#but I feared the flame war it could kick off | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ur-mousey · 4 months

Text

Time Moves ~

Yandere! God! True Form! Sukuna x Disciple! F!Reader! Prt 1.

Part two

summary Sukuna demands attention from his out of breath disciple for leaving him alone. 2.2k warning mature, smut, possessive themes, mentions of bondage/imprisonment, pussy-eating, dub-con.

..............................

A god lies and waits, practically neglected. His legs are spread, his head rested on his hand, and that elbow dug into his thigh. These trips of hers get longer and longer, he thought to himself. He fought the urge to resist stroking his red-tipped hard-on. His other three arms found purchase somewhere on his hips. With other disciples, he didn't care for their comings and goings. He could easily find solace buried in another cunt.

His little pet, however, he needed to hold her down by a leash. Maybe it's because she's the only one at his side.

Sukuna, the God of Curses, was the first to cultivate spite, revenge, and war against the human race. But, he was needed more whenever your hands were held in a prayer nowadays. He was aware that the town below held wavering faith in his powers. Their earlier malice for other tribes settled throughout the centuries. And it is true that as a God, he has been weakened due to this time of peace.

It disgusted him to no end.

The smoke below was no longer a symbol of families' homes ravished by flames or hunkered-down soldiers. But, of baked goods warming in the oven.

You had begged for months to see the village below. The ghost of Sukuna's name from your lips weighted his balls with cum for you to drink. You gave kitten licks to his head, coaxing his pre-cum to splash the tip of your tongue. You earned your right to venture and partake in the new year markets below. Obedient to his demands despite how absurd.

Once a year, he had promised. And a god can lie.

The first year, you had left and came with a bounty of sweets. Most of which you had forgotten existed: sweet red bean buns, daifuku, green tea cookies. And a plethora more that Sukuna had cared less for. He scolded you for the lack of satiating meat in your haul. "Then you go," you whispered into his ear with a sharpness that bit.

"If only I could go without lifting a leg," Sukuna waved off.

That time, you sank to your knees, looking up at him. "My God! What is it that you want to try first? A sweet bun?"

So he took his favorite dessert. Your first year out of his sight bared its weight on your thighs. He discarded the bought goods across the floor. You had been gone merely three hours. However, Sukuna could not lift his head from your heat. Your saltiness kept his tongue pushed deep into her sopping hole.

Your feeble arms pushed against Sukuna, who has strapped you down at your waist. He knew that you were crying profusely. He wanted you to break down more upon his tongue.

Your nails drew blood from his shoulder blades as he held your legs wide. You had struggled to kick out at his thighs. Now, they twitched at the bite of his teeth on your clit. Sukuna would have chuckled at the pleas you made to unlock your neck. But, the collar that secured you to the floor fit you so snug. You were his perfect pet.

He sucked in between your flesh, tasting you over and over again to never forget that you were perfectly made for his sinful desires.

He overreacted. Ten days were spent in his personal heaven. And Sukuna couldn't tell if she enjoyed it herself.

>>>

Your salvation is at the top of the mountain where your God resides. At least, that's what you had told yourself at the base of those stone steps.

When you were staring up into the endless sky. When you could feel the trees wave and the birds sing blessings upon your journey. Now, all within your heart was the sound of ringing, the pumping of blood which aided in the spasm of your muscles. How much longer?

You thought you hated making the trip down in fear of toppling over, but it was the climb up that made you appreciate the respite of the poor village. It felt more humane talking to the workers below than doing endless cardio.

But days like these were rare. The villagers do not recognize you anymore, nor do you recognize them. Every day spent in the village are new faces and you are just a humble stranger. You doubt that whatever family you had left out there would know it is you.

Time moves differently on the mountain.

Your body felt like it would fall apart at the seams. Your bag was filled to the brim with food: savory meats, dried jerky, and sweets galore. You looked at the upcoming archway that marked the journey as being a third over with. The pillars hold familiarity fore this was as far as your God allowed you to step off of the immediate property. You can see the works of your crafted talisman plastered on every vertical surface. It’s maddening. Black ink smeared upon crimson parchment. Sukuna had glared at your work but he shrugged and let you be. That was long ago when humans gathered for his harem. You were the only left.

You knew that your God lied to you. Yearly visits to the mortal world easily showed you that more time has gone by. Today, a girl named Yumi worked at your favorite stall selling pastry goods. But the year before, it was the newly wedded Hiragashi couple. You remembered the young wife brimming with light, belly round and ready to pop. And you remembered how the husband begged his wife to sit while he handled the bustling night market. When you asked about the two, Yumi sighed, "They are my parents."

Hiragashi Yumi was that baby yet to be born, now she stood before you in her twenties. Her parents are significantly older when you're not.

Time moves differently on the mountain.

What were you to do? Your God wouldn't want to hear any of your plight. You doubt that this is a matter he would allow you to fight for.

He'd taunt you. He'd ask if it even matters when at the end of the day, you got to take the excursion. But, it terrifies you that you cannot tell the difference between a year and twenty.

You had to let it go.

You had taken the moment to set down your bag. The pillar felt like stone against your forehead. It was obviously made out of stone and the realization slammed into your pounding head. It's hard and grainy like time. You realized there were no memories before you laid eyes on your God. You try to calm your breath. Did you even have a family or a childhood? When did life begin for you? Will your life ever end or will it be determined by your God?

Vines coiled up the stone pillar, its leaves brushed against your flushed cheeks. You watched them grow each day. Water droplets slid from them to you, on you cheek. A cause from the earlier drizzle, you presume. It made you wonder if it was safe to cry. After speaking to Yumi, you admitted that you wanted nothing more than the comfort of home. Despite knowing better, there is nothing for you outside of the arms of your God.

"Pet, why the long face." Your body went rigid and you shot your head up the path. The moon shows half its face to the world. And like the moon, your God sat encased primarily in shadows. His eyes showed bright vermillion.

"My God, why have you come this far from the shrine?" You panted through the coils in your chest. You quickly gathered yourself to the best of your abilities. First, you start by kicking off your hard-to-walk-in sandals. Then you shimmed your hair from its tight bun, allowing the terraces to flow. The black rose pin that held the style together, you placed behind your ear. Lastly, you make work of the kimono. You had pestered your God to help tuck and tie to perfection. Now, it’s folded fabric that you set on top of your traveling pack.

You stood straight to be beheld. "Here, I bare myself to you." You do not own undergarments, you don't remember a time in which you would have. You bowed till you were sure that your whole body felt flatted into the mountain's steps. "My God."

"Come," Your God beckoned. "Drop the God."

"Yes Sukuna," You huffed out. "Shall I bring you any food or dessert? The night market was more lively than the last! I could hardly handle the long lines. And I thought we would have more fun watching the fireworks from within the courtyard."

"Quit yapping and come. I couldn't care less for mortal foods."

You make your ascent up the remaining steps separating you two. "Aw, I guess that I'm the only mortal food you'll eat." You let out a giggle through the racing questions. "I hope that you know that you are getting my stuff from below, it has been quite tedious for this mortal to make it this far."

Sukuna looked up into your eyes. You have made it in between his parted legs. You swayed there for a little bit before assuming your kneeling position. Your finger grazed Sukuna's hair before using his shoulder to brace your knees when hitting the slab below. Back straight. Bum placed directly over heel. And, your hands cling to each elbow behind your back in a straight line. "Bold to order me around."

"It was a suggestion."

"A hell of one." Sukuna placed his finger under your lips "Your chin should be lifted. Do you need a reminder? And where should your eyes be?"

"Retraining won’t be necessary." You lifted your chest higher to prove the point as you focused on Sukuna's manhood. His white robe left little to the imagination especially since he never ties it properly. His tattoos frame his sculpted abs and draw the eyes to his glorious v-line. And it's only if you don't do a double take of the smirking mouth protruding from the middle of his stomach. You are used to it and you have been more than aquatinted to how perverted it makes you feel.

"The long face, pet?" Your nickname was held off long enough to feel somewhat like an afterthought or an attack on your ego.

You sighed, "At the market... This girl I met was twenty, but when I met her last year, she wasn't born yet. I had talked to her parents."

You dared look up into Sukuna's four eyes, searching from one to the other which all stared back at you. "Oh pet, are you mad?"

"Should I be?"

"Why no, pet," Sukuna whispered. He bowed his head to rest his forehead against yours, coated in a film of sweat. "I could make you forget the thoughts running in your dumb head. You are a pet that only needs to know of her master." He scraped a finger behind your ear, taking the black rose pin and with his other hand, he swept your hair back to his liking. "But, if you are mad, I will allow you to pierce me with this. Hold out your hand."

You did as told. Now the metallic warmth of the pin weighed heavy on your conscious. "I don't wish to hurt you. And if I do this, you'll punish me."

"I lied. Pierce me for all I care. You are mad like me.” His blazed eyes hunger for the fear in yours “Your punishment will be a light one."

You shook your head, "No! No no no. I want to let this go! Let's enjoy the food and the fireworks. Please!" Before you could yank your arm away, your God gripped tight enough to bruise. With full awareness, you watched as Sukuna used your hand to shove the pin repeatedly into his chest.

At first, the skin doesn't break. Your hand throbbed from the forced handle you had to take. Your arms ached all over as you tried pulling away from the slashing. Screaming felt foreign but not unheard of coming from your throat. Moments like theses caused your mind to wonder. Were those cries even yours or someone else's? A spectator could be in the woods regarding the nakedness of your skin.

They could be the one screaming. The spectator has front-row seats to view the enormous stomach mouth gulp down blood. Or they were the one fighting, not you, to get away from Your God.

"Su-uuh kuna! Wh- why, why! Why are you doing this!?" You bellowed through gritted teeth, smacking against his chest.

"What did I even do wrong?" You felt the crash of your lungs. You felt the heaviness of your knees losing balance on the pavement which caused you to smack into Sukuna's right thigh. Your face felt hot. "I can't be mad! I don't have the right!" You shook your head, whipping hair everywhere. Snot ran down to your lips as you kept screaming. "I don't care if you lied! Why should I! I'm nothing more than a pet who would be nothing without their god!"

Sukuna squeezed your hand as he pushed the sharp pin in one last time before ripping your arms away. You fell backwards. catching yourself on the step below you. Your main find at last year's market, the black rose pin, looked dimmed when coated in blood. It stuck out of your God's chest where it rises and falls to the normal beat of his lungs. Whatever compelled you to buy the article of jewelry made you gag into your hands.

"Pet, I hate these excursions of yours. You know that."

.............................. Thank you for reading! This is my first attempt on making a smut! There will be a part two because I wanted to get this out on new years day! Please leave ideas in the comments! Request rules are here! I have an idea of where I want part two to go, but there is always room to stir the pot. HAPPY NEW YEARS!!! (technically a day late)

>>>

NEXT JJK POST: Yandere! Landlord! Geto Suguru x F!Reader

#sukuna smut #yandere sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk sukuna #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #sukuna x reader #male yandere x reader #smut #smut fic #dom/pet #female reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen

276 notes · View notes

peachdues · 2 months

Text

THE SWEET FAR THING — PROLOGUE

Knight!Kyojuro x Princess!Reader AU

A/N: did I say prologue tomorrow? I meant now. I’m on an angst kick y’all, and I can’t be tamed. Plus, I’m very excited about this one. So enjoy the opening scene to The Sweet Far Thing.

Read the first teasers here and here.

The prologue is a flash-forward to later events in the story. The fic will then pick up in the past, and show how the prologue itself comes to be.

CW: MDNI • mentions of violence/murder • vague reference to non-con • Douma (y’all already KNOW) • this fic will contain heavy explicit content

Once upon a time, there was a kingdom that lived on the edge of ruin.

It was once a grand Empire; a shining beacon of light and prosperity. Its citizens had flourished thanks to the kingdom’s unique position between a lush, mountainous range rife with resources to the north and a vast, shining sea to the south, which gave birth to a booming trade industry. At its head sat the royal family which sired generation after generation of benevolent rulers, beloved by all.

But greed and power are vices that even the most noble of kingdoms cannot evade forever, and soon, the spoils of war came for it.

For a while, the kingdom managed; its isolation meant it could ward off enemy invaders, for a time, and the King did his best to assure his citizenry that there was nothing to fear. And because the Royal Family had always been open and honest with its people, there was no reason to doubt him; life continued on without impediment, as though sons and daughters weren’t being recruited in the dark of night to to die in a field fighting a faceless enemy with an army in the tens of thousands.

But beneath the thin veneer of golden prosperity , the kingdom slowly rotted away until only its bones remained. To save it, a sacrificial lamb had been offered to appease the unbeatable and unrelenting enemy at its doorstep; the Kingdom’s beloved Princess.

You.

And now, you were being offered up once more, only this time it was to the gods or whatever it was that awaited you in the afterworld, which surely better than anything you’d endured here, in the land of the living.

At least it was you who was doing the offering; you supposed there had to be some comfort in your own dignity, no matter how little of it remained.

So there, perched atop the thin circle of stone wall that created an outer barrier around the tallest tower of your toppled castle that separated you from the edge of the world, you paused.

The wind howled and swirled around you, slicing clean through the thin linen of your nightgown, whipping its hem sharply against your shins. You should have felt cold; you should have been trembling, clinging desperately to the crumbling stone ledge against which you now stood, body bowed away from the turret as gravity beckoned you to follow it down.

All that separated you from the rocky ravine hundreds of feet below, were your fingers, loosely curled around the tower’s low wall. There was nothing — no one — to stop you, save yourself, and you had no intention of doing so.

The sudden image of heated ochre eyes narrowed accusingly at you and flame-tinged hair flashed through your mind, a searing comet across your impending night.

Kyojuro.

He would be angry, your Knight. Furious that you’d broken your oath to him — to stay alive.

But that was before; before the gilded paint coating your kingdom peeled back to reveal the rust and ruin below. Before your people had been starved and beaten into submission, pillaged by the forces that marched through the rubbled and ruined halls of the once magnificent castle you’d called home, and impaled your father through his heart with his own flagstaff. Before his body had been left to rot on his family’s ancestral throne, as a reminder of the new order.

Before Prince Douma had plucked the crown from the King’s decaying head and plopped it on his own, declaring himself your kingdom’s savior though it had been his Empire which caused its fall.

Before he’d humiliated and violated you again and again in front of your sworn shields — including the knight who’d held your heart since you were children and unaware of the war raging just beyond your doors.

Besides, you’d endured a dozen and a half of your beloved Knight’s broken promises and half-truths; clung to the hopes he’d sown, like summer dew on grass, only for him to break every single one of them and leave you to reap the consequences.

But you? You’d kept your vows; every single one of them, right up until that very moment.

