#but off the battlefield. when she's left with the scars and the memories; when the nightmares come; when people demand even more of her

[the-rogue-mockingjay]

"The skies will burn, the very fabric of reality will begin to unravel, and I am to blame. Every life we lose, their blood will be on my hands." "Hmph. Had you let Fandaniel go and allowed him to wreak bloody havoc as Zodiark, you'd be cursing your inaction instead. The Final Days would be upon us no matter what you chose- he made sure of it. So cease your hand-wringing, O'ravi. You suffer enough as it is."

alternately titled: O'ravi joins Estinien on a late-night wander around the city in an attempt to ward off a panic attack, and he talks her through what few fears she's willing to speak of. After that, they walk together more and more often until eventually it becomes habit. It's good for them both to get away from the chaos for a while, and Estinien is one of only a few people around whom she'll stop masking and drop her calm heroic facade.

#their friendship is everything to meeeeeeeee #he's kinda protective of her- not on the battlefield bc she's the last person who needs it (usually) #but off the battlefield. when she's left with the scars and the memories; when the nightmares come; when people demand even more of her #that's arguably when she needs her friends the most. but most often that's when they leave her to her own devices #(not a judgement that's just what they do bc she never asks for help insists she's fine always and runs off like a stray gaelicat) #estinien and aymeric and g'raha are like the only people who know the full extent of the toll being the wol takes on her #alphinaud and alisaie can guess but she never lets them see bc she's scared of burdening them #estinien is so gentle with her come endwalker and tbh she needs it. enw is a trauma conga line fjkglhdfgjk #she fought so hard for him and stood by him and risked her life for a chance at saving him and now he does the same for her #follows her through hell and high water- to the edge of the universe and back #they make me so emo T^T #o'ravi soltholia #estinien varlineau #endwalker spoilers #ffxiv #gpose #rogue plays ffxiv

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

[b33zlebubz]

RIGOR MORTIS | CHAPTER THREE

SIMON RILEY X AFAB READER | MASTERLIST | AO3 PREV CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER TAGS: reader uses she/her pronouns, blood violence & death, suicidal ideology, slow burn, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, toxic workplace environment “Abandoned in a battlefield with the one person you thought you would never see again; you're forced to come to terms with the ghosts of your past."

MONDAY APRIL 22ND 2024  MEXICO, 2200 HOURS

Your camp is the cabin of a wrecked SUV.

You're not sure what did it, yet; what wrecked the car and left the side of it charred.  Air strike, landmine, a very high-quality grenade launcher…you don’t really care what specifically, you just know that it's supplies and shelter.  It's lodged into the mud on the side of a dug-out, having crashed some time after the battle turned sour.  The rain has cooled the metal over the course of the past day leaving the back somewhat intact.  One of two of what must be the soldiers that drove it are now laying in the ditch; shot from the front window during the wreck, you imagine, charred and dead.  Their uniforms and helmets suggest they’re part of your battalion, but you try not to think about it.

It makes a decent shelter; dry and shielded from the rain that still pelts against your helmet.  The inside stinks of gunpowder and ash as you usher Ghost into the back and he collapses against a supply crate pressed in a corner.  He grunts, breath quick and heavy against the soaked cloth of his mask as his head falls back against the container.  First aid training kicks in and you’re listening for any sign of a punctured lung or liquid in his lungs.  

"We gotta get that mask off," you huff, helping him fumble with the straps to his helmet.  With the adrenaline fading, your own voice sounds muffled to you, the product of damaged eardrums.  "You're waterboarding yourself."

He lets out something that might be a humorless chuckle, his eyes closed as he juts his chin up.  His hands are clumsy and useless as they pull at the strap.   "Wouldn't be my first time, sergeant."

"Colonel."

You lift his helmet off and he blinks at you blearily, "what?"

"It's Colonel, now," you say, taking off your own helmet and tossing it aside.  Your hair free from the heavy armor, it sticks to your face in wet clumps.  "A lot can change in eight years."

You could be imagining it, but you swear you see a flicker of hurt in his eyes before he grimaces, his neck lulling before you catch his head.

Ghost strains, his breathing growing labored.  Still, he finds the energy to smile through the rip in his mask, and a rivulet of blood flows from the side of his cheek and into his mouth.  

"Knew you could do it, love," he slurs.

You hate how your heart twists with fondness that still lingers, and it tastes like copper and bile when you swallow it back.

"Never doubted it," you say, words softer.  You pat the side of his face and he grunts.  "Stay awake.  I don't know how bad you're hurt yet."

Your hands grasp at the torn edge of his soaked balaclava.

You watch his eyes flicker through water and blood.  Dark brown irises with uneven pupils glance down at your hands through lazy eyelids, and then up at you—but he doesn't resist like you imagined he would.  Instead, he can only manage a heavy swallow and a resigned nod.

He hisses as you lift the fabric away from his head as carefully as you can.  A five o'clock shadow crisscrossed with scars greets you before a broken nose on a ghostly-pale, angular face.  Sandy hair is cropped short, dark with blood that cakes high on his temple.  

If it were another situation—another time—you think, maybe, you would've stopped to marvel at him.  Commit the facial features you had once wondered about so much to memory while you traced the sharp curves of his face with a gentle finger.  Instead, you can only focus on how your injured hand fumbles with the first-aid kit on your vest—pulling out a sterile cloth that you press to his injury.

"Fuck," you hiss.

"I'll live," he breathes, closing his eyes again.  He places a hand over yours, applying more pressure that's weak, but still more than you can manage at the moment.  "Looks worse than it is.  Head wounds always do.  Just keep your hand there."

"Yes, sir," you mutter, falling back on old formalities as your bloody hand quivers against his face.  He squeezes it before his grip loosens, and his head lulls again.  You grab him by the chin.

"Ghost.  Don't."

His eyes flicker open again briefly before they sink shut once more.  When he doesn't reply, a flicker of panic sparks in your chest.

"Stay with me, Lieutenant," you pat his face again, trying to keep him awake.  "Ghost?"

"You," he whispers, his voice barely a breath against your face.  “We’ve met before…yeah?"

You swallow thickly.

"Angel," you tell him.  "It's…it’s Angel, Ghost.  It's me."

"Angel," he repeats with all the softness eight years of distance, blood, war, and anger can muster—and the idiot is still smiling as his hand slides off of yours, leaving a bloody handprint in its wake.  "'Missed you."

Panic ebbs at your mind, and you grab his arm as you get in his face.

"Ghost don't fucking fall asleep, you hear me?"  Disparity makes your voice crack, "Don't fucking leave me here."

No response.  You shake his shoulder.

"Ghost," you beg.  "Simon!"

His head lulls against his chest as his eyes sink shut, and your breath catches in your throat.  Slowly, you remove your hands, backing up against the side of the van.  You sink against the opposite wall.  Unable to catch your breath, your heartbeat thuds in your ears.  The sound is backed with the static of rain that still pours down around you and Ghost's unconscious breathing while thunder rumbles distantly across the sky above, mocking you.

You're left, once again, with only the corpses of your dead squad outside to keep you company.

#simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #cod #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #ghost fanfiction #simon riley fanfic #ghost x reader #cod ghost #simon riley

[belit0]

Hii!! First of all, how are you? And how do you feel? I first wanted to thank you for doing such a beautiful blog. You truly have a talent to write and you write so well. I am always looking forward for any new posts of yours, i just love your blog so so much!!!!<333 I’m sorry i am so obsessed with your blog and how you write the Uchiha man so fine ans well. Can you maybe write about how Madara gets into an argument with his wife and it comes to the point where he hits her, (slapping or punching her because of his anger) he hits her so hard it causes a bruise on her skin. And how he will try to make it up for her and how he will react to it? Love you and your blog! 🩷

Helloooooo!! I just bought my first iPad ever, so I'm really happy about it!!! In my country, it is very difficult to get cases and accessories, so currently fighting for them🤣🙌🏻. I really appreciate your words and your presence, it genuinely makes me very happy to know people enjoy what I do and like my content.

Nothing to apologize for, I love that you obsess, and having someone to share my own Uchiha fixation with!!

With this request, I am revealing one of my biggest HCS about the Uchiha brothers: a violent authority figure, and all the traumas that come with it.

He is not proud, not at all. When his hand connects with her face it feels exactly like the first time his mother hit him.

(Y/N) falls to the ground from the force of the impact, and looks at him in disbelief. Her eyes are so wide they seem about to explode, and she holds the area where Madara struck her as a silent tear slides over her fingers. The woman seems unable to move, paralyzed, and the Uchiha feels life stop for a second.

Never in his life did he think of becoming what he hated so much, of adopting the same actions from the figure who took it upon herself to make his life a living hell as a child. Madara grew up traumatized by his mother's hands, the violence she imparted both verbally and physically, and tried to channel it all on him to protect his siblings.

When she finally passed away, he was left with lifelong scars, both bodily and psychologically, which he decided would help him to never become the horrible human being she was. For many years, he conducted his anger through war, the battlefield, and the death he carried on his hands every day.

With the new stage of peace, that ordeal was over, and so was his source of personal liberation. Sure, training with the Senju or his brother always brought significant physical relaxation, but no longer being able to attack with the intent to kill made the practice sessions seem like a joke.

Frustrated by his inability to release without killing, Madara lost that one important outlet for his anger, for venting his rage, and began to progressively accumulate it. Between dealing with a new village, his younger brother and the entire clan still reluctant to accept peace with the enemy, and leading an entire family, it didn't take long for him to explode in the worst possible way, and evoke all his childhood memories at once.

His body moved on its own, without him even analyzing what he was about to do, and (Y/N) had no time to react. 

They were arguing over genuine stupidity, the Uchiha not having washed the dishes he used for breakfast that morning because he had to rush off to a meeting, and his wife having to take care of it for him. (Y/N) had made it clear from the beginning of their relationship that she would not submit to being a housewife, to living for and by her husband, and that she would maintain her independence despite having Madara by her side.

How little tolerance she had for the one time he left something behind, only because he was in a hurry, got on his nerves, and he exploded thanks to all the accumulated problems he was carrying on his back. His open hand connected with (Y/N)'s cheek before he could figure out exactly what he was doing, and sent her straight to the ground with the force of the collision.

As he stared at his wife on the floor, he could only see himself as a child, tiny in the face of his batterer, small with no options and no way out. Circumstances managed to bring out the worst in him, what he thought he had overcome, and he had no tools to face such a scenario. He never believed he had any aspect of his mother in him, he promised himself never to be like her, and he had failed.

He felt dirty.

The Uchiha is speechless when seeing how his wife gets up and runs away, terrified by the cruel action of her man, and takes refuge in her brother-in-law's house. Madara can only listen, from the same place where he stood frozen after hitting her, as (Y/N) lunges against Izuna's front door, demanding between screams and tears to let her in.

Seconds later, and with a sepulchral silence in the air, the Uchiha senses how his younger brother walks into his home, a small and incredulous voice asking "What the fuck did you do, Madara?"

It has been years since he last cried, back when he thought he was about to lose the only immediate family he had left, that time when he held his Otouto close in his arms and prayed to the heavens and all their gods to let him live on.

Today, Madara surrenders to the ground again, falling to his knees and indulging in his anguish, reliving traumatic events in his mind like a movie he cannot pause. He has no words to explain, nor does he know what to say, and all he can do is allow the uncontrollable flow of his tears.

Izuna, perplexed, falls to the ground beside him, hugging him and knowing no questions need to be asked.

He himself was a victim of his mother, and his older brother protected him at every turn, taking all the beatings and holding back tears to look brave in front of his siblings. The younger Uchiha knows what this is all about, and he knows better than to say anything.

Engrossed in his journey into the past, he knows there is no way to help him at this point, and Izuna retreats without further ado.

Madara, on the other hand, lasts in the same position all night, completely blocked by his emotions and unable to regain control over his body. He has been subjected to all kinds of tortures, faced the greatest warriors, and dealt with unimaginable powers on the battlefield, but nothing compares to this.

The next day, he can do nothing but disappear from the face of the earth, isolate himself in the old Uchiha compound, lose track of time in his family's abandoned territory, and continue to punish himself for what he did. He returns home, to the house where he grew up amidst punishment and abuse, and walks through each room, mentally seeing the image of his mother above him, harshly beating him.

He will stay there as long as he thinks necessary, without eating, without drinking water, tormenting himself until he thinks he has purged all his ills.

#madara uchiha x reader #uchiha madara x reader #madara x reader #uchiha madara #madara uchiha #madara #izuna uchiha #uchiha izuna #izuna #naruto imagines #naruto shippuden #naruto #uchiha clan #naruto x reader

[medicatedanddedicated]

First post ever 🤷🏻‍♀️

Konig story that would leave my brain

I don’t know German. Google might. That’s what I used.

Never played COD except for like 10 years ago

Anyways not proofread

“Jesus, what is Kortac feeding these soldiers?”

She meant to keep that to herself. Her blunt statement that rolled into a question rang out through the med bay like an obtuse and unnecessary observation.

The man who shocked her into speaking without thinking was currently being carried in by six men on a field gurney. He was unconscious and had several haphazardly bandaged wounds bleeding through the gauze. That wasn’t what shocked her.

His enormous size and muscle mass were the cause and they were struggling to lift him. He must have been close to seven feet tall from her assumption.

The men who had carried this giant into her hospital on the Kortac base put him onto a bed and left quickly. The state of his injuries had her shaking her previous thoughts to her memories and she jolted into caring for him like a doctor should.

She began assessing him and grimacing at the bandages she pulled off later by layer after pulling off his balaclava to reveal another gash on his face. The one nurse she was allowed to have on her staff worked with her until the men returned with another soldier on the same gurney.

He was in worse shape.

She darted over to him just as he was placed on another bed. She had barely begun to help him and the men were gone again.

This soldier had been burned severely.

‘Decide and delegate.’ She told herself mentally.

Since she and her nurse were the only medical staff, she assessed that the soldier who was burned would be given her attention while the nurse would take on the giant. Her hands moved rhythmically, trying to fight against fate but as she cleaned and looked at the wounds more closely she realized it was no use. Third degree burns covered more than half his body.

The fact that he was still alive was almost a curse. The pain he must be in should not make it worth living. She prepared him morphine as her nurse was thrown to the ground behind her. There were supplies and tools crashing into the wall.

