#looks like a sword or knife wound to me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

Text

Run Away To Me (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.5k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, intentional harm (in the recent past), blood, angst, protective Johnny, hurt/comfort, pining, speedy relationship, etc.

A/N: Johnny sweaty and working the forge...that is all.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You groggily awoke to the steady sound of a hammer meeting metal and the scent of eggs. Warm bread makes your mouth water. Eyelids peeling back, your lashes flutter in even intervals as you groan in the back of your throat, content and unbothered in this soft bed of fur and cotton. For a moment you had forgotten everything that had transpired—the run and the rain slamming into your scalp.

Had it all been some dark dream? A trick?

“Ow!” You hiss, hand darting out from the plush covers as a sharp pain darts through it. Your eyes blink on the bloody bandages, white now completely bled through with fresh crimson.

Everything comes rushing back in a lightning-strike moment of realization.

Quickly sitting up, your face moves all over the sun-lit room, rays of light leaking in through the opened shutters; past the glass of the windows, the nearly violent green of the near forest line meets your wide gaze. A small sound exits your throat, fingers sliding through the bear fur that had been once pulled up to your ears as you gather your senses.

Johnny. The blacksmith.

Your eyes lock onto the small table across the room.

As the hammering outside continues to ring in your eardrums, you tilt your head at the items sitting atop—slipping off the bed you go to tidy the fur but pause in your curiosity. A patch of blood from your wound stains the sheets and you slow at the sight, the air leaving your lungs.

“Oh,” you swallow down your slight nervousness, heart jumping for a moment as you bite your lip.

You would have to tell Mr. MacTavsish—your brows furrow.

Not Mr. MacTavish, he asked me to call him Johnny. A strange thing, now that you thought about it as you slowly back away and go to the table, gut rumbling at the sight of fresh eggs on bread. There was also a parcel covered in cloth sitting on the chair.

Carefully tiptoeing, you grab the plate with a delicate hand, picking it up as you lick your lips. Had the man…made you breakfast?

“What reality have I slipped into?” Your lips whisper, Johnny’s clothes hanging off of you heavily. Not only food but milk had been poured into a carved cup as well, and utensils placed on the table with care. Fork and knife on the right, spoon on the left; all forged and tempered.

It was sweet, perhaps. Kind.

You eat standing, bare feet taking you around the homestead as you listen to the blacksmith work outside. Your hands take up carved knick-knacks of animals, twirling them in a hand as you lick your lips before placing them back with all the care of a priceless possession. Chuckling at the poorly wooden face of a deer, you bring the last bits of food to your lips as you pass the window.

Sucking in a swift breath, your body freezes.

Perhaps it was the sudden freedom of your situation or even the want of true, honest, companionship, but you had suddenly never seen someone look as good as kind Johnny MacTavish as he worked his forge.

The earth was still layered in dew and mist, the distance between the main home and the small hut that was holding anvil, tongs, the flame of the furnace itself, and a great number of hammers. One of which was being wielded with firm efficiency by the sweat-stained hands of Johnny—being brought down again and again to the molten form of what would be a fine sword.

Clothed in a rolled-back white tunic, like the one from yesterday, and brown breaches, there was a leather apron tied ‘round his waist cinched tight. Lips parting, you watch with a guilty conscious for the frailness of your resolve; gaping at the sight.

Johnny works like the dead might rise, not faltering or slowing in the abuse of the metal—twisting the rough shape of the blade and flipping it with one hand while the other hammers. How he doesn’t overheat you’d never know; letting out a slow breath as the sweat slips down his strong jaw and drips from his chin, mouth open with a far-off pant of air.

Electricity of the same breed as last night sizzles down your spine like a finger caressing the knobs of bone, hairs standing on end as you quickly clear your throat against the burn of your face. You shift your body away, fearfully aware of the scent of Johnny’s clothes and the very bed you had slept in last night.

“My parents will never allow me back into their home,” you utter, picking at your bandages. “I shall never even be seen in the very air near them.”

But the true question was whether or not that was a good thing. While this freedom of yours was what you wanted, you were a woman of relative standing—having no family, no husband, and no money to your name was not ideal. In fact, it could very well be the death of you.

You stand and lightly lick your fingers of crumbs. “At the very least,” the wood under your feet is warm from an only recently dead hearth, “this Blacksmith is quite good with meals. Such a peculiar man, hm?”

Smiling to yourself, you chuckle and push back the heat in your blood; this odd attraction to a working man. So different from Lord Wilkin.

Not wanting to sink back into that hole quite yet, you remember Johnny’s hands slipping over yours as you take a final glance back out the window before heading back over to the table. Cobalt eyes meet yours in an instant of wide shyness through the glass.

Staring at each other, the Blacksmith's legs shift from where they dig into the packed ground, large biceps tight as they hold the hammer and the dulling metal.

Blinking quickly, you feel your heart skip beats at the soft contact.

Smiling awkwardly, you raise the empty plate in display, chuckling as a wide, pleased, grin builds on Johnny’s face. He mocks a small bow, hammer going across his abdomen as his dirty cheeks peel back at his glee—you see his chest move with a deep laugh. Like the scent of lavender in your nose, you can call the sound of it to your ears as if he was in the house all this time.

Quickly skittering away, you feel giddy, placing down your plate and taking a sip of milk before looking at the parcel. While your mind may be mingling with the blacksmith and the sweat of his body, curiosity was getting to you. And, mayhaps, a shyness at being caught.

It was covered in dark cloth, and when you touch it, the fabric immediately reminds you of a cloak—an expensive and finely spun wool dyed green. Lips parting, your hands pick it up and place it on the table; turning it over as you pull at the twine tie.