Behind you there was an urgent scrape of metal against stone, a pounding against the tower door that you’d barricaded to keep your wretched husband’s men at bay, at least long enough for you to clamber awkwardly over the stony bannisters surrounding the turret, as you scrambled toward your last chance at freedom.

You closed your eyes.

Just this once, Kyojuro would have to accept your failure. You’d endured far too many of his.

The image of his eyes — pools of amber ore, warm and safe, flashed through your mind.

You smiled; even here, at the end, he was your greatest source of comfort. And it was because you had the solace of his eyes, the memory of his skin, warm against yours, and of his lips, that you found the courage to answer the wind’s sweet howl of your name.

For all of Kyojuro’s failures, you could never find it in your heart to resent him; not when he’d shown you his love, as conditional as it apparently had been, you’d known it all the same.

To know love and to be loved in return; it was enough, no matter how fleeting it had been.

Your lungs expanded, greedily drawing in as much of the icy air of the early morning dawn as possible, knowing that there would be nothing more to come. If you strained hard enough, you swore you could hear a whisper of your name in the wind, in the precise cadence of his voice.

Lungs stretched to capacity, you paused, reveling in the temporary silence as you rose up high on your toes.

And with a soft exhale, you let your hands fall away from the turret’s ledge.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kyojuro rengoku #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny rengoku #kny kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #kyojuro x y/n #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku x reader #kny smut #demon slayer smut

216 notes · View notes

maidragoste · 1 year

Text

We'll be fine

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Daughter of Rhaenyra)

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

TW: Inc*st, Angst

part 2 part3

Summary: Greens win AU. Rhaenyra Targaryen is dead, the war seems to be over but that doesn't mean there is peace. Your relationship with Aemond is strained after he killed your brother and he will leave you for Alys Rivers.

Frustration. That was what Aemond felt. Pure frustration. All he wanted was to be with you, to have you in his arms again but you refused to sleep in the same room as him. This morning you hardly looked at him when he went to your room to see the children.

Aemond hated himself for allowing himself to be bewitched by that witch. Worst of all, you didn't seem to believe him. You thought he cheated on you because he wanted to because he didn't love you. It hurt him that you doubted his love for you and their children. But how could I blame you? He had abandoned you in the middle of the war, you gave birth alone and raised the children alone. Oh, the boys, Baelon and Aemon, didn't seem happy with him either. When he picked them up, they were both hysterical. He shouldn't have expected another reaction from them, after all, he was a stranger to his children.

Three knocks on the door brought the prince out of his thoughts.

"Go ahead," he said imagining that it should be his mother or his servant. He didn't even bother to take his eyes off the flames in the fireplace.

"My prince." Aemond stood up the instant he heard your voice. Was it for some miraculous reason that you decided to believe him and had come to stay with him? He started to walk towards you, ready to kiss you "It's the children's bedtime"

Aemond tried hard not to show his disappointment at your words.

"I usually read to them before they go to sleep" you kept talking feeling nervous at the silence "then I was thinking that you could join us, you know that the boys start to get used to you and, I don't know, maybe start to form a bond with you ” you began to turn your ring, the ring that aemond gave you when you two got married “Only if you want”

You were more than angry with your husband but you did not intend to ruin the relationship between your children and him. If Aemond was willing to want to form a bond with them you weren't going to deny him, you were willing to help him. Your children deserve to grow up with a father.

"I would be delighted" replied the prince "Thank you" he took your hand and kissed it. You couldn't help but tense up when you thought that those same lips that just kissed your hand had kissed Alys Rivers, surely they had done more than kiss the witch, she ended up pregnant for a reason. With that image in your head, you jerked your hand away and left his room.

Aemond stood in the room for a moment, hurt by your rejection, before he went after you.

••••

Aemond liked reading to children. He knew that the babies didn't understand the story he was telling but they were still happy every time he changed his voice to a more exaggeratedly thick one. He even managed to make them laugh and he was sure you wanted to laugh too but hid it with a fake cough.

The boys were already asleep so he should go now but Aemond didn't want to. You didn't seem to want him to go either because you hadn't kicked him out yet. The two were sitting quietly. You watched sweetly as your husband brushed Baelon's hair back from his face. How you would have liked that Aemond had been present from day one, that he had been with you those dark nights when you didn't feel like a good mother for not being able to make the twins stop crying, that he had calmed your fears… But he was too busy fighting the war and sleeping with Alys Rivers.

"I'm sorry" your husband broke the silence.

"For what exactly? For killing my brother? For killing my grandmother? For getting another woman pregnant while I was taking care of our children?"

Every word you said felt like a slap in the face to Aemond. Your voice was pure cold fury but your eyes had so much pain and he hated being the cause of your pain. But still, he couldn't help but get mad at you for bringing up Lucerys's death again. You were the first person he saw when he came back from Storm's End, he told you the whole truth, Vhagar had not obeyed him, and the two of them wept that night in each other's arms because he knew the war was coming.

"You know that Lucerys was not my intention. And I told you that damn witch put a spell on me"

"Excuses. You're just giving me excuses" you replied, trying to ignore the lump in your throat, and stood up to walk away from him. Aemond was not long in following you. I wasn't going to let you walk away from him.

“Why don't you believe me?” he said with clear frustration as he grabbed your arm and turned you around. Now his bodies were glued together. If Aemond bowed his head he might even kiss you. A part of you wanted me to and you hated yourself for it. You hated yourself for still loving him, you should want your husband to be rotting in hell after all the suffering he caused your family. You should be trying to get revenge on your brothers, your grandmother, and your mother but instead you were quietly playing house while the greens rejoiced in their victory.

"Why should I do it? I trusted you, I trusted you with my heart, and look how it ended ”you averted your eyes from her face, ashamed of yourself to see how your vision was clouded by tears. You cursed yourself for being so weak.

Aemond lifted your chin for you to look at him again “I love you” you started to shake your head “Yes I do. I love you ”I affirm again“ I promise you that I will spend the rest of my days trying to repay you for all the pain I cause you,” he said as he gently wiped the tears from your face.

"I don't think that one day I can forgive you," you said with a broken voice "But I still love you" you confessed making the prince smile.

Aemond felt a weight lift from his shoulders at those words. He was so afraid that you had stopped loving him. Your confession gave him hope for the future. The pain of the war was very recent but over time you two could come to an agreement. He could never bring your brothers back to you but he could give you more children, and create new memories. He could make you happy.

"We'll be fine" he promised and left a kiss on your forehead. He was dying to kiss you but he knew it wasn't time yet. But it didn't matter, you two had time and besides, he already felt satisfied knowing that you still loved him "I love you" he repeated and rested his forehead against yours.

"We'll be fine," you repeated.

Too bad your tranquility wouldn't last long because of Aegon.

let me know if you want me to tag you for the next part

#aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd x you #hotd drabbles #hotd one shot #house of the dragon imagine #the queen and her husbands

2K notes · View notes

hiimawarish · 9 months

Text

there's no hiding from the thought of us

s. jing yuan is busy reminiscing at work. cw. female/afab reader. implied childhood friends to lovers. angst? slight fluff? tw. slight mention of death (jingliu). wc. 0.8k a/n. this was supposed to be fluff, and then it turned sad really fast. i'm sorry. i wrote this at... 11pm? not proofread so excuse any typos. also, this man has ruined me so yeah. credits. dividers by @/cafekitsune.

There is something about you he doesn’t quite understand.

Maybe it is the fact that, despite the long centuries you both have endured, you seem to glow while he feels like withering. The years have served to mature your soul, to make you bloom into this ineffable flower he can’t quite touch. A curious thought, he finds, that you’re this close to him yet remain so far. Longing fills his molten gold eyes as he looks at the picture of you he keeps at his desk, a bittersweet nostalgia to go back to who you two were before all of this; to when you were just a couple of kids playing around, dreaming.

Before reality kicked in and forced you awake.

Jing Yuan sighs, then, as his mind continues to spiral into thoughts of you. The pile of documents on his desk seems to grow with each passing second, but it does nothing to keep him focused. The emptiness of the Seat of the Divine Foresight reminds him of his lack of you—your absence—, and the overall heartwrenching sorrow that seems to fill the void within his heart whenever he remembers. If you were here, you’d scold him, he realizes. “I’m not dead, just working,” you’d say, your delicate lips curving into an amused smile, eyes glowing with knowing glee. Then you’d go on about how needy he was, how unsightly clingy the General of the Xianzhou Luofu turned out to be.

He can almost hear your voice, the tinkling bells of your voice echoing in his mind. He can almost see you, those damn robes wrapped around your curves that made him want to play hooky—but you never allowed him to. No, you held Lady Fu too highly to allow him to slack off, even if just for a second.

The Dozing General sighs, heavily, letting most of the air within his lungs out before taking another big breath. He shakes his head for a bit in an attempt to focus—he does need to get through this paperwork today, no matter how much he despises it. Nevertheless, it becomes obvious quite quickly how useless the attempt is. His thoughts naturally drift to you the moment he relaxes, as if you were nothing but an oasis to his mind amidst the desert his work posed. You’ve always been a magnet, he thinks. He has always found himself attracted to you, whether as willingly as a moth to flame or as begrudgingly as tranquility to war he does not know. The only thing Jing Yuan knows is that you have always been a part of him.

Too big of a part.

Having lost so many friends over the years, so many battles, Jing Yuan knows defeat too well. It welcomes him with open arms every time, as an old friend would. The losses he has suffered overpower the wins, he knows. You know. You’ve always know. That is why, when he lies awake at night, you have never asked; the silent understanding between the two of you is enough to comfort the raging storm within his heart, yet sometimes he wishes he could speak. He doesn’t need to, he knows—you were there through most of them. You were there when he had to turn his blade against his master, when he was forced to clean up the mess from his friends, when he was left behind… You were there. You’re still here.

Maybe that is why such sorrow fills him when he finds himself idle.

Perhaps the possibility that you, too, could leave his side fills him with such dread that he finds himself lost. He finds himself reduced to the child you met a lifetime ago, the imposing figure of the General long lost among his fears. It is unbecoming—Jing Yuan is more than aware of it—, but what can he do? Although centuries trail behind him, he is still just a man. Even if Yanqing looks at him with stars in his eyes, ears full of legends and stories of him, Jing Yuan knows better. He is just a man.

A man afraid of losing the one love he has found.

A man afraid of losing the one comfort he has.

A man afraid of losing you.

Yes, he is terrified of trouble and change; the raw possibility that Fate could still steal you away from him; the imminent danger that you could become mara-struck, cursing him to having to slay you, too. Legends may sing praises about his prowess in battle, his skill in strategy, all the battles he has won, the peace he brought to the Luofu… But Jing Yuan is terrified for you.

There is something about you he doesn’t quite understand. As his eyes focus once again on the document before him, Jing Yuan sighs. He doesn’t understand when or how you became his own soul—his only weakness, the one thing he knew better than himself, better than the back of his hand.

He is aware that counting all the things he would miss is not a way of loving someone, but that is the only way he knew how.

more works.

#honkai star rail #honkai jing yuan #hsr #jing yuan #jing yuan honkai #jingyuan #star rail #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x y/n #natsu writes

209 notes · View notes

saphirered · 8 months

Note

I have a request! I am in desperate need of anything for fenrys X reader 😩 I love a good enemies to lovers Trope 😏 (but you can do what you want!!)

It's been a while so why not kick off with a 3 part story. 1.5k each sound good? Here's the first part. Enemies comes first so expect some angst and canon typical violence. Happy reading! 😘

When he took the oath he followed his twin because they stood together. They’d remain together no matter what. Fenrys, though blinded by all that glory had to offer, was not entirely disillusioned with the strings that came attached even if he tried to desperately ignore them until he couldn’t. Things got worse of course. The further he strayed, the tighter the leash. He told himself it was simply a price to pay; one where his brother would be safe, where he could live his life freely some of the time and live gloriously. Was it worth it? He used to think so. Though what frustrated him is that no matter what, there would always be this thorn in his side, the true pearl in Maeve’s collection of empty shells. You. Maeve might lack the ability to love and truly care for anyone but herself but when it came to you there was a weird sense of possessiveness. The Cadre might have been the prized bloodhounds and guard dogs, but you were something different entirely. You were her songbird; to sing at her command, to be shown off as a prized possession and put on display for all to see. What made Fenrys hate you is that you seemed o bask in the glow of it all.

You stood at Maeve’s side always. You never had the need to warp her words to take some illusion of freedom, to escape her clutches for a moment longer before the leash pulled you in. There was no leash on you. Maeve never had you swear the oath. You were just there, you could walk out of Doranelle but you chose to stay at her side. You stood there with your head held high. You needed not fear the strike of a whip. No rope would wrap around your neck and choke the air out of your lungs for a misspoken word. There was no reason for you to follow her commands other than loyalty. Your loyalty had to be a choice because you’d seen it all, you stood there and watched the bloodshed and torture and pain inflicted upon others. You did not even turn your head when faced with the horrors. You simply stared with cold indifference.

What Fenrys didn’t know was you might not be on that same leash as him, you are caged either way. Maeve took great pleasure in the fact she did not need to have you swear the blood oath. No what she had on you would be more than enough to keep you from rebelling, from stepping even one toe out of line. You had been there before Fenrys so he had not witnessed the torture you endured; that if you looked away from the bloodcurdling screams, from the pleading and begging and met them with anything other than indifference at best or cruelty of your own at worst, you would be offered the same punishment as them. You were a prisoner and no amount of torture had you spill the secrets you kept. It was an eternal stalemate. Torturing and killing loved ones, that simply wouldn’t do. You’d die with them and you’d be useless, but keeping you around even if she would have to wait centuries for you to finally break and spill, not only was she patient but she took great pleasure in it all; in what you’d become.

While the cadre was sent out to fight wars and bask in the glory of bloodshed, your dalliances with the upper class of nations were no secret. When those nations failed to submit to Maeve’s wishes, you’d swoop in and convince them otherwise. When rebellion arose, you’d be the face trying to quell and snuff the flames before they could spark. You’d use your charm and body to entice and bring the most favourable outcome for Maeve. At some point Fenrys considered you might have been as in love with her as Lorcan and you’re simply wrapped around her finger. He hated you for the special treatment you got. He hated how okay you were with everything you faced, how you presented yourself like you were better than them. He hated that in Maeve’s eyes you could do no wrong and they’d be sent to clean up the mess where your persuasions and deception failed where they got tortured for setting one foot out of line. So he would make you pay in his own way. Of course he would not dare lay a hand on you, especially unprovoked, be that out of fear for Maeve or simply because it felt wrong, there is plenty of ways to press someone’s buttons and he just happens to be very good at it. That’s exactly what he spent the next century or so doing.

