#and the secret past is one where he was your SERVANT???? this man with THIS ego???????YOUR LOYAL SERVANT? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

s-soup111 · 4 months

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Make sure it kills me

Paring: Jinshi x (f) Reader

Genre: angst

Tags: hanakai, one-sided love, arranged marriage

“You’re breaking me.” You concluded in your letter. It’s not as if you were going to send it anyway, you placed the carefully folded letter into your locked drawer along with all your other heartfelt paragraphs. What was the point? He didn’t return your feelings anymore. Yes, maybe you did once share small intimate glances, hold pinkies as you walked down the flower garden together. Maybe you did share secret kisses under the softening gaze of the moon-lit pond. Where did that go?

“Was it ever real?” You ask yourself.

Maybe it was. But that was all in the past, Jinshi no longer belongs to you, he belongs to that servant named Maomao. You’ve seen the way he looks at her, with gleaming eyes and intrigued grins. You’ve seen how he gave her his hair pin, you’v seen it all. Jealousy swirling in the pit of your stomach, how pitiful.

Why does he love her? She’s just a servant, strange green hair and a freckled face, she is nothing compared to a beauty like you- you held a graceful complexion, you had an air of confidence not only beautiful but superiority. Just as the daughter of the emperor should. You were perfect, so why doesn’t he look your way anymore? Maybe it was because of how perfect you were. Maomao was anything but perfect, an unpredictable character and lower class. So imperfect but kind.

You choke on something, suddenly you find it difficult to breathe. You struggle in your room but no one comes to help you, all your ladies in waiting are outside by your order. How ironic. You hyperventilate in your own room, coughing, tears swelling in your eyes- you reach out trying to grasp onto something. You fall and your sight fades.

Jinshi is not aware of your falling ill until Maomao is summoned into your quarters. Jinshi knows you will be fine, he is not so concerned for your health as he knows Maomao will fix you some way or another, so he does not find the need to visit you. Not until Maomao ushers him urgently with a sense of panic in her eyes does he start to notice something is wrong.

“The madam is severely ill.”

Jinshi rushes to your quarters as soon as he hears this, you never get ill, so why now? As the emperor’s daughter you have been treated with the utmost care, therefore almost never falling ill. He drags Maomao with him, telling her to fix you immediately, not a request, an order. She’s never seen him this way, not with sweat falling from his face in panic, eyes scanning you with concern, hands shaking. Not the usual flirty, perverted man she’s used to.

You open your eyes, searching around your room for any signs of human presence, you see Maomao sitting next to you, head hung low with dark circles sitting under her shut eyes. She must have taken a long time to treat you, you are grateful. You try to raise yourself but it strains your body, your arms supporting your body are weak and unstable, you let out a dry cough- leaving behind a beautiful pink petal on your bed; yet you do not notice and leave your room quietly.

The moon is bright; yet it is a cold and star-less night, you stare at it for some time before you feel the icy breeze get to you. Your body feels weak and worn. In another timeline, Jinshi would wrap his robes around you, shielding you away from the wrath of the night. You walk away pathetically, not the blood trickling from your mouth.

Jinshi watches you from a distance, he is paralyzed by your beauty, ethereal in the moonlight fanning your pale skin, he watches you gaze into nothing in particular, he sees puffs of smoke leave your mouth every time you exhale. You must be cold, he is too unsure if he should go towards you. He sees you turning to move away, his eyes catches something but isn’t sure what it is. Suddenly, he realizes Maomao isn’t next to you and worries. But this time, he worries for you than her.

You are heard by the maids weeping and sobbing in your sleep, often beseeching Jinshi to come home, the life left your body, only leaving some empty shell, your body pained and ached, vomiting blood and pretty pink petals, your health declined to the point you could not manage your household affairs and Jinshi was forced to take over. Jinshi visited your room as much as he allowed himself to; he watched your weak frame struggle to breathe as more tears rolled down your face.

For some reason his heart ached to see you like this, he thought he’d lost feelings years ago. Maybe his heart just didn’t want to let you go.

“Beloved..?” You reach out one night. Jinshi is nose-deep into his work as he hears your voice. He turns around abruptly, heart hammering in his chest. You looked enthralling even deeply ill. Though, you had tears staining your face, “Jinshi, please.” You cried. You coughed, spitting out flowers that tasted bitter on your tongue.

“You’re breaking me, please stop this my love,”

“You know I can’t do that,”

“Then kiss me. Kiss me like you love me, tell me you love me even if you have to lie.”

“I love you.”

You look at him, the ache in your heart has not gone.

“You’re merciless.”

#the apothecary diaries #jinshi #jinshi x reader #angst #female reader #anime #jinshi x maomao

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comfortless · 1 month

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got a startling number or requests for this, so here’s a part two for captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader..!

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au, dubious consent, slightly rough smut, abduction.

On the twelfth day, you finally understand how to punish König.

The nightly incidents have grown more frequent, sometimes thrice before the sun rises. Even once when you had caught his eye from across the yard whilst he bathed in the pond. A heavy hand had curled around his manhood with the most obscene words you had ever heard a man speak spilling from his panting mouth.

You merely stared like an innocent fawn in the face of a starved hunter then, but as the day passed a deep sorrow seemed to take root, one that should have been left well enough alone. König is not an animal, but… he is an unwed brute whose very appearance had most of the servant girls running for their quarters with their hands shoved protectively into the laps of their skirts.

He’s lonely. You had reasoned that must be why he’s so hellbent on torturing you to tears, to harass you with that leaking, throbbing pillar between his thighs. His insults have come to a stop. The man you took in for a pouch of copper is more of a pity than a terror at all.

With the sleepless nights beginning to weigh down on you, puppeting yourself day by day grows to be the most awful task. He’s always lurking close: it’s what he’s here for. König’s eyes never stray from you.

It’s getting to him, too.

The midwife, of course, shyly told you that a lady of your status should hold fast to her maidenhood until the eve of her wedding. But… once the dutiful words had been spilled, she immediately followed them with laughter, explaining that some men just needed to be subjugated, hinting that that was possibly the solution to what has you so downtrodden.

You couldn’t help yourself, not when he glanced up at you in the midst of training, his sightless mimicry of an opponent made up of wood already felled and settled into the dust at his feet. You could always feign your innocence, accuse him of imagining things should he say a word. Though, you’re guilty, just as guilty as him as you reveal your body to him where you sat perched upon the window sill.

The fluttering, innocent fabric of your gown is pulled from your shoulders and pushed down your hips to pool upon the floor. The laces of your corset are hastily untied to follow down. The underdress is all but torn away when you notice the way he halts in place, jaw tightening and eyes going wide.

Like the most malevolent of nymphs, you don’t offer him a taste when he comes storming into the castle chasing that glint of hope. You wind yourself through the halls, fully clothed as he huffs and growls just beyond your shoulder of how it is cruel and dangerous to tease a man.

Something about the way he boasts of doing so much for you to receive so little in turn conjures laughter from your throat. It is not often you’re able to treat a man this way, and even less often have you learned a thing about war, but you’ve certainly turned the tables in this ridiculous battle.

Those warnings of his fall entirely on deaf ears.

Then comes the night you no longer sense him positioned beyond your door. You sleep uninterrupted and warm, safely tucked between layers of cloth and down. The comfort of not being stirred awake by clamoring and grunting jolts you up with worry, because by this time it’s unnatural.

The peace of the night is heavy; the castle is entirely silent, no heavy soles meeting stone floors or hushed voices whispering secrets. There are crickets chirping beyond your window where a cool breeze drifts in to flutter curtains, but not a sound otherwise.

You push past your own apprehension to try the door, to seek him out with your innocent fretting, only to find that past that wooden barrier no one is stood guard.

A torch is lit and stationed upon the wall in König’s place, and the looming darkness further down the blackened hall feels so inexplicably ominous that your courage is diminished the second you place you find your footing over the threshold of the door and step out to have it envelope you in full.

König is not the only thing that would swallow you whole if you allowed it.

The realization dawns on you with each fragile step upon cool stone. He’s left you to fend for yourself, likely run off to have his fill of brothel girls and find a new band to strike you and any other pompous noble down. Your castle and your servants would all be ash come the dawn if he so chose… but it isn’t that thought that fills your heart with dread whilst you make your way out of these silent walls.

There’s a clamor coming from the stables when night air brushes over your face, the breeze pushing your hair into your eyes. You’ve heard the sound many a times when one is preparing to ride, the gathering of a saddle whilst the horses press their hooves to earth and watch on in preparation. There are no chores to be done elsewhere, and no servant would be given permission to leave the safety of the walls this late into the night.

König is leaving, abandoning you and his duties.

That’s what bothers you more than the thought of some awful demise.

You can’t place why it even matters. He’s been nothing short of a terror since the day he stepped foot in this place. He doesn’t bring your heart any soothing, only leaves it in wreckage and strikes up a wetness between your thighs. The man is not special, only cruel and ugly, sharp and bloodied like the swords he looks upon with far more passion than he’s ever given to you. Yet, the thought of being without him is haunting.

The walk across the yard feels as though it takes an age. You refuse to cry before him again, have those callused fingers wipe away your tears, but the scowl you force is only as daunting as the look of a forlorn puppy. You can’t find it within you to hate him, even when you try in earnest.

Your hand grasps at the wall of the stable as you peer inside to find the very scene from your imaginings. A horse is readied with as many supplies as it can carry, sacks of what you assume to be stolen food and weaponry hastily fastened to its sides. König is there, of course, shushing the animal with feed as the gate shuts behind him.

He would wait it out here until the night deepens and there would be no chance of anyone coming to stop him, all others preoccupied with their dreaming. As much as you would have preferred to find the sense to return to your own mattress and wait for the sun, your steps lead you inside instead. To him.

“What are you doing?” Your hiss is meek, hushed, and you know you sound more the part of a scorned wife than any authority at all. Your eyes don’t even meet his, cast down to the loose hay at your feet blanketing the dirt floor.

The man only sounds elated at the sight of you, at the idea of being caught amidst his further wicked behavior as he explains to you exactly what you already know. He does not shy away from approaching you, either. You only realize then you’re still dressed for bed without a weapon, just this loose, white gown and a betrayed stare. You’re no threat to someone like this, if anyone at all.

“You want me to stay?,” he hisses right back, taking liberty over your state to draw a hand up to your face, tilt your chin up so your eyes do finally meet his. The sadness remains in his eyes, deeper than you could even fathom, but accompanying it now is a crying madness.

Subjugate, you remind yourself when your lips press to a line. You could play the part of someone braver, bring him to his knees with words and promises up until morning where he would assuredly receive a good lashing.

The hand on your chin crawls down to your neck, thumb petting your pulse with even strokes.

“You can make me,” he continues through your bitter silence. The smirk upon his face is not charming, only cruel again; likely the same look he would give to the void each time he has heard you unravel at the mere thought of him.

You separate yourself from him with a wounded glare, barely keeping yourself together at the thought of finally allowing this brute to unite with your being in such a way. The reasonings as to why you should not are a blur now, reeled back by a more demanding series of thoughts. A secret you could keep, just as long as…

“You really will? If I allow you to…”

“Ja,” König answers simply, gives you a firm nod as to further express his answer. The truth of it was, he finds you dumb. After many months being here, you’ve picked up on a few words of his mother tongue and still he seems to think of you as a simple woman. “Zeig mir deine pflaume.”

You think you may even look the part of some naïve, overly trusting creature when your gown falls to your ankles to rest of the hay covered floor.

The man does not kiss you, only weighs your breasts in his hands, squishes them and paws at their plushness until his breathing grows heavy. He’s grown hard beneath his tunic already, without so much as a moan or a touch from you, but with his eyes locked onto what lies between your trembling legs and the flesh in his hands you almost feel a swell of pride.

His face dips to press into your chest, an eager tongue snaking out to wet you… everywhere. Perhaps he isn’t the most experienced with women, perhaps he’s only sampled what the brothels had to offer.

There’s no care for your pleasure here, only a tentative exchange made clear by the way he gropes at you with such force and tugs your nipple between his teeth as shallow pants and low whimpers leave your parted lips. The bites grow in intensity until you bring your hands to his scarred face to shove him away, only then does he relent back to feverish licks.

A hand trails down to your hip, all too eager in its exploration. There’s no warning when he tests your willingness, pets at your cunt like a well-loved pet. And damn it all — you are wet, as much as you would like to be frigid and resentful here, your body sings for him with soft whines instead of birdsong and dew over the petals of your own flower. He hums appreciatively while suckling at your tit, pushes a finger into your slit so suddenly your body jolts forward to grasp at his shoulders for purchase.

“Not here…” You try to reason with him. There are beds in the castle and walls so thick not a soul would hear. You didn’t need to be fucked in a stable like a breeding mare, it’s unbecoming for both of you.

Not that König even had the sense to listen. You’ve placed a hearty offering at the altar of a starved god, and he would be a fool to allow room to have it snatched away.

The response he gives you is not in words. It’s with a sudden spin that leaves you grasping at the gate of an empty stall, your back to him. You’ve never felt quite so vulnerable, never so horribly heartbroken when this beast chooses to take you from behind instead of nice and slow, in a bed that smells of lavender and incense.

There’s a soft rustling as he pulls his cock free from his garments, his head pressed to where your shoulder and neck join where he whispers what you imagine to be pure filth in his mother tongue, takes in your scent with panting breaths. The fat tip of his cock is diligently rubbed against you in hasty strokes, gathering your wetness until you feel yourself beginning to quiver.

Any chance to turn back is ripped out of your grasp the second he loses patience and begins to feed your drooling cunt each girthy inch. The hands that directed your face with most of your interactions are now cinched firmly against your waist. The sounds that leave him now are unlike any you’ve heard prior; a hand as hard and rough as his could never quite feel the same as what you’ve blessed him with.

