reflection to the chilling dampness of the hard, overwhelming presence that pressed hard against his back. Heat tickled his cheeks, and Dick pushed as hard as he could to keep the blush down. Not for him, he thought.

“Caught you, little bird,” came the deep voice trapped within the black-orange mask. A voice that made Dick’s blood go frigid with ice and turned the fire in his stomach into an hellish inferno. “I’d thought he’d taught you better.” There came a cracking laughter from the larger man, and the blush Dick tried over and over again to fight came bursting out onto his cheeks.

Scowling, Dick slammed his elbow into Wilson’s stomach, and that laughter crumbled to a strained huff, arms loosening enough for Dick to slip out of, twirl, and shove his foot right into the mercenary's stomach. Deathstroke slid across the roof, curtains of rainwater flying through the air. Dick flipped his batons into his hands, water spraying off like a viper’s bite. Slipping into a crouch, Dick hoovered on the balls of his feet, being ready to shift to the slide, jump in the air, or slide across the floor if need be. He was half-tempted to face across the roof and hurl himself to a different one. But he came out patrolling, and he would rather Deathstroke focus on him rather than hurting anyone else. Unless he has a hit out for you, whispered a tiny voice in a hollow of his mind. Shaking his head, he slammed the thought down with as much strength as he could muster.

Anger stirred in Deathstroke’s singular gray-blue eye, flashing like a bolt of lightning in the darkness. But the chuckle returned, raspy and mocking. “That all, little bird?”

Before Dick had the chance to launch himself forward, Deathstroke slipped back into the darkness, melting into the shadows as easily as if he was one himself. Damnit. Dick rushed forward, keeping his guard up, and trying to hear through the howling rain and wind. Circling and circling, over and over again, eyes as alert as they could be in the grainy darkness streaked by icy arrows of rainwater, straining his hearing as much as he could. They shot from one corner of the roof to the next, golden light struggling to clamor up from the gray darkness above.

Lightning stroke in the far distance, painting the world in silvers and blues. Shadows were pealed back, flung away like an old coat. There Deathstroke stood, only a few paces away from Dick, a shadowy monster build like a mountain, clad in darkness, eyes burning with a never-ending hunger.

But before Dick had the chance to do anything, Deathstroke came hurling forward, a panther racing to strike at its kill. Dick’s chest met Deathstroke’s shoulder in a slam that sent stars shooting behind his eyes. His back hit a rain-cold brick wall, pain etching through his mind as his head bounced. He felt large leather gloves twine through his hair, grasping a fistful so hard that tears threatened to spring in his eyes. The other wrapped around his neck, so small in the large hold that he felt like some toy for a massive, willful dog. A powerful thigh pressed between Dick’s legs, a moan slipping passed his lips, tangling with a strained groan.

The ice in Deathstroke’s eyes gleamed like winter stars, harsh and unforgiving, and so aloof it was infuriating. “You look so much more better like this, Grayson,” said Slade. His knee pressed harder, and Dick could not help but arch his back. He fought to keep the strangling moan locked deep behind his throat. He felt Slade’s thumb shift over to stroke the line of his jaw, ghosting beneath the bottom of his lip. “You’re pretty skin would look so much better with some marks on them. My marks.” He could practically taste the smile on Slade’s lips. Thoughts he never wanted flicked through his mind. Marks from Slade’s fists...marks from Slade's lips - No. Stop it, god damnit. Stop it.

Anger and shame twisted a unyielding sounded like peels of thunder in his ears, thrumming so loud that surely Slade could hear it as well.

Slade leaned over, tilting Dick’s head up. Dick squirmed as much as he could, fought back as much as he could he told himself, as he felt the tough material of Slade’s mask press against his lips. Beneath that he could feel the overwhelming, forceful command of Slade’s mouth against him. Slade pressed hard against the vigilante, shrouding him in his larger shadow, trapping him beneath him. Slade sought out to claim him, and Dick fought with all his energy not to burst right then and there. It was Slade’s pressing close to him that sent sharp sparks down his body, surely. He felt himself throb against the muscular knee. He could never like this. Never.

Yet a moan left his lips, soft and meek as a little pup, and Dick hated himself for it. And he hated himself even more when Slade moved away, pulling back those commanding lips from his own, and Dick mewled. The fire roasted his cheeks like brandings. His breath came haggard, and he took deep lungful’s to fill them up again.

When Slade shifted away, Nightwing slide against the wall, falling onto his knees. A glinting silver ruled his sight, as well as the black shadow that was Deathstroke. The gun kissed his temple, almost lovingly, slide gentle licks of rainwater over his cheek and mouth when Deathstroke glided it over his skin, pressing it against his mouth. Without thinking, mind hazy and bleak, Nightwing left a kiss on it, staring up at the mercenary with hatred in his heart, that was clear enough.

Slade spoke mockingly. “Try to win next time, my little bird.” The nuzzle of the gun slipped into his mouth, cold steel filling it easily. “I love this game, and hate to win it so early.”

The gun was gone in a silvery flash, as was Deathstroke, when a lightning came hammering from the sky. And Dick was alone, soaked in the rain and in his shame. Climbing to his feet, his legs shaky and weak, and shifted over to grasp his fallen batons. He needed to get home quickly. It was getting late, and Dick was more horny than he could had ever expected.

As he gathered himself up, a storm-cloud parted, revealing a silvery-blue moon, bright and shrouded half in dark. A watchful moon that studied a little blue bird taking flight, and the wind carried its laughter down from its black throne to ruffle the soft black feathers of his ears, coiling around his neck like a collar. And it whispered.

You’re mine, little bird. Forever

#sladick #sladewing #dick grayson #slade wilson #deathstroke #nightwing #dc comics #dc fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #sladin

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