“Weg von mir!! Wo zum teufel bin ich?!”

The giant soldier had regained consciousness when an IV was placed in his arm. Which he already ripped out.

Like riding a bike, she gathered a sedative without looking after nodding towards the nurse to make sure he was okay. She prepped the needle and went towards the angry patient who was attempting to leave his bed.

She approached him slowly, “Soldier. I’m Dr. Moore. You’re in the med bay at Kortac’s North Base. Stand down. You need to let us clear you for combat and we can’t do that if we don’t know how hurt you are.”

His face was boyish but there was a man glaring at her with the bluest eyes she had ever seen. He wanted to kill her, she knew that. He wasn’t here to negotiate. Kortac doesn’t hire the weak. She herself had been recruited after they caught wind of her finesse and control during a terrorist attack.

She somehow managed to bandage and treat the injured while firing a military issued assault rifle. She was never shot.

They wanted her skill. And while she thought she would be on the battlefield she ended up sequestered to a base four hundred clicks north of bumfuck nowhere. At least the pay was good and she wouldn’t need to work the rest of her life after her contract expired.

This man had been through hell. And seeing his old scars told her he had been in hell for some time.

A trickle of blood pooled in his eye. He went to wipe it with his hand when he realized his face was fully exposed. His blue eyes began to show panic. Or was it anxiety? She didn’t take the time to figure it out and kept slowly walking towards him.

“Wo ist meine abdeckung?!” He yelled

“I’m going to help you. Just calm down.”

His demeanor seemed to show understanding, misleading her judgment. When she got within his arms reach he grabbed her by the neck and lifted her off the ground.

Her instincts never failed where her judgment did. She had already stabbed him with the needle and was pushing the sedative into his veins. The grip on her neck loosened as she lowered to the ground and she stood firmly while he swayed. The back of his legs hit the bed and he fell onto it.

She was thankful because if he fell to the linoleum there was absolutely no way they’d be able to pick him up alone.

Her nurse went to the other side of his bed and scoffed, “Fucking Germans. No brains and no couth.” He was French. Still holding a grudge even though he had never met a German in his lifetime.

“Fuck you. I’m Austrian.” The giant slurred.

With his strength incapacitated she felt comfortable enough to stand over him and check his pulse on his neck.

His eyelids were half closed, looking only at her.

She rolled her own eyes, “If you had just listened to me I wouldn’t have had to do that. Now, we’re going to help you. What’s your name, soldier?”

“Noah.” He said, finally closing his eyes. “Wunderschon.” Was the last thing he said before passing out.

To avoid any further miscalculations she asked the nurse to see to the other patient while she took on the task of helping him. If anyone was going to be put in harm's way it would be her.

She took over where the nurse left off and said, “Welcome to the Ward Noah.”

-

The only thing that could be done for the burned soldier was pump him full of morphine until his heart stopped.

Dr. Johannah Anna Moore, call sign Jam, felt remorse for two reasons. He looked young and he’d never be able to tell her his name. It was a silly requirement she had coming here. Everything was top secret but the only way to connect with them was using their first name.

She glanced at the giant, now knowing his name was Noah and sighed. He came to her with two bullet wounds. One through his shoulder and one she had to surgically remove from his thigh. The third wound was a gash just above his eye.

There was no infection present but he wasn’t out of the woods as far as she could see.

He looked peaceful under the sedation. But he also looked silly wearing nothing but a blanket compared to his size. It had been a few hours since their altercation and she didn’t take it personally.

He was a contracted killer.

She rechecked his bandages as he began to stir. This time they had thought ahead and used restraints on his arms to keep him from tearing his sutures.

“Let’s try this again Noah. You’re in the med bay at Kortac’s North Base and I have you restrained. You’ve been shot and are not clear for duty so you might as well get comfortable.”

He blinked slowly as his eyes focused on the ceiling.

She took note of his softened features which were blaringly different to a few hours ago. He seemed almost sad.

He finally looked at her and spoke through a dry mouth, “How do you know my name?” His accent was thick but his English was solid.

“You told me.” She laughed.

He tried to find moisture in his throat and revealed, “I haven’t been Noah for a long time. Use Konig. That is my name.”

Before she could reply he asked, “Can you take my restraints off?”

“Only if you behave Konig.” She countered.

He scoffed, “We are on the same side. I did not know that before.”

It was her turn to laugh, “I have another sedative prepared. Do not try anything stupid.”

She released one arm and he did nothing. She released the other and he winced since it was connected to the injured shoulder. He didn’t try to attack her but he did attempt to sit up.

“Hold it. Lay back down. You aren’t going anywhere.” She demanded.

He smirked, “You can’t stop me. I need to debrief with my team.”

All she had to do was slightly push his uninjured shoulder for him to fall back. He groaned and became annoyed.

“You are in my hospital Konig. I am your superior and you are not released until I say so. That’s an order.”

He stared her down for what seemed like hours but his years of compliance and duty kept him where he was. She was quite fierce even though he was twice her size. He relented and frowned.

And although she was standing her ground she was observant enough to get him a glass of water. He drank and stared at her again. She was easy on the eyes and was dressed like a soldier instead of a doctor except for the stethoscope around her neck.

It was his job to be detail oriented. Or so he told himself as his eyes scanned her figure, stalling at her ass and chest. She was checking his IV as his eyes continued higher and her brown hair was in a regulation bun. When she turned back around, the bruises on her neck shamed him.

“I’m sorry.”

Her head cocked to the side, “For what?”

His hand touched his own neck and he motioned to hers with his chin, “It was instinct. I apologize.”

Johannah laughed, “I’ve been shot before. This is nothing. But I appreciate the apology anyway.”

He nodded. The hand on his neck coasted over to his naked face to rub his eyes and he realized once again that his mask was missing. Nervousness caused him to fidget.

“Scheibe. Fuck. Can I have my cover back Dr.?”

She sighed, “It was ruined by the gunshot almost entering your head. Besides, I have to redress the wound every few hours.”

It was hard no to notice his unease.

“I’m not supposed to show my face. Please.” He lied.

Her laugh embarrassed him, “Konig, you’re the biggest man I’ve ever met. Hiding your face isn’t going to keep your identity a secret from anyone. It’s like putting one on a horse. You still know it’s a horse even if you can’t see its face.”

“Also.” She continued, “No one is allowed in here without my clearance.”

It didn’t comfort him. There were two people in this ward that knew what he looked like. It was two too many. He laid his hand back on the bed and began tapping his thumb and middle finger together repeatedly.

The panic poured out of him unwillingly.

It was hard not to notice it. She didn’t understand it. Sure he was intimidating by his size alone but he wasn’t a shocker when it came to his looks. Not only was he tall, he was handsome.

“I didn’t see anxiety in your chart Konig. Is this a recent issue or have the previous doctors overlooked it?”

He didn’t answer which meant to her, she was right.

Johannah didn’t push further and walked away to a cabinet across the room. She returned with a surgical mask.

“This is all I have.”

He took it and tried to put it on but he couldn’t lift his injured arm. She took it back and set it on his face and put the ties around his ears.

“Is that better?” Johannah asked gently. He nodded.

“You need to rest Konig. I’ll check on you again in a few hours.”

Before she walked away he blurted, “How long?”

“How long will I be here?” He questioned.

She sighed, “Until I know you don’t have an infection. I don’t expect to clear you for at least two weeks.”

“Das ist nicht hinnehmbar!” He yelled. She had anticipated it and even though she didn’t know German she assumed he said no.

“I can’t be here that long fraulein.”

“That’s too bad.” She countered.

He cursed in English and German as she walked over to the other soldier and grimaced. He was barely breathing and it had her increase his morphine. Her body language faltered from its previous strength and she placed her hands on her hips exasperated.

Konig was still unbelievably angry yet he still watched her. He wasn’t angry with her. He couldn’t be angry at her. He had gotten himself shot after all.

“Is he dying?” He asked quietly.

She nodded, “Yes. He will not live much longer.”

There was a stagnant silence but she broke through it by asking him, “Do you know his name?”

With his eyes still on her he said, “I know his callsign. It’s Bentley.”

“Bentley.” She whispered.

As strong as she was, a tear dropped unexpectedly. She wiped it away angrily.

“I tried to save him.” Konig admitted, “We didn’t expect a rudimentary Molotov cocktail. He took the brunt of it. I managed to get him back to our regime but took a few souvenirs.”

She knew he was talking about his bullet wounds.

“Shot for nothing. I couldn’t save him.”

“He’ll die in no pain because of you.”

He finally looked away from her and resigned himself to his thoughts. She retreated to an office with windows at the end of the med bay. There was paperwork to be done.

-

Hours later she found herself covering the burned soldier with the blanket and recording the time of his death. Konig pretended to sleep as she went back to the office and made a phone call.

The last time he saw the outside made him guess that it was the middle of the night. He could hear her shuffling folders and he opened one eye to see her through the glass. She walked out to the entrance of the med bay and waited.

It wasn’t long before there was a knock. She buzzed them through from a button on the wall and a man walked in and rolled the dead soldier out. Before the doors closed, two men in suits said something to make her follow them.

She looked back at him before she left.

-

“I told you already. He arrived with a ten percent chance of living and that’s being generous.”

The two men who she would never know their names sat in front of her in an interrogation room. It was cold and the metal table and chairs were miserable. Their questioning made her think they thought she killed him.

“There will be an autopsy. Can you confirm you performed the necessary procedures Dr. Moore?”

She slammed her fist on the table. She was tired and frustrated. They weren’t listening.

Johannah yelled, “He was already dead when he arrived! I did what I could to make him more comfortable! Do an autopsy, it’ll prove it!”

They didn’t say anything. They at last moved on from that tragedy to ask about Konig.

“The other soldier. You reported his survival is 70%. Why make that prognosis?”

Her hands clasped together and she explained, “He’s alert and cognizant of his situation but the risk of infection can’t be determined at this time.”

“What would be your best estimation?”

“I’m not a fortune teller.” She answered sarcastically.

They didn’t flinch. “Dr. Moore, when can he be released?”

She leaned back in her chair and let out a haggard breath, “Two weeks. I will know in two weeks.”

Konig must be an insurmountable asset to Kortac, she started to realize. Especially when they dismissed her diagnosis.

“We can give you two more days.”

“That’s not nearly enough!” She yelled, “I release him too early and he dies as soon as he leaves. Who gets the blame? Because it won’t be me. I can tell he’s valuable to you all.”

She calculated quickly in her head.

“Three more days. Three days for three wounds. I will clear him the morning after the third day.”

That was how she found herself walking back to the med bay with only three days to make sure he would heal properly. Three days to make sure he wouldn’t be another casualty.

When she reached the doors she swiped her security clearance and walked in.

His bed was empty.

#konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig #call of duty #original character

[pandor-uhhh]

Wounds left behind

Tsu’tey x na’vi reader

Warnings: mentions of being shot, descriptions of pain, blood and burns, crying, Tsu’tey acting a little OOC, not proofread but it will be later

Description: during the battle against the sky demons you were shot, you lived but the wounds left behind make it difficult to sleep. But Tsu’tey is there to offer comfort

Notes: This was supposed to go in a different direction, but I’m not unhappy about this. I'm working on Grieving Apologies 3 tonight and it'll either be posted tomorrow night or tonight

The thing most people won’t tell you about getting shot, is it’s more than just the bullet going through you. On top of a piece of metal ripping through your body, it also burns, it burns like hell. Since The People didn’t use bullets until the war, you had no way of knowing this.

Mo’at had treated you to the best of her ability, and you were grateful to her and Eywa that you lived unlike some of your brothers and sisters, but the pain was pure hell.

You tossed and turned at night, unable to get comfortable. The bandages offered little comfort, every night it was as if you were reliving the burning pieces of metal tear through your body.

You tried not to show it on the outside, especially not to Tsu’tey. You were a good warrior, and an amazing hunter before the war. You didn’t want this to change the way he saw you, you felt like if you didn’t prove yourself everyday, why were you even there?

You’d push yourself over the edge, and then some. The amount of times you were brought back to Mo’at by one of your brothers or sisters because a wound had reopened, or because you gave yourself a new one, made her less than pleased. She would scold you like a child, as did Tsu'tey.

One day he plucked you off your ikran before you left to go hunting alone, he threw you over his shoulder and took you back to your tent. You hissed and hit his back, telling him you were fine. But he put you on your bed “do not move from this tent” he told you, and then left.

You had tried to sneak out only to be caught by other warriors. Eventually you laid down on your bed with a huff, you hadn’t been in this tent in weeks. You were either out hunting or you were getting patched up by Mo’at. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself peace, at least that's what you told yourself.

Your dreams had been replaced with nightmares, only they were more so memories. You were there again, watching those around you die, you felt the bullets hit you all over again, you felt your body hit the ground.

You could hear the sky demon’s cheers when he shot you down, you could hear the crying and screaming, and the other shots going off in the distance.

But then you felt a hand on your cheek, and everything stopped, you were no longer on a battlefield. You were sitting in the forest, surrounded by plants. No death, no guns, no fire. You heard the rustling of leaves, you turned your head to see Tsu’tey. You gave him a smirk, assuming he was here to drag you back to Mo’at or back to your tent, but he never did. He sat by your side and placed his hand on your stomach, you had just noticed what you were wearing.

You were in a chest covering that had flowers on it, some glowed, some were bright with dark spots on them, some small while others large. You smiled, but soon realized you didn’t own anything like this. “I don’t think this is-” you were cut off by Tsu’tey shushing you.

You shrugged, but saw his hand was still on you. Most of your wounds had scarred over, at least the ones you didn’t manage to reopen. “They’re really not that bad, sometimes I forget they’re even-” you yelped in pain and pulled back when he had run his fingers over them.

Tsu’tey looked you in the eyes “I should have been there, I’m sorry”. You sighed “this isn’t your fault Tsu’tey, I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve…been” you hesitated as Tsu’tey brought his hand up to brush stray hairs from your face. 

His hand stopped, resting on your cheek, you brought your hand up to meet his. His eyes scanned over your body, as if he was reading you like a book. He moved his hand and you let go of his hand, his eyes fixated on your lips.

“I see you, Tsu’tey” you spoke up, regretting the words as soon as they left your mouth. “I mean I see that you-” you tried to backpedal, but he put his hand behind your head to pull you into a kiss. You put your hand on his chest, he pushed you on your back.