What a blessing it was to have you be sent along on a mission. There was no escape for you, and no one to truly punish him for his awful behaviour. If you were to be his warden then he would make that a living hell for you. He’d done so successfully that now you sent Gavriel with him in your stead to negotiate with the Pirate Lord. He’d watched you burn from within but then you’d take that frustrating breath and all emotion would ebb away. Your pretty face would turn ever so cold once more and thus with it the small spark of satisfaction on his end died away. He submitted to your command either way. He had to. Maeve’s orders.

When he returned he saw you on that couch, head bowed forward, hands in your hair. If he dared be so bold, he would have sworn he saw the light tremble to your body but it instantly disappeared upon his arrival.

“Why so glum, sunshine?” He decided to gracelessly drop himself onto the couch opposite of you. You brush your hair from your face and look up, once again eyes deadly cold, though right now there’s an exhaustion haunting your entire being he cannot quite place.

“I’m not in the mood for your teasings, Fenrys.” You struggle to keep the inner turmoil from your voice. You have to be strong. You have to be thick-skinned. You have to keep taking the blows. Not like you don’t deserve them. Now more than ever must your resilience last.

“You never are. Now are you going to tell me who pissed in your soup? I’d like to personally thank them for getting you to show even an ounce of discomfort and might want to ask for some pointers on how to wear you out like that. You keep refusing my other advances after all. I’d say exhaustion suits you but…” You can’t do this. You’re hanging on by a silken thread and it’s about to snap. You rise to your feet and make for the door but just before you reach he is blocking your way. You try to get around him but he holds you back.

Fenrys is too caught up in his own mind to realise you flinch at his touch, how you pull away. He misses that paranoia and drop of remorse blinking through you. He’s too focused on making your life hell and right now you’re making it very easy for him. You’re not one to run away but rarely there is no one else to tell him off, to face him with the consequences and remind him of his stupidity. He’s had his toes stepped on already. He’ll take great pleasure in playing this eternal game with you. He might not be able to get to Maeve to get recompense, but he sure as hell can take those grievances out on you.

“Fenrys let me go.” You demand. Your breath is high in your chest as he holds onto your shoulders. You shake him off and step out of reach but still he stands between you and your escape to the outside.

“Or what? You’ll tattle on me to Maeve?” He mocks. You can clearly see that frustration burn beneath his skin and he has every reason to be frustrated. You’ve stood by for decades. You were perfectly fine letting his brother suffer, letting him suffer if it meant you kept the strings in hand. If it takes being cruel then so be it. You’ll be cruel. You��ll strike where it hurts. Your words are much sharper than your claws and they cut far deeper. He was not prepared for what you said next. He did not count on his impulsiveness to be so crippling to his better judgement.

“If I do we both know you won’t be the ones to suffer at her hand for it.” That’s it. Fenrys snaps. Next he knows you’re against the wall and his hand grabs your throat. You struggle to breath from the crushing force and claw at his hand to no avail. No, you weren’t truly trying. He sees it now; acceptance, relief even. In that very moment you are prepared to meet your end. He wouldn’t have done it of course, he might be stupid but he’s not outright suicidal but you didn’t know that. It’s the first time he’s truly seen you break. He has half the mind to wonder; never has he seen you break, so what has gotten you to do so now? He noticed the crack in your perfectly crafted armour. It took him a while before he realised there were many more.

“Lay a hand on Connall and I will personally repay you in kind. With interest.” He lets go and air enters your lungs once more. You wobble on unsteady feet as he exits through that door and leaves you alone with your thoughts. Once you are sure he’s truly gone you simply drop to the ground, hug your knees and stare into the abyss. You’d ran out of tears a long time ago.

#throne of glass x reader #throne of glass #fenrys x reader #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass imagine #throne of glass fic #throne of glass fenrys #fenrys moonbeam #tog x reader #kingdom of ash #tog fanfic

157 notes · View notes

ellewritesalright · 10 months

Text

Second Best - Part 1

Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Part 2 - Part 3

A/N: Look, am I starting a new series when I haven't finished nly? Yes, I am. And I would proudly do it again because this story has been in my drafts for so long and I want yall to see it. Hope it's coherent enough :) also, I gave the mc reader a last name :)

Synopsis: When you were a child, the Lantsov king and queen arranged for their second son to marry you, a rich Ravkan noble family's only daughter. After many years, after all the destruction of the war, and after Nikolai was crowned king, Nikolai breaks off the engagement. But the complications of your past and your strict parents make it a nightmare to find a new fiance, so Nikolai promises to help you, yet he slowly realizes the mistake he's made.

Warnings: strict and mean parents, very slight self-image issues because of said parents, kinda confusing and purposefully ambiguous details that will be important later in the story (bear with me please)

Word Count: 1700

..........

It was going to be a very important day, your mother had said. She sat in the corner of the room as a gaggle of maids did you up. Everything needed to be perfect for your meeting with the new king of Ravka. After all, he was your fiance, but there were rumours that he did not wish to marry you.

The engagement was made when you were both children and he was only supposed to be a prince, but now circumstances had changed and he was king of a fractured nation. He would need to marry for the good of Ravka, so a political match would be much more beneficial. You wouldn't blame him if he chose to marry a foreign princess or noblewoman, but your parents insisted that you would be the future queen of Ravka.

"Stop fidgeting," your mother commanded. You straightened out, averting your stare as you mumbled an apology.

It was cold outside the front door of your parents' home in Os Alta. Goosebumps had broken out on your skin and you struggled to not rub some warmth into them. All you could do was wait for the king to arrive. He was more than ten minutes late, but your father had insisted that you all remain standing at the entrance until Nikolai arrived.

As you heard carriage wheels in the street you swore you could leap with joy that you would soon be allowed inside again, but you stayed perfectly poised. The royal carriage swung around the corner and you felt your heartbeat pick up, kicking into double-time. You pitied any nearby heartrenders, for the thumping must have been utterly annoying; but you came about it honestly.

There was always a fear in the back of your mind that you would be found out. Someone would discover your family secret and you would be exiled from respectable society before you could marry your Lantsov fiance. But you couldn't worry about that now, not when the carriage had stopped and the king was getting out.

If you had been worried about the cold earlier, it was now the farthest thing from your mind. King Nikolai's stare was enough to make your face heat up, and you thought you might burst into flames without a moment's notice as you curtsied to him. He still looked a little like the boy in your faded memory of him, the boy that you met when you were twelve and he was fourteen. He had a boyish countenance, a light-hearted look to him as he stepped out of his carriage.

You were prepared for a bit more resemblance to his older brother, but he was comparatively more handsome than Vasily ever was. His smile was charming and warm, not greasy or snide as his brother's had been; he had a stronger chin than his brother, and really just a better bone structure in general. But perhaps the lack of similarity between him and his brother gave credence to the rumours of his lineage. You often wondered if people thought that way about the differences between you and your parents.

Whatever the case, you were too conscious of the way he didn't offer you his arm as the four of you entered the house to care about any of that. In Ravka it was common for engaged couples to do that sort of thing, even when they were practically strangers, so it seemed the whispers of his detachment from you had some truth.

You settled in the drawing room where tea was presented to the four of you. Mere minutes of small talk passed before your father broached the topic of the engagement. He set down his cup and saucer, leaning back in his seat as he stared at the king. Nikolai had just told an anecdote about the tiring details from his coronation several months ago and your father was ready to pounce.

"I suppose the wedding will be as much of a headache to plan, but this time you'll have my daughter to shoulder some of the weight," he said, a cheerful air to his voice despite the trap he just laid.

"Lord Antonov," Nikolai smiled politely, "I don't suppose you've heard any news from my father or mother."

Your father shook his head, a confused twitch in his brow.

"They were the ones to arrange this marriage, but, as it is, they are not around to see it through. They approved the match back when I was a boy and my father was still king." Here it was. The rumours were about to be verified. Nikolai kept on, "Things have changed since then; I am no longer a boy, and my father is no longer king, so you will forgive me if I would like to drop the agreement that my parents made you many years ago."

"Promises and plans were made, your highness, and they cannot be easily undone--"

"And yet they must be undone." Nikolai levelled your father with a heavy stare. "Ravka needs strong diplomatic ties, and I believe that one of the best options to achieve this is through marriage. I cannot sacrifice the good of this country for an old arrangement made by a party that is no longer in power."

"But what will my daughter do?" Your mother piped up. "She'll have to find a new suitor, but who would want her now that she gets older?"

As much as you would have liked to say that her words did not affect you, you couldn't deny their sting. To your parents, all that their daughter–their only child–had ever been was a bartering chip for well-born men to marry and continue their noble lines, and it showed in your mother's primary concern. If you weren't young, you weren't beautiful, and if you weren't beautiful, who would dare marry you?

Nikolai nearly laughed. "She is twenty, that is not old. And if you're so concerned that she needs to be married, I will see to it that she finds someone suitable. I know enough barons and marquises who would be glad to marry her."

"For centuries we Antonovs have dedicated our lives--our entire estate--to this country and the Lantsovs, and this is how we are to be repaid?" Your father narrowed his stare. "Have you no honour? That you would go back on your word--some king you are."

If your mother's superficial worries weren't enough to make Nikolai rethink the marriage, insults from your father definitely wouldn't change his mind.

"Father," you gasped as a sorry attempt at admonishment. When you felt eyes on you, you couldn't help but speak, even if your parents wouldn't like what you were going to say. "You should consider the importance of his highness' role in Ravka. If our country needs a political marriage to strengthen diplomatic ties, then perhaps it is for the best that we sever the arrangement you made with the former king."

"My daughter doesn't know what she's saying, your highness," your mother tried to backtrack, but you weren't having it. You'd be in deep shit with them for that first comment, and you figured you should continue since they were already angry.

"If you two are as patriotic as you often say then you would understand that the good of your country comes first. If the king asks you to forgo an old agreement, you should forgo it."

"There you have it," Nikolai said. "The two most important voices in this conversation have spoken." He stood and looked at you. "I must be going now, but perhaps could you walk me out, my lady?"

You stood and set aside your tea, eager to be out of the room. In the hall, you caught Nikolai staring at you. He smiled, looking forward.

"You handled that well," he said.

"I should hope so." You glanced at him. "Like you, I was educated at Ketterdam University where most of my classmates were hog-headed boys who went on and on about the most insignificant topics. I found the best way to assert my voice in the classroom was through a light shaming of those who couldn't figure out when to shut up."

"Very effective," Nikolai remarked, his eyes alight. "What did you study at school?"

"Economics for the most part, but there was also advanced physics as well as debate classes."

"You must have made quite the student." There was approval in his voice.

You held back a proud grin. Men are frightened by smart women, your mother often said. She maintained that you must hold back your brains until after you had a ring on your finger, but because you weren't marrying him, you didn't see the need to hide your intellect. You straightened out and replied, "I was always top of my class."

When you reached the front door Nikolai fastened his jacket and turned to you with a conciliatory smile. "I hope I haven't bent your parents too out of shape."

"They'll get over themselves." But you weren't too certain of your words. You amended, "They'll have to."

"I meant what I told your mother," he said. "I can help you find a fiance. Though I'm sure you wouldn't have difficulty finding one on your own."

You chuckled. "Yes, undoubtedly my mother is already scheming to entrap the next richest bachelor in Ravka into a marriage."

"That's not what I meant." At your quizzical brow, he smiled and fixed the cuffs of his coat. "I only meant to say that you're highly intelligent and quite beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to marry you."

You dared to look away from his hazel eyes, tracing the gold frame of a portrait as you quickly dispelled the heat from your face. When you looked back he was trying to hide a smug smile that told you he knew exactly what game he was playing at.

"You've scrapped our engagement, and yet now you're flirting with me," you observed with a tsk. "Are you always this contradictory?"

"When the mood strikes me," he said. "Now, it has been a pleasure but I must be getting back to the palace."

You parted ways with a handshake, Nikolai returning home and leaving you to face two very upset nobles.

..........

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in the other parts of this series or to be added to the Nikolai taglist please comment on this part or send me an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist

Part 2

Nikolai Taglist: @notoakay

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov fic #grishaverse fanfic #second best

290 notes · View notes

whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell · 4 months

Text

Vatic - Chapter XVI " Threads "

Series Description :The youngest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent grows up split between the two sides of her family. With dreams plaguing her sleep of people she does not know, and a war looming ahead of her. She will be forced to choose between the two sides of her family, between the love for her brother, and the loyalty for her sister.

Chapter Description : Y/n has a nightmare that she cannot seem to stop thinking about.

A/n : Merry fucking Christmas. hope ya’ll enjoy, this chapter kicked my ass

Warnings : Y/n is beginning to have subconscious feelings for Aemond, other than that I don’t think there’s anything, taking glee in someone else’s misery ig, tourney violence, absolutely not beta read or edited ( ya’ll been waiting close to two months idk )

Pairing : Eventual Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 6.2 K

The throne room was empty. No lord, lady, king or queen gathered. The columns supporting the ceiling were a far cry from the ones Y/n knew. Instead of the king’s prior to Viserys, they were now a warm beige with leaves carved out to look as though they were twisting around the pillars, and they were painted green. She recognized the room. . . but it felt empty. And then she was finally able to understand why.

The swords that had been melted into the ground surrounding the throne weren’t there and the throne itself looked smaller, more presentable and organized.

The very stone beneath her feet was not the rough stone tiles she’d always known. No, it was instead a polished stone, and as she took a step forward from one edge of the great hall towards the throne, the sound of her shoes against it were far different.

The window behind the throne was different. It was stained glass instead of the usual clear. The Targaryen banners on either side of the window were gone. There were no banners.

Y/n continued to walk towards the throne, and as she did, she could hear other footfalls throughout the hall, however saw no one. And as she went to take another step, she found she could not, with a tugging on her shoulders she turned to look and see what it was. The Targaryen banner seemingly stitched into the fabric of her dress on both shoulders, and then suddenly, a banner unfurled from right beside it, Targaryen. And then another from the other side. Stark.

But both banners had appeared to be ripped at the bottom, with loose threads hanging.

Y/n felt a sudden wave of panic hit her, her heart beginning to hammer against her ribcage as she began to tug on against the banner stitched to her dress. Crying out in fear as it suddenly ripped from her gown, sending her flying to the ground, the upper half of her gown torn from her body, leaving her in her stays and shift underneath with her skirts staying in place, but as she turned to look at the banners, the green fabric from her clothing was hanging from the banner.

“Mother!” She shouted, gripping the skirt of her dress in her fists so tight that her knuckles were beginning to turn white. No response came. “Aemond!” She tried once more, to no avail. No one came.