“You feel…” He halts momentarily when he’s stuffed himself into you entirely, listening to each soft sound that’s pulled from your lips as you shake around him, for him. He doesn’t need to speak, really… you feel it too, the immediate heat and immaculate bliss of being joined in such a way. You’ve seen that horrid, thick thing countless times but to imagine it would feel so heavenly inside…

“Fick mich… so tight…”

His fucking becomes rampant when you cast him a look over your shoulder, one of utter rapture. Any patience he feigned is lost, because his cock spears you open again and again at a pace that jolts you in place and has your nails splintering the wood in your grasp. The teeth that pulled and bit at your nipples sink into your shoulder to keep those foul words contained, but does little to stifle the desperate groans and keening whines. The sounds of impact join him, filling up the shush of the night air.

Though you try to keep yourself contained, when a hand rises to squeeze at your breast and pinch your nipple between two coarse digits, any hope of biting your tongue is snuffed out. The sounds of your pleasure only add to his derangement; his thrusts become almost unbearable as he fills you with the length of his cock, pulls out to where his tip snags at your entrance only to fully bury himself again in quick repetition.

You don’t even come before he grows sloppy. Each stroke comes less intent, shifting from too fast or far too slow. It’s maddening, the way he sinks in to press his balls to your clit, already drenched in your essence, like a proper lover only to pump you like a common whore following.

He announces his impending orgasm to you in a grunt before sinking his teeth into your neck. Your hand detaches from the gate to slip between your thighs where König immediately grips your wrist as directs each movement as you circle your clit. There’s no tact or beauty here. He forces you to set a rough pace, desperate to feel you squeeze around his cock before he fucks his seed into you; the brute grows impatient and bats your hand away entirely as he pinches and flicks at the nub until you sob, because as torturous as it is, it works.

You’re brought to an abrupt end, eyes squeezed shut and jaw tightening as your hips jolt to meet his palm and your cunt pulls him in to pulse. He laps languidly at your neck while he gives you only a few stilted thrusts before the entire affair comes to an end. König doesn’t have near enough sense to keep himself contained, how no curious servant was pried from their bed by the pleasured bellow he lets out then is remarkable.

The man who fucks his palm near thrice a day still manages to fill your cunt to bursting with his seed. It slips down your thigh when he pulls away from you, tugs at your cheek to take in the view with a satisfied grunt that makes you want to recoil from him in a fit of misery. Maybe even love, because you find yourself so regrettably content now that you wouldn’t even mind sleeping in this sour smelling stable if only he would keep an arm around you…

König’s thoughts are elsewhere. He adjusts himself back into his clothes and pulls your gown from the floor to present it back to you. There’s no romance, only a subtle hint of something more than disinterest when he flashes you an almost boyish grin while you straighten yourself out as best you can.

A warm bath followed by a pillow beneath your head would be nice, but instead this romp blesses you with more dread.

The horse König had so diligently prepared is led out of its stall, and you… You’re hardly given a moment to react before you’re seated on the saddle by a pair of thick arms, the owner of which follows suit while you shoot him an uneasy glance. The question of where he’s taking you is only met with a palm curled over your mouth and an affectionate peck to your temple. You’ve no intention of being thrown off a horse or further tempting fate, even if it seems the easier route than whatever this proves to be.

“My lady wants to stay with me..,” he purrs as the reins are forced into your hands. That same hand slips down to push up your gown again and pivot your ass to rest over his crotch. “So she will come with me, hm?”

The cock finds its way inside of you again as the horse takes quiet, metered steps. Your eyes grow wet with tears unshed, and your protestations are muffled by that grip over the lower half of your face. König seems almost sympathetic even with the transparency of his renewed arousal throbbing inside of you; his hand falls free from your mouth as the horse carries you both past the threshold of the gate, replaced instead by a kiss both fiery and soothing.

You sulk and demand he return you home, to the safety of that stone nest, only to be shushed each time by a sweet press of his mouth to yours, your cheek when you will yourself to turn away. His free hand pets at your side, your breast, any where he can touch to calm your trembling. It doesn’t help… much, but your heart does seem to soften amidst the confusion and bereavement.

“I will take you home,” he mutters as he toys with your clit again, beckoning you to grind back against him. Your head lolls back again his shoulder, dazed and shaky from both his touch and his horrible deceit.

Home. Back to whatever pit of sulfur and grime he came from to drag you back down into it with him.

“… I’ll take care of you, little dove.”

It’s a shame this gentle side of him only decided upon showing its face when the roles reversed in his favor. Prisoner or wife, you meld against him wholly, sigh your pleasure as he whisks you away.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #tw: dubcon

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mayullla · 10 months

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Title: Little Sunshine!

Characters: Douma (/Doma) (Demon Slayer)

Summary: You were taken into the Paradise Faith cult with Kotoha (Inosuke's mother.) And like her, Douma became rather fond of you. When Kotoha ran away, she had no choice but to leave you behind as Douma hid the truth away from you and turned you into one of his own kind.

Warnings/tags: Platonic yandere, fem!child!reader, the reader gets turned into a demon (drinking blood is mentioned here / forced), manipulation

Note: Part 2 is here!

You were holding the hand of Kotoha Hashibira, a pregnant woman who brought you along with her when she was welcomed into the Paradise Faith cult.

You were around 3 to 4 years old that time, if Douma remembers correctly when you walked in curiously looking at everything around you so naively and sweetly asking Kotoha who these people welcoming you and her were.

If he was right, Douma remembers that you didn't belong to Kotoha. That two of you weren't blood-related, but she picked you up somewhere as she found you abandoned and alone. It was a common occurrence, no doubt, that kids get abandoned by their own parents. Maybe it was due to poverty or maybe for other reasons but Kotoha told Douma that was hard to ignore you as you look at the world with something in your eyes. Something that she could not pinpoint.

Yet Douma definitely found something common between you and Kotoha, these cheerful and innocent personalities that the two of you have. The two of you would always play together, as you followed along when Kotoha sang or times when you played alone but always invited him to join you when you noticed him.

Even now after years you still do the same, as you toss the ball high up into the air and then catch it the servants watching from far away clapping their hands and they look fondly at you the daughter of Douma having but age only one year after so long.

"Dear," Douma stated, gesturing that you come to him. Looking up from your ball, you trotted over to him, tilting your head curiously. Sometimes you remind him of how he fondly looked at you and Kotoha, the days when he would watch you play around and laugh in delight trying to ask him to carry you as you looked at the koi fish inside the pond. Your eyes were innocent even years later, but then again, you sleep more than before, so maybe mentally, you wouldn't age as much...

"Ah, my lovely child, you are awake! Why didn't you tell me so? I would have come sooner." Douma stated, patting your head. While it has been made this idea that you and Douma were father and daughter, it couldn't have been far from the truth.

It was a public ritual that had been made between you and Douma. The followers envied you, a small child who was forced to drink the blood that came from Douma's hand sliced with a knife and poured into a small cup. It seemed that you didn't remember such a situation occurring as he once brought it up only to get a confused look from you.

You cried so much that day when you were forced to drink from the cup, as the followers all held you down, telling you that you should be grateful and happy that you have been given this honor. That you and Douma would now be related, and there was nothing more privilege than to be related to the man who they worshipped.

With a smile, Douma continued to watch. Your body wanted to curl as you felt the pain in your body as if thorns were stabbed everywhere. Maybe this wouldn't have happened... maybe you would have stayed a human for a long time till you died as one if Kotoha hadn't found out about his little secret.

He remembered when Kotoha tried to run away, she wanted to get you too, but with Inosuke in her arms and him on the way she wasn't able to do so.

Your cries of pain were what he listened to as he thought about the past.

"Where is Kotoha-san and Inosuke?" You asked one night after searching the whole day for them.

"They have left, dear child." Douma smiled down at you, his face covered by the shadow made by the moonlight. His eyes glowed brightly as he watched your reaction to the news. "Oh... are they coming back?" You asked, looking down at the floor fidgeting in your spot. "I am not sure, dear..." Douma replied, watching.

How confused you were, then a sort of realization, then betrayed, sorrow, acceptance, and lastly, loneliness. He enjoyed watching your emotions very much, how expressive your eyes were, a smile still on his face. He wondered what you would do next. Would you curl up in a corner and hide away mopping that you have been abandoned once again, or would you just cry here screaming why?

"Will you stay with me?" Your question almost barely a whisper surprised Douma, as his eyes widen, and somewhere in his body jumped at your words.

It was unfamiliar to him. He wasn't able to reply as silence draped through the room. You stared at him with a cautious hope that started to dim little by little every second he didn't answer.

"Yes.." That word surprised Douma a lot, such a common word held an unfamiliar, heavy feeling that he never thought he would experience. Covering his mouth with his fingers as he wondered if he really was the one who said it. Looking at you, he saw your eyes just light up just a little, and as you smiled.

It was at that moment he thought that his heartbeat, or whatever similar thing there was for a demon. But other than that, there was something else he noticed in his heart, one he could not recognize at all. Yet he thought it was such an erratic, crazed feeling. It was almost addictive.

Douma thought that maybe through you, he might... might just be able to experience these emotions that he never thought he could. The feeling of just being a little more... real.

It was his own amusement that led to the decision to turn you into a demon just like him. When he had done just a good amount of work for Muzan when he asked for a little prize for his work. Mozan stared at him with disdain when he had asked, wondering if he had gone crazy. But to get him out of his sight, Muzan let him do as he pleases, allowing you to become a demon.

Douma watched as you cried your eyes out in pain. Your eyes ever so slowly became more and more crazed. The want for blood you crave would be soon as you tried to find someone to eat, yet Douma noticed how you also looked as if another side of you was fighting. Not wanting to spill blood, as tears fell from your eyes begging yourself to stop.

Instead of eating a human, before Douma could even call for one and offer that dish to you. You passed out.

How... boring... he thought as he stared at you, poking your cheek.

You slept for a long time. A few months or more, he didn't count. Douma sent you to another room to be cared for by the worshippers and almost have completely forgotten about you tired of waiting after a while.

When Douma had asked Muzan about turning a child into a demon, almost all the upper-rank demons were there then. Akaza wondered what has gotten into Douma to ask such a thing but it wasn't like he once understood the guy. So did the other demons they all looked at Douma as if he went insane.

Douma didn't care. He didn't really care what they thought of him, but imagine his surprise when he after a year saw you with Akaza. You were laughing cheerfully as the man carried you on his shoulders. His face was a little confused, but letting you do as you please as you raved about how high up you were. He watched as the smile on Akaza's lips became a little more genuine as he continued to play with you.

... it was a dirty feeling, ugly and disgusting that he wanted to vomit out. It felt like he was drowning in thick mud as he watched you play with Akaza. Just a year ago, he was the one to do this for you.

And he doesn't know why...

Note: I think it was really obvious to those who follow me that I would pick writing demons rather than the demon slayers... hehe

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dialovers-lover-xoxo · 29 days

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Mukami Brothers as Dads Headcanons!

Context is after their character development in later games where they're in a relationship with Yui but still taking into account their general personality and lasting trauma

Under a cut cuz it's long

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Ruki

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- Ruki didn't want them to be like he was as a kid. He was spoiled past the point of Dudley Dursley, he was physically abusing servants

- He's a loving and supportive parent, but firm as well

- His kids learned pretty quickly that when Dad says something, he means it and nothing will change his mind

- He'll do what he thinks is best, even if that means unintentionally disregarding his kids' needs or wants

- Over time he becomes much more open to listening to them but he remains pretty strict and controlling

- They never doubt his love for them. He makes it crystal clear how much he loves them

- He liked to have them in his lap as kids while he read them bedtime stories

- He liked having them with him when he cooked but he was kinda overprotective, even as they got older he didn't really want them near knives or fire

- Very imposing to his kids' friends, the parent of your friend that isn't warm or friendly, just polite

Kou

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- Quit his idol career. He wanted to be there for his kids and he didn't want paparazzi invading his childrens' lives

- Of course just because someone's no longer an idol doesn't mean they're automatically forgotten

- Kou had to threaten some paparazzi

- Because he grew up with nothing, his parenting is mix of wanting to give his children literally everything they ask for and wanting to teach them to be grateful for what they have and generous to others

- He eventually finds a decent middle ground but he never gets rid of his doubts about that completely

- Very affectionate and calls them his little kittens

- Cheerful with their friends

- Protective in a way where he'll have a familiar follow them or he'll see into someone's soul with his eye to make sure they're not a threat

- He'll get violent if his kids get hurt or might be hurt

- Hates yelling at or arguing with them but understands tough love is part of parenting

Yuma

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- Piggyback rides, tickles, ruffles their hair a lot

- Refers to himself as "yer old man"

- Less aggressive than you'd assume, still very protective, but in a more secretive or subtle way

- Yuma actually doesn't mind if his kids don't want to get dirty in the garden. What Yuma wants to teach his kids is the value of hard work, it doesn't matter where they channel that hard work, as long as they do hard work

- He doesn't exactly have trouble showing his affection, he will, but he might get a little blushy

- Generally friendly with their friends, he'd be considered the cool nice dad by his kids' friends

- But he is still not one to be messed with. If you hurt his children, you will regret it

- Likes to tease them

Azusa

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- Even though he can be very worrisome, Azusa is very intuitive, and as a result he can trust when his child will make good decisions

- Of course that doesn't mean someone else won't make a dangerous decision that'll affect his kids so he still worries

- Really sweet and affectionate

- He never wants his children to feel unloved and worthless, he drowns them in love

- He gets soooo excited when his kids bring home friends and doesn't understand why he kinda creeps them out with his knives and slow talking

- The only time he will ever yell is if his kids did something that put themselves in danger

- Not very good at discipline but not exactly a pushover, they listen to him. Something about his soft words carry more power than an angry parent yelling or talking strictly would

- Has his familiars follow them on occasion

- If they're ever fighting and his kid lashes out and says they hate him just in a generic fight it will destroy him even when he knows they don't mean it

- He stares at them a lot because he's just so happy they're there and he loves them so much

- Doesn't push them to have ambitions in life, he just wants them happy

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

I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading!