You gasped as your eyes shot open, realizing it was all just a dream. ‘That was wrong’ you thought ‘he’s probably still upset about Neytiri and Jake, what would possess you to think of such a thing?’ You scolded yourself.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” Your head shot up and saw Tsu’tey standing by the entrance to your tent. Eclipse had come and the only light was the little that peeked through the cover of your tent from the fires outside. And there was Tsu’tey, with small bioluminescent freckles on his chest. 

In the dark he looked like a piece of a constellation had broken off and come down in the form of a handsome, strong, man. Ewya, you wish he would just- ‘stop!’ You thought, shaking your head as an attempt to clear your mind.

“No… I didn’t know I did that” you answered, not being able to meet his eyes. He made his way over to your bed, kneeling down in front of you. 

“You also cry” he sighed, “you are haunted by the war, aren’t you?” You look up to meet his eye “I am too” he added. 

“I came in to try to wake you, only when I placed my hand on your head, you stopped crying” he placed his hand to your cheek, and rubbed his thumb over it “like this…” you melted into the feeling for a moment, closing your eyes and leaning into his hand. Yes, yes that is what pulled you out of the nightmare. You reopened your eyes to see his face closer to yours, you gasped, you thought about pulling back.

‘This is wrong’ but you couldn’t pull away, “you do not have to suffer alone” he told you. You felt tears slip down your face, he wiped them away gently. He treated you like you were a small flower, like if he moved too fast or pushed too hard you’d fall apart. “I see you, (y/n)” your eyes went wide and you smiled, “I see you, Tsu’tey” he leaned forward capturing your lips in a kiss. You leaned into the kiss further, he pulled you onto the floor with him so you could be in his lap.

You two eventually broke away from the kiss, you leaned your head on his chest. He kissed the top of your head, smiling softly. He put his hand over your bandages, and you put your hand over his scars. They still hurt like hell, but from then on you knew you had someone to comfort you through the wounds left behind.

Thank you for reading (＾ｖ＾)

#tsu’tey x reader #avatar x reader #fanfiction #avatar tsu'tey #tsu'tey

[wareagleofthemountain]

What Do You Know Of Love? (Part 1)

Warnings: grief, mention of heavy drinking

A/N: I’ve always been super curious as to what would happen had Thranduil gotten back the gems he had fashioned for his wife at the end of the movie. Here is my take on what might have occurred.

The morning sunlight came through the open drapes and flooded the dark corners of the large bed chamber in its warm embrace. He hated the way it mocked him. Every day, for thousands of years, the sun rose with the dawn and forced him to go on. Forced him to drag himself out of bed and hope that his many layers of fine robes and glamor would be enough to cover the ever present smoldering pain of the burn scars cascading down the left side of his body. But he’d have gladly traded having to live with his whole body being burned that day, for the physical pain of that would be a mere inconvenience compared to the utter devastation he faces in his soul now.

Every morning, that damn sun rises and forces him to adorn his crown, the very crown she had crafted for him. The legendary crown of the Elvenking, forged from the living trees of his once green forest. Said to bloom and change along with the seasons during the years of his rule. Even though darkness had twisted the trees into gnarled versions of their former selves without her magic present to protect them, his crown had somehow remained unmarred.

He was no king without his queen, so why would it keep on living? As far as he was concerned, his reign had ended the day he carried her lifeless body off that battlefield. But of course, every morning he would wake up, if he’d even managed to fall asleep in the first place, and put that arrogant, self-assured mask on his face as he takes the throne.

They think he can’t hear them. The whispers among guards and maids about his cowardice and callous outlook on the affairs outside his borders. When did they forget that he had been fighting battles longer than they had been alive? If he had truly not cared for his people, he would not put himself through this hell every single morning.

And then his son…

Thranduil groaned. From the outside looking in, the elvenking cut a sorry sight. Sprawled out on the cold floor of his room, surrounded by empty wine bottles. He had not bothered to use a glass. His gray robe was wrinkled, and his silver-blond hair was unkempt. Sitting up slowly, he rubbed the back of his hand across his bloodshot eyes. Using the edge of his desk to pull himself to his feet, Thranduil assessed his surroundings. He was relieved to find out that, even in last night’s drunken stupor, he had remembered to close her old sketchbook and neatly return it to its place on the shelf by the bed after flipping through it as was his ritual every evening. However, his stomach sank as his icy blue eyes landed on the intricate wooden box on the vanity.

Mithrandir’s halfling thief retrieved it while sifting through the rubble of Erebor after The Battle of the Five armies, and had it returned to him. At first, Thranduil was in disbelief that he finally, after decades of searching, held the gems in his hands. Finding those jewels, the last remaining glimpse of his starlight, was one of the only reasons he had to continue on after her tragic loss.

And now that they were here… his soul yearned for her all the more. For the first time in centuries, Thranduil felt a spark of love crackle across his long short circuited fae. Seeing the precious diamonds for the first time since attempting to purchase them from Thror had been too much for Thranduil. He was instantly flooded with sweet memories of his soulmate, the one whom the gems were fashioned for, and was startled by the explosion of uncontrollable emotion radiating from a place deep within his being where he thought void of all feeling.

Now, as he ran his fingertips over the smoothe, cool to the touch jewels, he finally found appreciation for the sun as he watched it glisten off the white gems. Their glow reminded him of her bright eyes every time she looked at him. He knew what he must do.

#thranduil’s wife #thranduil #the hobbit #the elvenking #the elvenqueen #legolas #white gems #tauriel #love #grief #mirkwood

[lamemaster]

A Dismembered Memory (Chapter 3)

Paring: Iluvatar x Reader

Summary: Do the Gods love? What is it like to love one? What is it like to be loved by one? Is it a love beyond the shackles of creation and destruction or is it a tragedy bound in the chains of duty and predestination.

Genre: Mystery, romance and mythology

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2| Chapter 3

AN: Why do I love writing this sooooo much. This is pure joy for me. Laughs in manic.

You do not know how you find the strength to carry the man back to your home. Nor do you remember the errand you had left home for that day. It was as if entire world had blended into the man you discovered by the riverside.

You lack the knowledge of healing or the ability to identify precious herbs that your father can spot at a glance. So, as you carefully lay the unknown man on the delicate sheets of your home you can’t help but be clueless about your next steps. For a moment you wonder if it was the man’s misfortune to encounter you instead of someone more equipped to help him.

How could you help? He looks so broken, every inch of his skin speaks of unfathomable torture and pain. Pain, you know nothing of. Hurt you have never experienced. How could you ever help him? What could you give him to make the hurt go away? 

Sure, you could call in the healer or maybe even the assistant physician from the village but you pause. Before scurrying off to call anyone, you find yourself seated next to the man. With a bowl full of water and scavenged rags, you clean his face. You do not know if it is the right thing to do or if it helps the man in any way possible but you could not bring yourself to let anyone see him like this. His pain and grief felt too personal to be left to the prying eyes of any other. You do what your gut allows you to do. Even when the water in your bowl darkens with the grime you do not stop. Instead, with fresh water and softer rags you continued to clean the body littered with scars. 

"What did you do for the world to resent you so much?" you murmur softly to the unconscious man, your voice carrying a mix of curiosity and compassion. With gentle care, you use a cloth to wipe away the blood, soot, and filth that cling to his face, barely revealing the features beneath. “What made you a debtor for this entire world?”

General Cerdic returned home, weary from a day of labor in the fields, with no inkling that his day would take such an unexpected turn. He had chosen this life of toil, far removed from the grandeur and intrigues of the world, for himself and his daughter. It was a life of solitude that he cherished, a life that held no regrets.

But as he entered his home, a sense of unease settled over him. There, in one of the rooms, lay a stranger, fully conscious. The presence of this unknown man sent a shiver down Cerdic's spine, and even the otherwise soothing evening breeze seemed to carry with it a hint of change. Years on the battlefield had honed his instincts, and he could sense that something significant had transpired.

Amidst the sea of blankets surrounding the stranger, his daughter stood by the man's side, a smile gracing her face as she rushed to greet her father. Her arms encircled Cerdic in their customary greeting hug, a tradition from her childhood that reassured him. "Father," she said, her voice filled with warmth and relief, "you are here. You are safe."

Cerdic held onto those words in his heart, trying to dismiss the weariness and the paranoia that had crept into his thoughts, attributing them to the passage of time and his aging senses.

Cerdic, his unease simmering beneath the surface, waited as the servants cleared away the remnants of their meal. Seated beside his daughter at the table, he knew he could not avoid the topic any longer. With a heavy heart, he finally asked, "Who is that man, y/n?"

In his heart, Cerdic held a glimmer of hope that the stranger might be a runaway slave or a homeless wanderer, someone they could offer guidance and assistance to, perhaps even set on a path to a better life. But the look on his daughter's face extinguished that hope, replaced by a sense of foreboding.

Your voice, quiet and uncertain, filled the space between them as you answered your father's question. "I do not know him," you admitted. "I found him by the river… I did not think much; I just got him here. If it displeases you, father, then we can send him elsewhere."

Cerdic remained motionless, his dread mounting as he recognized in you the same unwavering sense of righteousness that had driven him in his youth. He had watched you grow up without a mother, seen the compassion in your eyes as you gazed upon the less fortunate. But this was different, a look of distant recognition, as if you had stumbled upon something or someone significant, like a wanderer spotting an oasis after countless fleeting mirages.

At that moment, Cerdic understood that whatever had brought this stranger into their lives was not a simple twist of fate. It was a mystery that needed unraveling, and he knew that, like him, his daughter would not rest until she had uncovered the truth.

As you sit in the mellow, candle-lit room, your mind is filled with thoughts of the stranger wrapped in bandages. You haven't seen his face since the healer rushed you out of the room and began the delicate work of tending to his injuries. The memory of the noise of broken bones being re-set still haunts you, and you dare not sneak a look to see the extent of his wounds.

You hold a jar of salve in your hand, its cool metal providing a stark contrast to the warmth of the candlelight. The servants could have tended to the stranger's wounds, and you could have accompanied your father on his late-night stroll. But something compelled you to stay and care for this mysterious man.

With a deep breath, you dip your fingers into the salve and gently place the stranger's bandaged arm in your lap. His hand, its fingers bound by splints, rests there as you examine it. The empty cuticles of his fingers capture your attention, a stark reminder of the brutality he has endured. Every single one of his nails has been plucked, leaving behind clotted blood and torn tissue.

Your salve-dipped fingers move with the utmost care as you begin to tend to the man's wounds. With the faintest touches, you smear the salve onto his injured fingers, blowing a soft breath of air onto the irritated skin. You work with the utmost gentleness, hesitant to cause him any further pain or discomfort. The man remains unconscious, not flinching or groaning, but the fear of inadvertently hurting him lingers in your mind.

Ulmo, the Vala of the Waters, usually paid little attention to the affairs of the land (unless absolutely necessary, side-eyeing other Valar). He was content to let the rivers and seas flow according to their own rhythms, without much interference. But one day, something drew his attention to an unremarkable riverbank in a peaceful village that had settled by the riverside.

As Ulmo lingered in the gurgling waters, he heard a faint but distinct rustling sound. It puzzled him, and he couldn't resist investigating the source of this disturbance. A few moments later, pebbles began to settle into the riverbed with soft thuds, causing ripples to spread across the water. It was as if the very riverbed was being disturbed by an unseen force.

Intrigued, Ulmo ventured outside his watery realm to find the origin of this disturbance. There, by the riverside, he discovered a young woman surrounded by a small hill of pebbles. She seemed to be in high spirits, animatedly tossing the pebbles into the river.

What caught Ulmo's attention even more was a limping man who scurried around her, diligently searching for pebbles and placing them in front of the woman. Despite the obvious challenge of his injury, he wore a mellow smile as if every pebble he offered was a sacred tribute to some unseen deity.

The woman's words carried the joy of life, and the man's actions seemed to worship her with every move. It was a scene of simple, heartfelt devotion, and Ulmo found himself inexplicably drawn to it.

Despite his usual disinterest in the affairs of mortals, Ulmo couldn't help but return to the riverside again and again. He came to observe the woman who spoke with such joy and to witness the man who honored her with every pebble he offered.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #tolkien #iluvatar x reader #ulmo #eru iluvatar #iluvatar #soulmate au

[mithrilandvilya]

12th – language/culture/beauty 

Beauty in Harad 

She was Hastalteth, healer.  It was a title, assigned to a slave whose duty was to scour the battlefield for the fallen but not-yet-dead, and make them fit for further duty.  Aside from this, she had no name that she could remember, and recalled no life other than as Hastalteth. 

She was claimed by Qol Kai Chek, a large beast of the men of Harad.  Technically, he was Khandish, but his trade was war, and Harad had been his place for most of his career.  A fearless and commanding general, he led his troops with brutal efficiency and cunning, crafting his path to higher stations with ruthless ambition.   

This particular hastalteth was uniquely gifted at her craft, and this had become well-known amongst all the Southland battalions.  In a sea of clashing bodies bent on destruction, those who recognized her stepped aside and wielded their axes and maces in other directions, for the chance that should they fall, she would make them rise again. 

Nevertheless, her body was tainted with myriad scars and bruises, with  unnatural slight bends and bumpsi n bones here and there from ill-healed breaks.  There was no life without pain in Harad, especially for a slave.  There were no healers for the hastalteths, forbidden to aid one another and left to the help of only what they could do for themselves.   

She helped herself little, because when she saw a fallen soul on the hot, blood-stained dirt at her feet, she gave no heed to who he was or who he served.  All broken souls called to her equally, and it pained her more to hear the cries in her head and heart and do nothing than it did to face the lashes, violations, and beatings of her master for aiding an enemy. At the end of a battle, her exhausted body would be carried off to his tent by some servant or other, and she would face his wrath.  There was no expression of gratitude for saving his strongest, fastest, or best archer – another day of life was all she could expect in exchange for a successful rescue.  Although he would never speak it, despite her willful disobedience at every battle, her unparalleled healing ability made her too valuable to dispatch.  Because she was his, his reputation was all the better; she served his ambitions. 

Thus she lived on a narrow precipice of survival, mourning little for her own fate.  The lowness of her station was drilled into her self-perception, inextricable. She could not imagine a world where she was treated differently or deserved a different kind of life – the very language of Harad which gave her no name ensured it. 