Y/n approached the banner, grabbing the green fabric and tugging at it to get it off of the banner. As it finally ripped off from the black banner, she could hear as the sound of flames began to become clear. Metal stands where fire light would be offered in the night were ignited around the great hall. And the other Targaryen banner turned from black and red, to green and gold.

The field of it was first, threads slowly turning green, and the then the threads of red turning gold in front of her very eyes, and the loose threads began to extend, as though it were growing as did the now loose threads of the banner that had held her captive to itself. The two threads eventually met and as though it were growing ivy, the meeting threads crawled up the wall to the ceiling, right beside the green and gold banner, that of the traditional Targaryen banner, but only a second later, a very sheer banner dropped down right in front of the new banner, so sheer you could make out the three headed dragon underneath. It was the sheer banner of House Reyne.

One of the footfalls made itself clear as a woman walked past Y/n to the new banners, and stood under it, turning her body to face Y/n. The woman had striking violet eyes. Her pale skin was freckled across her cheeks, and her red hair was pulled back into an intricate style, and draped over her shoulder with a ribbon intertwined into one of the small rope braids. Her dress was red with white embellishments.

Then she heard more footfalls approaching, and she turned to look at who they belonged to. The Stark and the Targaryen banner she had been connected to began to intertwine their threads as well, and another woman came to stand under the Stark banner, wearing grey colors that of house Stark. Her dark brown hair in cascading waves down her back and over her shoulders, her pale skin and gray eyes were captivating, and the necklace she wore, was that of sapphires. It was familiar to Y/n.

These two women must have been the most beautiful she’d ever seen.

But it did not seem to end. No. More banners continued to unfurl from the wall, revealing different houses. And under each banner stood a different woman. On the side where the Stark banner was, the threads from each banner connected.

Y/n did not understand.

After Stark came Cerwyn, then Slate, Blackwood, Flint, and then Stark again, and once more. At the last stark banner, Y/n watched as a young woman, possibly only a few years her senior, came to stand under it. She was slim, a wild beauty could be attributed to her. A long face that was so frequently found with the Starks. Her dark hair was in a braid, and her brown eyes followed Y/n’s. The blue winter rose laurel she held in her hands seemed to look dry. As though it were weeks old.

and as Y/n looked to the other wall, she watched as the Targaryen banner under the sheer Reyne one began to intertwine it’s threads with the next one, and that one with the next. It went Targaryen, Parren, Drox, Lydden, Prester, and the next threewere all Lannister, but the last one had a sheer banner over it as well. That of house Baratheon. And the woman who stood under it must have only been a few year older she was.

She was so familiar. Her hair golden and in a similar style to the woman before her. Her gown red and gold.

This was the young woman she’d seen so often in her dreams. Standing before her with a house attributed to her. But what was she? Lannister? Baratheon? Neither? And while nearly every looked directly at Y/n, the young woman stared straight ahead. An enamored look upon her face. And so, Y/n turned to look as well, and found the only man standing there. Under a new banner connected to the last Stark banner.

It was once more Targaryen, this also with a sheet one over top it. That of Stark. He also stared straight at the woman. This was a man Y/n had seen once before.

In her dreams where she saw the northern wall. She’d only ever seen it once, the after King Viserys had sentenced three rapers and five theives to the wall to repay for their crimes.

He looked exactly how Y/n vaguely remembered him from years ago when her sire was not rotting from the very inside out. His dark hair curled around his face, a light stubble along his jaw and cheeks. Warm brown eyes filled with nothing less than love for the woman he stared at across from him.

She’d seen the look before, directed at her everyday. But the look she received was not from brown eyes, but that of violet.

Was this a dream? Y/n did not know. Who these women and a singular man in front of her. And why was the great hall so different? Why did their eyes follow her so intently?

She could not answer any of the questions as a final banner unfurled directly in front of the dais the iron throne sat upon. split into four sections. The top two, Stark and Lannister, the bottom two, Targaryen and Tyrell, but stags were stitched into each corner.

A child walked down the steps from the lifted walkway of the great hall. Her skin freckled from the sun, her giggles echoing off the walls, her dark curls bouncing as she hopped down each step. Her brown eyes shone with an innocence only ever found in a child. She could not have been more than six as she bounded towards the dais. Her clothing was thick. That of a northerner, but it was a deep crimson, embroidery of the same color thread of the fabric contained the Tyrell rose, and the Lannister lion. The fur peeking from the collar of her clothing was a warm cream. It mimicked gold.

It happened quickly after that, The banners began to fall to the ground, erupting in flames, the other women disappearing like ashes in the wind as even bricks of the great hall began to collapse, letting in light and ash from the sky, and as the banner of many houses erupted in flames, the small girl screamed and ran from it, and as it fell to the ground in flames, Y/n watched as the throne melted, fire licking at the rusted and blackened blades, the steel and iron of old swords beginning to pull down the dais, dripping onto each step as it formed a large molten puddle.

“Aemond! Brother!” She screamed once more.

The only two left that weren’t the girl was the last Lannister, or was she Baratheon? And the Targaryen, or was he a Stark?

Where was Aemond? Her mother? Aegon or Helaena? Where was Rhaenyra? Why was their home crumbling to the ground in front of her, why was she the only one there to witness it? “Rhaenyra! Aemond!” Her screams were so guttural and blood curdling that this were not a dream, it would have strained her throat.

But as each boring red brick fell, so did the reality of the dream. She was in the great hall. . . and then, she was in her dark bedchambers as Aemond held a lantern and looked down at her from the side of the bed, a boyish grin on his face.

She leapt from her bed, throwing herself into his arms. The sudden action caused Aemond to stumble back, pulling her off the bed by how tight her grip around him was. But once he had regained his footing, he had quickly wrapped his own arms around her as tightly as he could in return.

He was fully dressed, even wearing his riding boots. She was on her tiptoes atop the toe box of his boots. But he did not complain.

“What’s wrong little sister?” He questioned gently, one hand on the small of her back, holding her steady, and the other one around her upper back.

“A bad dream.” She said simply. Her face was buried in the crook of his neck. Finding comfort in his warmth, smelling the fresh scent of dragon on him. Her eyes squeezed shut so tightly that she was only getting snippets of the terrible dream that had crept its evil self into her slumber.

The first two women were etched into her sight. Red hair and violet eyes, dark brown hair and grey eyes. And the last man and woman, and the child. She could not get their faces out of her memory.

She felt him nod against the side of her head as he dipped his head to press a firm kiss onto her shoulder. “What happened? In you dream?”

Y/n sniffled a bit, her nails digging into the leather of his riding clothes. “I. . . I can’t remember most of it.” She told him. It was the truth. Lannister, Stark, Targaryen, Baratheon. “But I was afraid. I kept calling for you. . . and you did not come.”

She felt a low hum in his chest that rumbled into her own The hand on her upper back went to rest firmly on her hip, and he moved his head so his lips were by her ear. “I would always come when you call. If you are to have another one of those dreams and I do not come running to you? Then you should take comfort in the fact that it is not reality, little sister.”

Y/n could only nod as she continued to hold onto him. “I was scared that you didn’t come to my aid.” The confession was whispered, but he still heard it.

He pulled back from her, placing the lantern down, and holding her cheeks in his gloved hands, resting his forehead against hers. Y/n’s eyes were still shut, but she could feel his eyelashes against her brow bone everytime he blinked. “Look at me,” Aemond told her firmly. Almost a command.

So she did. She opened her eyes and met his gaze, so close to her she felt dizzy, and her eyes were straining to focus on him.

“I will always come to your aid.” He professed. “I will travel however far I must to be there. You should never allow fear to plague you as long as I am breathing, Y/n. So you understand that?” Aemond urged.

Y/n nodded with fervor, her hands coming to grip the back of his arms as he continued to hold her face.

“You are not afraid.”

“I am not afraid.” The younger one agreed.

The old library was dimmer than most other rooms in the Keep., It was the oldest library in the keep, and it was hardly visite. Old stories and legends that had long been rewritten and pressed into fresh copies that were easier to read. These were books whose ink were fading, the binding was coming apart, and the leather of the covers was peeling away from years of use. But the youngest daughter of Queen Alicent and Alicent’s favorite son favored this library to others.

They preferred the dim lighting that forced them to light the candles and bring lanterns, the enjoyed being away from others.

“I heard Rhaenyra keeps writing to you.” Aemond’s voice was cold as he said it and pulled a book from the shelves, opening it and reading the first page as Y/n sat in the large armchair by one of the windows, her legs curled in so all of her was on the cushion. Aemond oft said that she looked like a fawn when she sat that way.

Y/n rolled her eyes, continuing her sketch in the well lit corner. “She merely wished me a good name day, Aemond.” She explained as she continued on with the woman she was drawing. “She told me about the ghost of Dragonstone.” Y/n added with a small grin. “A white shadow darting across the sky, supposedly alongside Grey Ghost”

Aemond hummed from the book shelf he stood in front of, clearly unimpressed. “That’ wild dragon’ is a figment of drunk sailor’s imaginations, and the whores of the villages below the dragonmont wish to feel more important than they are, and report false sightings.”

Y/n looked up from her drawing, watching as Aemond remained unfazed by his words. They were harsh words, cruel words.

“You don’t think the ghost exists?” She pondered aloud, resting the stick of charcoal she’d been using to draw down on the paper that was clipped to her clipboard, watching as Aemond peered over his own shoulder at her, his hair swiftly moving with every motion of his body. He still had not quite settled on a style he preferred to wear. Still, he wore it down. And Y/n knew why he did such things, he was still somehow embarrassed of his wound.

“Why would I?” He questioned. “The tales say it’s a large beast only spotted in recent years. You expect me to believe that such a large beast went unnoticed until now?”

Y/n chuckled a bit, shaking her head at his response. “People didn’t think Grey Ghost was real either. Not until Rhaenyra’s own guards saw him.” She grinned, so sure of her own words as Aemond now fully turned around to face her, leaning against the bookshelf now behind him, an amused grin on his face as he shook his head and continued reading from the book.

But as Y/n stared at her brother, she realized just how truly beautiful he was in the moment. The dim light casting harsh shadows across his face, accentuating the already sharp features he possessed, his white silver hair draped over his shoulders, his sapphire and scar on full display for her to see. His eyepatch was beside her on the arm of the chair.

She had taken to doing that more often now. Whenever they were alone, she’d walk straight up to him and pull the leather strap off of his head and take it with her. The princess wished to see him in all that he was. As she had seen him all her life. She did not wish for him to hide his face from her, and so he did not.

“Grandsire has been talking more about Ser Raymond.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, looking back down at the drawing in her lap, picking up the charcoal and continuing on with the rough sketch lines of it, the hilt of the sword she held was too intricate that she could not get every detail onto the parchment, but she tried never the less.

“I do not like it.” Aemond confessed gruffly.

Now she chuckled again. “Do you like anything, Brother?” She teased.

“Of course I do,” He stated. “I like reading, training with a sword, dragon riding, sugarplums, wine from Oldtown, and of course I love you and our family. I however do not like Ser Raymond, nor his family.”

Aemond certainly had always loved sugarplums. Ever since they were young children. Y/n would pretend she enjoyed them more than she did, because Rhaenyra would always gift them to her as a surprise, and not long after she and Aemond had eaten them all. However, Y/n always let Aemond have the majority of them, just as he always allowed her to have the most lemon cakes. It was a fact that made her smile.

“Why do you not like the Reynes? They seem perfectly kind. Perhaps a bit over ambitious, but kind. And Ser Raymond is chivalrous to be sure.” She responded, attempting to persuade her older brother, but it was clear just from his tense shoulders and uninterested ‘hmm’ that he had no intention to be persuaded.

“That’s exactly why I do not like him.” Aemond grumbled as he soon made his way over to her taking his spot on the ground right in front of her, one of his hands coming up to grab her ankle that was poking out from her dress in the position she was sat in, pulling on it to bring one of her legs to rest over his shoulder as he rested his head against her knee.

How he was able to still read while maintaining a conversation was truly beyond her.

“You do not like that a potential suitor is kind to me? Or chivalrous? I had figured that was the sort of suitor I was supposed to find.” Y/n told him, reaching a hand out to run her fingers through his silk like hair, allowing her nails to run across his scalp.

Aemond did not respond for a moment, and yet, it did not look like he was reading the words on the page either. But rather stuck staring at the crease between the two pages in front of him.

But he answered soon enough. “If you were to marry Ser Raymond you’d be in the Westerlands. Future ‘Lady Reyne’ and ‘Lady of Castamere.’ And only the gods would know when we’d next see one another. I do not wish for you to go.”

It was Y/n’s turn to hum as she set her clipboard and charcoal aside on the table next to her, fully leaning forward to rest her cheek on the top of his head, resting an arm over his shoulder, her palm against his chest. “That’s not how it works.” She said simply. “I am a woman of higher status than him. Daughter of a king, though I’m sure Viserys often forgets I exist, but nevertheless, I am a princess. I would maintain my own name, I would still be Y/n Targaryen, and I would never be called Lady Reyne, though. . . If I were to marry Ser Raymond I would one day be Lady of Castamere, just as Princess Rhaenys is the Lady of Driftmark. But I’m sure we have more time before Grandsire insists on my marriage” The argument they’d once heard through stone walls in the secret passages plagued her in that moment.

“She must be married before the King’s health declines to the point where he cannot effectively rule.”

Viserys no longer ruled in truth. He was given so much milk of the poppy to keep his pain at bay that Y/n did not remember the last time she had seen their kingly father. It must have been many moons at this point. And she did not find herself missing him.

“You remember as well as I what Grandsire said.”

The night of her eleventh name day was flooding every thought she had. The sounds of Alicent and Otto arguing through the wall as she and Aemond made their way to the waters, and what Aemond had said that night as well.

“The King’s health has declined to where he no longer rules. I do not wish for you to make the wrong decision in a husband.”

The gossip of the court was insidious. And as each year passed, she understood just how vile even the most noble of lords were.

She learned just how cruel even Aegon was. The gossips in corridors echoed, and the youngest princess had excellent hearing. She knew what the maids who cleaned up Aegon’s chambers had said the day after Helaena and Aegon’s wedding. The sheets with blood, and Helaena curled up in a corner, wearing Aegon’s robe, and even Aegon looking ashamed of what he had done.

Y/n shrugged with a hum. Beginning to pick up Aemond’s habit of humming whenever she was about to speak, or when she did not have an answer to something. This was something she did not have an answer for.

She was afraid she did not know how to choose a husband. She had, in truth, not been putting much effort into it. Y/n spent more time with Aemond, or practicing with Theobrand than she had with any suitors. She was prepared to just tell Otto to pick a husband for her.

Otto Hightower did not show strength in arranging happy marriages. Their mother and father were a good example of such a thing. Viserys had never cared much for Alicent, and Alicent resented Viserys.