Feedback and reblogs appreciated! ❤️

Sakamaki Version Link 👇🏻

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heavencanbeaprisontoo · 4 months

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Living with Thomas Shelby Headcanons

Notes: These hcs were made for an AU were Grace doesn’t reunite with Tommy.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, PTSD, some suggestive language, violence.

Domestic Headcanons

-Tommy is a man that wants his home to be a symbol of sanctuary and his hard-won wealth. Arrow House accomplished that goal. A massive manor made of brick and stone, it reminds you of Tommy in a way. Solid, cold, secretive… hollow. It takes a lot for you to get used to living there. After some time passes, Arrow House’s interior starts to reflect more of your personal tastes. It adds a warmth that was lacking. Tommy won’t admit it, but he’s grateful for it.

- The servants take some adjusting to, absolutely. Tommy actually cracks a smile when you jump at the soft voice of a maid from the doorway. He’s less amused when that jump rips you from his lap. The way Tommy acts in his home, you would think it’s just the two of you living there. He has little issue pushing you to his desk or pinning you to a wall to have his fill of you.

- If you show any sign of knowing how to ride a horse, or that you would like to learn, expect dates on horseback. These dates aren’t necessarily filled with chatter, but you enjoy them. Tommy relaxes in a way you don’t normally see. Traveling over the hills and across these wide plains with him feels so peaceful. Sometimes he talks of his heritage with you. How his mother would tell him stories of his father’s courting of her. They would ride alone, in secret. Horses are precious to his people, as is this time spent with you. A part of him likes seeing that you can live in both worlds with him. Challenge him to a race and you’ll watch the years fall from his face. He becomes almost boy like when he charges past you, perhaps even cracking a smile when he wins.

- He knows many riddles and jokes, he used to say them often. You only found out about it when he told a few silly jokes to a stable boy who had sprained his ankle while working. The boy was terrified Tommy would fire him. He sent him home with his month’s wages and told him to get well.

- When you start sleeping in the same bed as Thomas Shelby as his partner and not just his lover, get ready. His demons always catch up to him in his dreams. He thrashes some nights. Once, Tommy woke you with a scream. The Devil of Small Heath is quick to regain his composure, but you swear you saw him wipe tears from his cheeks. He doesn’t like to be comforted. At least that’s how he tries to act the first few hundred times you attempt to console him. Over time, he lets you hold him. It’s a bit silly. This man let you move in with him and share his bed, yet it took him so long to just let you see him be weak.

Relationship Headcanons

- Beneath all the new money and designer suits beats the heart of a simple man. He likes to read the paper in the mornings and (when he was still drinking) have a splash of whiskey in his coffee. Little homemade things like a lunch packed for him will fluster him. If you rush him with such a thing for him to take with him, it’ll make his day. He will try to refuse, but he doesn’t mean it. Write him a simple note with a kiss. You might just find a stack of these little notes in his desk one day.

- Tommy gets up at odd hours as his sleep is rarely if ever regular. There are mornings where you roll over and his spot in the bed is cold. You call the family office and hear from his secretary that he’s been in for hours. And the sun isn’t even up. That leaves you a lot of time alone in the house. You get to know the staff very well for this reason. Tommy sometimes looks to you to remember the names of butlers or cooks before he makes a specific request or reprimand. The servants all generally like you a lot more than Tommy because of this.

- Lingering touches and soft kisses to the cheek are frequent behind closed doors. Only. No PDA. He hates to look soft. Do not do cute things in front of his men. It will irritate him. That said, privately? He likes to take a seat on the bed you share and have you stand between his legs so he can hold you close. Stare up at you like you hang the stars. Pull you on top of him as he lays back. Perfect way to end a day in Tommy’s opinion.

- Thomas Shelby is a man who loses as much as he gains. People cannot be counted on without fear in his world. No matter how much he loves you, there will always be doubt. Doubt that you won’t survive loving a man like him. Doubt that your loyalty may be decaying with every cold word and impassive wave he sends your way. This is only one of his quirks that have you contemplating homicide on a bad day.

- Part of his fear surrounding you is that he is a man that does not fall first, but he falls harder. You may not always see it, but he would burn the world for you. He will kill for you. If you ever killed for him, Tommy would know his fears were for nothing. Head wouldn’t know what to do with himself after. He’s never had a lover that would watch his back for him like you. Tommy would never ask for you to do it again. Ever. But knowing you’re as dark-hearted as him might make him more open to strategizing with you. Make you his confidant. The Lilith to his Lucifer.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader #Thomas Shelby headcanon #tommy shelby

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henrioo · 11 months

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✦ ── FALLING IN LOVE: SANJI

Sanji x Gn! Reader

Synopsis: Where slowly Sanji realizes that his feelings for you have changed

Warnings: Pure cuteness, nothing really alarming, just a passionate and jealous Sanji

Word Count: 1,4k

Notes: This should have been an ask, but when I finished it I realized it was very different from what I had been asked and decided to do another one. But so you don't miss it, here it is being posted, I hope you like it. Sorry for the English

Notes edit: Pronouns have been updated to neuter thanks to @waitingmydemons , thanks sweetie

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ• ────── ✦ ────── •

It's really not a secret that Sanji is a bit emotional and has a tendency to fall in love with pretty people, so when you introduced yourself as a new crew member with that bright yet nervous smile, no one would really be surprised if he had hearts eyes and a wide mouth.

Of course, initially he wouldn't think he was really in love, after all he doesn't consider himself a one-man man. That's why he tries to act as normal as he can around you, still having the aura of a lover and servant who would do anything for you, but also trying to convey credibility that he wasn't really in love.

Of course, he can't run away from it for long, but everything starts much slower than it seems, see:

First it starts with your kindness, you were more than excited to meet all of the crew and become friends with them, so you would walk up and down asking if you could be of assistance or just spend some time chatting to find out more about the people you now live with.

First Sanji didn't want to ask you for help, he didn't want to burden you with cooking and he also wanted to try to impress you by showing how he can handle the entire kitchen by himself. But you insisted that you could at least be of some use, so he sighed deeply and asked you to cut up some vegetables and occasionally stir certain pots or add ingredients. Nothing that could really be difficult if you were only pretending to want to help.

You might not be the best in socializing, but you were definitely doing your best to make the conversation flow naturally for both of you. So Sanji also made an effort so that you could talk calmly, he would ask a little more about your village and journey, always being careful not to press where he shouldn't, sometimes he would ask about your hobbies and food tastes, nothing really deep but that still counted.

You weren't far behind, you loved to talk and talking to Sanji was so easy! You asked about the restaurant, about Zeff, about his fighting style and his passion for cooking, even if you couldn't have known that there was a much deeper past there, you were pleased with what you discovered the first few times you started talking.

As the weeks passed and you were intimate enough with everyone, Sanji initially thought you'd drift away a bit, focused on doing your own thing and settling in on the ship. But what would be his surprise when you showed up in the kitchen not long after asking if he could stay there and keep you company while you studied some things. He didn't know what that feeling was, but his legs went weak, his heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped, and heat surged through his body. He smiled and stammered out a statement as he tried to get back in control.

And you came back the next day, and also the next, you walked around the islands together, on the rounds... It was strange, at least for Sanji. He was close to all the members, that's clear, but he didn't feel that close to any of them. Every time you got close to him, his heart fluttered and he started stuttering, not knowing exactly how or what to say. He just needed to talk to you, whatever the subject.

He couldn't be falling in love with you, could he? Of course he thought you were attractive, your hair was magnificent, your eyes were sparkling and your smile was amazing. He also really liked your personality, your love for the crew and their tastes, your focus and determination, how you never give up on what you believed to be right. Of course, he also felt strange next to you, with his legs shaking, his stomach nervous, his hands sweating and the lack of words. But that was all just because you were a new person compared to the others, that would pass with time, wouldn't it?

Definitely not. But he only saw it in the first jealousy crisis he had, you should spend the day on the island together since you wanted to cook something and needed the help of someone experienced in that. But just in the nick of time Usopp needed your help with art supplies and you ended up leaving your object behind, prioritizing helping your friend before that. Of course Sanji didn't mind, it was just one day, you would have many more. So what was the problem?

He didn't know it, but as he walked around town looking for supplies he couldn't stop thinking about you, how much more fun it would be to run around the market stalls listening to your beautiful voice. How you could stop by some cafe and eat together while chatting, even how nice it would be to cook with you afterwards, teaching you what he loved so much. He muttered irritably, taking another cigarette, perhaps the fifth in an hour, as he stopped in a square to collect his thoughts.

That's when he saw you. You weren't together with Usopp, but in front of some stalls, buying jewelry and small weapons, he immediately smiled and thought about approaching. Perhaps now you were free and could spend the rest of the day together, but the events that followed had his stomach twisting as he bit down on the cigarette until he tasted it on his tongue. A man approached you with a huge bouquet of flowers, he appeared to be a civilian and by his clothes perhaps he worked as a florist or gardener. The man smiled and offered you a beautiful bouquet of roses, you smiled with slightly flushed cheeks and accepted, the man would not miss the chance to pass his hand to your shoulder as he approached.

Sanji expected to see discomfort on your face, maybe despair, anything he could use as an excuse to go over there and kick that man until his face was unrecognizable. But you didn't. Instead you looked like you were having fun, laughing and getting red in the cheeks at everything the other said, Sanji felt his stomach sinking and hurting, what was that? He grabbed his bags and walked back to the ship, not in the mood for shopping anymore that day.

Robin was in the kitchen as she had stayed to watch the ship, she greeted him quickly without taking her eyes off the book she was reading. He responded with as much cheer as he had, none, and then proceeded to unpack everything for storage, although he really hadn't bought much for being back early. He could feel Robin's gaze on her back, perhaps it was obvious how awkward he was, but the man didn't wish to trouble the beautiful lady with feelings he didn't even understand.

"How was your day on the island with (y/n)?" She asked quietly, but Sanji felt his entire body shiver and go rigid.

"Ahn… They couldn’t go, busy with Usopp I guess" he tried to dodge the subject and replied in the most ordinary tone, although there was a tremor in his voice.

"Oh, I see" he thanked her for the next few minutes of silence, maybe she would just forget about it and he could pretend that nothing happened "is that why you are so upset?" He nearly dropped the plate he was washing.

"I'm not upset" he said that to who? For Robin? For himself? Who was he trying to fool?

"Hm…" she hummed "Whatever you say" a good quality of the woman is that she wouldn't insist on these matters, she knew when to withdraw if necessary "But you can talk to me if you want" Sanji smiled appreciatively for having such a generous friend.

"I just…" he shouldn't have said it, he didn't even know what he was feeling! "I… I saw them with someone else besides Usopp… They looked happy" he mumbled not really knowing what the problem was, what exactly was he angry about?

"Oh… I see" he could hear the woman's smile.

"Understood what?" He asked, nervous and curious.

"Hm? Didn't you notice, cook-san?" She had a lively, light tone.

"No?" he asked, confused.

"You are jealous." She finished and it didn't take long to get up, ready to leave. Sanji is immobilized, completely paralyzed and not knowing what to say, let alone what to do. Robin must have noticed his face in shock and laughed at the door, then spoke calmly "Don't worry, it's normal to be jealous when we're in love…"

Then she left, leaving the man alone, and for the first time since you joined the crew, Sanji realized something: he was in love with you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ• ────── ✦ ────── •

Notes: Well that was it! It was the first thing I wrote after my short break so I don't know if it was really good, but I liked it even though it was short. The next stories will be the ask

Also I'm planning to start a series of imagines so that's why orders are closed, hope you understand!

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #onepiece #anime imagines #one piece imagine #imagines #anime and manga #sanji x y/n #sanji imagine #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanjionepiece #kuroashi no sanji #sanji x you

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laenordeservedbetter · 2 years

Note

Hi! May I request a fluff fic featuring older Alicent in love with a female reader? I want to see her happy and gay ❤️

Her Savior — Alicent Hightower x Fem!Reader

Words: 2k

Pairings: Alicent Hightower x Fem!Reader, Implied/Referenced Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen

Warnings: Fluff, hero worship?, One curse word

Hi!! You and me both, anon. Alicent deserves happiness in her life.

not my gif. || masterlist || previous work

—

“Where is Queen Alicent?”

“The Queen is in her bedchambers, my lady. She sent Ser Criston to seek you out. Did he not get to you?”

You could assume he did not bother to look. There was likelihood that a part of it was an effect of your doing. Last time he located your locus, you were in the middle of an outburst, going as far as to threatening to dismiss him from the kingsguard if he doesn’t leave you alone.

Criston is not afraid of you, only of Alicent’s wrath if she finds you unhappy. You could give out an effortlessly implicit disapproval of Criston’s abilities and Alicent would ship him back to Dorne in a blink of an eye due to her rising power.

You had met Alicent after Rhaenyra’s wedding – a time where Alicent greatly needed someone. No one thought her and Rhaenyra would fall apart. They were two peas in a pod, sharing a relationship some could go as far to assume was more than just a friendship. Carefree girls who had it all before the expectations from their fathers came piling in. Due to the world not willing to witness women assuming power despite not having a man by their side, it decided to pull them apart; their relationship classified as collateral damage.

During the wedding, a servant stumbled on your dress, spilling three cups worth of wine onto it while you were giving your congratulations to the princess and her future king consort. Alicent, drawn by your presence, offered to aid you in restoring your dress to its former glory in the borders of her room.