At least, that was almost so.  The Southlands were bleak and razed, baked by hot sun, repeatedly coated in suffocating black ash, and strewn with anger and death.  But her eyes and soul were drawn to the rare flashes of beauty that persisted, and she could almost envision the power of the beauty encompassing all, scouring clean the filth of evil, freeing minds and hearts. 

Her mind’s eye held onto the memory of a loyal friend carrying his comrade to her through the greatest peril.  She had seen the friends later, arm in arm, laughing away pain and darkness for one more day.   

She had seen rare, dainty white sand-lilies springing from cracks in the dried, hard earth, and intrepid bees packing their legs with pollen steadily with no mind to the bloodshed all around them.   

She watched magnificent sunrises and sunsets, and moonrises and moonsets, enhanced by the persistent smoke over Harad. 

She had once gone as far north as the southern edge of the Dead Marshes, witnessing the ghastly fallen spirits in its murky waters, while over them a family of beavers busily built their lodge, old swords, bows and staffs picked out of the choked bottom made part of its construction, so that the lodge was an entrancing work of art. 

She routinely noted bird nests tucked into layered cliffs, parents feeding their young amid soft, sharp chirps of excitement exuding from the nestlings. 

And she had twice knelt over and healed exquisite forms of the most beautiful elves, deemed merely mythical creatures this far south, and saw their shining eyes delight as the Halls of Mandos slammed shut before their spirits entered.  These had laid their hands on her in otherwise unknown gentleness and gratitude, inviting her to go with them, which she had refused because she desired not to make them a focus of her master’s worst intentions.  But ever since, she dreamed of them and the beauty that must fill the lands of such stunningly elegant people. 

She held on to these flashes of beauty, secreting them away in her mind, using them to keep from breaking entirely. Qol Kai Chek had complete control over her body, but he never knew what was in her mind.  That was hers and hers alone.  She had trained herself so that when he bore down on her with whips, chains, straps, and fists to leave her body and instead be with the bees, beavers or birds, or even with the elves.  He would grow frustrated that his punishments never changed her behavior, but when he ran out of breath at his exertions against her, he knew nothing else to do short of killing her, which he did not want.  He was clever enough to spin all in his favor in the eyes of charges and superiors, so it mattered not.  

Hastalteth steadfastly healed hundreds or maybe even thousands before Qol Kai Chek finally fell.  In the chaotic aftermath of his ultimate defeat, his remaining soldiers scattered confusedly in all directions, all thinking only of themselves, and none thinking of her.  She trudged wearily amongst the fallen, seeking any near enough to life to revive, until she happened upon the corpse of the general, not knowing he had fallen until then. She heard a far-off call from his soul to hers, pleading for life, but when she went to touch him, she felt his spirit violently jerked back away from her, and there was no more of him in this world.   

She stood, turned, and looked all around her and found herself utterly alone in the desolation. Above her, the sky was fiery red at the brink of night, and a single dark form cut across it from South to North.  A great eagle slowly soared, coming low as it passed over her, and she could see the beautiful fine detail of its powerful yet graceful feathers. It uttered a sharp, plaintive peal, seemingly calling her to follow.  

Hastalteth was apparently no more, but what she now was, she didn’t know.  The eagle was already far ahead of her and disappearing beyond a ridge as she set out after it. Her path was slow and treacherous over rocky, broken, and battle-shredded terrain, but by dawn, as she pulled herself up the final ledge of a cliff, she saw a trail of daisies before her, heading down into a very narrow green valley surrounded by bare black and red mesas in all directions.  The green winding canyon bottom was strikingly solitary and the only way forward.  Her eyes followed it as far as possible, and where it disappeared at a bend miles in the distance, she believed she could see a stand of lush trees, something she had never before seen but instantly recognized. 

There was a word for these trees, rarely used because they were rarely seen, nearly archaic in the Haradrim tongue. Santi, it was.  As she thrilled at the possibilities before her, she carefully made her way toward the stand of Santis, though it would take her nearly the full day to get to them. Looking on them as she drew near, and felt transformed by the sudden change in her fate.  She felt inspired to give herself a name.   

“Santi I now am,” she said out loud to herself, “and I will follow the path of beauty before me to see where it leads.”   

That night she laid under the boughs of her namesakes and dreamed of elves in splendid lands somewhere in the north and west, for the first time thinking perhaps she would actually see them someday.  The gently swaying Santis saw her beneath them, and having heard her say her name, reckoned her as one of them, and kept her safe in their embrace through the long night.  They sent out whispers through the earth and on the winds to all the places they knew, telling about her, and thus enchanted her journey. Creatures small and large welcomed and protected her wherever she went for the next several months.  Whenever she felt uncertain which way to turn, some creature would inevitably appear on her path, leading her around obstacles gradually north, and now and then west.  The enchantment continued until she first stepped into the realm of elves, where it ceased, no longer needed. 

Santi had no idea she had made it to the lands she dreamed of seeing, but she knew she was surrounded by overwhelming beauty.  Perhaps those from these lands took it for granted, but she herself was continually surprised and amazed at all she saw.  She sat down to rest, but fought against closing her eyes for more than a few moments, slightly fearful that when she re-opened them she would find this all a fantasy and awake with the brutish form of the general hovering over her, freshly laid welts and bruises marring her body, as she cowered in the corner of the tent of her master.  Eventually her eyes did close, and she slept without knowing. 

Night fell, starless due to low, wet clouds, when a soft touch on her shoulder stirred her and she was greeted by a voice she had heard once before.   

“Santi, I am relieved that you have found and followed the path we laid for you to come to us.  You are welcome here as long as you wish to remain.” 

Before she could ask, the elf continued, “We know your name from the trees, for we hear their voices as well as yours.  Come now to the halls of healing where you may rest and eventually work if you so desire.” 

Only then did she understand the solitary green line pointing her north, through the Santis to here, had been laid for her by the elves.  The two she met had both invited her to go with them, but had not forced her when she refused.  However, they did not forget the beautiful heart of the Haradrima healer that had tended them, and with a gentle touch at their departure had inserted themselves into her dreams to comfort her while they prepared her way out of the lands of darkness.  

Never before had Santi felt loved.  But once she knew it, she recognized love as the source of all beauty.  She understood that what Harad suffered was from its lack, and she pitied those she had left behind. 

 After a long respite with the elves, she followed the now-decaying green line back to her homeland.  As she passed the Santis, she thanked them for their name and protection but set them both aside and again became Hastalteth.  She spent the rest of her life healing as many as she could with loving care, with no master other than her own heart.   

On a particularly bleak, smoke-filled winter day less than a half-decade after her respite, two elves collected her shattered body from beneath a sullen rocky precipice deep inside the realm of Harad and carried her away to lay her to rest under the Santi trees, who again embraced her as their own.   

Those who saw her die mourned for themselves over it, but continued on their way to another battle they would soon face. However, among those she had healed were a few who were touched by her compassion and inspired to carry some of it themselves.   Nameless, she was before long forgotten in Harad except by the Santis, the only evidence of her life a small light in the hearts of some she healed and a few more that they themselves touched with compassion.  It went on and did not extinguish, helping to keep the full domination of darkness ever so slightly at bay. 

#tolkien elves #lotr elves #lotr fandom #lotr fanfiction #haradrim #lotrweek

[its-the-val-pal]

Prompt #10: Bistoury

This one has some nsfw undertones. I'm making it as tasteful as possible but, you know. Warnings and all!

Val had a lot of scars. This came as no great surprise or reveal to most people that knew him. He wore them with pride. Each one was a permanent memory etched into his flesh; a reminder of the sacrifices and mistakes he'd made. Remnants of the blood he'd spilled thanks to the mistakes he'd made, and a warning of what may happen if he did it again.

There were some, however, that came off of the battlefield, largely as a result of the woman he'd chosen to spend his evening with. Or suns. Or.. however long it took her to grow bored or be requested by her husband; whichever came first, really. He knew what their relationship truly was, and he wasn't going to fight her over it. It was nice to be able to escape the city and pretend that the two could belong solely to each other, even if for a little while. But he knew the day would come where that all ended and he'd be alone again, so he may as well make the most of it while he had her. ..Right?

He was also aware that he saw a side of her that many people never would, both figuratively and literally. There was a monster hidden deep inside the Keeper; one that seemed to only come out when she was particularly hungry for him or the sweet, life-sustaining aether that he held inside of him. She rarely started out as such. It was only during when her hunger grew too much that she lost herself, those dark blue eyes becoming vacant pools of darkness, wings sprouting from her back and her nails growing long and sharp, digging deep into his flesh as she simultaneously took from him and made him pay the price for his own rapturous bliss.

Val didn't mind. He'd dealt with pain for the majority of his life. If anything, this only enhanced the experience for him for one perverse reason or another. And he quite enjoyed when she wrapped those arms, legs, and wings about him, entirely capable of ending his life at a moment's notice but refusing to do so. She'd settled for leaving her mark on him on more than one occasion, those thin, sharp talons digging deep into his flesh, leaving streams of crimson life to trickle down his back or chest or shoulders or triceps or.. where ever she saw fit to grasp at the time.

Her cuts were always clean and precise, even if she hadn't thought about them in the process. After all, she was a predator. She simply enjoyed her prey too much to end him, and a part of Val was quite thankful for that.

They never spoke of what she did to him during. What would be the point? She knew that he did not mind, and he knew that she could not help herself. Sweet kisses against each other's lips or over the wounds she'd made as if to magically seal them herself was all that was offered and, truly, more than he could ever ask for. The blood would dry on its own and he could wash it off in the morning. The scars left would either vanish or join the rest of the growing tapestry on his skin; a constellation of his travels and experiences exposed for all to see. And the pair? They'd simply hold one another, whisper sweet nothings to each other, and make the most of the time they had, fleeting as it was.

#val nunh #val covington #ffxiv rp #shadiyah amari #val selvik #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023 #balmung rp #balmung #ffxiv oc

[felixcloud6288]

Fullmetal Alchemist Chapter 46

We see Hohenheim isn't a regular human being, but when he calls himself a monster, we cut to a scene with real monsters.

Wrath isn't even making a token effort to hide his association with Gluttony. He does not intend to let Lin or Lan Fan escape alive. He also might not be aware they have any connections with anyone else, so even if Lin escapes, it's no big deal.

"You rely too much on your eyesight, Bradley!!" Wrath's immediate response is to reveal his ultimate eye and expose his identity rather than risk fighting without his vision. He proved Lin was correct and that statement is going to come back to haunt Wrath several times.

And we get a glimpse of Wrath's personality in this chapter. He's nihilistic and hearing someone preach at him about ideals made him genuinely angry.

The sword Wrath threw at Lin is the one Lan Fan broke.

We have a scene of Winry having a heart-to-heart with Gracia about Hughes. Her last memory of her parents is seeing their backs as they walked away with conviction, and Winry admired them for doing what they believed in. Maybe that's part of the reason she paid attention to Ed's shoulders in chapter 44. He was walking with the same stride her parents did.

The more time she spends around Ed and Al, the more she realizes how dangerous their lives have been. In her first appearance, Ed shows up after his arm was completely destroyed, and Al was in literal pieces. Then she has to do maintenance on Ed and he's in the hospital and his new arm is already covered in scratches. Then she learns Ed and Al were investigating something that resulted in Hughes being killed to keep him quiet. Then Al runs off to help the colonel with the Super Heist and he returns to Winry with parts of his armor being sliced through. And then she hears they're fighting a dangerous serial killer who has murdered several State Alchemists, and as she approaches the battlefield, she sees all the destruction that's occurred

The more she learns, the more she relives that scene of her parents walking away and never returning.

This shot really shows how dynamic a fight using Alchemy can be. The terrain is constantly changing so the fighters have to be constantly aware of their surroundings. The ground beneath Ed and Al shifted and they're responding to keep on their feet. Al is stepping on a small platform that appeared in front of him while Ed is using a slab of stone that appeared to provide him more force to jump way from Scar's attack.

That stone hand Al used to save Ed was about to break under its own weight.

Al was just trying to help Ed catch his breath. He wasn't even thinking about Nina until Scar mentioned East City. And the worst part for them is Scar is absolutely right about what would have happened to Nina if she had lived. They can't argue against Scar's actions because he at least did what he thought was right while they did nothing.

But then Ed changes the subject to the Rockbells. He clenches his hand so hard it creaks from the strain.

Bringing up the Rockbells shocks Scar. Did he even know they had saved his life or was he burying that memory and hoping to forget. And the whole thing is worse when Winry shows up at the worst time to learn that Scar killed her parents.

And Scar knows he's wrong and he's knowing looking down the barrel of that cycle of vengeance his master warned him about.

Nina Trauma Count: 6

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Spoiler Discussion

Lin's initial fight with Wrath leaves him with two cuts: One on his left cheek and another on his left wrist.

The cut on his cheek is what Father will use to insert Greed in his body. The cut on his wrist, while not important, is the reason Lin's hand will be bandaged up and will allow the more dramatic reveal of Greed's Ouroboros.

#fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist reread

[a-real-chicxulub-vibe]

Heyo! This is a bit out of the blue, but I am missing Ciaran and the Knights of Gwyn these days, so since I know you are a fellow Ciaran stan, I wanted to ask if you had any favorite headcanons for her? :)

Oh man!! Lots! Thank you for asking, the Lord's Blade is a seriously compelling character and I'm always happy to talk about her. :>

Here's a few to do with her pre-Knighthood days.

🥀🥀🥀

🗡️ Ciaran remembers when the world was young. Orphaned and friendless at a young age, she spent her childhood among the ghettos of New Londo, built underground to help withstand the frequent dragon attacks.

🗡️ Ciaran is indeed a full-blooded Medial, or one born of Gwyn's race. Her parents likely died in the war, though as a girl she always secretly suspected they abandoned her. All the other adults of New Londo were shady, dangerous. Her parents must have fit right in.

🗡️ As a child, Ciaran developed a passion for theater. Ciaran would eventually weaponize this to become anyone she needed to be as the mission demanded. But as a child, it was innocent, and for a time she and the other children would perform shows in the evenings. Perhaps she had always wanted to be someone else.

🗡️ Ciaran loves flowers. As a child in New Londo, sny artifacts from the surface were treasures. The glowing Darkroot Lilies became particular favorites, as they grew best in the dark.