But perhaps, it would save her the trouble.

Y/n had always been good at talking to Aemond, but in this moment, she truly was at a loss. What could she possibly say to ease his fears?

But it not appear that he needed such fears to be placated, as he then flipped to the next page of his book, and began to trace shapes and patterns into the red fabric of her stocking with his thumb.

He only ever showed this much affection to her in private. He only ever became this touchy when they were behind closed doors. The princess did not mind that their affection was more oft than not private. She found comfort in it. Both of them being able to show the other exactly how much they cared for the other.

Y/n relied on her elder brother so heavily. His presence kept her from a soul crushing lonely solitude she would have been left in otherwise after Rhaenyra left.

Y/n loved her family. There was no hidden secret behind it. She loved Helaena and her spouting of nonsense, her mother and her obsessive prayers, Rhaenyra despite having not seen her in many years, even Aegon and his lecherous behavior, he was nevertheless her brother. But out of all of her siblings, Rhaenyra and Aemond had cared for her and been the very most affectionate. She was grateful to the gods for her elder brother.

The uneven stone floors they walked on behind Maester Orwyle made a clicking noise every time Maris and Y/n took a step behind him. The people they passed by all talking to whoever they were with, though when they had passed Maris’ brother, he had given them a suspicious look as to what exactly they were doing. But in truth, they were doing nothing wrong. Not unless you considered curiosity to be a sin, or shameful.

It was not a frequent occurrence for both Y/n and Maris to both get an idea at the same time, so once it had happened, they acted on it quickly. Searching out Maester Orwyle near the king’s quarters. Even from just outside the door, you could smell how the king was rotting from within the confines of his chambers. You could smell rot, ointment, stale air, and milk of the poppy as it crawled its way through the air to come out in waves when the doors opened to the chambers. Y/n was sure that if smells had an appearance when they entered the air, it would look like the smoke that comes from candles when you blow out the flame from the wick. And whenever someone opened the doors to the King’s chambers, it would look like when one of the cooks accidentally burns something, and everyone attempted to get the smoke out of the kitchen, opening all doors and windows, allowing the smoke to billow out in ribbon like shapes.

Even the maester stank of the chambers as they followed him from a safe distance. Far enough away to not get a full whiff of him, but close enough to not appear rude.

Orwyle seemed happy enough to have guests in his study when they had ambushed him as he was leaving the King. And as they neared his study, Orwyle pulled keys from deep within the pocket in his robes and slotted one of the many keys into the keyhole and turned it, a clicking sound heard quite loudly as the two girls stopped and watched as he opened the door, moving to allow them both to go inside before him.

It was a room with high ceilings. She had never really known that the Grand Maester’s study was on one of the lower floors. And she had never been aware of the beautiful lighting of the room. The large windows allowed beams of sunlight to filter in through gaps between the lemon trees right outside the window. The room smelled of incense and medicinal liquids stored away in glass vials that were on the shelves above the hearth.

Maris was the one to fully venture in before Y/n did. The silver haired girl was in awe of the beautiful view from the window. Yes, it only had the view of the gardens, but it must have been nothing short of enchanting to study in such accommodations. What must it be like when it was raining?

Y/n had always found the rain to be a calming thing. The sound of it hittings the glass windows, going ‘tap’ ‘tap’ ‘tap.’ The sound of it hitting the stone of the balcony that overlooked the city could always lull her to sleep on her most restless nights. With such tall and magnificent glass windows here, it must have been like a lullaby sung by the heavens.

Stepping further into the study, she found herself approaching the windows, gently resting her hand on one of the frosted tiles of glass that was at the bottom of the tall window. The windows started roughly around the height of Y/n’s waist, and went to the ceiling.

“I’ve never noticed that we had lemon trees.”

Maris giggled a bit from where she was, examining some of the beautiful plants that grew in the corner in clay pots. “Of course we do, Princess. We cannot always have lemons brought from The Reach. It’s how they make sure to have lemon cakes at royal events, or when their Princess decides she wants lemon cakes in the middle of the day.” Maris teased, now looking over her shoulder to gaze and Y/n who turned her head to look at Maris with a playful glare.

“Lady Maris, please don’t touch the plant with the red leaves.” Maester Orwyle advised as he sat down in a wooden chair at a desks with a heavy sigh.

“Of course Maester,” Maris said quickly, taking her hand away from the plant and stepping back from the pot. “But may I ask why?”

Orwyle glanced at Maris and then to Y/n at the question. He then stood up from the chair, approaching Maris, and waving Y/n over to the pot.

At a brisk pace, Y/n approached the two, watching as Orwyle picked up the clay pot, placing it on the table directly in front of the window, allowing the sunlight to hit the plant directly. In an instant, both girls were fascinated by the plant.

The red leaves practically sparkled in the sunlight, the red turning a deep purple in response to the light. The shade of purple was almost that of some of the gowns Y/n had worn in the past, or had seen other women wear at court.

“It’s gorgeous!” Maris exclaimed.

“It’s deadly”

At Orwyle’s words, both girls now looked at him.

“Pardon?” Y/n stuttered out.

Orwyle then looked down at Y/n and then to Maris, a grin now forming on his round face. “I must confess, Princess, Lady Maris, I have never had people be truly interested in what I have in here. . . This is a Raven Violet.” He informed. “It is used to make a poison.”

Y/n looked back down at the plant. It was beautiful. Even in the shaded corner it had been placed in it was beautiful with its red leaves, and now, with the purple leaves in the sun, and the sparkle of the leaves made Y/n skeptical.

Could it truly be a poison? How could something so beautiful and unassuming be so dangerous?

“It works similarly to the strangler. It’s even the same color. . . but this is far more common. You receive air from breathing it in through your throat. You give someone this. . . it closes their throat, strangling them. But unlike the strangler, this is a plant based poison, and its strangling properties is not what usually kills you.”

“Then what does?”

“More oft than not, the poison stops your heart before it strangles you.” The Maester informed, placing the plant back down on the shelf it had been on in the corner, the leaves slowly turning back to its deep red from the purple shade.

Y/n continued to stare at it however. Who would ever need such a thing? Y/n had read history books all of her childhood, and had them read to her as well from Aemond. She knew the ancient legends of kings and rulers having someone killed. She had always found it to be so cowardly. Men were meant to fight battles. Its the reason boys were trained with swords and bows. Taught how to ride a horse at such a fast pace. It was honorable to go out as a soldier, fighting. Not being killed in such an unsuspecting environment. Perhaps not even knowing who their killer was.

“What’s ‘The Strangler’, Maester?”Maris suddenly asked, pulling Y/n from her thoughts.

Orwyle seemed to hesitate to answer as he looked up at them from the other plants. “It’s a purple crystal, it almost looks like an amethyst. . . it dissolves in fluids. It’s far worse than a Raven Violet. It truly does strangle you.”

Y/n didn’t have much to say as she looked back out the window at the lemon trees. The bright yellow fruit ready to be picked and made into something delicious that would surly have both her and her mother asking for more. If Rhaenyra was there, they’d go through it twice as fast. Y/n wasn’t even sure if Rhaenyra ate most of them whenever she had taken them onto her plate, or saved a majority of them to give to Y/n later.

Rhaenyra had never been caught by Alicent doing such things. Rather the oldest of Viserys’ children would wait until it was just the two of them and sneak small lemon cakes to her. Sometimes it would be while Y/n sought her sister out for company while the boys went to the dragon pit, or were in the training yard. Those were moments that Y/n yearned to have back.

The oldest and the youngest princesses would sit alone in Rhaenyra’s chambers, lounging on the couch, or even on Rhaenyra's bed, and read. Y/n had always been the one who took the highest interest in learning High Valyrian other than Aemond, however, Aemond never asked Rhaenyra to teach him, but Y/n did. She’d sit with Rhaenyra for hours, looking through old books with translations, and meanings for Valyrian words, and practice them. Y/n was the most adept out of all the children in the Keep with the language by the time she was six. It likely helped that while she was still beginning to learn, Rhaenyra only spoke to her in the language.

One of those moments came to mind as she stood there. She must have been five, sitting in Rhaenyra’s lap. She’d asked a simple question, “How was your day, Sister?” and the woman had begun to speak in Valyrian, at a normal pace, explaining how the day had gone as Y/n stared up at her sister in confusion until Rhaenyra had said “Sȳz,” It was the praise Rhaenyra had always given her when she’d done something well. Y/n smiled as she recalled what she had done next.

Getting up in Rhaenyra’s face laughing, and grabbing her cheeks. “Good?” She had questioned. She swore she could almost hear Rhaenyra’s laugh now as she nodded in agreement and repeated it “Sȳz.”

Y/n longed for her sister’s presence.

There was noise from outside of the study that had caught Y/n’s attention. Watching the open doorway as stewards, maids, and low lords made their way away from the noises. And then two men passed the doorway, carrying a wood and glass decoration so large it required two men. The seven pointed star, with each point being a different color of glass.

Y/n approached the door, and peered her head out in the direction they had gone, watching as a large wooden ladder was placed against one of the stone walls beside the tapestries.

Taking a step out into the corridor, Y/n finally noticed her mother, speaking to a man dressed rather plainly who was motioning towards the stone wall, a hammer and pick in hand as he did. Otto was not too far away either, standing near another corridor with his hands behind his back, a haughty look upon his face as he gazed at the tapestry.

“Mother,” Y/n called.

Alicent looked down the hall towards Y/n, a warm smile gracing her face as she beckoned for Y/n to come closer. “Come,” She called.

the girl picked up her pace, finally reaching the center of the commotion, the two men sat the statue down on the ground propped up against a wall as Alicent reached out to grab Y/n’s shoulder and bring her close.

“ I think you will find that I put my best men to work on this. I would never allow subpar work for the Queen.”

Y/n watched as a man climbed up the ladder, and grabbed one corner of the tapestry and lifted it up from the wall, dropping it quickly, allowing it to fall to the red stone floor where dust flew off of it as it landed.

Her jaw dropped in shock while another ladder was placed against the wall, and a few servants quickly grabbed the tapestry and took it away, rolling it up before they scurried away. The two men who had carried the statue down the hall, picked it up and brought it to the wall, both of them beginning to climb the ladders, both having a firm grip on the statue with one hand, cautiously climbing up as two other held the ladders steady. The two men then placed the statue on the wall, allowing it to be held up by the old fastens that had held the tapestry there for many years.

“It’s beautiful, Addam. Thank you.” Her mother spoke. “I thought it was time for a change in scenery. Those tapestries were. . . improper.”

Y/n then turned her head to look at Otto, and watched as a smug grin graced his lips. The kind he thought no one would notice.

The Princess allowed her gaze to drop to the floor. Examining over every bump and groove in the stone below their feet, the grout between stone tiles that desperately needed to be refilled, and then, black threads that had fallen off of the tapestry laying on the ground. There was a trail of them leaving down the hall where they had taken it.

Black thread.

Lannister, Stark, Baratheon, Targaryen.

For only an instant, the awful dream she’d had days ago came to mind once more. And the sight of the first two woman flashed before her eyes. Red hair, violet eyes. Brown hair, grey eyes.

Targaryen, Reyne, Stark.

Add yourself to the taglist !

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @winxschester @blissfulbluenights @ghostlypineappl @dreaming-of-the-reality @strangersunghoon @shesjustanothergeek @floralsightings @watercolorskyy

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond imagine #aemond x you #game of thrones fic #hotd headcanon #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon fic

51 notes · View notes

imagine-darksiders · 2 years

Note

This might be one dark af/angsty ask but here we go. How do you think a y/n would react to Death having nightmares in front of them? Specifically any about Lilith, flashback type nightmares about the past, & Absalom. Hell how would Death react to them in your opinion? I personally believe after nightmares about Lilith the first thing he may do depending on severity is bolt in panic like he's just escaped her all over again. If you know you know.

Me? Actually getting around to answering your lovely asks?? It's more likely than you think ;)

--------

What does Death fear?

What could a creature so ancient and stoic and courageous possibly have to be afraid of?

Before tonight, you'd have argued, 'probably nothing outside of losing his siblings.'

But as you lay here in the dying glow of a campfire with your eyes wide open and painfully alert, you're coming to the dawning realisation that your grim and grouchy companion might be afraid of more than he lets on.

The mutterings had begun about ten minutes ago, and you'd snapped awake almost immediately, perhaps having grown accustomed to sleeping with one ear perked to detect any approaching threat.

Dust is roosting quite comfortably on your sternum, a reassuring presence in the night, but when you jolt awake, he cracks open a single, beady eye and squints down at you, his feathered throat bobbing with a lazy croon.

“War...”

Blearily, you stare up at the crow for a few seconds before your sleep-addled brain sharpens and you realise that, no, Dust has not suddenly and inexplicably become capable of speech.

But then... who..?

“War... Run... Nnngh...”

Admittedly wary of what you're about to witness, you roll your head over to the right, away from the little firepit you've dug and search the darkness for your travelling companion, finding him resting on his side with his protruding spine to you, just out reach of the fire's illuminating flames.

“Death?” you croak wearily, propping yourself up ever so slightly so as not to dislodge the crow nestled on your chest.

Even in the meagre light, you can make out that the Horseman is... twitching. He doesn't stir or acknowledge your call, and it's with a sudden and jarring realisation that you come to the conclusion that Death is... asleep.

You never even knew Death could sleep. He certainly hasn't in the weeks you've already journeyed with him, that you know of, at least.

“Let... him go...” he growls out with a dangerous rattle in his throat, kicking his leg out before settling again.

More to the point, you never knew the ancient Nephilim could dream.

'Right,' you decide, 'This is weird.'

Whispering a soft apology to Dust, you cup your hands beneath him and lift the bird off your chest, lowering the warbling ball of ebony feathers down onto the rolled-up cowl that Death has been lending you for use as a pillow.

The crow's sharp gaze tracks you steadily as you make your way across the campsite and lower yourself to your knees behind Death, lifting your hands to hover just above his shoulder.

“Death?” you call softly, only to flinch away when the Horseman abruptly rolls onto his back and hisses something ancient and untranslatable through his teeth.

You stare down into the sockets of his bone mask, noting that although his eyes are squeezed firmly shut, they seem to be darting back and forth underneath his lids.

You're still stunned at the revelation that the Horseman is actually asleep for once in his life.

But then, he'd had quite the eventful day yesterday. Ever since he climbed that bleak, crumbling tower in Shadow's Edge, he's been quiet and standoffish, more-so than he usually is. A lot more.

That tower... he'd fearsomely forbidden you to follow him up it. He'd even threatened to leave you hogtied at the bottom of the stairs if you tried to accompany him...