You had been distrustful of her kindness, believing there was a secret ploy to gain your house’s support. When you found her motives to be sincere, you let yourself bring your guard down.

Your relationship evolved from there, Alicent understanding Rhaenyra’s wont for breaking the rules in favor of gaining freedom as it grew. Alicent would not apprise you of her consideration in the past of declaring war against Rhaenyra, planning to execute her actions to get Aegon on the throne when Viserys inevitably passes for the reason that you already unintentionally subdued her fear that Rhaenyra will put her children to the sword, averting her feelings of hatred and taking her time to convert it into devotion for you.

The rest is history.

You blow out the fire of the remaining candles in your chambers. Though you don’t give a response, you recognize your handmaiden’s query. Being familiar with your silence, she escorts you to the queen’s resting room.

Criston, who was guarding Alicent’s doors, bows his head. “My lady.”

“Ser Criston.” You answered.

He steps aside to let you in, blocking the pathway for your handmaiden. As insufferable as he could be sometimes, Criston would protect your secrets because he is loyal to Alicent, the woman who gave him a chance to begin again.

You could not comprehend the uncanny arrangement your queen and this knight have going on. However, you appreciated Alicent’s flair for securing allies. Criston is a great fighter. You would count on him to defend Alicent if it ever came down to it.

Whilst Criston closes the door to offer you privacy, you feel a pang of guilt hit your chest as you see Alicent curled up into a chair, asleep. She has not changed out of her dress. Your brows furrow together, eyes flitting to the small table beside her, where you’d hold your own makeshift feasts during the hour of ghosts.

Currently it is the hour of the eel, past dinnertime. A plate hangs near the edge, in danger of falling. It housed your favorite meal. Most of the plates on the table did, the rest of it were Alicent’s. Poor furniture was overflowing with dishes that were untouched! As if you thought you couldn’t feel any guiltier, it dawned on you that Alicent planned to have dinner together.

“Fuck.” You clenched your jaw, angered by your own stupidity for not checking in earlier.

It was too late to wake Alicent. You don’t want to disturb her sleep. She has barely gotten rest these past few days because of Viserys needing her assistance, growing weaker by the day. You make a mental note to arrive back here in the early morning to apologize to Alicent and make sure she eats well.

For the moment, you’ll grant her rest. Moving to Alicent’s bed that accommodated her blanket, you take the fabric in your hands, commending the smoothness of it – the finest silk for the finest queen in Westeros – before putting it on Alicent deliberately. You tuck the edges of the blanket congruously so she won’t get cold later on followed by placing a good night’s kiss on her temple.

Just as you attempt to turn away, Alicent wakes.

“Leaving already, lover?” She muses, voice groggy from sleep.

“Apologies for my tardiness, my love.” Knowing Alicent, she would not go back to sleep when disturbed. There was no point in convincing her. You’ve tried to persuade her during similar positions in the past. Needless to say, you will never try again.

Alicent blinks, folding the blanket serenely like she could care less about your apology. “You came. It’s all that matters.”

You grab the blanket from Alicent, putting it back to the bed where it belonged. Still feeling bad about the whole ordeal, you attempt to ask for forgiveness one more time. “Ali…”

“Y/n.” She says in that authoritative tone she utilizes with her subjects to focus their attention to her point. “We will speak no more of it.”

“I’m beginning to get distraught. You’re starting to sound like Viserys.”

“You could say that, yeah.” Alicent is quite chipper even with you jabbing her with a joke that she normally would have felt insulted by. “Since you’ve graced me with your presence, do you mind if we eat now? Though, I should tell you. Food’s slightly cold.”

You hummed, planting yourself on a stool facing Alicent.

“I don’t mind.”

“Good.”

You ate in quietude; Alicent’s chamber was noiseless, but not uncomfortable. This is what you two needed after a day overflowing with endless conversations befitting of your roles in society – a moment of peace.

From time to time, silence is good regardless of how long it lasts.

Alicent sets her fork downward, wiping her mouth with a clean white cloth, a sign that she plans to tell you something. “Aemond got along with his brother and Rhaenyra’s children today, can you believe it?”

You chuckle, “No, but that’s progress, right?!” Avowedly, you were elated for Aemond. It was not so long ago that Aegon put Jace and Luke up to getting Aemond a pig. The Pink Dread, they called it. You are aware because you were there per Aemond’s request, him having listened to Helaena in the early morning during one of her mumblings about something cryptic as usual.

Aegon, Jace, and Luke were reprimanded by you as you were the only person not of the Targaryen blood that could do such a thing without repercussions. Alicent considered you family, so you were an extension of the Targaryens in people’s eyes.

You were also there to stop Aemond from risking his life just so he could prove himself, reassuring him that he will have a dragon someday.

“I have you to thank for that.” Alicent reached for your hand on the table, caressing your knuckles softly.

“How did I partake in this, if I may ask?” You questioned.

“Jace told me that you said ‘Aemond is of your blood. You lot are Targaryens. If you cannot manage to look out for each other, the house of the dragon will tear itself apart. You all know that you are stronger when united. You must work through your differences. Sooner than late, you’ll have to fight against whoever dares to tear your family asunder. When the time comes, the realm will need four princes to keep everything together. That is your responsibility.’ That seemed to be enough to get their heads straight. Today, they all conspired to make Criston’s day miserable. It was bad for Criston, but good for the children.”

You grinned, glad to hear the news. You’d tell the boys you are proud of them in the morrow as well as to give your thanks for making Criston’s life worse. You don’t know why, but something about him leaves you feeling on edge. “There may be hope for them yet.” You teased.

“They listen to you.”

“Mhm.” You confirmed.

“And they value your counsel like you are also their mother.”

“Alicent, that is not what I had intended…” You trailed off, trying to retract your hand, thinking you overstepped your boundaries with her children. To your surprise, Alicent only held onto it tighter. She didn’t want to let you go.

Alicent’s eyes held no antipathy, seeming like her affection expanded upon observing how well you got along with her children. You’ve been a parental figure in their lives, stepping up in the shoes Viserys should have filled. Every milestone, you were there, not missing out on anything.

Your heart skipped a beat when Alicent pressed her lips against yours to hush your train of thought. Closing your eyes to relish in the warmth that was Alicent, your hands come up to place themselves on her cheeks. Even after all these years, Alicent still felt like coming home after a long journey. If she was a god, you would worship the ground she walks on because for you, Alicent is heaven. Your oasis.

At the end of the night, near the conclusion of reading Alicent a passage from your favorite tale, bodies pressed beside each other for warmth, your dark-haired lover sneaks a hand around your waist while your fingers brush over her back in a soothing manner.

You were close to falling asleep when Alicent murmurs, “You saved me.”

You studied Alicent’s expression but she did not give anything away, “How so?”

“You led me out of a path of hatred. If we didn’t meet, no doubt I’d be a disparate person.” Alicent smiles gently, “You would not like me.” She adds.

“Nonsense. I’d love you still. Whichever version that may be.” You dismiss.

“Even if I have gone mad?” She asks with her voice so small it made you want to put her in your pocket to cherish forever.

“Even if you’ve gone mad.” You certify.

“Will you still love me if you found out that I tried to wage war on Rhaenyra?”

“What kind of – yes, I would.”

“Good because I did try it.”

“Alicent!”

“It was a long time ago. I’ve gotten over it after I fell in love with you.” She exclaims defensively, surprising herself as well when she admitted her former plans to you when she vowed not to.

“How long ago?”

“During her wedding.”

“Okay, well, since you don’t hate her now, I suppose it’s alright.” You breathe out, seeking to imagine a life where Alicent and Rhaenyra did not reconnect but you couldn’t picture it in your mind. It was inconceivable.

“If I was a dragon, would you love me?”

“Of course. Dragons are marvelous.”

“How about if I stole ancient relics for a living?”

“Darling, let’s go to bed.”

“No. Answer my question first.”

“Sure.”

Alicent wriggles herself out of your hold. “That’s all you can say? ‘Sure’?” She asks incredulously.

You attempt to pull her back to you, “I love you, Ali. You know that.”’

“What if I was dirt in your foot? Would you love me then?” Her arms are crossed, pretending to sound upset.

Fortunately, you were familiar with her capers. She needs assurance, is all. Not giving Alicent a choice, you embrace her with a strong grip that she cannot get out of yet still allowing her space to breathe. The succeeding hours of conversation ensued all the way until the sun began to shine. You filled Alicent’s ears with sweet words that you candidly meant until she was content. Alicent values honesty as much as she values you. Your sayings were true at heart. Alicent could listen to your voice all day but she has a query directed to herself that appears regularly, looming in the back of her mind.

How did I get so lucky?

#alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower #queen alicent #alicent x rhaenyra #rhaenicent

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komorezuki · 4 months

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Unnamed Duke of the Hell, part 1

"You're demons. Junior bottom of the barrel demons, practically the damned"

Obviously he humiliates them because he is just a piece of shit (lovingly). But as a great fan of goth background characters and Hell i can give at least one supernatural entity who is not as much of a loser as Crowley is saying.

We can see among this crowd three demons near the elevator.

I suggest you to focus on middle demoness with a headdress. Lets try to brighten image:

Beautiful Infernal Lady. Look at you, darling, you are gorgeous. I really would like to see her outfit and examine all details but the actress hasn't posted pictures :c

Now return to 1942. Furfur is staying in front of the Dark Council. There are three demons: Dagon (who is certainly high-ranked archidemon and apparently she is the leader), a unknown male-shaped demon (probably Ligur) and... familiar to us the "junior bottom of the barrel" demoness.

Furfur is using plural "your maleficences" talking to them. Three tables are no different as well. I think it means that probably-Ligur and Infernal Lady must be in the council as powerful members, not servants or assistants.

I want you to take a closer look at her:

She is definitely not just some misfit.

I think her black crown-like crest upon her head might point to her name. Most likely she might be a demon from Goetia. If so, there are three matches. First is King Paimon, who described as a man sitting upon a camel with a crown most glorious upon his head.

"There goeth before him also an Host of Spirits, like Men with Trumpets and well sounding Cymbals, and all other sorts of Musical Instruments. He hath a great Voice, and roareth at his first coming, and his speech is such that the Magician cannot well understand unless he can compel him. This Spirit can teach all Arts and Sciences, and other secret things. He can discover unto thee what the Earth is, and what holdeth it up in the Waters; and what Mind is, and where it is; or any other thing thou mayest desire to know. He giveth Dignity, and confirmeth the same. He bindeth or maketh any man subject unto the Magician if he so desire it. He giveth good Familiars, and such as can teach all Arts. He is to be observed towards the West. He is of the Order of Dominations. 1 He hath under him 200 Legions of Spirits, and part of them are of the Order of Angels, and the other part of Potentates."

Second one is Duke Gemory (or Gremory) who is appearing in the form of a beautiful woman wearing a duchess's crown and riding a camel, ascribed with the power of revealing hidden treasures and answering questions about the past, present, and future. Female-shaped entity seems more appropriate for Infernal Lady.

Both of them point to a camel as a spirit animal. But nothing in our Lady's appearance confirms that.

Now the third version. Mighty Marquis Androalphus who is appearing as a peacock. I think Lady's crown is most similar to a peacock's tail.

Androalphus can teach astronomy and geometry perfectly. He is also described as ruling over thirty legions and as having the ability to turn any man into a bird. I bet on third name and i hope that we will see the Lady in s3 more. As a duke of the hell she must participate in mess. Part 2

#good omens #good omens demons #good omens 2 #dagon #dark council #good omens meta #good omens hell #go2 #good omens headcanon #ars goetia #lord dagon #crowley #demon #demons

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yujo-nishimura · 4 months

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Whispers of the Desert Kingdom

Here is my Sir Crocodile x Female Princess Reader Fanfiction. Thank you all for your comments, @luvley-pearl @lostfirefly @jollycandyruins @fan-g0rl @st1nkyshoesss @dorky-birdie Warning: Sir Crocodile x fem reader, fluff, fairy tale like, English is not my native language, not proof-read

words: 734 Sorry for the Brother-Grimm like opening, I always wanted to try to write a fairy tale and I thought I could at least start this fic with an opening like that. I try to keep the chapters short since I have not much time to write these days but I want to deliver. So brace yourselves for another endless romantic story.. ;)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

Once upon a time there was a kingdom in a desert, called Alabasta. The kingdom was ruled by a wise and benevolent king, and its capital city was adorned with majestic palaces and bustling markets. This story takes place within the opulent halls of the royal palace, as well as the enchanting landscapes of Alabasta, where secrets, intrigues, and romance intertwine.

You are the princess of Alabasta and Vivis older sister, Y/n.

In an effort to maintain harmony within the country, your father, the king, reaches a decision to arrange a marriage between you and the richest man in the kingdom, Sir Crocodile. You have had feelings for Crocodile for quite some time, and the realization of such a union feels like a cherished fantasy coming to life. However, Crocodile is not the type to easily fall in love and it necessitates a considerable amount of time and effort on your part to persuade him of your worthiness and capacity for love.

It was just another day in the desert, with the relentless sun penetrating your window and rousing you from your slumber. Surprisingly, none of the servants had arrived to wake you for breakfast, suggesting that they either decided to let you sleep in or were still asleep themselves. Glancing at the small watch next to your bed, you realized that breakfast time had already passed. Had they forgotten about you? Without hesitation, you swiftly rose from the comfort of your silk sheets and made your way, barefoot, towards the door of your room. As you opened it, the abundance of noises coming from the kitchen and the buzzing of activity among the servants signaled a state of commotion throughout the entire castle.

"What's happening, Pell?" you inquire, managing to stop the palace's warrior as he rushes past your room, carrying a tray with the king´s finest wine.

"Did the king not inform you, Princess Y/n? We are expecting an important visitor!" Pell responds, his voice tinged with amusement.