🗡️ As a young woman, she too volunteered to fight in the Dragon War, and eventually became a Silver Knight. As a New Londo urchin, who was familiar with the humans and the shadows, she was already an outcast. She also became known for forgoing any shield on the battlefield, preferring dual swords.

🗡️ The snowy-white north was a deathtrap. The Dragons still ruled there in Ciaran's time, and the territory was of little value. Still, she and her company were assigned to go, and serve under an unproven captain.

🗡️ Those years in the north were the hardest she had ever known. Endless ice, blizzards, snowfalls higher than the top of one's head. People starved. People died. Ciaran was a recluse. She twisted orders. She broke off from formations. She was ungovernable. She was hopeless. She was going to die here. And for who?

🗡️ A great dragon ambushed the meager camp one day, and Ciaran predictably became separated. She was ready to accept her fate. But the captain leapt from the side, and misdirected the deadly strike. Shielding her with his body, he suffered horrific scars, before the dragon moved on. There, they were abandoned in the snow, left to die.

🗡️ Ciaran came to terms with the betrayal of her peers slowly. Not that she was shocked to have been forgotten, per se. She had already seen herself as unlikeable, unknowable. But the fact that one specifically of their number -- the strange young captain -- had almost died for her. And now they both lay injured and dying and alone in the snow. And with nothing else to do but wait, they talked.

🗡️ Ornstein, he said his name was. His family destroyed by the dragons, just like hers apparently was. But somehow the moron managed to twist his tragedy into a misguided sense of honor and duty. How sad. Didn't save his life, now did it?

🗡️ She heaved him onto her back that day, and they trudged through the snow. They rendezvoused with the rest of the contingent days later, where the poor captain was wheeled away by a gaggle of priests. Surely he wouldn't make it. It all was surely for naught. Everyone was going to die, one day. She couldn't understand why she had even bothered to help.

🗡️ She deserted. They could search all they want--Ciaran knew disappearing like no one else. Her next years were regrettable. She drank, she gambled. The terrible memories of the north stuck to her, like starvation to one's ribs, like frostbite to the toes. It was vital that she forgot. It was vital that she find out how to live again. It was vital she that she forget she never knew how to live at all.

🗡️ Years later, she received a plain-stamped letter. A letter of thanks. An invitation to a warm meal and a warm bed, courtesy of a nameless benefactor. How could she refuse? And indeed, how could said benefactor not find and repay the woman who long ago in the terrible North had saved his life?

sorry, I you said "favorite headcanons", but,,,

#can't believe i haven't been following you??? i might be stupid #I ought to write some more general headcanons for all the knights actually #because this just veered into Fanfictionville and while that's cool that's also a complete cop-out #Yeah i hc her sexuality and favorite food and shit too but I'll get to that #anyways. Thanks again for the ask <3 #Dark Souls #Lord's Blade Ciaran #Dragon Slayer Ornstein #headcanon #dark souls headcanon

[fillyboy19]

Memories & Magic

Katsuki drags his boots through the dirt, kicking up a small cloud of dust as he walks. He sneaks a glance at his bride-to-be before turning his attention back to the road in front of them. The last time he had seen Ochako, they were five and she was scared, hiding behind her father’s pant leg – a comfort Katsuki was never afforded.

As had been expected of him, he’d stood stoic between his parents, even if his lip quivered, and listened to them talk about how he would become their kingdom’s greatest warrior. How he would travel and train and fight with only the kingdom’s best until he could beat them. He would test his mettle on the battlefield while Ochako would be sent to the safety of the temple. And if Katsuki survived, proving himself a worthy heir to the kingdom, the two of them would be wed when he came of age.

When all the terms had been accepted by the respective patriarchs, Katsuki and Ochako had been shoved together. Katsuki had presented her with a flower he’d plucked from his mother’s garden and Ochako had given him a small lock of her hair. Their families feasted that night, the two families promising to unite as one and, in the morning, Katsuki and Ochako had both been sent off their separate ways.

Now, nearly twelve years later they’ve been reunited and, in some ways, Katsuki still feels like that lost little boy he’d been, unprepared and unsure of how to talk to her. He’d grown up tall and muscular, body honored with the scars of his battles. And Ochako…

Ochako had grown up pretty – more than pretty, if he’s being honest with himself. Her soft brown hair frames her face, and when she smiles her whole face lights up. She’d been peppering him with questions since they’d left the village, asking about how he’d grown up, who his friends were, and about the battles he’d fought in. It had been overwhelming to say the least.

When he glances at Ochako again, he finds her watching him, and he quickly turns his gaze back towards the path ahead of them. “We’ll stop to rest at the top of the hill for the night.”

Katsuki doesn’t wait for a reply before trotting forward to scout ahead. Behind them lay damaged farmhouses. Buildings that once stood proud now bear smashed roofs and crumbling walls. Their path was lined by shattered trees and torn up earth. Logs lay splintered in fields as if they’d fallen from the sky. It was a constant reminder for Katsuki that this is no normal pilgrimage to the mountain temple. There will be no wedding procession back home if they can’t find and slay the two giants wreaking havoc on the nearby villages under his protection.

He had listened to the stories the people told. How the giants had come in the dead of night. How they’d all been asleep in their beds when their roofs were caved in. The ones lucky enough to escape had told the elders how, once they were done, the giants had stalked off northward.

Here, though, is nothing more than fields of golden wheat and the long trail ahead of them. He’d almost doubt their path if he’d not been trained to look for the signs: claw marks in the earth and random tufts of hair caught in the bark of tall trees. Katsuki closes his eyes to the warm sun above and silently says a prayer for safety and success.

“It’s so beautiful here.” Ochako’s voice is soft, and when Katsuki opens his eyes, he finds her smiling up at him with an apple in her palm. When he doesn’t respond, she pushes her hands out farther, urging him to take her offering. “You haven’t eaten anything since we’ve left.”

Part of him knows that the elders wouldn’t have sent her along if they didn’t think she could hold her own, but he can’t help but remember that frightened child from all those years ago. The one who had run from him when he’d offered her a piece of fruit. Would she run from the danger now? Would this delicate-looking, beautiful woman be the thing that finally gets him killed?

Katsuki begrudgingly takes the apple and grumbles out a small thank you before pointing her towards a fallen log on the side of the road. “Sit. Don’t wander off.”

Whether she listens to him or not is of no concern to him as he busies himself gathering firewood. Their first night together will be under stars and wilderness. She is his responsibility, and he has to prove himself worthy of her. Even though he worries the fire will draw unwanted attention, he can’t very well let her shiver in the cold. As he works, he imagines her sitting there on that log with her hands clasped in her lap, her delicate, silky dress wafting in the small breeze while she looks up at the clouds in the sky. He thinks about her round, brown eyes and the curve of her face, and smiles without knowing it.

The temple priestesses he’d met before had all been trained to be quiet and accommodating and surely, if Ochako was destined to be Katsuki’s bride, they would have trained her to be some tame, mousy little thing who couldn’t think for herself. Katsuki tries to force that sinking feeling in his heart down as he finishes gathering wood and trudges back.

His face falls into a deep scowl as he continues to contemplate their possible future together. She would probably have a warm hearth and dinner ready for him every evening when he got home, and she would look up at him for guidance on anything that didn’t involve a garden or a pot. She would be the perfect, boring wife the men he’d trained with always told him she would be. Maybe she was the ideal bride for men like them. Maybe he should be perfectly happy with her like that…

Katsuki stops at the edge of the forest to find their blankets laid out and a small, well-built fire not far from where he’d instructed Ochako to sit down. She looks up at him with a bright smile on her face before turning her attention back to the fire and laying on a bit more kindling.

He doesn’t say anything as he sets the wood down, just watches her grab a piece and carefully layer it into the hottest part of the fire. He’s tempted to ask her how she’d started it, but it’s been a long walk so, instead, he just takes the pack off his back and begins rummaging through it. When he finds his water skin, he takes a long swig and then hands it to her.

Ochako runs her fingers over the soft hide of the waterskin before taking a small sip and handing it back to him. She fills the awkward silence by talking. She talks about the small village they’d passed on their way here and the devastation she’d seen beyond the hill. She tries to ask him questions and Katsuki knows that he should be indulging her; she’s his bride-to-be, after all.

“You don’t like me much, do you?”

Her question catches him off guard. He can feel the back of his neck growing warm at the accusation, but instead of allowing it to show, Katsuki just glares at her before finally relenting. “They shouldn’t have sent you with me.”

Even in the dim light of the setting sun, he can see the way her cheeks flush before she turns her head away from him. She pretends to rifle through her own bag and for a moment he feels bad; after all, she hadn’t asked to come.

Katsuki lets out a long sigh before laying down on the small blanket Ochako had laid out for him. He looks up at the stars and reminds himself that this is probably just as hard for her as it is for him. “Look, I just–”

“It’s okay. I get it.” Ochako gathers her dress near her knees and walks to the other side of the fire where she’d laid her own blanket. “You don’t have to explain.”

Crimson eyes watch as she settles down with her back to him. Katsuki knows that he should say something. Make peace before bed or you’ll make war in the morning. His father had always told him that when he was arguing with his mother. They were the two fiery blonds of the Bakugou household and Masaru was always their peacekeeper.

Katsuki shakes himself out of old memories and focuses on what he should tell her. He wasn’t wrong. The elders should have let him take a seasoned warrior with him like Eijirou or let him come by himself. He shouldn’t have to worry about–

“I’m not helpless, you know.” Ochako’s voice floats across the fire to him but, still, he doesn’t take his gaze from the stars above him. “I’ve been taught in the ways of magic and–”

Katsuki snickers softly under his breath and instantly regrets it. He doesn’t even have to look over to know that he’s offended her. He can hear the quiet, angry intake of breath as she shifts, most likely putting her back to him once again. The temple priestesses have always claimed to have magic, and maybe they were exceptional at healing, but he’s never seen their magic before. He knows that it’s probably nothing more than herbs and the use of suggestion – if you believe it will make you feel better, then it will make you feel better.

He huffs softly, scolding himself silently and reminding himself that he’d promised to give her a chance. In the silence of the night, with the warmth of the fire on his side, he can feel how exhausted he is. They’d walked far and he can fix this tomorrow. Somehow. He thinks about waking before the sun to find her flowers and maybe catching a rabbit for breakfast before they continue on. He wonders if she’d find that insulting.

Katsuki drifts off to sleep, thinking about how best to apologize to Ochako. His sleep is heavy and dreamless and when he wakes, the sun is just coming over the horizon. He stands quietly and stretches, careful not to wake Ochako as he does and then takes off into the forest.

As he hunts for breakfast and searches for flowers, he practices his apology in his head over and over. He’s lost, deep in his own thoughts when a loud crack sounds off to his left. It’s followed by heavy thudding that Katsuki knows must be the footsteps of one of the giants. He drops the flowers he’s holding and ducks behind the nearest tree.

When he steps out his bow is at the ready. His thoughts are on Ochako, on getting back to their camp before anything can happen to her. He wants to run, to get to her as quickly as possible, but his mentor’s voice rings in the back of his mind. Rushing only frightens the deer into running… No, Katsuki can’t run.

He forces himself to step quietly through the brush, taking care to call as little attention to himself as possible. He adjusts his course back, keeping the loud crashing noises as far to his left as he dares. He’s making steady, slow progress until one sounds from ahead of him – from near the campsite. Katsuki ignores his training and runs on instinct, desperate to get back to the camp and protect his bride-to-be at all costs.

When Katsuki arrives back at the road, he finds the embers of the fire still warm and smoldering and Ochako gone. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears as he turns in circles, checking the nearby tree lines and the sandy ground around the camp for footprints and finding none. Where is she? His chest feels tight and his breath is coming in short, shallow huffs as he thinks about what could have happened to her. He’s nearly certain that they’d already been here and he’d been following their retreat and–

CRACK!!

He looks up just in time to see a large log crashing into several others. When he turns to find the source, he sees one of the giants. It stands nearly twenty meters tall. Its skin is mottled and brown, reminding Katsuki of oats cooked with too little water. It stands there, unmoving, as if it’s watching him – as if it’s waiting for something.

Katsuki turns, expecting another giant to come out behind him, but all that he sees is the mess of mangled trees and the large log laying splintered at the edge of the forest where it had come to rest. Katsuki faces the giant, bow raised, but the dull thing just grins at him like it has the upper hand.

He can feel something tickling in the back of his mind while he stares at the massive creature. He glances back once more to the shattered trees. That sound here… Katsuki’s heart falls when it finally dawns on him – he’d been following that sound. They had tricked him. Mislead him… As realization begins to creep further into his conscious thought, Katsuki glances behind him and finds the second giant crawling slowly out of the forest he’d just come from. They herded me…

The giant in the road roars and charges at him. Katsuki quickly raises his bow and looses an arrow at the one closest to him before sprinting across the road. It howls, clutching at its face, but he doesn’t stop to see if he’d hit his intended mark. He knows that he needs to make it to the safety of the trees. He’ll have the advantage there. He can lose them there and focus his attention on finding Ochako.

He’s nearly there when his path is suddenly blocked by a large hand slamming down. The impact shakes the trees nearest him and makes the ground beneath his feet tremble. Katsuki veers right, darting between the creature’s legs and drawing his dagger. He slashes at the giant’s ankle. It shrieks in pain, shaking the ground and knocking over several trees as it falls.

He’s almost reached the forest when one of them swipes at him. The large, clawed hand smashes into his back and sends him flying. Katsuki crashes to the ground, rolling several times and losing his bow in the process before coming to a stop not far from one of the tree lines he’d been trying so desperately to reach only moments ago.

Katsuki lays there, stunned and in pain, knowing that he should move and yet unable to make his body obey. He watches as they struggle to their feet, one clutching at its bloody ankle and other yanking Katsuki’s arrow out of his face. A low growl rumbles, and then the giants charge at him. His bow is on the ground a few feet away. His quiver lies shattered and empty not far from his feet.

Every part of him hurts, but he forces his body to move. He gets to his feet, and the world around him spins. He only manages a few steps before stumbling and falling down onto his knees. Unable to run, Katsuki braces himself. He’s as ready to fight back as he can be when a bright flash of orange light comes from behind him.