He hadn't spoken a word to you once he eventually descended several minutes later, he'd simply taken you by the wrist and dragged you roughly and hastily away from the ruins.

It took several hours of sitting in the shade of a dead, whispering tree before he deigned to speak to you again, and even then, it was only to tell you that he would be setting up camp for the night.

You stopped trying to get him to talk after that, but the whole evening, you felt the hairs on your arms prickle and stand on end.

Magic...

Death's expression was unreadable, yet his inner turmoil was all-too apparent by the amount of dark energy fracturing the air around you like an invisible lightening storm.

“Let them GO!”

You jump at the Horseman sudden shout, lowering your eyes to watch his skeletal hands ball into fists at his sides. From behind clenched teeth, he bites out, “Me.. You want me. Not them.”

And then, in the midst of his unconscious turmoil, he murmurs your name.

Without thinking, you finally stretch out your fingers. Determined to wake your friend from his nightmare., you grip his broad, cold shoulder and give it a tiny shake. “Wake up, Death!” you croak, “You're having a nightm- ack!”

Bruising fingers snap shut around your neck at a devastating speed and immediately begin to squeeze, cruelly choking the end of your sentence from your throat and cutting off your supply of oxygen.

Death's eyes have burst open and are now pointed straight at you, burning with a ferocious madness as they bore through your skull like a drill.

Frightened, you try to jerk yourself back, but the pressure increases as you do, so you resort to opening your mouth to try and tell the Horseman to let you go. Yet all you can utter is a soundless wheeze, losing yourself precious millimetres of lung capacity.

Lifting your hands, you scrabble fruitlessly at his rigid wrist. “Death!” you manage to gargle out, “S'me!”

You should have known better than to try and wake a sleeping lion. You should have left well-enough alone! How could you be so stupid!?

You can only hope that when this is over, Death won't blame himself.

The very instant the Horseman's hand met your throat, Dust had flapped into the air and is now zipping in low circles around his master's head, squawking like a creature possessed.

For several, excruciating seconds, Death glares up at you blindly, sending a cold, painful spike of dread sliding down the back of your neck from the point were his nails dig into your delicate flesh.

His eyelids flicker once, you hear your name leave the tip of his tongue, and then, just as suddenly as his hand snatched you, the appendage is wrenched away, leaving your throat exposed and cold, but free once more.

In an instant, you collapse backwards onto your rear, spluttering and heaving in a great lungful of air as you frantically push yourself away from the Horseman and raise a hand to cover your neck in some pathetic illusion of protection.

With a rustle of black feathers, Dust lands on the ground between you and Death, clacking his beak and puffing himself up like an absolutely livid cat.

The Nephilim doesn't even acknowledge his crow. He only stares down at you, one arm subconsciously stretching out in your direction. “Human?” he utters, and the uncertainty in his voice is so unlike him that it stops you from scrabbling away at once.

Still, you maintain your distance, leaning back on one hand and eyeing him warily as you catch your breath, wheezing through a throat that is slowly reshaping itself to its original width. Slowly, your galloping heart eases its way back down your neck to sit safely behind your ribs from which it had leapt.

The Horseman takes in your heaving chest and his eyes land upon the trembling hand that you're using to protect your vulnerable little neck.

He must put two and two together, because one moment he's laying on the ground, and the next, he's on his feet, inexplicably fast, backing away from you with a gentle frown collapsing over his eyes.

“Dea-!” In attempting to call out, your oesophagus suddenly clenches and you lurch forwards, hacking out a series of ragged coughs that only seem to irritate your tender throat even more.

You blink through a haze of tears and raise your head to see the Nephilim's retreating back as he disappears swiftly into the night.

Swallowing roughly, you clamber up onto your feet and choke out, “Wait!” before stumbling after him.

He isn't running, but with the length of his stride, he might as well be.

Even at a jog, you struggle to gain any ground on him whilst breathing through your sore windpipe at the same time. Tears spring to your eyes as you cough yet again. “Death!” you croak, “Stop! Wasn't your fault!”

And to your surprise, the Horseman actually slows his pace.

Your legs begin to wobble with hesitant relief, grateful that he's willing to let you catch up so you can apologise to him.

But just as you start to draw near, Death suddenly flings a hand up through the air and curls his fingers into a fist as it reaches the top of its swing.

Momentarily bewildered, your steps falter.

Without warning, the ground all around you begins to tremble and quake, and before you can take another step forwards, several, sun-bleached hands burst out of the dirt near your feet, startling a hoarse yelp out of you.

One by one, Death's undead ghouls claw their way past crumbling soil and heave themselves straight out of the ground, rising to their feet and shaking themselves free of dust and muck before swinging their empty skulls about, likely searching for the threat that their master has summoned them to deal with.

Their sunken, skeletal heads perk up when Death speaks, his voice tight as a coiled spring. “Take the human back to camp,” he commands them, never once turning to meet your eye, “Keep them there... Keep them safe.”

And just like that, he's gone, striding away into the darkness to who knows where.

“Death!” you bark, trying to follow, but a sudden, clammy grasp around your wrist keeps you from venturing any further.

“Oh, come on, guys,” you groan and stomp a foot as two of the ghouls take up each of your arms, leaving their three, remaining brethren to fan out around you in a loose circle.

Together, with single-minded focus, they herd you back to the camp where you soon find that Dust has reclaimed his spot on Death's cowl, cawing at you lazily upon your return.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm okay,” you grumble when the ghouls coax you down beside the fire, chittering away to one another with an unknowable urgency. You know it's pointless to try and protest. Once Death has given them an objective, they'll carry it out until they're either destroyed, or until their master releases his grip on their souls and allows them to slip back into the ether, returning to an eternal slumber.

You sigh, letting one of the skeletal beasts card its rawboned fingers through your hair, crooning at the texture beneath its skin. The others meanwhile, gather around you, keeping their sallow eyes pointed out towards the darkness of Shadow's Edge.

-----

By the time Death has gathered his wits and dragged himself back to the campsite, now with a much more solid grasp on his fluctuating emotions, you've fallen asleep on his cowl with Dust perched in the dip of your back, soaking up your body's heat.

The ghouls, meanwhile, are pressed in all around you, their heads on a constant, vigilant swivel.

Death hasn't even come within fifty feet of you before their skulls all snap in his direction and the soft, rumbling growls of an angry pack disturbs the silence of the air. They're quick to recognise him though, falling quiet again almost at once.

The Horseman merely gives his hand a wave and all five of them stiffen with the slightest shudder. In total silence, their bodies crumple and fall, turning to ash before they even hit the ground. Gently, they drift away from the camp on a warm, steady breeze.

Death's chest rises and falls with a quiet sigh and he trudges closer to you until his shadow falls across your face.

In the early morning light, his eyes find your neck and he can't stop himself from digging his nails into the skin of his palms at the sight of the bruises that are blossoming to life across your flesh. Why do humans have to be so damnably fragile?

He can remember his nightmare in vivid detail. It had, after all, been more of a memory than a fabrication.

It's one of the many curses that sits upon his shoulders like a lead weight, the knowledge of what that... that demon had done to him all those years ago – what she would have done to his siblings if he hadn't stepped in and offered himself up to her as some kind of sick, consolation prize.

He recalls what she said to him yesterday when he met her at the top of her dark, gloomy tower. In his mind's eye, he can still picture her rancid but alluring face twist with wanton pleasure as she described what she'd do to you.

“You stink of that filthy Earth rat,” she'd hummed, her tone sultry and pleasant despite her cruel words, “You can't hide it from your mother forever...”

With a rough shake of his head, Death banishes the memory and drops smoothly to the ground, sitting cross-legged at your side.

You'd caught him off guard last night. And you'd paid the terrible price for his lack of control.

His gaze drifts again to your throat, to the stains he's left behind in the shape of his treacherous fingers. Another sin to his ever-growing list.

He'd let his psyche slip... he'd let his mind go spiralling deep down a suffocating rabbit hole and you're the one who has been hurt as a result.

No doubt you'll forgive him when you wake, if you haven't already. You'll probably be quick to blame yourself, and though he appreciates the effort you'd go to spare his feelings, he wishes you wouldn't.

This is on him alone.

“Never again, he murmurs, bending over a little as if to shelter you beneath his bulk from the world around you, “Never again.”

#darksiders #I wrote this in like an hour #sorry

147 notes · View notes

stcverogers · 2 years

Text

MAY FIC RECS!

what i’ve been reading and obsessing with over the month of may

this is extremely important and i take this very seriously out of respect for the community. please do remember to read the rules for the respective blogs before interacting with or reading them.

F: fluff A: angst S: smut

𖥻 - series

masterlist

CHRIS EVANS + STEVE ROGERS

F: chris being in love with y/n for 7 min video by @astranva when a fan makes an edit of chris being a giant y/n simp for 7 minutes straight

F: this is a shit show by @time-for-a-lullaby chris being absolutely plastered on the red carpet

A + F: so this is love by @melwilson love shouldn't hurt as much as it did

A + F: dada's home by @astranva chris is unable to make it home for christmas

F: a mother's love by @fangirlovestuff when your son clearly has a favoured parent

F: thrist tweets with chris evans and y/n y/l/n by @put-trash-here you and chris on the buzzfeed set

F: kiss cam by @speechlessxx you go to baseball player chris' away game

F: skincare with chris by @whiskeyncoke-redux chris makes an unplanned cameo in your vogue video

F + A: prom dates and broken hearts by @rogersevans you're hopelessly in love with chris depsite him having a girlfriend

SEBASTIAN STAN + BUCKY BARNES

F + A: only exception by @theosbucky best friend's dad bucky comforts you.

F + A: flames of love by @peachyelena there should've been a much simpler way for you to realise that you loved bucky.

A: six months by @metalbuckaroo all you wanted what was more quality time with bucky and it gets to the point where you had reached your breaking point.

F + A: two thousand, five hundred and sixty-nine by @kinanabinks 𖥻 you and bucky are seperated when you 're off the uni. how then will you make sure your friendship survives the distance?

F: say my name by @jadedvibes bucky being shy

F + A: love and war by @chrisevansredbelt bucky's been tasked on a mission to marry you. what was not part of the task however, was falling in love with you.

BENEDICT BRIDGERTON

F: en garde by @delphispoeticals sure the bridgerton brothers were experts at fencing, but you could kick their bum at the sport with your eyes closed.

F: they're not the only ones by @maximoff-pan 𖥻 the four times you and benedict took the piss out of the others, and the one time, them, you.

F: invisible string by @purelyfiction benedict fears that he is no longer the only one who's looking out for you

F: jealous, jealousy by @scandalous-chaos you're dating anthony, right?

S: caught by @mothdruid when the eldest bridgerton walks in on you and benedict

S: just lovers by @pixiehollands yours and benedict's wedding night

S: i love you as one loves certain obscure things by @letterstotheflre benedict recites poetry between your legs

#chris evans x reader #bucky x reader #steve rogers x reader #sapnap x reader #quackity x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #claire’s fic recs

274 notes · View notes

medtech-mara · 10 months

Note

10, 12, 24, and 30 for Mara? <3

List for questions can be found >here< pls ask me more, or rb so i can ask you some ⸂⸂⸜(രᴗര๑)⸝⸃⸃

TW death.

10. Does Mara have any regrets?

I'm going to be completely honest here, and it gives me a pit in my stomach. The answer can easily be answered with Yes, but at the same time its more complicated.

I'll explain a bit, Mara suffers from Cyberpsychosis, though she's not totally out of control, she exhibits classic signs. One, of those is permeant. I took it upon myself to add this characteristic for her as her only way coping with everything thats happen. No amount of therapy will ever scrub from her. mechanically speaking, she could just go to therapy and if she gained enough humanity back, she would then lose that characteristic.

Mara's traits are the following currently:

Impusle control

Poor behavior control

Cunning and Manipulative

Failure to Accept responsibility

The last one was determined the last time she had dropped to 1 humanity point from full cyberpsychosis, one of those i rolled to see which one would be the perma trait..... So...(IF I had lost 1 more point... I would have had to turn her over to the DM, I no longer get to play her til she gains more humanity.)

Thats where it gets complicated.

God, I feel like I have so much to include here so I'll totally understand if you never ask me a question ever again. xD

If you were to ask ME what I want her to feel regret about its for Jack's death, after all it was her fault. If she had been open and honest with him before she left for the city center gig, he might have been saved from being mauled by one of Biotechnica's experiments. She knew in the pit of her stomach that Jack was up to something, but was too busy trying to remove the kill switch to do anything about it.

If you want to know what she regrets, its a few things:

Not going half on that Sig frame Jago wanted the night before he was beheaded.

Not reaching out and grabbing Jago to keep him from pissing off Tetsuo Okada.

Putting her fear aside and taking her chance with Jack Adams .

12. Does Mara have any sense of style? Regardless of the answer does she believe she has a sense of style?

Honestly, not really. Due to Mara being 6'2, its not easy to find clothes that fit her, so she often has to have things custom tailored for her. Which works great, because she gets the help she needs.

24. Does Mara have any Enemies?

She has no shortage of those... Some I don't even think I can name, because I just don't know them yet. Those I can name:

Tetsuo Okada, one of Wakako's sons, reasons for Night Raid putting him in the hospital for killing Jago.

Another one of Wakako's sons.. For J I H Z Z Y publically humiliating him and shaking him down for the repairs and solving their maelstrom turf war on livestream. I was too drunk over J I H Z Z Y being a bad ass to remember his name, im gonna be real.

Voodoo Boys, for stealing a black box containing unknown program, could have been the A.I that infected NIGHT RAID with the killswitch. Also killing Brigitte second in command, just as equally formidable as Placid. Also the violence between the two is starting to ramp up again. Due to hearing Panthera's interview with Genesis Vijun they've decided to leave a calling card on Mara's clinic door.

Saul Herrera- Valentino Fixer- While, if you ask Saul, he'd tell you she's just a borg'd brain bitch who needs to downgrade, and probably regrets ever contributing to her upgrades. He'd say it started when Desiree "Token" Yang had asked her told flame to help with a prank NIGHT RAID wanted to pull on a sleeping Panthera in the back of the crews car. He agree'd went with one of his chooms, pulled out his piece and tapped on the window of the car to wake Mara, he was to act like he was robbing her.

What NIGHT RAID didn't expect, Mara's reaction to be woken up with a gun in her face. Pulling the lever to get out of the car, Mara slid quickly back and kicked the door as hard as she could, causing the two valentinos to fly back, then Mara pulled her gun out and was about to paint the pavement when Saul's choom grabbed her by her hair pulling her off, kicking, screaming, and determined to go down fighting, Mara hissed clawing at the mans hand warning him if he didn't let her go she was going to rip his throat out with her teeth. Thats when NIGHT RAID stepped in and was like "Its just a prank, bro"

However, you ask Mara, she'll tell you the disrespect he's shown her every single time they met before the prank happened.