"I was not informed!" you exclaim, pouting childishly, which draws out another chuckle from Pell.

"Well, then, quickly get ready and join us. I'm sure the king was simply too preoccupied to notify you!"

"Even so, I'm quite upset. How could he forget about his favorite daughter?" you jest, before retreating into your room. Having known Pell since childhood, he has become like an older brother to you, so him seeing you in your nightgown is nothing out of the ordinary. However, you decide that whoever this visitor may be, they deserve to see you dressed in your finest attire.

As you opened your closet and scanned your collection of dresses, thoughts of your earlier remark lingered in your mind. Deep down, you knew that your father, the king, loved you and your younger sister Vivi equally. Vivi had chosen to set sail with the Straw Hat Pirates, and although you sometimes missed her dearly, you understood her decision. As the older sister, it was your responsibility to prepare yourself to one day assume the throne and lead the kingdom, just as your father had done. Seeing Vivi's happiness with the Straw Hat Pirates brought you immense joy too. You often read about her adventures in the news and couldn't help but feel a sense of pride for your little sister. Despite her new status as a wanted pirate, you knew she was surrounded by the right companions who were all passionately pursuing their dreams.

And you were determined to pursue your dream of someday ruling over Alabasta, as it was your destined path.

After searching through your closet, you discovered a dress that perfectly complemented your eye color and carefully laid it out on your bed. Despite having a personal servant, you preferred the solitude of preparing yourself, enjoying your morning routine of styling your hair and applying makeup. By the time you felt satisfied with your appearance, the sun had already reached its zenith, prompting you to leave your room in search of late breakfast before the esteemed visitor's arrival. However, just as you were about to step out, Pell reappeared, his face reflecting sorrow.

"Pell, have you come to pick me up?" you inquired.

"I am sorry, Princess. The king has instructed me to inform you that you should have breakfast in your room today and attend to your studies," Pell replied with a voice tinged with regret.

#one piece #sir crocodile #x reader #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x y/n #yujowriting

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 5 months

Text

Dying Light [Chapter One] Choking [Bi-Han/Sub-Zero]

A/n: this first chapter took a bit longer than intended. I'd like to thank those who voted, regarding the reader's magic. Thank you so much. Also, I added some aspects from previous games to fill out the plot for the first half a little. Please enjoy.

Tag List: @genesiswrld

Warning(s): arranged marriage au, female reader, cliches, fighting, blood, magic, and family drama.

No Minors Allowed!!

In your youth, new to the ways of the world, you were told about your inescapable fate; that when your clan began its new era, you alone would be the key to its tomorrow.

The clan was dying off, a has-been of the past. It could not survive another century of change in a world that had no use for it or its teachings. There was no way to preserve them. To keep its lineage from fading into history, your family had no choice but to unite with another clan.

This was where you would come in.

When the time was right, you would be wedded to a clan head, and your clan, its strongest and most capable fighters, would merge with them, starting anew. However, this foretold life did not sit well with you. It was not fair.

For years, you trained with a Grandmaster of martial arts, and then with your father’s consent you were given the Amulet of Damashi, an ancient heirloom passed down through your clan; one capable of substantial magic, enough so that you hoped to call off the merger. Yet, your longings and sacrifices were not enough.

Your fate was set in stone. But still, you did all you could to draw attention to your clan, and for another year, all was well.

Until one autumn afternoon.

Sitting on a balcony at the far end of the main house, you occupy your time with a humorously erotic book brought from the city; it is cliche but you can not seem to put it down.

As you are lost in the plot, a retainer wearing the clan’s insignia suddenly approaches you from the doorway and bows in respect.

“Forgive my intrusion, honorable–”

You raise your hand and interrupt him; his immediate silence makes you hum in thanks. Whatever he has to say does not interest you, but you know that he is simply doing as someone ordered him to. Even so, you dislike being called away from your alone time. You continue to read in silence until you reach the end of the page, then you avert your eyes to him.

“It's unsettling when stories are left on cliffhangers,” you state. Resting the book in your lap, you motion for him to continue.

The man bows again.

“The Master sent me to retrieve you.”

You hum.

“What reason does he need me for?”

If it is not urgent then he can wait until you have had your lesson with your master for the day.

The retainer rests his arms at his sides and leans up.

“To greet the honored guest who is waiting within the front courtyard. He came from Arctika to see you.”

Honored guest. From the tundra region.

Your eyes widen in realization. It can not be.

Father brought him here.

With a frustrated groan, you stand and rush past the retainer and through the main house to the inner courtyard.

I should have known.

The servants had cleaned and prepared the main house the night before but you ignored the action, thinking your mother was just being choosy again. You had no idea that your parents were keeping secrets from you.

You manage to squeeze through the throng of clansmen in the inner courtyard until you are at the front, and then you rush to stand beside your father, giving him a heated look.

“It is nice of you to join us,” he says with a serious tone. Taking the book from your hand, he grimaces at the title and hands it to your mother, who is beside him.

“You gave me no other option,” you retort.

Your mother sighs.

“Had we, you would have found a way to vanish before your fiance arrived. It was the lesser of two evils, dear. Understand this.”

You do, but it does not make it right.

I've never even seen him before.

“Send him away,” you implore. “We do not need to–”

“Your opinion is unneeded,” your father sneers. He gives you a look that warns you to keep your mouth shut.

An air of gloom and disappointment surrounds you. After what you have done, he and your mother do not seem to appreciate it. You take an uneasy breath and clutch the white and gold amulet attached to your side. Did achieving this mean nothing?

It certainly feels so. Even after making an effort to master it, they pushed this merge in secret.

Who is he? Your parents certainly trust in him. You want to know.

Under your father’s orders, the guards open the doors to the southeastern entrance, and inside walks a group of what appears to you to be assassins dressed in similar attire, sporting a color scheme of blue and black. Some of them wear hoods over their heads, while all of them have their mouths covered, as well as the man in the lead.

He must be their clan head.

My fiance.

He is certainly handsome, with defined well-built curves and muscles that strain against the thin fabric of his twilight blue tabard. Even so, there is an air of bitterness that surrounds him as he measures your clan.

You share his sentiments.

Watching your father bow, you quickly do the same.

“It is an honor to have you grace us with your presence, Bi-Han of the Lin Kuei,” your father states.

Bi-Han follows suit.

“It was the former Grandmaster - my father - who had hoped to see this merge.” He pauses to stand. “If your clan is as strong as promised, then I too share his sentiments.”

His tone is deep and high-handed, not promising in your opinion. While a part of you is thankful to him for taking in the clan, the other part is irritated that this is a recruitment visit.

I am merely the weight that comes with the contract, nothing more.

“I too have been eager for this day. It is a shame, however, that your father passed on before his time. He was a respected man.”

Bi-Han knits his brows.

“The Lin Kuei are in capable hands.”

No one said otherwise.

You sigh in dread.

“Yes…well, allow me to introduce my family,” Your father awkwardly states. He motions to your mother first, then to you. “My wife and my daughter, your bride-to-be.”

You visibly frown. Must he refer to you as such? Like it is a title. So not to enrage or embarrass him, you smile at the stranger, then give him your name.

“It is…an honor to meet you.”

Bi-Han remains silent. He looks you over and then turns his attention back to your father.

“The terms of the marital contract come after.”

Your father hums in agreement.

“Of course. A demonstration of might is of high priority. But should we not wait for your brothers? I was informed that they would be journeying with you.”

“Their presence here is nonessential,” Bi-Han states.

You wonder why. If they are anything like him, you are thankful for their absence.

Hearing your father order the servants to prepare the blocks for the test, you along with your mother stand back as your father gathers the six best fighters and has them line up in the center of the courtyard.

In the meantime, Bi-Han stands at a distance in front of them with the Lin Kuei on his right.

Once the six are ready, standing over seventeen 1-inch thick reinforced concrete pavers, your father joins Bi-Han and gives the word for them to begin. One by one, the fighters strike the blocks dead center, breaking them with ease.

You grin with pride. Yes, they can break more, but there is no need to push them, so long as Bi-Han is baited. In the end, it will be his guidance that shapes them to their full potential.

With his mask on, it is frankly hard to tell. You lean just a bit to see his expression but you can not. He does however cross his arms and hum.

“Are they competent fighters?”

Your father laughs. Of course, they are. He calls on a man with deep-set eyes - a good choice. The fighter steps forward and bows.

“This is one of our strongest. If you wish to test–”

“Let us not be hasty, leader,” a familiar raspy voice interrupts.

Your master, an elderly woman with sunken features, saunters out from the throng and approaches your father.

“Excuse my interruption, but your daughter is a competent fighter. Should she not be tested instead?”

You frown. What is she doing? Proving yourself is no issue, but must you do it for your fiance? It is the fighters he came to test. Though you suppose you are not against showing off your techniques.

“If it’s what you wish, Father, I will fight,” you state in confidence.

“Is this acceptable, Bi-Han?” Your father asks.

The man in question knits his brows in thought and then nods. He snaps his fingers and a member of the Lin Kuei without a hood steps forward and bows.

“Do not pull your punches,” Bi-Han orders. His keen brown eyes turn to you, as though he wants to measure your expression.

You remain stoic. If he is eager to see your strength, then that is fine. With confidence, you saunter to the center of the courtyard. Soon, the young man chosen to be your challenger joins you, striking a fighting pose. You do the same.

A deathly silence consumes the stage.

You are not certain who calls the fight, but the moment it begins, the assassin rushes at you, attempting to strike you with a series of fast kicks. You step back, avoiding them, and manage to catch his leg against your side. Using his momentum to pivot him the opposite way, you strike him in the back with a front kick.

The assassin staggers forward but catches himself. When he faces your direction, you can see the aggravation in his eyes. He rushes at you with a shout, throwing punch after punch. You can hardly match his speed, blocking what you can with your arms and hands. But then his stance changes and with a hard-hitting mountain punch simultaneously to the chest and face, you stagger back.

For fuck’s sake.

An intense pain lights you up, but you push through it and rush at him. You do not want to continue this spar; you want to end it quickly before he puts you on your ass. Springing off your foot, you pull off a flying scissor kick, wrapping your legs around his head. Using your momentum against him, you toss the assassin off his feet and onto his back. Then with a shout of irritation, you raise your leg straight into the air and slam your heel into his face, breaking his nose with a wet crunch. You quickly roll back onto your feet and step away from him.

The Lin Kuei are no joke.

You had hoped that he would not stand, but he does. The thin cloth over his face stains red as he bleeds profusely. All this seems to do is annoy him further. He comes at you a third time in anger, aiming at you with a straight punch. His mistake. You dodge it with ease and grab his wrist, yanking him forward and off balance. Turning in quickly, you elbow him in the stomach, then toss him over your back and onto the ground with a sharp smack.

Your slip-up, however, is assuming that he is ready to submit. As you advance, the assassin flips back onto his feet and punches you in the face.

Instantly you taste blood in your teeth. Running your tongue on the inside of your lip, you wince in pain. He busted it.

Your blood boils.

Pointing your hand behind the assassin, you draw a circle with your finger, and then a swirling black portal materializes. One of the techniques of the amulet is portal creation via space and time magic. You do not want to use it in such a spar, but it is necessary.

Connecting it to one at your feet, you leap into the portal and appear behind the assassin, catching him off guard. He turns, but you pivot and roundhouse-kick him in the face. Your foot connects with his chin and he goes down like a rock, motionless.

You do not even realize it is over until you hear a round of applause. You win. Stepping over the body, you bow, peeking up at Bi-Han. He seems almost surprised.

“I was not aware that she was capable of magic,” he states, turning his wide eyes to the man beside him.

You raise a bow. They did not tell him.

Your father hums.

“Let us discuss it over some tea.”

He spares no words of gratitude and motions for Bi-Han to follow him. While hesitant, the high-handed man gives you one last look before he follows your father into the main house.

You sigh and saunter toward your mother, who appears elated.

“Incredible work. I believe that you have impressed him.”

“I should hope so,” you state with a snap, a bit annoyed that you were kicked around like a ball by his fighter.

All it took was a few bruises and a busted lip.

Your mother sighs and offers you back the book she took.

“Tame your anger. Go and rest. Tomorrow is a new day.”

You give her a look of irritation before you saunter to the main house. Your master looks on at you with pride as you pass, but you are in too much of a foul mood to share your appreciation with her. The fight took too long, in your opinion.

At least you are at last excused from this fiasco. A part of you, however, is curious about what Bi-Han has to say about you now.

It stays on your mind well into the night.

#mortal kombat fandom #bi han x reader #female reader insert #mortal kombat fanfiction #arranged marriage au #mortal kombat 1 fanfiction #Spotify

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ofallthingsnasty · 4 months

Note

Scenario where Arlongs human pet falls pregnant 👉👈

oh, anon, you're so evil... i love it 😔💕

references this post

tw.minors dni, forced pregnancy, noncon, dehumanization, mutilation mention, read the tags and read them twice

It's simultaneously the best and worst thing that can happen to you in this situation.