He shields his face from the sudden rush of heat and wind. He can hear the giants shrieking and when Katsuki blinks into that blinding light, he finds the giant looming over him turning to dust. Ochako is standing at his side with her arms raised. Bright, magical flames are licking through the sky, swirling the dust high into the air.

She’s chanting, arms trembling as if she’s struggling to contain the power she’s wielding. Her eyes are determined, never wavering from the giant still standing even as the dirt flies in her face. It falls to its knees before her, cracking and crumbling like the other had done.

Katsuki watches her in awe. The same shy child who’d hidden behind her mother’s dress all those years ago now stands victorious where he, himself, had failed. Only once both giants are turned to dust does she turn to him and help him to his feet.

The arm around his waist is strong; the fingers under the hem of his shirt, soft. She leads him back to their camp, letting him walk as slowly as he needs to and pausing when the pain in his ribs becomes too much to continue.

Katsuki can feel a thought tugging at the back of his mind and the next time they stop to rest, he looks around at the piles that were once giants and then back towards their little camp. “They set a trap for me.”

Ochako gives a small, noncommittal hum and tugs him forward. She gets him set down near the fire and adds wood to it, stoking it high and hot and then rifles through her bag. She hands him a few pieces of salted deer and a small vial of medicine, and then begins bandaging his ribs.

She works diligently, mindful of his pain and pausing when he winces. She waits for him to nod before continuing. Katsuki thinks about how kind she must be – to be so gentle with him after he’d been so rude to her.

He drinks down the medicine she’d given him and lays back on his fur. Even though his eyes are heavy, he watches her as she moves about – pulling the small skillet from her pack, going to the edge of the forest to retrieve the satchel she’d filled with wild roots and vegetables, and then setting to work peeling and slicing and cooking.

Though he knows the danger is gone, he still surveys the road and that thought begins to tug at him again. Ochako hadn’t been at the campsite when the giants had shown up. She hadn’t walked into their trap like he had. Logic dictates that she should have come out of the forest opposite him, but she had to have come from further south which means…

“You used me as bait.”

Ochako doesn’t look up from the vegetables she’s chopping, but her cheeks blush pink. “I didn’t expect you to fall into their trap so easily. I would have been closer if I had.”

Katsuki chuckles softly and then winces at the way it makes his ribs ache. “How’d you know it was a trap?”

“You had just left the camp. I wanted to help with breakfast, so I’d gone off to gather some mushrooms and herbs to go with whatever you were hunting.” Ochako is quiet for a moment, tending to the food in front of her and Katsuki lets his head fall back onto the fur and rests his eyes. “When I heard the first crash, I hid. When the second one came from the same direction, I started to follow the sound. Then, I remembered you telling me about those poor villagers – how they’d only been woken up by their roofs caving in.”

Katsuki lets out a low, frustrated groan at having fallen for such a simple lure. If he hadn’t lost his head so quickly, he wouldn’t be injured now. Of course, then he might not have realized exactly how capable Ochako was at holding her own. Watching her now, he can see her strength and intelligence. He feels foolish for having judged her so quickly.

“I’m sorry for what I said…” Katsuki’s mind starts to swim, his thoughts beginning to repeat and fade as he struggles to hold onto them. He thinks to himself that it must be some combination of the medicine she’d given him and his own natural exhaustion and almost completely forgets that he was in the middle of apologizing to her. “… Cheeks. I shouldn’t have… uhm… I mean, when I look at you, I still see that little girl hiding behind her mother’s dress and–”

Katsuki’s words cut off as a coughing fit takes hold of him. Ochako rushes to his side, putting the waterskin to his lips and helping him take a few small sips until he has himself under control. He reaches up, brushing his thumb along her jaw and watching as her cheeks blush that beautiful shade of pink again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I think we both have a lot to learn about each other. I suppose it’s good that we still have a whole journey ahead of us to do so.” Ochako leans down, placing a chaste kiss on Katsuki’s lips and smiling at the way his cheeks flush. “Rest for now. I’ll wake you when breakfast is ready.”

~END~ Written for @kacchakoauzine

Accompanying art by the amazing @Aida24_7 (Twitter)

Leftover Sales Here: https://kacchakoauzine.bigcartel.com

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53174410

#fanfic #bnha #mha #kacchako

[aikoiya]

LoZ: Wild - The Bandit King's Bride

Warnings: Rape/noncon, then dubcon, Stockholm syndrome, & tragic ending.

Also, something important I think should be put forth here. Link & Lara are Monozygotic twins. See, there'd been a copying glitch in the formation of a male zygote making it XXY. So, when the zygotic split took place, it resulted in a male twin with XY & a female twin with XX.

This makes them one of very, very few examples of identical twins of the opposite sex at birth. Evidently, it's a one in 1,000 chance, but then again, what were the odds of them being the legendary hero reborn?

---

We start off in a pre-Calamity BotW setting, only there is no Calamity.

It’s Ganondorf & he has an army of monsters, the Yiga, & the Gerudo all following him. He was raised by the twinrova in a wasteland beyond the Gerudo Desert. It’s a lot like the Pride Lands during Scar’s reign.

As per the theory of Centennial Kings & TotK, this Ganondorf is the 4th Ganondorf since Demise's… demise.

Link is born with a twin sister named Lara (it’s Linkle, I just don’t like the name used in Hyrule Warriors), meanwhile Sidon & Mipha hatched at the same time too. Riju hasn't been born yet, but will be Urbosa’s daughter & Yunobo is Daruk’s son. Revali & Teba are not related, but they are friends & rivals who agreed to face each other on the battlefield to settle who is the best Rito Warrior. Tulin is also way to young to be in the tournament.

Like in OoT, Ganon is attempting to take over all Hyrule by military means.

Lara & Link are basically evenly matched, but in different sets. Link is more skilled with a sword & like most men, is physically stronger & faster with longer limbs, more muscle, & more stamina, while Lara is better with bows & magic & is more agile, flexible, dexterous, & has a far quicker reaction time with a much higher pain tolerance. This doesn’t mean that she isn’t skilled with a sword too though.

Her magic is also more based on old-school, mystical magic rather than the magic through a scientific lense sort of magic that the Sheikah seem to have taken to recently.

---

Anyway, there is no war at the beginning or Calamity & Ganon starts off as the King of the Gerudo as always. It’s only later that they divide. Hyrule is giving Ganon the benefit of the doubt as he is literally only the 4th Evil King Ganon, thus no one realizes that there's a pattern yet & the fact of the matter is that each Ganondorf was 2-10,000 years apart. So little memory was left of those times.

Obviously, they shouldn’t trust him, but what can you do?

The Gerudo were cursed millions of years ago to only ever have a single male every 100 years, the Centennial Kings of the Desert. You see, the Gerudo of the time had invaded Hyrule & put the kingdoms under siege. The Hylians of the time prayed to the trifurcated goddesses to save them. In response, the goddesses placed a curse on the Gerudo, killing off every male, including the king, thereby cutting their armies in half & cutting the head off the serpent per se, thus giving Hyrule the edge they needed to regroup & win.

However, there was a prophecy given to the Gerudo by their Goddess of the Sand, saying that if a Centennial King were to take a Hylian or Sheikah Heroine blessed by the 3 Goddesses as his bride, that she could bare him Voe, thus breaking the curse on the Gerudo forever. The prophecy calls her the Bride of Kings & compares her to a Gerudo Vai in Hyrulean skin; a true warrior & a worthy queen. The strongest woman in either Hyrule or the Gerudo Desert.

As such, there is a lot of pressure on Ganon to find that bride & make her his queen. However, despite having a real & important goal for the legitimate sake of his people, he’s also still the Evil King & wishes to rule Hyrule. (Though we have no effing idea why beyond spite, greed, & the combined influences of his adopted mothers & Demise's hatred.)

Anyway, there is a tournament going on to determine the greatest warrior in all of Hyrule. Anyone can join, Hylian, human, Sheikah, Zora, Goron, Gerudo, Rito, Yeti, male or female. (The Yeti are considered Hyruleans here too, not having gone extinct, & have their own society up in Hebra with the Rito & Hebra humans. There are also still humans living in Hyrule. Most of which residing in farming or ranching towns.) Ganon sends in his greatest warrior, Urbosa, as does every other race, thinking that this would be the perfect way to flush out his fabled bride (if she even existed). This includes all of the original champions of the game from before the Calamity & some of the new ones that you meet through the gameplay. Sidon & Mipha both participate. So does Daruk, Revali, & Teba. However, Yunobo doesn't do so. He chose not to because he was too timid. Though he is up in the stands cheering his dad on & so is Teba's family.

Impa opted out, choosing to instead protect the King & Princess just in case.

In the end, it all comes down to Link & Lara. It doesn’t matter who wins, because it’d end the same either way.

Ganon had indeed been looking for the Bride of Kings, but hadn’t expected to find the little Hylian girl quite so charming & is surprised when she takes down Urbosa in single combat.

Then, in the final, Link & Lara's mark of the Triforce shine upon their hands, revealing themselves to be the reincarnation of the Hero, his soul, evidently, split between them.

Ganon is initially shocked, then maliciously thrilled by this discovery & decides to make her his, knowing her to be the Bride. He'd never thought that his Bride would end up being the actual Hero of Hyrule, or one of them at least, but it had a delightful irony to it.

After making his decision, Ganon spends the week after the tournament studying his target. Gathering information on her before sending his Yiga minions after her.

This arc takes up about 2-7 years’ time.

Ganon has a special collar & shackles, 2 sets, made that can tell when Lara tries to escape & makes her stop moving when she does. The collar renders her incapable of speech so she can’t cast spells, so she has to use sign language to communicate. She knows how to because her brother is selectively mute & only talks to her, their mom, dad, grandpa, & little sister.

With a one word command, a glowing, purple chain of magic will appear between Lara's shackled hands, forcing them to remain only a few inches apart. A longer version of the command will cause the ones shackling her feet to mirror this reaction at the same time. With another command, a glowing, purple chain will appear, attached to her collar with the other end in Ganon's big, meaty hand.

Ganon rapes her. He then taunted her as he used her body for his own pleasure, relishing in her silent screams, saying that even if she managed to escape or she or her pathetic brother beat him, at least he'd die knowing that no pathetic little Hylian, human, or Sheikah would be able to satisfy her or even compare to him. He laughed when her reaction was to bite down viciously on his arm as hard as she could. The feisty little hellcat even drew blood, but to her own dismay, the rough play only stoked the large man’s libido. (Him raping her is very evil. Keep in mind that this is NOT something to fetishize. I'm going through this to show how traumatizing it is for Lara. Keep that in mind.)

Ganon was determined to mold her to his girth & forever leave an impact on her. He rutted her hard, fast, & uncaringly, his manhood slick with her blood, making the passage easier, but no less tight.

Despite this, he was initially reluctant to actually marry her as the Gerudo are extremely monogamous people & despise infidelity bitterly. Plus, by Gerudo customs, marriage would make them equals & mark him as belonging to her as much as she belonged to him now. This would obviously require him giving up a measure of power & he didn't like that.

At this point, he’s made his move on the rest of Hyrule & half of the Gerudo under his command rebel with Urbosa as their leader.

The first year Lara was at Ganon’s Keep, she was forced to walk around wearing Gerudo-style harem Va'màziah (concubine) clothes. It was all tiny & sheer & easy to push aside so that Ganon could take her at any time. Though no one else was allowed to touch her in such a way, Ganon reveled in having the subjects in his keep watch them, because he knew it humiliated the little Hylian Vai. How the burning hatred in her eyes stoked his fire. However, by halfway through that year, he had decided that the benefits of marrying her outweighed the downsides.

Personality-wise, Lara is feisty & independent. She is thought to have one half of the soul of the hero &, with it, one half of the Triforce of Courage. Her brother has the other half. Though, physically weaker than her brother, she still bore the innate strength typical of Hyrule’s Legendary Hero as evident from the many bruises & deep, red scratches she left on the Bandit King’s body whenever she got the chance. So, it wasn’t that she wasn’t strong, but more that Ganon was simply stronger & that her greatest strength lay in the use of weapons & magic.

Ganondorf actually quite liked that she could leave a mark on him with her bare hands. It was more than any of his other conquests could claim. Even other Gerudo had trouble accomplishing this.

As things progress, he finds that he enjoys her body’s comforts more than that of his harem & more frequently begins choosing her to warm his bed over them.

It becomes very obvious, very quickly that Ganon’s harem takes a great disliking to Lara & makes such clear. Many had wanted to become his queen themselves, having not quite believed that he'd actually find the Bride, & chose to show their discomfort by bullying her, planning assassinations, or sometimes even outright attacking her.

Luckily, Lara was a skilled alchemist (Robbie, Purah, & Zelda all being friends of hers) & was familiar with many different types of toxins, having long invented a type of nail polish that changed color when it made contact with poison, so whenever they had something slipped into her food or drink, she almost always immediately recognized it by either scent, taste, or the color of her nails & was quickly able to make an antidote.

Whenever one of Ganon’s harem attacked his prized concubine, he’d have Lara & the perpetrator fight in single combat. Much to his own pleasure & satisfaction, his caged bird always won. However, she had an aversion for taking life when she didn’t think it was necessary. So, he often had the loser beheaded for her troubles.

This obviously traumatized the little Hylian, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to let people think they could disrespect him by disrespecting her.

Later, once they became married, his wedding gift to her was to round up all members of his harem & discontinue their services to him. Meaning that they were no longer his concubines. Doing such was Gerudo custom due to their partner exclusivity. However, as to how he does so is up to the writer.

He can just fire them, knowing that his new wife wasn't fond of unnecessary bloodshed. He can have them killed silently by Yiga. Or he can offer up their lives to his new wife as a wedding present to do with whatever she wishes. Possibly make them her new handmaids. Hell, maybe he literally gifts her their severed heads if you wanna go super dark.

I'm actually thinking of making one of them Lara's friend though.

---

Anyway, the entire time that Lara is at the keep, Link is trying to find & save his sister. It’s an all-out war with the Hyruleans choosing the strongest champions from the games as the commanders for their armies. Link can’t get to Lara for a good long time because due to the reveal of him being the Hero, he has been made into the Princess' personal bodyguard (though, this fact has been kept secret) & has to free the other races from the chokeholds that Ganon has them in through subterfuge much like the previous Ganons had a tendency to.