30. If Mara had the chance to be famous would she take it? If She is famous would she rather she weren't?

As it stands, Mara is famous. NIGHT RAID is on everyones lips currently. She's easily recognizable by anyone. Frankly, she wishes she wasn't.

It wouldn't matter if NIGHT RAID had stayed under the radar or not, she's married famous South African Rockerboy J I H Z Z Y, who has been making waves in the club scene from JAPANTOWN to Wellsprings, you'll hear his new single.

Though thankfully, Mara brings a threatening energy that most dont wanna fuck with, so they don't really approach her much.

OH MY GOD

I'm so sorry, Info dumped a lot, theres just so much about this campaign and so little time (and frankly peoples interest) to talk about it. I hope this doesn't prevent you from asking in the future. AND DONT JUDGE ME for giving up on linking every single person to the character key or do their respected pages. It's a lot to do. And I think you get the point by the first few times. This is probably all word vomit but its how i thrive in chaos.

#ask box #ask me more plsss #cyberpunk red #cyberpunk red campaign #lonc #legends of Night city #My OC: Mara “Panthera” Sterling #AHHHHHHHHHHHHH IM SO SORRY

7 notes · View notes

valiantvillain · 3 months

Text

WIP Tuesday

Apologies for the late reply to @adflictionem tagging me. It's been a busy time lately.

So this time around I decided I'd share a snippet from the prologue of the original project I've been working on called Into the Wilds.

__________

In a four-poster bed, canopied and adorned in velvet and brocade whilst propped up upon a mountain of tasseled pillows, a boy no more than six years of age once burned from the inside-out. Sweat ran down his frail body in rivulets, coated him in a slick layer of suffering and sick that soaked through the satin sheets as surely as the magic fighting to escape the bonds of his body sparked and crackled like kindling. Flesh burned and bubbled as the fires raged beneath his skin, glowing like embers behind his fluttering eyes and singing his lashes short. Every exhale scorched the air and the boy trembled and writhed with each wave of roiling arcane flame beneath his skin. Desperately trying to kick off the sheets for some sort of relief with every rising and falling bulge of hot air that distorted his small body. Charred lips coughed forth ash and vomit in equal measure while his attendants worked furiously to ease his pain, brows beading with perspiration from the proximity and lips moving in fervent incantation behind their masks.

They had tried to don the typical masks with their long, curved beaks full of fragrant herbs, their meager respite from the stench of bile and malaise and threads of magic gone rotten and withered. But in addition to scaring the child, an already addled mind warping them into nightmares, they had only melted and peeled away in his presence. So sweltering and relentless had he turned the very air itself. The three of them had scarcely been in the room for more than an hour and already Randel’s robes cleaved to his damp skin, his throat as bone-dry as a desert and he had to wipe the sweat from his brow against what little purchase could be found on his shoulder. He dared not lower his arms for if he did, he could not guarantee they would come back up again. There was only so much thread one could pull from the Great Tapestry and if one kept spinning and weaving then maybe you could convince it to let you eke out a bit more, and he had been coaxing it to allow him a stretch more for several minutes, shifting spells like notes in a song through gritted teeth and bleary eyes. He feared that if he stopped for a single moment, even just to rest, he would cut the cord entirely. Whether temporarily or for good, well, no one knew anymore. Not these days. Not when any day you could awake to find the very same threads you once called friends strangling you, dragging you down into the depths of the illness you had been called to cure.

Nor was Randel’s job the simplest. A year ago, his greatest feat had been piecing together a bone nearly shattered to splinters. A long and laborious process that had lasted days, hours spent coaxing and weaving to put every meticulous piece back in its place like a mosaic and fuse back together again. If only he had known the incident would have made him invaluable, given him an air of expertise he had not felt then and certainly did not now. He had cleared the rot from lungs, purged impurities from blood, and reconstructed the odd mauled limb or face. But to knit the delicate tissues of organs back together only for his carefully stitched seams to be ripped apart by the raging arcane in one’s own body and be forced to re-repair the damage even as he worked to shield another from the onslaught...that was another matter entirely. It was exhausting. Even more so when you were all too aware that the very same could happen to you, and you might not even have the luxury of a mother holding back tears at your bedside unable to so much as hold your hand.

Across from him, Kinbor’s slender fingers shook, and her eyes welled with tears of frustration as every summoned sheet of ice melted and steamed in an instant. The woman was a war magus, far more accustomed to conjuring storms from across a battlefield and cooling the fever of an injured soldier than bearing witness to babes slaughtered from within. They were all called to a single cause now whether they liked it or not. Trying and usually failing to pull the lives of their fellow mages from the brink, and then praying to all the kids they’d live long enough themselves to see the end of the scourge.

At least if he died here, Randel’s parents could say he made it to the royal palace. Maybe they would even frame his letters. He did not care to think how creatively the plague might turn his own magic against him. Maybe his blood would turn to bile. Maybe it would choke him by calcifying his flesh to bone. Or maybe everything in him would simply wither one part at a time. He had yet to personally see how it ravaged one like himself, though he knew it had happened. Such was the nature of disease and the death it carried.

What a time to have finished his training. What a way for so many to awaken to what should have been the greatest cause for celebration, the realization of grand potential and opportunities. Only for it all to be rendered a death sentence.

Behind him, the sister sobbed, her face buried in her mother’s skirts just as it had been the day before. The boy was lucky, Randel had surmised in the span of his first week coming and going from the lad’s finely furnished room, spares were often given far less. After all, another could always be made. Yet even as the many toys had been cleared away for the ease of the stampeding steps of healers and doctors alike, no expense had been spared. Had it not been for the other two lots now recovering in their borrowed chambers, they would have known no rest caring for him around the clock as they were.

Were they not constantly checking themselves for signs, they might have felt more automatons than people. Did they even taste the food they shoveled into their mouths these days.

The boy’s mouth moved, but only parched breaths came out.

“Somebody, get the lad some damn water,” wizened Jackin hissed beneath the strain of fruitlessly seeking the heart of the ailment yet again. Each day seemed to bear him yet another gray hair.

“I-I’m a little busy,” chattered Kinbor, every word wisping pale before her blue-tinged lips.

They knew better than to make demands of Randel at this point. Restoring life to the charred and blackened half of the boy’s spleen was currently taking up half his focus, the other was preoccupied with fending against the voracious flames licking at his liver.

It was the mother who dutifully put the bowl of tepid water to her son’s lips. He swallowed weakly, wheezing and sputtering as she pressed her lips into a thin line. Half spilled down either side of his wan face, hollowed out by the weeks of illness and confinement.

#tagging game #wip #original work #high fantasy #magic yay #it's very rough #i just started actually writing this today #quite literally

2 notes · View notes

cutegirlmayra · 1 year

Text

Zutara - Friend Request Prompt

My friend drew me something so I wrote her her fav ship xD

Prompt:

Katara sat at the back of the ship’s haul cell, slowly opening her eyes with a look of sheer restrained hatred at the Fire Nation Solider striding past her cell, moving to another room where they were playing Pai Sho, looking back at her before slamming the door shut.

Immediately, she jumped up and began to move her body and hands to try and locate any trace of water… The ship had water underneath it… but she could drown.

Frustrated, she grunted and swung her body and hands to another location.

Tea drinks… hot water. Perfect.

She began to move her arm back, having the bowl of piping hot water jostle and stir violently in the kitchen a moment before another hard slam was heard and her concentration broke.

She looked worriedly to the sound, before glaring her eyes at who it was…

Uncle Iroh’s hand tapped the kettle and the tea was settled… the water began to return to normal, and he smiled as if knowingly, and put his hands back within his sleeves in the kitchen… as though understanding what was happening.

“I’m growing impatient.” Zuko scooted the sliding door quickly to the side, walking in with little poise, but a pure show of aggression. “I’ve wasted countless cycles of wind and time. We’re going to make port soon, and I need to know something…” He leaned his head towards the bars, “Where is the Avatar? Aren’t you important to him?”

She formed a fist with her hand, “Why are you so obsessed with him!?” She demanded to know, “Why can’t you just… leave us alone!” she gritted her teeth, before shouting out towards him.

She tried to sense the tea again, but for some reason… it was all just steam now.

“H-huh?” She looked at her outstretched hand… “The water…” her eyes trembling…

Meanwhile, Uncle Iroh was relaxing back in his chair, and burped as he rubbed his enlarged stomach, patting it lightly. “I simply couldn’t waste good tea…” he hummed in a lollygagging sort of buzz to himself.

“I won’t ask again!” Zuko gripped the iron bars, “Where is he!? Why hasn’t he come for you, yet!?”

Katara felt a sudden chill around her… that awful feeling settled as shakes from her neck down to her torso… and she turned away. “I don’t know what Aang is up to… but I know he’s on his way to the Fire Nation…” she sat down, “But you already knew that… didn’t you?” She tried to feign confidence.

“... You act as though he’s mastered all the elements.” Zuko’s eyebrows rose up.

Katara smirked, thinking she got him. “He has.” she lied. “You think he disappeared for so many years and wouldn’t have mastered them?”

She shrugged a hand up, “Beats me… He’s probably already chopped the Fire Lord’s head off by now-”

A gust of hot steam flew out of Zuko’s nose, before he spun back and kicked out a powerful heatwave that made Katara look up, her eyes watering, and with her mouth opening in awe and fright at the flames, her throat dried and she felt her courage shrivel up.

She instinctively fled across the back of the prison, her arms up as the flames never reached her, but caught some straw on fire for a moment before shriveling out.

It was all just hot air…

“This war isn’t over… but your lies certainly are.” He walked across the prison’s bars and kept his eyes fixated on her.

He stopped when he became directly in front of her, seeing her body shaking in soft beats, as though she was striving to keep her fear hidden.

His eyes… although trying not to, couldn’t help but twitch into softness.

“... Look,” he finally dropped the tough guy act, “I’m not trying to intimidate you anymore…”

“C-... Could have fooled me.” Her voice was raspy, as she looked between the gap of her shaking arms at him. Her mouth was still to dry to really speak… she could feel the water evaporating from her as though he had shriveled her body up like a scorched plant.

“... Contrary to what you may think of the Fire Nation… We lead with honor, and we’re doing this for the betterment of the world.” He narrowed his eyes, “Unity… We’re not all after power.”

“... You may not be,” she breathily tried to get past the sting in her throat, and put her arms down, dangling them. “But it certainly seems that way for the rest of us…”

As she swayed forward, he looked suddenly to her feet. “... Whatever you’re planning… I mostly came here to talk.” he narrowed his eyes,... but the softness never left them.

“Oh?” She could barely chuckle, “You’re scared… of little old me?”

“I don’t ever underestimate an enemy.” Zuko took a stance, ready… if she did find any water left to use.

He had the whole ship barrel any water as tightly as it could possibly go, hoping to hold off her power.

“That’s all you’ve ever done!” She charged forward and slammed her hands against the bars, which actually did make him take a quick, reflex shuffle of his feet expertly back as though still ready to fight.

It wasn’t out of fear, it was calculated and precise, he was just stragedically placing himself at a fair advantage for a battle.

“I didn’t restrain you… I did cause your thirst, though.” He lowered his head, as a dish of untouched bread lay to the side of her entrapment. “You, and your brother–even the little Earth noble–can all go free once I capture and secure the Avatar.” He then hit the side of the bar with a jab above her hand, which made her look up as the bar got heated and she gasped at the steam from her hand.

She pulled her hand away and cradled it with her other, moving away.

He gently came out of his stance, moving the side of his hand where he swiped his hand into away and tried to use a different approach… “Why do you despise me? I never hurt a single member of your Water Tribe… I threatened, sure, but that was because you all became stubborn.” he was referring to her brother, wasn’t he?

Her eyebrow twitched in rage, “All of you… You’re all monsters!” she turned away, “My mother was killed by your stupid war for power!”

“I’m only after my honor… I am sorry about your loss.” He looked down, showing some empathy for the first time, “I, also,... haven’t seen my mother in a long, long time… I have no idea where she is.”

Katara looked over her shoulder, only with her eyes, not saying anything, her anger still heavily affecting her heart.

“... I… miss her, too.” Zuko closed his eyes, but then felt a shift in energy and flung his head back, seeing her trying to reach out at him while he let his guard down.

He smacked and slammed her arm against the bar, holding her there and locked her into place with his other, free-arm reaching through the bars as well to pull her waist against the holding cell. Now, the bars were protecting them from each other.

“I told you, I don’t underestimate you!” he stated boldly again… though bars between them, their bodies were still being pressed up against each other. “Where is the Avatar? If all you want is the war to end, that would do it!”

“Idiot! I’m not just gonna stand aside while you wipe out more than the Air Nation!” Katara barked out.

“What?” Zuko’s eyes flinched a little bit. He gritted his teeth, his eyebrows furrowing, turning his head to have his cheek against the bar where she was trying to break free… her cheek getting smushed against the other side. “The Air Nation refused to give up the Avatar, what do you think will happen to your merry band of bagibands if you keep up your little odyssey?”

“Errrrr..!!! We won’t give up! Aang will stop you! He has to!” She tried to lift a leg up and press it against the bars, but the banging only revealed her shoes made her slip repeatedly against the iron’s slick casing, and she had to abandon that notion.

“Give up, Katara.” He… spoke her name?

Her struggles stopped a moment, realizing he knew her name, and looked at him as though with disgust.

His grip on her bent arm tightened, “I am not after the last Waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe!” he moved away a little bit, showing the effort he was taking to restrain her through the prison bars.

He… knew?

Her eyes shrank, the whites enlargened… “What..?” She was so taken aback, her strength all but left her, as well as her spirit.

He slowly felt that lingering shaking… and could feel her muscle under his hand’s grip give way on her forearm… he let her go as she moved back.

“I really won’t rule like my Father… but I have to restore my honor to him.” he stood as though already a victor, but also with a humility she wasn’t sure how to interpret. “If I deliver the Avatar–in chains–then there will be nothing to threaten my father’s reign… There may be some time after that… where the future seems certainly oblique,... but with the Avatar confined, his power weakened,... I’m sure my father’s might would cease in his grip. You, your people,... everyone wouldn’t have the same overwhelming force inflicted upon them. With the last threat to the Fire Nation over with… you’ll all live your normal, happy lives… and when I take back the throne… the flame of the Fire Nation can even be seen as a warm light… to a rather cold, introduced war…” He reached a hand up, a light warmth to it but Katara pulled away.

Her eyes were shadows as he stopped his metaphor… realizing he was trying to comfort her in the most obscure way possible.