The best because it provides you with a breather of sorts - and the worst because well, you're pregnant with that man's child. You might think he’d be angry with you - far from that, actually. The moment he catches on, he’ll be nothing but thoroughly pleased with himself. It means that he has fully tainted you, claimed every inch of your body. Of course you'd get knocked up, he'll say, how could your little human womb ever withstand his seed. And if he hasn’t called you his little cow before - he’s definitely going to, now. As utterly humiliating it is to have him smile down at you with nothing but smug malice, it also elevates your status significantly. Suddenly there is a place to sleep for you, even regular meals. No more crawling around on all fours to amuse him or the crew, no more heavy feet on your back when he decides he’d rather use you as a footstool, no more hands all over your body, pinching, groping, slapping you - and, most importantly, no more impromptu violence, at least to the extent you experienced beforehand. That little thing in you is far too valuable to torture its vessel over and risk losing it. (And he’ll tell you all about it - that he’s only being so nice to you because you’re carrying his child.) Does it mean that you’re suddenly living an almost normal life despite the circumstances? Absolutely not. You’ll still need to make yourself useful to him - you’re still their little maid-servant and work from dusk to dawn, still have to serve Arlong to your best abilities - but the abuse shifts from physical to verbal. It’s still hard, but with a full belly, a decent place to sleep and without the looming threat of getting drowned just for fun, harsh words are way, way easier to withstand than before. He is obsessed with your bump - he definitely makes you wear clothing that emphasizes it the moment you even start to remotely show. It’s the deepest form of branding to him and he develops a sick pleasure in showing you off to your old friends and family in the village that you used to call your home. He parades you around like he just bred his pedigree dog, talks on and on about how you’ve finally fully submitted and saw the light, saw what’s best for you, how you know your place - all to the mortification of the people you used to know. He’ll make a whole show of getting you examined by your old town doctor, makes sure you’re at every check-up, each time a little fuller than before, showing off your progress. (And god have mercy on them if they try to help you get rid of it because it’s an open secret that this pregnancy is entirely unwanted. He’ll slit them open top to bottom on the town square and threaten to cut your feet off - if you dare to kill his offspring he’ll simply fuck another one in you, he’ll say, expression beyond good and evil. You’ll lose a finger for the attempt; if you try again, it’ll be a limb.)

Not to mention that he’s ravenous. It’s like a switch has been flipped in his brain - where he has forced himself on you in the past to get his dick wet, to get some use out of you, he suddenly can’t keep his hands to himself because of some new-found attraction. And the more you’re showing, the worse it gets. He’ll fuck you until the day you’re due, no matter how much you complain or how straining it is for you. It’s something he retains until after you’ve given birth - from that moment on, you’ve gone from the human toy to his little breeding stock and he’ll make sure to put you to good use. You’ll never be empty again if he can help it - he’s found a new ‘feature’ of yours to exploit and he’s going to keep at it until you’re a shell of your former self, until you collapse.

And you better hope the baby takes more after him than you - he’s not going to be kind to a little half fish-man who looks more like a human than him. That poor baby has a beyond bleak future in front of them. (Don’t even think of trying to escape with your child - he’ll make you regret it every single day of your remaining life, that’s for sure.)

#/arlong #/one piece #tw.forced pregnancy #tw.noncon #tw.violence #tw.dark content #arlong x reader #one piece x reader

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thanotaphobia · 6 months

Text

diplomatic affairs

It's Missa's first time at a Federation-hosted Summit. His goals are pretty simple, all things considered: 1. Don't spill any state secrets. 2. Be of service to his kingdom. 3. Don't die.

And apparently, a secret fourth thing: Don't fall in love. It's not as simple as it looks.

introducing my first multichapter qsmp fic letsfuckinggooooo

crossposted to ao3

⋆

Despite all appearances, Missa doesn’t actually like crowds. He finds them hard to get by in, whirling languages and words spiraling around his head and not so much confusing him as they do overwhelm.

Add alcohol into the mix, and some people would consider him a downright introvert. He doesn’t drink often, but at a party like this, with people in shimmering dress and glittering jewels, he thinks that not having a champagne flute in your hand is something like social suicide. Across the room, Missa watches a woman in a soft, blue velvet gown effortlessly hand off an empty glass to a servant and take another off their tray, sliding herself back into conversation with a graceful smile and a tactful touch of her gloved hand to a chunky necklace weighing down her neck. He wishes he could be like that, like the men in uniform talking at the front of the room, the tittering groups of confident people around him.

But he’s not, so he sips the same glass of champagne he’s had for the past hour carefully and finds an open set of balcony doors. The golden light of the ballroom casts long strips of honey onto the stone floors and out across the railings, disappearing into the cool night air of the gardens below. Missa escapes into the space, where the noise is dampened some and the warm stuffy air is replaced by a cool breeze.

He leans against the rail, staring out. Above him, stars glitter. Below, the whisper of palace gardens and beyond that, the shimmering lights of a city spread out on the hillside. Another reason he feels so awkward: this is not his home. His home is a two week carriage ride away, and he feels the distance acutely.

In his grasp, his flute swirls left and then right, almost lazily. He watches the liquid inside it slosh around, and lets out a soft huff of air. It’s not even bubbly anymore– long gone flat. Missa lifts it to his lips.

“Excuse me,” someone says behind him. Missa jumps– the rim of his glass bumps against his teeth and he just barely manages to bite back a cry of pain. Instead, he just makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and raises one hand to cover his mouth. When he turns, a blond man is standing, haloed by golden light coming from the ballroom. He’s looking at Missa with two blue eyes, wide with alarm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” Missa says. He means it– the pain is already receding, and he tongues over his teeth to make sure he doesn’t taste blood. When he doesn’t, he lowers his hand from his mouth carefully. “Ah– it’s okay! I’m okay.”

“You sure, mate?” the man asks, stepping forward. “Can I get you something?”

“I’m fine,” Missa says, dipping his head quickly. “You just– startled me.”

“Not the intention, I promise,” the man says, holding two hands up and laughing a little. “I was just going to ask if you wouldn’t mind some company.”

“No,” Missa says. He’s better at one on one interactions, but an itch of anxiety creeps up inside him anyway. “No, that’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Cool,” the man says. He steps up to the railing beside Missa, and he gets a closer look at the man’s face– slightly lined, blond hair tied back into a small ponytail at the base of his skull. He looks worn, but not defeated. A red flower is pinned to the lapel of his suit jacket. Missa glances down at his own, and the blue flower on his own. “So how have you been enjoying it?” the man asks abruptly, once again startling Missa out of his own mind.

“Enjoying…?” Missa trails off, a little confused.

The man looks over at him, raises a brow. “The talks?”

Right. Right. The whole reason Missa’s here. He wants to press his palm to his forehead and cool the rushing blood that comes to his face, but he tries to compose himself and succeeds by looking out over the city below them again.

“The talks,” he manages to squeak out. “They’ve been good, I think.”

“I saw you in a few of the sessions this morning,” the man says. Missa looks over at him, more serious now; he studies the man’s face again, and realizes quietly that he also has seen him around. “Missa, right?”

“Yeah,” Missa says. His name has no title– it was a clause of neutrality that all titles should be dropped when in the house of discussion. He searches his memory for the man’s name and struggles to put a name to him. “And you’re…”

“Phil,” he says, holding out one hand. “We haven’t formally met.”

Oh, now he knows this man.

Missa shakes the hand of the Angel of Death and is very, very brave about it. A decorated soldier, although the shiny buttons that would insinuate his status have been left at the door. He’s heard lots about this man, Philza Minecraft– Phil, apparently– and most of it has been incredibly bloody. But the man himself stands a slight inch shorter than Missa himself and while he holds himself with confidence and decorum, he… isn’t very scary. Might be the contrast of his red flower to his blue eyes, Missa thinks. The red doesn’t suit his face.

“It’s good to meet you,” he says.

“First time at a Summit?” Phil asks. Missa balks, but only for a moment.

“How’d you know?”

“You look nervous. Everyone looks nervous, their first time. It’s alright, it’s just the first introductions this morning, the opening gala now, and then everyone buckles down tomorrow afternoon for the real shit.”

“How many have you been to?”

“Oh, a few.” At that, Phil grins at him, half his face caught in the light. “So what do you think of it all so far?”

Missa mulls over the meetings he’s attended in his head. He glances back at the ballroom, eyes the waiters gliding around on silent feet with faces covered by white gauze, then says, “I think there are a lot of strong people on all sides.”

“Huh. I can see why you’re here.”

“It’s true,” Missa argues. “Each of us seem to have our problem starters and our problem solvers. I like to think we can come to a good conclusion, but at the same time, I don’t know.”

“Too early to tell?”

“I am hopeful for peace.”

“Same,” Phil says. “But like I said, I’ve been to a few of these and nothing’s happened yet in the past fifteen years, so.”

Missa has to concede his point. It might be his first time attending one of the Summits held by the Federation of Unity, but they’ve been happening for years now. And despite the constant talks of peace and love and no more war– it’s continued on anyway. By now, the Summits are basically just glorified parties for the elite, where they can shed their royal cloaks and crowns for a fortnight and pretend like they all like each other. Missa has heard some wild tales of what happens at these things, but so far it’s been pretty tame. He feels almost paranoid to step out of place, especially under the watchful, faceless gazes of the waiters.

“Don’t sound so excited,” Missa says dryly, despite it. Phil laughs, bending over slightly as he leans against the rail, and smiles out into the dark.

“It’s fine,” he says, dragging the word out. “We’ll have some fun, spread some rumors. Charlie Slimecicle and Mariana will fuck, probably.”

Missa chokes, nearly drops his glass. “What?”

Phil laughs again, turning around and squinting. Then, after a second, he raises one hand and gestures towards the ballroom. Missa turns around and looks where he’s pointing, rising up onto his tiptoes to see through the crowd.

“Charlie’s with me,” Phil says, and Missa spots Mariana after a second, then another man next to him with brown hair and glasses, a red flower on his jacket. “He and Mariana have consistently uhhh, well. They’ve been… together, yeah let’s go with that. They’ve been together for the last like three Summits and had screaming fights every time.”

This is news to Missa. “I know Mariana,” he says, watching enraptured as Slimecicle leans in and whispers in Mariana’s ear. “He never said–”

“Nobody really talks about it when we’re not here,” Phil says. “What happens at a Summit stays at a Summit.”

“Seems dumb,” Missa says, shaking his head. “Aren’t we supposed to– to cooperate?”

“One would think,” Phil says. He looks over at Missa, eyes flicking down. “Hey, are you going to finish that?”

Missa looks down at his half-empty, flat champagne. “Oh. No. Do you–”

“Sure.” Phil takes it from him and downs it with ease. Missa watches, the light striking against his Adam’s apple as it bobs, then Phil lowers the glass from his mouth and lets out a breath through his teeth. “Alright. Let’s get you another one.”

“I don’t drink,” Missa says quickly.

“It’s a party, mate,” Phil says, “Of course you drink,” and Missa doesn’t argue further as he’s herded inside like a cat. He thinks going against Phil wouldn’t be the smartest move– and he would be lying to himself if he wasn’t a little curious. Phil finds a Federation waiter and takes two glasses from them, handing one to Missa. He takes a little sip and the bubbles burst like candy on his tongue, the sharp tang of alcohol making the inside of his mouth and the back of his throat warm. Phil is watching him, and Missa watches him back in turn.

“So what’s your role?” Phil asks. Missa blinks.

What is his role? It’s not something he’s thought too much about, although perhaps he should’ve. His role is support, he thinks. A shoulder for his teammates to lean on, brought by direct order of the king. He’s pretty sure he was a last minute addition, the first new person– he has to stop, remind himself not to even think about his country’s name– the first new person the blues have brought in a few years. Of course he’d caught the attention of someone like Phil. Maybe that’s his role. A distraction.

“Diplomacy,” he says, but he’s pretty sure the long pause before his answer gave away the thought he put into it. Internally, he curses himself.

“Pretty sure we’re all here for that,” Phil points out, a brow raised.

“Exactly,” Missa says, hoping he comes across smoother than he feels. He’s not lying, at least. “So why do you… why do you look surprised?”

“I don’t,” Phil says, despite looking skeptical throughout this whole conversation. Missa’s about to open his mouth again and say something, probably something stupid, when something catches his attention. A blue flower pinned to a jacket, approaching at a quick pace, the face above the lapel a familiar one. Missa stands up a little straighter and Phil clearly notices, glancing over his shoulder as a short young man with two-toned brown and blonde hair.

“Hello, gentlemen,” he says, sidling up to their conversational space.

“Your–” Missa remembers a split second too late they’re on Federation territory, and quickly recovers with, “You’re here!”

“Sure am, bossman,” Tubbo says, looking at him with a quizzical expression. “We did arrive in the same carriage after all.” Phil coughs into his hand, covering a laugh, and Missa feels his cheeks go red. Thankfully, Tubbo turns his attention to Phil and Missa can relax somewhat. “Mister Za.”

“Tubbo,” Phil says genially, raising his glass at him. “Long time no see. How’s the weapon of mass destruction going?”

“Hey now,” Tubbo says, grinning and elbowing Phil in the side. “Hey now, Philza, I’m sure I didn’t hear you right, did I? Did I? Talking politics at the opening gala?”

“I would never,” Phil says, resting his hand lightly above his heart. Missa lifts his own glass to his mouth and swallows a large mouthful. For some reason, with Tubbo’s arrival, he feels like he might need it.

“I see you’ve kidnapped our newest attendee,” Tubbo says, and Missa sends him a mental message over their brainwaves and with the slightest widening of his eyes– help me. “Mind if I steal him back?”

“All yours,” Phil says, but Missa doesn’t miss the way the man looks a little disappointed.

“You can pick his brain for info at a later date,” Tubbo says, grabbing Missa’s arm. He’s shorter than Missa by a hot minute, and he almost has to bend down for it to actually make sense. “Until tomorrow, old man.”

“Bye, Tubbo,” Phil says. He smiles at Missa, the crow’s eyes crinkling at the edges of his temples. “Nice to meet you, Missa.”

Missa barely has time to squeak out, “You too,” before Tubbo is dragging him away. Once they’re out of sight, Tubbo heaves a giant sigh.

“Man, that guy is an asshole,” he says, and Missa splutters.

“He seemed nice.”

“He’s a manipulative prick. And a deadly one at that. I’m just glad you don’t know enough to accidentally spill any important beans. The beans must be contained, Missa. Keep it straight. Or, at least– keep it honest.” Tubbo gives his arm a little shake as Missa digests all that. He barely has a moment before there’s another weight on his other side, and he looks down to find Tina clutching his other arm.