Rhoam is currently leading the Hylian army & sent Zelda, Link, & Impa to retrieve the Master Sword & try to find a way to unlock Zelda's sealing powers much like in BotW. She had already been trying to beforehand, but in a much more lax manner as the Calamity didn't exist here, with the Tournament being sort of a break for her, but now the stress has really amped up.

At this time, Zelda is traveling with Link in disguise (I'm thinking the reintroduction of Sheik) to the other areas, including the 3 Sacred Springs, because if Ganon doesn’t know where she is, he can’t kill her.

Ganon’s goal is to take over Hyrule Castle, kill the king, Zelda, & Link, & have Lara bare his heirs. He’s done trying to steal the Triforce, because something inside him is telling him it'd be pointless, that it’s too much trouble & not worth the effort. He was determined to use cunning & military might to vanquish his foes instead.

During this time, Ganon has Lara keep up her training because if there was anything he learned from being raised in a race of all women, it was that he hated weak, useless women & greatly respected strong ones.

She’s also tried to escape several times with worsening punishments.

Over time, Stockholm Syndrome starts to set in (the literal definition of it, not the media’s idea of it) despite how he keeps taking her into his bed, but she fights it every step of the way.

At the same time, Lima Syndrome also begins to take effect. He finds that he enjoys watching her fight his minions, train, & work on her potions & inventions. As time passes, he begins to develop a slight, yandere-esk obsession with her. As it develops, Ganon realizes that he doesn’t like other people seeing her in a sexual manner & slowly has her begin to wear clothes more fitting of one in her position & stops taking her in front of others.

As he gets more possessive, he begins joining her more often, having her sit next to him or even in his lap during meetings, & playing strategy games with her.

It took him a while to learn her sign language, but once he did, he found that he quite enjoyed her personality. She was witty & sarcastic with a quick mind & a biting temper.

When Lara confronts him about it, asking why he cared, he cups her cheek with his massive hand, stares into her eyes with an unreadable look & tells her that she was his & only his. That he would no longer subject her to such humiliation so long as she submits to him as her king. He then bent down & kissed her full on the mouth.

It was in that moment that be decided that he didn't just want to own her body. He wanted her heart as well. The next day, he declared that they would wed & that she would be his queen.

In his own way, Ganon does begin to care about Lara & shows moments of tenderness & very real affection for her. Less & less does he refer to her as his Làbanï (my toy) or Surmúta (slut) & begins calling her Yàvài'làra (little heroine) & after marrying her, Vaynï (my wife) or Vai'àttanï (my queen).

By the third year, he even begins to ask for her advice in regards to ruling his kingdom & by the fifth, he chooses to delegate some of his responsibilities to her, having learned that she has a mind for such things.

Ganondorf has since removed the shackles on her wrists & ankles, but not the collar.

He finds her very intelligent & interesting & her feisty personality is very cute to him. He learns early on that she is a skilled archer, bowyer, infuser, alchemist, & combat mage that was able to craft & bespell a bow using the wood of a magical tree & runemantic sigils that would imbue regular arrows with elemental properties with one word commands that would let her channel her magic into them. This allowed her to reduce the amount of different types of arrows she needed to pack in her quiver, which also reduced how much money she'd have to spend.

It was like something described in the old legends. Such magicks had been lost for thousands of years. (Of course, arrows made specifically with certain elements in mind were noticeably more powerful, but the versatility of the bow itself & fewer resources used, more than made up for it.)

Had even learned to revive an old recipe for bombs that would work underwater & had proceeded to create arrows with both them & regular bombs. It was actually quite brilliant. She, however, had yet to figure out a spell that simulated the effect of bombs so later she could do the same thing because tying live bombs to arrows tended to weigh the arrow down & she was forced to take aim quickly or bear the brunt of the explosion herself. She'd already infused her bow to be less affected by water resistance & thus useful even underwater.

It was revolutionary in the art of war & he wondered if that old fool Rhoam had recognized her great talent & had equipped his forces with such an invention! If he hadn't, then woe be he & his military ineptitude, because Ganondorf would be sure to have one of his thieves sneak into her workshop & copy the recipes for his little heroine's spellcaster bows, water bombs, & water bomb arrows. He suspected that they'd be especially effective against the Zora.

Lara was making for a wonderful queen & he made sure to inform her of such whenever pertinent. Though, it only seemed to incense the little Hylian further.

Ganon & Lara’s instructors very quickly noticed that she was more of a long-distance fighter, so they decided to train her more in close-ranged combat in case one of Ganon’s many enemies tried to assassinate her. They soon realized that she was quicker & more agile than her brother & had a particular talent for dual-wielding daggers or scimitars much like Riju in TotK. Teaching her the Gerudo style of swordfighting, she quickly became a dervish of dancing blades on the battlefield. She seemed to have a particular affinity for Moonlight Scimitars.

Ganondorf greatly enjoyed watching her take so quickly to the Gerudo style.

He was also very enamored & possessive of her in a way that wasn't healthy. His feelings, despite their genuineness, didn't stop Ganon from taking her over & over again at his leisure. As such, Lara was very bitter.

While Lara is locked away, she utilizes the alchemical lab that Ganon lets her use (under strict supervision) to try & invent a potion that can keep someone heavily hydrated even in the desert.

A regular old, basic Chilly Elixir may keep you cool, but it doesn't necessarily prolong hydration. However, it could be effective as the base for a more advanced & complex potion than the basic ones her brother usually makes just using a camping pot. (Those are all Link really knows how to do. He was always more of a chef than an alchemist, the glutton. Meanwhile, Lara is a damn good cook & a true foodie, but she had nothing on her brother's raw appetite. (That boy ate rocks!!) While they were both exceptional cooks, she just seemed to have a natural inclination towards it that her brother didn't. Not that he ever complained. To Link, it just meant that he got to eat his sister's cooking.)

If she started with a base of White Chu Jelly for the stock (chu jelly is good for making potion bases because they generally have a low melting point that reduces them to a liquid consistency so there's no need to use water & dilute the effect) in a bowl with a teardrop-cut Opal. Put in the bones of a Chillfin Trout, then heat & stir the jelly clockwise until the jelly loses cohesion & is reduced to a liquid, then turn down the heat to a simmer. She could then slowly add the fat from an Octorock, heated so it just begins to loosen. Then infuse with Hydromelon juice & heat to a boil. Cut a Lizalfos Tail into chunks then add & stir counter clockwise. Crush Summerwing Butterfly wings & Sand Cicada legs into a paste, dump into Cauldron & then stir clockwise. Continue stirring until the brew emits an icy, mist-like steam. Next remove the bones & drain into bottles. Yields 3.

It takes a LOT of skill & study to be able to make potions with more than one effect, but this one should allow someone to survive both the scorching heat of the desert days & the frigid chill of the desert nights while staying hydrated & making it just that little bit easier to travel on sand.

If it worked, she could find some way to get the Desert Travel Potion recipe to Link, who might be able to get it to the Zora so they can march through the desert. The Rito could manage with just Chilly Potions as they are built for frigid cold & could survive desert nights, but the Zora needed this.

They'd need all the help they could get.

—

While by this point, Lara hadn't begun to love him, but his change in attitude was doing weird things to her head. So, she'd begun to enjoy it more despite herself. (Because trauma does really weird things to one's head.)

At some point, Ganon meets Sidon in battle & learns through observation that the prince has a thing for Lara. Ganon then proceeds to taunt him with the woman’s skills in bed & how often he took her, enraging not only the Zora prince, but also Link when the giant shark-man informed him of what’d been said.

Like in the game, the 2 sets of twins have known each other for a long time. Mipha & Sidon watched the hero twins grow up & a few years after the hero twins reached maturity, Link & Mipha started up a relationship, but it later ended amiably. During that time, Sidon had developed a crush on Lara, but said nothing to try & salvage their friendship. It wasn’t until after Link & Mipha broke up & kept being friends that Sidon realized that even if things went badly, he & Lara would be able to remain friends. He just hadn’t made his move before she was taken. (None of them seemed to realize that by getting together, Link had essentially been groomed by Mipha even though that was never her intention.)

Sidon hates that he won’t be able to go with Link & storm Ganon's Keep because in order to get there, you have to cross the desert & it would be impossible to cross with his life.

Then, Lara's new recipe was secreted to the Zora's Domain & he couldn't help but admire her even more. She & her brother were both truly amazing!

As a result, later, when Hyrule & her allies marched toward the wastes, the Zora were with them, fueled by Lara’s Desert Travel Potion.

On the way there, they met one half of the Gerudo army, lead by Urbosa, who joined them in their champaign against Ganondorf.

—

Backtracking a bit, it isn't long before Lara becomes pregnant & Ganon seemed to become slightly enamored with touching her stomach upon learning of her state. He became noticeably gentler with the woman, always careful not to hurt her too badly. Upon his first child’s birth, a dōro (son) to everyone’s great delight, it became evident that he would genuinely love his children. The newborn voe was named Asïm by Lara, classifying him as a protector. Ganondorf became more tender, often watching contentedly as his vay & dōro interacted with each other.

Not long after his son was born, the first non-royal male Gerudo was also born in Gerudo Town & there was great celebration, for the curse was broken. And it lasted a full week.

When his next children were born, twins both boys, Ganon was estatic.

---

I'm thinking that, at some point, upon realizing that the Hero was on his way, Ganon decides to do something drastic as he had become dangerously possessive of his wife & refused to let her go.

Thus, he had his mothers help him to place a curse upon his & his wife's souls using the black magic they were known for. One that would draw Lara to him & him to her whenever they were reborn or even simply alive at the same time & of age to wed.

The spell would bind their souls together for eternity as far as he knew.

His sweet bride would surely despise him forever if she knew what had powered this spell... (I shall leave it on that fairly ominous note...)

—

Anyway, Link & Sidon defeat Ganon & seal him away.

By the time Link gets there & saves his sister, however, she’d already had 3 children, 2 of which being twins, & was heavily pregnant with a fourth. This final one being the first female.

This would be the end of this chapter of the story.

—

We cut back in to Lara dropping off her children with Link & Zelda. It's been at least 5 years since the war with Ganondorf & she was still recovering mentally.

She & Sidon had been getting serious & he'd accepted her kids as readily as he'd accepted Link & herself.

She knew that the prince was getting scrutiny from the elders of his people to end his relationship with the Hylian Heroine & marry a Zora woman to continue the royal line.

Here, Sidon is the eldest twin, thus making him crown prince of the Zora &, as such, he had a lot of expectations placed on him.

This lead to Lara trying to research a solution. Any solution. Which came to bear in the form of an ancient legend of another country where certain masks could transform one's body.

So, she left her precious babies with Link & his girlfriend, the Princess Zelda, before setting out.

She eventually manages to find Termina, at which point, the events of Majora's Mask takes place with her at the center, where she discovers a talent for music magic & playing instruments in-general. See, I'm going off this being the Adult Timeline, meaning Time Link was sent back in time, vanishing from this timeline, thus this Termina wasn't saved.

Moving on, this is the basic premise of the second chapter. And, let me tell you, when she obtains the Zora Mask, she is very conflicted. On the one hand, she has the solution to her & Sidon's problem. On the other hand, this poor Zora literally died, leaving Mikau to deal with the pressures of taking care of his & Lulu's eggs without the aid of his real sister, Rana! (Rana plays a violin made of fishbone.)

Here, Mikau comes with you to aide you in saving the ocean.

(Being a Goron was weird though because there were no female Gorons because they didn't reproduce via sex, thus making them all asexual & without genitals.)

If nothing else, if it worked like she hoped, she & Sidon would be able to have children which would satisfy his duties & allow King Dorephan some peace of mind.

Anyway, at the end of which, she takes the transformation masks with her back home.

—

The 3rd chapter opens up with Lara returning to Hyrule only to find that the Upheaval has taken place, both Link & Zelda are missing, the palace is in the fucking sky, & the other races of Hyrule are being beset once more.

Panicking, she immediately makes a b-line for the nearest settlement, skipping all other things, to try & learn what happened to her family only to learn that they too were missing.

Somewhere along the way, she meets up with her brother, who she demands tell her where her kids are.

Just to learn that they'd simply disappeared from the Royal Safehouse, which was where they'd been left when Link & Zelda went to investigate the Gloom, & that, apparently, there was another big bad, though he doesn't know his name yet.

Her world narrowed to a point.

Anyways, the twins set out to save Hyrule, Zelda, & Lara's babies. Lara making frequent use of the masks she'd obtained over her previous adventure.

(Interesting thing, the Depths are inhabited by Mogma, who have been besieged by the Gloom, which they call Miasma, for 10,000 years & had slowly gotten worse over time, with it getting even worse much more quickly recently.)

Then, the mounting horror that filled both heroes as they learned of this new Ganondorf. The denial that rose from them, insisting that the name was likely just a cultural thing. Traditional. Only for Lara to see his face & realize that they bore the same face & the same wicked eyes.

The panick.

---

When they got to Zora's Domain & met Yona, who introduced herself as Sidon's fiancée, both twins went quiet with shock. (Mipha is helping Yona with the infirmary. The simpathy in her eyes had been evident.)

Lara was initially angry until she remembered that Sidon was a prince & that this marriage had likely been in the works for longer than she'd been alive.

All that work trying to find a solution to their relationship, for nothing.

Lara had always been the rational sort despite her temper &, as a knight, she had been trained to know her place &, despite what the Gerudo legends said, it wasn't beside a king. (Link got a pass to be with Zelda because he actually did shit last time, which made him a real hero.)

For the record, immediately upon seeing Lara, Sidon embraces her & breaks it to her gently. Promising that this arrangement had come up out of the blue while she was gone. It'd been planned since they were children, but he'd only just learned about it himself. That he'd fought against it, but had been unable to change his father's mind. As the crown prince, he had a duty to his people.

And because Lara knew Sidon to be the sort to take responsibility for his wrongs, she believed him, though she brushed aside her sadness & didn't mention the Zora Mask she'd gotten.

The former pair's interactions afterwards were… awkward…

Lara would watch Yona's interactions with Sidon, it was obvious that there was very real affection for each other present. Not only that, but the Zora woman was very regal & proper & the worst part was, Yona was nothing but sweet & cordial to her despite most likely knowing by this point the relationship that Lara had with her fiancé, so she didn't even have an excuse to be angry with her.

These things only further cemented Lara's decision to just… get out of their way.