“... Do you even hear yourself?” her shoulders bounced in her emotive response, too many emotions splashed against the other in the raging storm within her being… her very form wanting to unleash a typhoon… “You’re saying you’ll end the only hope the world has of achieving peace between the elements… I’d rather burn than ever give Aang, my last chance–our remaining flicker of free life!” her eyes… they were like the raging seas that he fought against in that lonely first month adrift the sea… cast out, abandoned… with nothing but his shame and guilt to cover himself from their furious, unforgiving, merciless punches against his only raft in their bowls…

“... A foolish attempt at a desperate, useless gambit.” He pulled away, also lowering his eyes to shadows… There was no mercy in her eyes either.

What had he hoped… to see in them, instead?

“Your backing the wrong horse… But that’s fine. I’m over dwelling on wasted pity for you.” He turned himself aside, putting his princely facade on and placing his arms behind his back. “If a quiet capture doesn’t lure the Avatar to you… then I’ll simply have to make the stakes higher than ever before.”

Katara narrowed her sight, before it softened somewhat at the last sentence.

“What… what does that mean?” She gripped her hurt arm that was still up, certain to leave bruises… “Zuko!!!” she cried out, leaning forward to him as he steeled himself from her sight.

He just stared forward, “From now on, there won’t be any olive branches and peace-talks…” He seemed so void of emotion now… unlike before.

She noticed this, and her face shifted somewhat to stilled amazement. “What do you mean..? That was your attempt at peace-talks?!” She threw her arms down, “You’re insane! You can’t honestly call that a reasonable discussion!” she protested.

“Politically, she is right, Prince Zuko.”

The two suddenly halted as walking through the opened door, Zuko was amazed to see his uncle, who had single-handedly beaten the Fire Nation Soliders with them in that ‘friendly’ game and was tucking the tea leaves in his sleeves while showing off his white lotus tile by twiddling it through his fingers. “Techincally, this is no way to treat such a lovely guest.” He then smiled kindly to Katara, “My dear, would you like some very delicious jasmine tea?” He was so… passive?

Was that the right word?

“Uncle! She’s our prisoner! Not a guest!” Zuko turned into what appeared to be a small boy in front of this man, and Katara couldn’t help but be completely blindsided by the sudden shift in the young man.

She blinked her eyes, then looked to Iroh, “W-what… Tea?” she rose a twitching, although comical eyebrow up a few times in confusion, seeing Iron unlocking the bars and taking her hand while she was in her state of disbelief. “H-Hey! Let go of me!”

“Certainly… as soon as we get to know one another in a much more refined space for company.” He also grabbed Zuko’s arm, much more uncomfortably aggressive, as Zuko’s elbow was up in the air while the two struggled against him. “Now, now, both of you need to just-”

“Reeelllaxxx~” he now had them sitting quite properly on what looked like pillow-bags, as he poured the tea lightly and Katara glared at Zuko, who averted his eyes to her.

“He’s strong.” she stated under her breath, pouting.

“Yeah, you get used to it. Just leave him be and do what he says.” Zuko muttered, putting a hand under his chin in annoyance.

“Oh, yeah? And why should I?” She tried to get up to bend the tea, but Iroh’s expert eye saw the technique of her shift of hand and whacked it just as he did the kettle to cease it’s directional movement and pull on the teacup. “Ow!” she shook it back and held it in her mouth.

“No. So rude. That’s not how we stir fine tea.” he lightly sipped some. “Awh~ So refreshing… You know, if you still your mind like the calming waters of this tea… and breathe in the detoxing steam from it’s surface… you might find that boiling water can also be brought to a pleasing effect… like so.” He lightly took another drink, then sighed again in great relief from stress. “My muscles relax, my heart is soothed… thus is the nature of tea. Like a hot springs for your soul.” He seeped his whole weight back into his own, larger bag-pillow. “Now, you try.” He smiled goofily.

“Here, here!” he zipped quickly up and gestured for Zuko and Katara to try some.

She made a face, looking up to Zuko, “It’s poisoned.” she calloused herself, and praticed biased caution against the kind man’s odd but… somehow comforting and calming nature.

“Heh, if I wanted you dead, it would have been by burning stake!” Zuko stabbed the fruit salad on the low-riding table, as Iroh sighed.

“My Nephew isn’t used to having such a quiet get-together in a long while… nor with such a pretty lady.” he beamed over to her, “Please excuse his lack of gentlemenly manners… he still has much to learn about how to treat young ladies.”

“Hmph, I’ll say.” Katara folded her arms and cheekily smirked, raising an eyebrow. “He has certainly a long way to go… Wasn’t aware that Fire Benders could also completely break chivalry!”

Zuko had animated anger marks all over his head, pusling passionately from her words. “Some fine flower you are… Uncle, are you to have me believe she’s worth treating any differently than a common rebel!?” he hit the table again, shaking the tea as it stirred.

Suddenly, Iroh’s eyes looked hostile at the table.

Zuko and Katara suddenly froze in a flinched response of fear… when the table settled, a single drop threatened to spill.

Iroh’s face suddenly wrinkled into a terrifyingly serious expression.

Immediately, Zuko clumsily held the tea cup up, and Katara fumbled with her hands to manipulate the spilling corner and have the drop lightly, gracefully, return to it’s cup from which it came.

Iroh’s face suddenly unhardened and turned back to a bright, happy sun… fanning himself as though nothing was amiss, as Zuko and Katara lightly returned to their ‘proper’ placements with sweat drops on the side of their heads.

Zuko placed the tea down, “Sorry, Uncle…” He lightly whispered.

“Oh, that’s alright. No tears, if no spilled tea.” He lightly closed his eyes… before slightly opening them to show his subtle threat to the two of them.

Katara realized now that his kindness was conditional… if Zuko or her should ruin any of the nicely placed tea on the table…

She didn’t want to think of the consequences… she feared the nice old man far more than she did Zuko’s illusionary wrath!

“What a lovely tea party…” Iroh lightly picked up some more ingredients and sprinkled or dropped them lightly into his cup, stirring it gently. “When one respects all the intricate pieces that make up such fine flavor…” He lightly pulled the spoon out and tapped it against the luxurious tea cup expertly, waiting patiently for the last drop off the spoon to land and ripple into the tea. “Heat isn’t always dangerous… and an overflowing cup not always a negative sign.” He took the cup delicately, “But when we rise to accept all these overwhelmingly, usually unmixing substances together…” He brought it to his lips, and took a small sip. “Awww… what should have been a cacophony of opposite opinions and beliefs, suddenly becomes a rather delightful taste that is understood and admired by all as refined, elegant, and a perfect mixture of unified assemblance.” He then took another sip and peeked an eye out at Zuko.

Zuko looked resistant, but conceded and took his cup up to his mouth, looking at it thoughtfully. “... Katara… I…” He looked away, slightly blushing at being so abashed in front of her by his Uncle… but nevertheless, he gritted his teeth and tried to speak again, “I… will not abandon my duty to the Fire Nation. My royal blood must be redeemed to it’s rightful place… but I can… understand… your awful refusal of destined events.” he gulped down the tea fast, lightly putting the tea cup to his knee.

Katara twitched in offense, before picking up her tea cup and speaking out of the side of her mouth in vengeance, “Well, banished prince,... I can certainly see your unfortunate side of things… being on the losing team must be so horrible to endure…” she took a light sip as Zuko’s aura showed his own flames heating up at her words… “But I can’t wait to see your face… totally red from being proven wrong.” She took another sip, “Thanks for the tea, but I find I like mine slightly cold.” she put it down and began to get up.

Iroh looked sadly to her, then looked to Zuko as though disapprovingly, pouting and giving him a narrowed look with a ‘Hmmph’ as though he had to make this right.

Zuko took immediately to his own defense, “I am not satifying the foolish, desperate wishes of a on-the-run fugitive!”

“You will kindly ask for forgiveness. Honestly, how do you expect to woo her to wife if you don’t?” He took another sip.

Katara’s hand had already opened the door to exit when both her and Zuko’s body suddenly felt a physical response of a shot through their bodies at his sudden, bold claim.

The door slammed shut…

But Katara hadn’t left the cabin…

Iroh happily poured himself another pot of tea, spun it a bit, and enjoyed happily the yelling, bantering, flustered responses of both silly teenagers as they refused to leave the cabin without convincing each other and Iroh of their mutual hatred, disgust, and the audacity to think they would secretly have anything going on between each other.

“Ah~ I do enjoy when you bring women over for some tea, Prince Zuko.” Iroh blushed lightly, seeing how well they were communicating–even if it was extremely loud, and their faces were animatedly with white, large mouths and eyes like arrowed triangles bent in rage…

It wasn’t political anymore.

It was simply their two natures… and as the sun went down and the moon began to rise, the two finally panted out the last of their steam and sat down on the bag-pillows… the tea was mostly gone, and this was the second batch Iroh had made while they feuded and bickered the entire day away.

“Ha… Ha…” Zuko panted with sweat trickling down from his scar to his neck… curving along his masculine features.

His eyes flickered up to her.

“Had… enough…?” He finally asked.

“Of what? Tea? Hah… Hah…” Katara’s heart was racing, her hands on her knees to keep herself upright. “Oh, ho? Giving up already, Prince dragon-breath.” she glared.

“Water-drip.” He snarkily quipped back.

“Blowdry!” She leaned forward.

“Wetcloth!” he leaned in to willingly join that gap.

Iroh covered his mouth, holding in a strained giggle, finding this adorable as the two were literally forehead to forehead over the table.

“And now, we see?” He lightly put the tea cup down, and filled their cooled tea cups with the new warm tea he still had left. “Fire warms the water… and water makes the comforting heat of the flames gentle to the touch.” He lifed the tea cup into both their cupped hands… letting them feel the heat from the safety of the refined, old-fashioned tea cup he had swapped out while the two were gnashing their teeth at each other.

“Now… don’t you two feel better acquainted?” he held out sort of shrugged hands, palms up, to each of them. “What have you learned from your opposing viewpoints? What were similar, and yet, still so radically different?” He held up a pointer finger. “Prehaps you’re more alike than you realize… and maybe, just assuredly, the Avatar is not the only ingredient to making nice, warm, and soothing tea.” He placed both hands on their shoulders, helping them to cool off and sit down. “Like a gentle breeze from the lungs out the mouth, the two elements are now working together towards a common goal… peace. Both, to right the world,” he looked to Katara, “And the unfortunate mistakes and evils therein… and to bring peeeeeace…. To one’s spirit within.” He looked and softly urged with his voice for Zuko to be settled and calm, watching as Zuko took a deep breath in… then out, like in his training.

“How could the Fire Lord’s son bring about honoroable peace?” Katara gestured her hand to him, but Iroh looked back to her in great sorrow.

“Iced tea was never my favorite.” He lightly scolded her cruelty, and she just backed up a bit, as though suddenly feeling guilty for saying that… but looking down, she wasn’t sure why. “What you see is the flame burning the kettle black… but had it ever occured to you… that the kettle was already painted so?”

She had an epiphany by that analogy, and looked mercifully, for the first time, to Zuko.

“It is not the material of the kettle that made it black… but the hand that molded it to be so… Zuko’s father does not answer for his crimes… but Zuko’s heart takes the burden with each blaze of that painful flame.” Iroh’s loving eyes turned to his dear nephew, but Zuko shoved his shoulder out of his Uncle’s grasp.

“You’ve been out of your cage long enough.” He got up and held his hands in fists by his side. “Uncle, you have no right to speak about my father, your brother, in such a way.”

Suddenly… it all made sense.

The abuse… Katara could see the trauma… as her eyes rose from his trembling fists… to his melted scar.

“Some cracks are beautiful… and some are so obvious, that they go unnoticed.” Closing his eyes, Iroh had finally seen her still her own judgements in her raging waves… and allow a gentle heat of compassion to fill them.

Like tea to her heart.

“We all have suffering… Don’t we?” Zuko turned to look back at her, and she could see the cracks in the tea cup…

He wasn’t evil or vile or any of those monsters she had known the Fire Nation to be…

She pursed her lips, not wanting her eyes to shake in unyielding sympathy, or tear up as though she had somehow bonded herself to a dying flame.

Dying… but invigorated with a false sense of purpose.

She got up, turning to Iroh, looking as though her core was shaken. “... Thank you for the tea.” she gave him a respectful, forward bow.

He smiled with a nod of sweetness to her, “Thank you… for your patience with my brewing.” He then looked fondly to her, “You are a great sweetener to what I usually have… it’s much appreciated, young Waterbender.” he looked to Zuko and nodded. “Do not contend with what aids you, Zuko… but merge and find unity within what ails you both.” he got up and dusted himself off, “I’ll go clean the dishes…” and began to clean up.

Katara walked along the boat… the creaking of the wood didn’t bother her anymore, as she looked out to the sky… at the white fluffy clouds… that seemed to echo Aang’s youthful, joyful laughter in them.

He ran from responsibility…

Zuko desperately chased it.

She thought of Appa’s fluffy body and then back to the back of Zuko, his ponytail flying in the wind.

He stopped a second… just before descending to the cell bridge.

“... He’s not coming, is he?” He inquired, his shoulders tensing up, broadening to their true height, as though a part of him had been slouching this whole time. “... What’s stopping you? Take your precious southern bending and leave… I don’t need you… if you’re nothing but useless bait.”

She knew, from having argued with him all day, that that wasn’t his normal speaking voice.

Her eyes softened again, sparkling light crashing waves of mercy.

She couldn’t say anything, just stared at him.

She then swiftly swung her body towards the boat’s front.

“H-Hey!” A Fire Nation Solider tried to stop her, but she bended the water to bash both sides of his helmet in, and then jumped on another one’s head and rode the water down before skimming through the cold, briny sea…

“Oh?” Iroh walked out of the cabin, having followed further behind them, having a cloth cleaning the inside of the tea cup he first used with the two feuding teens. “No more tea with a fine lady, then.” He disappointedly threw the rag over his shoulder, but smiled at the sea. “I’ve known many women in my time…” He then winked to Zuko, “And that one’s a keeper.”

“That’s enough, Uncle… you’ve embarrassed me enough as it is.” Zuko walked down to the bridge and then the haul, entering the cell… he bent a knee and touched one of the ashes of the hay… bringing it up for a better look, and pinching it between his finger tips…

“... I will find the Avatar…” He held the ash by his nose, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath… smelling her still as though her breezy, sea-air scent lingered as a chill up his nose and froze his lungs… “With…”

He then opened his eyes.

“Or without you…”

#zutara #katara x zuko #zuko and katara #avatar prompt #avatar the last airbender #zutara prompt #cutegirlmayra

11 notes · View notes