“Missa!” she says cheerfully. Her cheeks are rosy and her hair is done up intricately on top of her head, crowned with a few flowers. Her dress, a brilliant gauzy pink, flows around her legs like water. “Who were you talking to! Tubbo, who was he talking to?”

“Philza,” Tubbo says before Missa can answer her. She gasps.

“The angel?” she asks. “No way! He’s so scary.”

“He wasn’t that bad,” Missa says quickly.

“That’s what he wants you to think,” Tubbo points out. “It’s all part of the game here. Make you think he’s not so scary, make you trust him–”

“And then he stabs you in the back!” Tina says a little too loudly. She even makes a stabbing motion to go with it, her wrist twisting out into the open air in front of them. Missa pats her arm. He has no idea what to think anymore– even if Tubbo and Tina are right, Phil had still been cordial, and isn’t the whole point of a Summit to come to agreement?

“Tubbo,” he says, turning slightly to look at the other. “Tubbo, are we even here to…”

“To…?”

“Work together?”

Tubbo’s eyes furrow and his brows draw tightly together. “Missa,” he says. “You know it’s… well, it’s complicated. But sure, we’re here to work together.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Missa asks, and Tubbo, who has pointedly not been looking at him for the past thirty seconds, pats his arm and breaks away.

“We can talk about it later, my guy. Now, everyone says the opening gala isn’t meant to be political, myself included, but let’s be real. Everyone’s digging for info. It’s my turn. You guys have fun, don’t get too wasted.”

“Okay, says you,” Tina says, rolling her eyes. Tubbo grins cheekily at her, turning away. Missa is left bereft, still bursting to the brim with questions but his mouth is sticky and tacky, not wanting to move. The cotton in his throat is hard to swallow past, so he just takes a long sip of the dry champagne. It does nothing to loosen his tongue, so he takes a bigger swig and is surprised to find the flute empty.

Tina’s been talking at him for the last thirty seconds, he realizes.

“–says that when last time he was the one to get so drunk he couldn’t come to the meeting the next morning. So they moved it this year, so all the discussion takes place in the afternoon tomorrow to give us time to recover! It’s Tubbo’s fault! It usually is– I think the Federation really doesn’t like him, but who am I to tell?” She giggles, hand over her mouth. “Don’t tell them I said that though. Or Tubbo. He’s a fan of the Feds, or at least, one Fed. If you know what I mean.”

Missa has a feeling he does not know what she means. The champagne flute has apparently magically left his hand. The world is dancing around him, ghostly lights flickering in front of his eyes. Tina seems to notice his distance and reaches up on her toes to pat his cheek– the force of it drags him back down to earth.

“Man, you good?” she asks. “Did that angel say something to you or what?”

“Phil?” Missa asks.

Tina raises a brow. “Is that his name? I thought he was a Minecraft.”

“You don’t know?”

“I dunno, I’ve never been brave enough to ask.”

“He approached me,” Missa says. “On a balcony.”

“He sniffs out his victims that way. Ooo, do you want to hear a rumor I heard about the reds? Something about toxic gas–”

“You know we aren’t supposed to gossip.” A new voice cuts through them, and Missa jumps about twelve feet into the air, yelping a little. Behind him, Bad laughs, coming around Missa’s right. “Oh, sorry Missa!”

"Oh, not this guy again," Tina complains, scoffing and rolling her eyes. “I can gossip all I want, mister party pooper.”

"Hey!" Bad frowns. "I thought you were better than that, Tina."

“Nope,” Tina says. Missa smiles at his two friends– people he knows are safe. They’re an island in a raging ocean of confusion right now, with languages and people surrounding him like hungry sharks. Missa is a fish out of water. But Tina and Bad bickering? That’s the most normal thing in the world.

“How are you, Missa?” Bad asks, looking at him. His hair has been pulled back into a slick ponytail, glasses perched delicately on his nose. As Missa watches, he pushes them up with one finger. “Anyone bothering you?”

“No,” Missa says, deciding not to tell Bad about Philza. He thinks that would be unwise. Tina also keeps her mouth shut, thankfully, and Missa’s heart swells with fondness. “Just enjoying the night.”

“It is beautiful out here,” Bad says, turning to look at the crowd of dancers. Then he glances around again, a frown sneaking onto his face. “I’m not the biggest fan of the Federation workers, though. I always forget how creepy they are.”

“You’re being mean, Bad,” Tina says. “They’re just workin’!”

“I don’t like not being able to see their faces,” Bad explains, and Missa can understand that. Occasionally he’ll catch a glimpse of a Federation waiter out of the corner of his eye, and something about the stark-white uniforms and fluttering gauzy mask makes his whole body startle.

“Just stay out of their way,” Bad says, patting Missa on the shoulder. “And you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not nervous,” Missa challenges, even though he’d expressed the exact opposite to Bad on the way here.

“I know a good way to calm down,” Tina says, smirking. She grabs Missa’s hand and jumps up and down a few times on the balls of her heels, face flushing red like roses. “Come dance with me! Come dance with me!”

“I can dance with you, Tina,” Bad says.

“Nope, no thanks,” Tina says. “I want to dance with Missa. Come on, come dance!”

“Oh, I don’t–”

“You can’t say no. I’m literally vetoing it,” Tina says firmly. “We can’t let those lessons Tubbo got you go to waste.”

“Fine,” Missa says, laughing a little as Tina laughs with glee. If it makes her happy, he doesn’t mind. Plus, the alcohol he’s consumed makes him a little looser, a little more eager to say yes. He’s in a foreign country with his friends and free reign to let loose for one night– no politics, no duties, no stress. Missa feels something lift from his shoulders, even as Tina’s hands settle into place and lead him out onto the dance floor.

“Have fun!” Bad calls out behind them. Tina sticks her tongue out where only Missa can see, and he laughs with her as they fall into step together, dancing like second nature.

“He’s so dumb,” Tina complains, and Missa lets her talk until she gets tired of talking. He likes Tina a lot– she’s comforting, and smart, and cool. She seems so confident all the time, and he knows from experience how sweet she can be. Eventually they’re both just dancing in silence except for the occasional humming from Tina, spinning in circles with a dozen other pairs.

“Tina,” Missa finally says, a question bubbling to the surface. “Earlier, Philza mentioned– Charlie and Mariana?”

“Oh yeah,” Tina says, blowing air into her cheeks. They puff up like a chipmunk, deflating as she lets out a stream of air. “Old news.”

“What about you?”

“What what about me?”

“Do you have anyone here?”

Tina goes quiet again. Missa almost thinks she’s crossed a line before she tugs him down a little. He puts his hands on her waist, lifts her a half-turn, her dress whirling like a cloud at sunset.

“Her name’s Bagi,” Tina says, right at the point where Missa is about to faint with anxiety.

“Oh,” he says, then sighs. Thank goodness. He glances around, once, twice. “Point her out?”

Tina purses her lips and he lifts her again, her hair dusting along his eyes this time. She giggles when he sets her down, and they dance another room length before she nods. “Over there,” she says, her eyes locked onto someone across the way. “She’s green.”

Missa looks, and finds a woman and a man in the direction Tina gestured; they’re talking– arguing, more like it, based on the way he’s gesturing and she’s standing there with a sour look. The matching streaks of white through their hair is interesting, as is the fact she’s green and he’s red.

“Her?” Missa asks.

Tina nods, a dreamy look in her eye. “She’s so pretty, isn’t she?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“The guy’s Cellbit. He’s a jerk. Don’t talk to him.”

“Are they–”

“Siblings. It’s a long story. Ask Bagi sometime. I’ll introduce you two.”

“Okay.” Missa smiles, and she smiles back. He’s starting to get tired of dancing, and Tina apparently is too, but the music switches from something upbeat to a slower song and it’s easier then.

During this is when Missa looks over, and finds Phil watching him. He’s standing beside two other men, one of which has a shock of white hair and a fluffy white cravat, the other bald and intense. They’re both wearing green flowers and talking amongst themselves, but in the moment he finds himself watching them, Phil is staring right at Missa through the crowds.

He catches his gaze and feels himself flush. His heart literally skips a beat, feeling as though someone’s reached their hand inside his ribcage and squeezed. His breath catches– he quickly looks away. Some people come between them and, when he glances over next, Phil isn’t looking anymore. He’s talking to the two green men, animated and smiling.

“You okay?” Tina asks. When he looks down at her (heart racing, pounding, cheeks burning) she’s smiling at him, kind and sweet and familiar. He takes a minute to calm his nerves and straighten his spine.

“Yeah,” he says. Tina laughs and spins him around, her gloved hands like ice on his shoulders.

The next time Missa looks over to where Phil had been standing, the man is gone.

#qsmp #q!missa #q!philza #team soulfire #pissa #phissa #qsmp purgatory #back to my fantasy worldbuilding roots #get ready for some sweet sweet angst #this is a pissa fic but im going to be introducing literally everyone i can soooooooooooooooooooooo #my writing

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kingconia · 9 months

Note

Hi! May I request promt number 30 and 48 with Jamil in a secret relationship with a gender neutral reader. It’s alright if you ignore this request :)

Gn!Reader x Jamil Viper

30. “I had nothing to live for, but then you came into my life. So, thank you.

48. “Kinda sucks that I can only have you like this.”

•

It was a common knowledge that the heirs had their own routines, a balanced sleep being important part of it, as they always finished their day at the same time.

They rested, and their loyal servants were rested along with them, finally having some time on themselves. Or they didn't, really.

It didn't matter.

Tied by promises and oaths, giving long ago in the past, strangled by expectations of others, bounded to protect— not to be protected—cherish—and not to be cherished—they could only ensure that their princes would be safe and sound. Contained and happy.

And what about them? Well. A life meant very little, when you weren't allowed to live it. Right?

As deeply trusted guard of the Malleus Draconia, you grew up thinking in the same way. Him above everything, his life over yours—even though, it was you, who was mortal—and his happiness over everything.

Yet...

Yet, you found yourself falling in love eventually.

With the man, who seemed just as doomed as you were.

Two hopeless shades of their masters found themselves becoming a one.

You had nothing to your names—nothing to change, give, or even to offer—but each other.

Your love was concealed, obscured by the moon, where no one could find it. No one, but you.

”Kinda sucks that I can only have you like this,” you muttered, resting your chin on Jamil's scrawny shoulder. ”I wish I could do it all the time. Hug you, at least.”

You heard as Jamil sighed, relaxing against your chest. Throwing his head back, he put his hands against yours thay were wrapped around his waist.

”We can't have that, my diamond,” he murmured solemnly. ”Remember?”

A familiar, yet unpleasant limp, stuck in your throat. How unfair.

You were mortals. Your life was so short, so undeniably fast running. And considering how often you took risks for your princes, it could end at anytime.

Yet, you couldn't even pretend to be happy. They couldn't even give you a replica of the paradise. How cruel.

”I do,” you nod.

Jamil once told that loving you felt like finding an oasis. Breathtaking, making you run desperately, scramble on the hot sand, yet never being fully able to grasp it, no matter how hard you tried.

It hurt hearing that but you know that the feeling of it was mutual.

It weren't your hearts that were so unreachable, but your future.

”My diamond,” Jamil turned his head to you, eyes meeting with yours.

”Yes, my thorn?”

”I know secret relationship isn't comfortable,” he whispered, face softening. ”I know, that it is more my problem than yours, too.”

By that, he meant, of course, that opening up about your relationship to Malleus and other Diasomnia students would be easier than ask Jamil to speak with Kalim. It was right, on some extent, but you never reminded him of that for his own sake.

What was the point?

”But I merely wanted to remind you that... I had nothing to live for, but then you came into my life. So... Thank you.”

He touched your lips softly. It wasn't even a proper kiss, but a single brush. Yet, you melted all the same, pressing your foreheads together firmly.

“Oh, but Jamil...” You tightened your embrace. ”Thank you.”

Perhaps, one day, both of you would be able to share your secret with others. And maybe, that would be the day, when your lives would be given back to you. Or maybe no. Maybe, there is no happy ending for the background characters. Maybe your hears were made to be broken.

But for now, everything was fine.

And may the peace last forever.

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #jamil viper #jamil x reader #jamil viper x reader

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marixrose · 9 months

Text

Asra Alnazar- Memories

I don’t remember much before I met Asra. All I remember is waking up and Asra being there. I didn’t know who he was at the time, but I had a feeling I knew him before.

He tried telling me what happened but when I try to remember I get terrible headaches. I’ve been trying to find a way to regain the years of memories I no longer have.

I’m walking around the market trying to find some ingredients for a spell that might help. I found it in one of Asra’s books. I didn’t tell him what I had planned in case he tried to talk me out of it.

I finally found what I needed. I paid for it then hid it inside my bag. I started to make my way back to the shop, head down avoiding everything around me.

I looked up every so often to make sure I was going the right way, but suddenly I saw this painting. The man in the painting looked oddly familiar, but I couldn’t put a name to his face. I tried to remember but all I received was a headache.

I stopped a woman walking in the street, “Who is that in this painting ma’am?” I asked her. She looked at me as if I was stupid, “That’s Count Lucio.” she said before walking off muttering to herself.

Was I supposed to know who that was? I continued to walk to the shop, a million questions running through my mind.

As I entered the shop I placed my bag on the counter, and went to look for Asra.

I found him pacing in our room, “Asra?”

He turned to look at me with a shocked expression written over his face, “Y/n where have you’ve been? You just left without a note, do you know how worried I was?”

I suddenly felt guilty for making him worried, “I’m sorry I went to the market, I thought I would be back before you woke up.”