Yona would make a better queen anyway. Lara was damaged goods & technically still married as Ganon wasn't truly dead, so why would Sidon ever choose her? The fact that their relationship had been so widely accepted for as long as it was, was already a miracle.

She was just a little peasant girl from nowhere Hateno Village in West Necluda who somehow managed to become a knight. And despite having the Soul of the Hero, she didn't even have her own sealing weapon because, evidently, not even the goddess had forseen her existence. What did she have to offer?

Lara never said so, but the Hylian Heroine's sense of self-worth had been damaged greatly by her encounter with Ganondorf.

Though, upside, she had new ingredients to experiment with in her alchemy…

Splash Fruit would absolutely improve her Desert Travel Potion…

Not to mention all the stuff she could learn from her brother's new hand!

Though, the only one she could figure out how to replicate was the Fuse Weapon one. Which, just that was amazing! (Though, she soon learned that arrows just coated with an elemental ingredient wasn't as effective as when she specifically infused an arrow with elemental magic using her spellcaster bow. Though, it turned out that mixing the 2 methods made for an even more potent arrow that was just as potent as using a specifically designed elemental arrow.)

When they go talk to Dorephan, he looks at her with sorrow & apologizes for the decision he'd been forced to make. She's just silent...

Anyway, once they finish with the 4 phenomenon & go to Hyrule Castle, this new Ganon taunts Link & Lara, saying that he knew that Lara was the Bride & that she was his by right. It was like the Ganondorf who first kidnapped & raped her was back with none of the (admittedly minute) character growth he went through in the end.

The Demon King then said that he looked forward to getting to know the little Vai that her children told him about. At which point, Lara's blood turns to ice in her veins. It was like her entire world had just decided "fuck Lara in particular," because it was just one awful thing after another lately.

Then, the 4 Sages appear & fight off the asshole.

At the end of it, Sidon comes up to her, having noticed her distress & panic, to which she breaks down, weeping that this new Ganondorf had taken her babies & she had no idea where they were.

That this wasn't the same Ganondorf who'd kidnapped her the first time. At least he, she knew, loved those children, but this new person, she had no idea what he'd do to them!

The dread in Sidon's heart at the danger that the children were in. The very ones he'd always hoped in his heart that he'd one day be able to call his own. It was crippling. At the heartache of the woman before him, the woman he loved, but couldn't have.

He wished with everything in his soul that he could take her & her children back to the Domain & protect them from everything that could do them harm…

But he couldn't… The best he could do was be there for her now… As a very dear friend & nothing more…

He embraced her, hiding her from everyone else's view.

Never in his entire life had Sidon hated someone so much as this new Ganondorf… Not even the other one. At least he'd cared for Lara & their offspring in his own twisted, villainous way...

This new Ganondorf would pay…

—

I'm not sure where things would go from here, but at the end of the TotK arc, Link is down an arm altogether instead of having his old one restored & Zelda, instead of returning to full Hylian, ends up something like a draconid (half-dragon) with Light Dragon features. And that's just how she looks now.

And… Sidara will not happen. I'm sorry, but sometimes tragedy just happens.

Lara settles down in Lurelin Village & becomes something of a doctor there.

I'm thinking of having Lara later have an affair with Sidon (at which point, Lara reveals the mask she'd gotten for them), which results in bastard fries (Zora babies). 7 at once to be exact. (Lulu had a lot of them suckers!)

The unique mixing of Termina's old saltwater Zora with Hyrule's new freshwater Zora results in euryhaline Zora able to survive in both the ocean & rivers. Their appearance ends up resembling that of the Twilight Princess Zora, though with more color variation. Their main color remains that sort of silvery blue shade of the old Zora, but with accent colors much like the new Zora. However, they do seem to retain the new Zoran sizes.

A bit like this in style. Not my art. Though, with more variety of colors for the accents.

These Zora later make a settlement on Eventide Island & create a new Domain called Koholint, which will be the smallest island of the Koholina Archipelago.

Later, Lurelinites & a small faction of Rito move there & adapt to the climate, becoming more water birds. They come to be known as Coastal Rito.

Anyway, Lara dies of old age while her & Sidon's fries are still young. (Zora lifespans, dude.)

And those children are brought by Lara's eldest Gerudo son, Asïm, now grown & the Gerudo King, not to mention married to Riju with children of their own, to Sidon who is blindsided by the fact that Lara was dead, but before that had given him hatchlings. They hadn't seen each other since… that night… Not only had it been too painful... but he'd also learned that by knowing her as a child & then being with her later, he'd essentially groomed her. The shame... he couldn't see her again now knowing what he did.

He'd since passed a law that prevented Hylians & Sheikah below the age of 18 from being allowed into the Domain. Sidon never wanted such a thing to happen again.

Anyway, while these hatchlings were spawned out of wedlock, he refused to let himself be pressured into sending them away or not acknowledging them as his! Hadn't he given up enough for the sake of his duties!? What about his duties as a father?!

Of course, he cared for Yona & had even grown to love her, but he'd also never be able to forget Lara either. She had been his beloved despite the moral bankruptcy of that fact, but he couldn't change that.

To think that the Hylian Heroine had never found someone else to love as he'd hoped & prayed would happen. That she'd died alone without someone to cherish her as she'd wanted & deserved to be… It was the greatest injustice he'd ever known & it absolutely broke his heart!

For years Sidon mourned her & made sure to tell his & Lara's fries everything he could about their mother & uncle. The heroes that they'd been.

Lara eventually became a figure in Zora & Gerudo legend known for being the central figure in an epic tragic love story known as the Weeping Queen.

Sidon did eventually spawn with Yona legitimate fries & let it be said that Yona raised Lara's hatchlings as if they were her own. However, due to being illegitimate, they were not eligible for the Zora throne.

This is why they eventually made a new Domain on & around Eventide Island. While their architecture resembles Zora's Domain, with the commercial district being on the island itself & the residences being underwater, the designs resembles more the inside of the Face Dungeon from the new Link's Awakening remake. With some definite influence from Lurelin.

I might make a new prompt going over Ganondorf coming back & searching for Lara, whether his wife or the newest incarnation of her.

I definitely want a scene where he finds Lara's grave & mourns her in his own way.

LoZ My Fanfic Masterlist

#loz #legend of zelda #botw #breath of the wild #mm #majora's mask #totk #tears of the kingdom #ganondorf #fem!link #linkle #ganondorf x fem!link #ganondorf x linkle #sidon x fem!link #sidon x linkle #tragedy #duties #responsibilities #the bandit king's bride #the weeping queen #nsft

[belog-grada-crna-princeza]

june 7th, 2023 in belgrade

Here's the thing. I was so dishonest, so full of sh*t. I built this world of make-believe. Maybe I wasn't dishonest. Maybe I was just a writer. Maybe all writers are liars. Anyway, I wrote a play, a script, characters, roles. Or were they assigned to me? I don't remember. Sometimes I (would) feel like a piece on a chessboard. I became obsessed with control. If I can make my own world and choose what comes in and out of it, maybe I can win this game. Except no one ever told me the rules. Every move I made was a losing one. Every move I made put me in a worse position than before. Everyone else was advancing and I would spin around in circles like a peg top. At first, interesting, exciting, new. But soon, I would be out of tricks and they would move on. I can entice everyone; I can't keep anyone. When the show is over, what's left is just me. So I invented more plotlines. More twists and turns. Better costumes, better lies. I became so good at it I even kept the truth from myself. It was always like staring into a fast flowing river. There would be glimpses here and there but nothing tangible, solid. Nothing I could make sense of. All those smoke and mirrors transformed into the weirdest f*cking symptoms. I would get this electric feeling in my stomach, like there was lighting inside of my body. I would get aches and pains but all my scans always showed up normal. I would stay up late at night haunted by memories I wasn't sure I didn't make up. It was all fragmented. I wanted to break all my mirrors and cut on my skin with the pieces to see if I bled. I was convinced there was no blood in my veins. I was filled with nothing, with air, with emptiness. A walking contradiction. An entity. But not human. I've been in therapy for years, you know? I was so resentful, so fed up. More clever, sneaky lies. I can't possibly be fixed, can I? She just believes my masks. Hell, I believe my masks. I would fantasize about her ripping off my face and looking directly at what lied underneath. No pun intended. I don't really know what eventually got through. It's the paradox of armour like mine. (My whole life is a paradox, if it wasn't obvious by now). It seemed heavy, big, strong, but it collapsed from the smallest speck of dust. I was bare, unprotected, exposed. Instead of building even higher walls, I lay down on the battlefield ready to bleed to death. And then it hit me. And I was euphoric. I AM BLEEDING!!!!!!! You can understand how exciting that was. I can bleed. I can die. Which means: I can live. There is no light without darkness and there is no darkness without light. It should've been obvious, right? But it wasn't, not until then. I had divided my world into absolutes. Good and evil. If I wasn't clean, pure, perfect then surely I was disgusting, horrifying, beastly. But for the first time, none of it was true. I bleed like the rest of them. I am killable, mortal, ordinary just like the rest of them. Which means, for the first time ever I was actually capable of being something more. You won't get it. Not until you feel it for yourself. I cannot explain it to you. But I look at the grass and the birds flying and the sun rising in the morning and it's filled with so much meaning for me now. I don't need another world. I am not afraid anymore. Not even of death. It's not self-destructive like before. It's peaceful. I don't tell fibs, I don't need to. I don't hide in the shadows. I don't need to rule the world anymore, or to hide from it. I can only love it. I can only be a part of it. To you maybe it was obvious. But to me, it's a revelation. I love my scars and I love remembering the war. Not because I won. Because I lost and it destroyed every illusion I had created and because the truth is more peaceful if you let it in. You can't explain it. You just live it.

#journal #personal #journal dump #journal thoughts #Thoughts #therapy #self reflection #life #honesty #masks #beloggradacrnaprinceza

[ffxivaltaholic]

~Prompt #2: Bolt~

TW: Blood/Trauma/Death

“This is a vital step in your therapy... To confront the memory, to face the fear and regret so that you can move forward. Now please Jellal, recount for me what happened, what you remember of that fateful day in Carteneau... So that we may lay this fear to bear and overcome it together.”

“Well...” The words caught in his throat, seeming determined not to spill free and the Seeker pulled out a cigarette, lighting it as if by reflex.  Normally a patient would not be allowed to smoke in the room, but considering the sensitive nature of things, his therapist decided not to comment. As the Seeker took a deep inhale, he seemed determined to push past the invisible barrier to those tightly locked, painfully lingering memories. “It was chaos...  Smoke and fire choking your lungs and stinging your eyes, the scent of metal and ash... The coppery taste of blood on the wind.  A battlefield strewn with dead and dying, mortals and machines.” His voice was shaky, but the words began to paint a picture of a terrible battlefield, one that felt so far in the past and yet, barely was reaching a mere decade.  “I pulled fabric over my mouth to try and filter some of it out as best I could, trudging forward with the rest of my unit.  We were accompanying magitek Reapers as support.” A pause, and he met his therapist’s gentle blue eyes.  “My brother and I...”  A small hiccup, as if the Miqo’te had wanted to say a name, and yet could not. It took him a minute of silence and half the cigarette before he steadied his voice to speak somewhat, struggling with the name.  “S... Seyrin and I...We swore to stay together, to protect each other.” It hurt, so fucking badly to say his name again. Finding the strength Jellal continued.  “One of the Reapers, it went down, having been struck and essentially short circuited.” It was the easiest was to describe it without unecessary details. “I was ordered to get it back up, most of it was an adrenalin fueled blur, my body reacting on muscle memory and years of training and preparation.  I was so close but I couldn’t reach far enough into the unit as my armor was catching.  I paused to try and remove the bracer...” Brows furrowed and in the soft light he almost seemed to age a little, lines seeming enhanced by the tension in the man’s features, the scar across his tanned face partly revealed from under blonde bangs. “Seyrin... He saw me fighting to get the vambrace off, as the buckle had broken on it, and left his post to assist me.  I tried to explain but he would not listen, he just sent me away, to take his place as cover fire.  I did as told, he was my older brother and I trusted his judgement.  I had failed my task and now he had to complete it for me...” The words were becoming heavier, ladened with guilt, shame, and self-loathing. “I picked up my gun and spotted a mage, lining up the shot, but before I could pull the trigger... A flash, a powerful bolt of lightning ripped through the smoke and struck the Reaper... My brother...” He choked again, pain evident in his tone, and took another long inhale of the cigarette as the vice seemed the only thing that steadied the man now.  “He was thrown back.  I... I ran to him...  He was burned so badly, his arm that had been extended into a part of the Reaper...  Was black, the flesh charred.. The smell unbearable.”  Going through this was putting a great deal of strain on the Seeker, but this was the farthest they had gotten in recounting his trauma, and she did not want to end the session yet, not when he was making such progress. “He was bloodied and all I could do... Was... Gather him in my arms...  I... I screamed for a Medicus, someone... Anyone... But my voice was drowned out by the sounds of war.  We were just conscripts. Expendable tools to the empire.  I begged him to be strong, even as I could feel his life slipping away into a pool of blood, soaking through my armor and clothes.” The agitation was visible in his ears as they flattened back, his tail twitching with stress and anxiety. “I watched the life leave his eyes, held his hand and promised to stay by his side until the end, then at least we would be together... The red moon had shattered and Bahamut was razing the battlefield regardless of who was there... I simply accepted that I would join Seyrin soon...” But that hadn’t been the case, as their commander had pried Jellal from his brother’s corpse and dragged him as far from the battle as possible, intent to save at least one of his soldiers, conscript or not. They had been his duty and he refused to give up.   After explaining what he could remember, Jellal shifted to put out the cigarette and gently he pulled out a set of tags that was tucked in his shirt on an old chain.  “All I had left was this.  He had taken it from my brother to give me something to hold onto... I don’t remember when I was given them, everything was a blurred mess for weeks after...” Taking a deep breath he shuddered a little and rubbed a hand over his face, seeming exhausted from recounting the traumatic tale all at one time.  “That is why I am rendered completely useless against a mage that can wield lightning...  A single bolt, and I freeze, my body unable to push past those memories...”  It trigged a traumatic episode, the reason he was in this therapy session to begin with.  For the moment they at least knew the route of it.  Months of work, and now a new step forward to finally help him move on and heal. Now, they only needed to overcome it.

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