He sighed before walking over to me and engulfing me into a tight hug. “I’m not angry, just worried. Next time at least let me know where you’re going so I know you're safe.”

He worries too much about me. He seems to panic if he thinks I’m going to get hurt or could be in any danger.

“Why do you worry so much about me?”

This seems to take him by surprise as he pulls away from me, still holding on to me. “Because I care about you, what makes you ask such a question?”

“Sorry, just forget I said anything. I do have one more question though.”

“Go on love.”

“Who's Count Lucio?” I whisper, even though I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.

He is silent for a moment, fear flashes across his face. “Asra, what's the matter?”

“He was the one who died in the fire in the castle two years ago.”

I remember being told about the fire, but I remember none of it.

“I felt as though I knew him before, but when I tried to remember I got another headache.”

Asra looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t.

“You know something, don’t you?” I ask, suddenly feeling cold.

He slowly nods, “I do.”

He knew something about my past, and he didn’t tell me? I don’t know how to feel right now. Betrayed? Hurt? Confused? All three.

“What is it?” I ask, voice breaking.

“Before you di-… lost your memories you did knew Lucio. You were his servant, he kept you a secret. A-and that night- the night of the fire, you were there.” He manages to say even though he looks like he is about to break apart.

“Where?”

He looked shocked by the sudden question, “Where what?”

“Where was I in the room that night?”

He hesitated before answering, “His closet.”

“How did I make it out?” I ask the question I’ve been wanting to ask from the beginning.

He was silent for a second, before looking me in the eyes. He looks pained, and I already know the answer.

“I didn’t.” I whisper, tears burning my eyes, “Did I?”

He looks like he's about to break down in tears when he answers, “No, you didn’t”

I rush out of the room, still in tears, and grab my bag. I start to unload its contents as Asra rushes to me.

“Y/n what are you doing?” He panicked.

“I found this spell in one of your books that should help me regain the rest of my memories.” I stop what I’m doing and turn to him, “Please don’t talk me out of it.”

He looked scared, but then relaxed. “If I can’t stop you, at least let me help you to make sure you do it correctly.”

I nod and let him help. Together we set up everything we need for the spell to work, as the book says.

When we are finally finished, I look over to Asra, “Thank You.” He smiled softly at me, “Anything for you.”

I take a deep breath before I start to chant the spell. Asra stands back, tears brimming his eyes, but he doesn't do anything to stop me.

Once I complete the spell, I start to feel light headed as everything slowly turners black. “Y/N!” I hear Asra scream before I fully black out.

“Y/N!” I hear Asra scream, but this time I’m somewhere different. “Y/N, get out of the room!.”

That's when I open my eyes to find myself in a room filled with flames. I looked around panicked, I tried to move but I couldn’t. “I-I can’t move.” I shout.

I look around and I see everything in flames. I don’t recognise the room, until I do. This is Luico’s room.

I look towards Asra who’s in the doorway, trying to get to me. “I’m coming Y/n, try not to breathe in any of the smoke!” he yells as he covers his face with his scarf.

I try to cover my mouth but I already feel light headed, and I can’t move. I slowly start to lose consciousness.

“Y/N! Look at me!” Asra screams, tears running down his face. He was suddenly pulled back by someone- Julian. I remember his name now.

“NO! I HAVE TO SAVE THEM LET ME GO!” Asra screams, trying to get out of Julian’s grip.

“It’s too late, there is nothing you can do now.” Julian shouts over Asra’s screams.

I can feel myself start to burn. I take one last look at Asra to see him crying and screaming as he watches me burn.

“NO! PLEASE, PLEASE, Y/N. DON’T DIE ON ME!” Asra screams as I lose all consciousness.

Before Fire

“Asra!” I yell running to him as he stands by a tree.

“Y/n, how lovely to see you.” He says as he hugs me.

I look around and it looks as if I’m at the castle, in the garden.

“How was your last trip?” I asked him, reliving the memory.

“It was successful, but lonely without you.” He says as he leans down to kiss my neck.

I blush, “We could run away together. Get away from this all.” He continued.

“You know we can’t do that. They’ll find us someday.”

“But we’d at least be together, love.”

I sigh, “Someday.”

“Someday” he whispers. “Look at this beautiful tree.”

I smiled looking up at it, “It is beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you though.” he smiled down at me, “Let’s write our names on it.”

“What?!” I asked, looking at him shocked.

“You heard me,” He said, pulling out a pocket knife. He squatted as he began to carve his name into the tree. I slowly followed suit.

Asra + Y/n was written on the tree now.

“Better hope Lucio doesn’t find this,” I say laughing.

“He won’t” He said before whispering a spell. Nothing happened to the tree.

“What did you do?” I asked curious.

“I placed a spell so that only you and I can see the writing,” he said smiling.

“Y/n!” I heard my name being called within the castle.

“Must be Lucio,” I say sadly, “I see you again soon?”

He smiled sadly, “Until next time love. I love you.”

I smile back, “I love you.” I say before going back inside the castle.

I felt this emptiness, like I knew without Asra I wouldn't be whole.

“Y/N! WAKE UP!” I heard Asra’s shaky voice, “Not again, please not again.” his voice broke.

I slowly open my eyes confronted with Asra’s tear stained face. He looked scared, panicked, and broken all the same time.

“Asr-” I tried to say before I was cut off, being hugged like this was the last time he’ll ever see me again.

“You’re never doing that. I thought you died again. I thought-”

“Asra, calm down. I’m fine, I’m not hurt and everything went as the spell said it would.” I whisper trying to calm him down.

He held on to me for a few minutes before pulling away.

“Did it work?” He asked, voice broken from all his screaming.

I nod my head, “I remember everything.”

He began to shake again, sobbing. He brought his hands up to his face to shield his tears.

“Oh Asra darling.” I say before bringing him to my chest.

“You don’t know how it felt to watch the love of my life burn in front of my eyes and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.” He cried, “Having to hear your screams knowing I couldn’t do anything.”

“It’s not your fault, you tried your best.” I whispered. “I’m here now, thanks to you and your magic.”

He nodded and whispered, “I had to bring you back, I’m just grateful the Arcana helped bring you back to me.”

We stayed in each other's arms until we decided to go to our room.

“Asra?” I asked, holding him as we lay on our bed.

He hummed acknowledging me.

“I love you.”

“I love you,” He whispered back before falling asleep.

I smiled as I too fell asleep. Finally becoming whole again. This time with memories.

#asra alnazar #asra the arcana #asra the magician #the arcana #the arcana game #asra x reader #asra x apprentice #asra x mc #the arcana headcanons #asra headcanons #asra oneshot

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 7 months

Text

Morgana AU Pt 4

Sarrum isn't invading. That much is clear when they begin to pass Camelot soldiers on the road near the city, and not one of them gives the host or their captives a second glance.

Within the city walls at least, stares and whispers follow them, as shocked citizens watch them paraded through the city streets in chains. Gwen remains silent through it all, seeming to retreat into herself as they near the palace.

They seem to be expected, and though Sarrum and his lieutenants split off to enter the main gate of the palace while the captives are funneled through the servants entrance, their destination is the same-- the main hall, where a pair of great wooden doors swing open to admit them all.

"Your Majesty!" Sarrum bellows amiably, lifting both arms in greeting. "An honor and a privilege to be a guest of Camelot once more."

Kara surveys the court, specifically the dais on which the king sits. His throne is relatively modest, and his knights are stationed around the room on high alert. Just behind the throne, however, stands a beanpole of a young man with dark hair, chin ducked as though guilty of a heinous secret.

In an instant, Kara knows this is Merlin.

She's heard of the boy, the servant who'd poisoned Morgana with a waterskin. She remembers Morgana's soft words to Gwen shortly before they all left the hut behind.

"I died, Gwen," she'd murmured beside the fire, while Kara had been outside fetching more wood.

Gwen's shock had been palpable in the silence that followed, before she tucks away what are undoubtedly countless questions to focus on the one thing that matters.

"But you came back."

Morgana sighed then. "Perhaps."

Whether Morgana had ever shared the identity of her murderer with Gwen, Kara doesn't know, but in this moment what she does know is that Morgana's two greatest enemies stand in this hall.

The king-- Arthur-- rises from his seat. His knights shift in readiness.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Arthur's voice is calm and measured, but Kara hears the hint of a threat. Likely, a parade of dirty captives into his throne room isn't an often occurence.

"A gift for your majesty," Sarrum announces with pride. "And for the jewel upon the crown--!"

Sarrum throws his arm back towards the great doors, and the crowd of his men parts to admit one of their own tugging on a chain. At the end of it is Morgana, hands and neck locked into a set of narrow wooden stocks, eyes glassy with fever.

If Kara could break her chains she would, but instead she simply holds her breath, relieved that her friend is alive. Her eyes flick towards the dais, and is surprised to see the king's shock mingle with a mix of concern and outrage.

The soldier hands the chain to Sarrum once within reach, who immediately gives the leash a rough pull, jerking Morgana off her feet. She lands hard on her knees with a crack that echoes in the great hall, and is given no time to recover before Sarrum grabs her by the hair to wrench her head back.

"The lady witch herself!" he announces.

Morgana grunts, breathing heavily against the pain and fever, but says nothing.

"Morgana..."

Clearly dumbfounded, Arthur stares at the prize offered to him. His jaw works soundlessly, unable to speak.

Someone does it for him.

"End this, Arthur!"

Gwen pushes past Kara to stand in the open, as far as her chains allow. At the sight of her, Arthur goes pale.

"Gwen?"

A cascade of whispers ripples across the assembled nobles.

"End this," she says again, urging her husband to listen. "Please. It isn't right--"

"Silence!"

A guard steps forward to strike her, but halts when a blade touches his neck from behind. Gwen straightens from her reactive flinch, and relaxes at the sight of her brother holding the hilt.

"Elyan..."

"It's good to see you," he says with a soft smile. Gwen nods, and returns her attention to Arthur.

"Let her go, Arthur."

At that, Merlin steps out from behind the throne to murmur in the king's ear. "Use caution, your Majesty. She is no friend to Camelot."

Kara's hands tighten into fists. Gwen, too, bristles. "People can change," she points out sharply. "Clearly, if you have come to treat with a man as cruel as Sarrum."

Arthur's jaw tightens, but to his credit doesn't otherwise react to the barb. Kara watches as he considers his option, waiting for his decision.

Finally, he looks to Sarrum.

"Release them."

Gwen releases a breath, even as Sarrum sputters in protest. "But your Majesty--!"

"I said release them!" Arthur presses, tone sharpening to a deadly edge. "All of them."

Sarrum hesitates, as though debating whether to defy the order. In the end, he motions sharply to his men, and in moments the captives are released from their irons. Kara and Gwen rush to Morgana's side as the stocks are removed from her neck, and she slumps forward into Gwen's arms.

Gwen cups Morgana's cheek and looks sharply to Kara in fear. "She's burning up!"

"The arrow--" Kara rips the fabric at Morgana's shoulder, and sure enough the shaft is still there, festering.

"Gaius!" Gwen calls. She looks around her sharply, pinning Arthur with a hard stare. "We need Gaius!"

Arthur swallows thickly, yet nods to his nearest man. "Percival."

"Arthur..." Merlin says in a low warning.

"She has done many terrible things," Arthur concedes, "but she is still my sister."

Kara watches as Percival-- a positively mountainous man-- tucks Morgana against his chest and lifts her into his arms. Morgana moans, eyes rolling back in effort to remain conscious.

Gwen and Kara follow Percival out of the throne room and through the castle, ignoring the stares from servants and vassals alike, up and up a winding staircase until bursting into what could only be a healer's chambers. A narrow cot is cleared of strewn clothes, and Morgana is laid upon it with as much care as Percival can manage. Still, it jostles the shaft in Morgana's shoulder and she groans in agony.

"Careful, careful," an elderly man urges, bustling towards them with rags and cutting implements. "Merlin--"

"Right," the boy says, moving obediently to undress Morgana's wound as though he hadn't just been advocating for her misery.

Kara intercepts him with a growl.

"Don't you touch her!" Her fists bury themselves in his shirt, arresting his movement. She releases him with a shove. "Don't you touch her."

"I'll do it," Gwen says urgently, already peeling away the blood-dried fabric to reveal the wound. "It pierced through as well."

"Then we have double the work to do," Gaius observes, his voice steady. "We shall do what we can--"

"No," Kara clips out, turning her glare from Merlin to Gaius. "You will do what you can. Not him."

"Very well," Gaius agrees. He gently moves Gwen to the other side of the cot, where she immediately moves to press a cold compress against Morgana's brow. The healer passes his gaze across the rest of them. "Clear the room."

"But--" Arthur begins to protest, but not even a king holds sway in a healer's domain.

"I require space to work, and fresh air to clear the lungs and cool the body. You may post a guard at the door if you must, but we must not be disturbed."

Arthur reticently nods, and motions to his men, tugging Merlin along with him. The boy glares balefully at Kara, who glares back in equal measure until the door swings shut behind the lot.

That Gwen and Kara both remain behind goes unremarked upon.

"Now, then," Gaius says, looking to his new assistant. Gwen glances up at him, features lined with worry. "It will not be pleasant, but we must work quickly."

Removing the arrow shaft releases a musk of pus and infection that quickly fills the room, the open windows hardly enough to help. The one blessing they have is that Morgana loses her battle to remain conscious, and goes limp before they can even begin to clean the wound and clear the infection.

"How long?" Gaius asks.

"Three days," Gwen returns. She provides what little information she can, but Kara remains quiet, arms folded as she stands watch against any who may enter. All the while, her gaze remains focused on Morgana, trying her hardest not to imagine Lena on that cot, Lena fighting for her life.

It's going to be okay, Kara thinks to herself.

It has to be.

#supercorp #morgana au #got some more for yah!#hopefully its a bit juicy #more to come

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