Your heart seems to grow like a flower, the pedals opening and the stem becoming strong with a rush of admiration.

“When did you do this, Blacksmith?” Your voice hits off the walls in a breathy gasp as the hammering picks back up outside.

Smiling delicately, you pick up the fine linen of a chemise and the paired kirtle dyed deep blue. It wasn’t the most extravagant thing you’d worn by a long shot but as you step back and size it to your body, you decide that it was the most meaningful.

When had he gotten up to ride into town and buy this for you? How much did it cost?

How could this blacksmith be as chivalrous as a Knight? Not wanting you to be forced to wear his own clothes in a way unflattering to your status even if you didn’t truly care about all of that.

You had no answer, body vibrating with warmth as you slipped out of Johnny’s sleep clothes and slid the gifted items over your skin. They were slightly oversized for ease of the man’s mind, not knowing your measurements. With a small bronze clip, you situate the cloak before the boots at the door add to the already bursting emotions in your veins.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, putting your fingers to your lips to hide the shaky inhale. All of this care after such horror was nearly unthinkable; by a complete stranger no less.

Your own family had never been so generous.

Taking up your now empty cup, you look to the water basin and let your ears twitch to the sound of physical labor; thinking, wanting to give even just a sliver of thanks back for this debt. As you lace your new boots, leather, you keep the memory of his calloused hands in the front of your skull with honied sanctity.

You fill the cup and that’s that.

Cheeks heating, you bring the water with you as you exit the home, breathing down the scent of rain and pulling your cloak tighter to your neck at the slight chill. Closing the door, you make your way to Johnny who continues to work away, now a small distance from the anvil and setting the iron back into the fire to heat.

His large back flexes and rolls with the movement.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” the cup stays steady in your two hands as you see Johnny’s muscles momentarily tense, blue eyes turning to look over his shoulders. There’s a moment where something swirls in his eyes as he stares down at your new clothes, standing up to his full height quickly. You blink. “...I’m sorry, but besides an offer of fresh water I’m unable to repay you for the gifts.”

“Ah,” Johnny clears his throat, looking back to his forge before turning back to you with a bashful look. “Please, none of that. I needed to go off and grab more grain for my horse, see.” He chuckles. “But I’m glad they fit, Dearie, was a bit worried I’d asked the wrong size.”

“They’re perfect,” you shake your head. “It was…far more than I deserve.”

Brows furrow. For such a presence, he slips the cup out of your hands with more care than your husband-to-be had ever thought to handle you, nodding a deep thank you.

“Now why would you say something like that?” Your head tilts, lips thinning. You suppose it was right to make good on the deal you’d struck last night.

Johnny takes a sip from the cup, waiting for your answer as one hand hangs from the neck of his apron, fast lungs steadily slowing. As you frown and gather your thoughts, you don’t notice his eyes narrowing, concerned.

“Well, anyways,” he clears his throat, itching at his stubble to change the subject as you startle back to reality before you can form a sentence. “I suppose I’d better take a look at that cut of yours, then, eh? Wouldn’t want it to get infected, do we?”

“That’s not…” He has already darted to a small chest in the corner of the open hut, cup placed on the anvil top before he opens the thing with a scratch of rusty hinges. “...necessary.”

The blacksmith laughs, taking out fresh badges.

“I don’t think gettin’ bedridden is in your plans, now is it? C’mon…I’ll be gentle.” Johnny winks with a smirk and your pulse flares; stuttering as he grasps your elbow—leading you out of the forge and to a small break in the trees.

A stump and a dead firepit take form, and you’re plopped down to the wood with a small huff, a stiff look sent to the man who only smiles and raises an eyebrow.

“Is my kindness wearin’ ya down, Little Lady?”

“You’ll make me lose my head and I’ve only known you for, at most,” you emphasize as he kneels down and takes your bloody hand, “half a day.”

“Being generous,” Johnny hums, unwrapping your hand and once again looking you over. Bloody, but still alright. His fingers move to pick up dew from the grass and wipe away some of the crimson pigment as if an artist. “When one goes and nearly makes a man’s house crumble from the force of ‘er fists, it’s only customary for him to respect her.” Blue eyes gaze up to you and twinkle. “I’m just savin’ my own hide.”

“How honorable,” you shake your head and turn to hide the full-face grin, moments later laughs slip your tongue. “They weren’t that loud,” your vise insists, “...were they?”

“Thought the world was ending,” Johnny says it was a fake expression of seriousness, re-wrapping your hand in clean cloth. “Damn near got to my knees and prayed.”

You find great amusement in that, placing a hand over your mouth as your spine shakes with loud laughs. The scene is similar to the one from last night—the blacksmith offering jokes and merriment to get you to laugh. It's as if every time he succeeds he smiles just a smidge wider. Realizing this, you feel your lips twitch and you look away, embarrassed.

“...I promised you answers, did I not?” You decide to ask, deciding that getting this over soon was the best course of action; also the more courteous one. After so much giving, you had to share at least the reason for all of this. “I’m sorry.” Johnny frowns at you, tying another loose knot atop your palm before sitting back on the ground.

On his bent knee, he rests his arm, hanging off loosely, while the other hand rests behind his back as a way to keep him upward. With all of this, with him, you'd entirely forgotten to mention the stained sheets.

“There’s no need to apologize to me, Dearie, I won’t do anythin’. I promised you,” he smiles, “remember?” You blink softly at his strong face, those eyes studying you as your hands rest in your lap; curled over each other.

“There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.”

Johnny huffs a chuckle, shaking his head. “Take your time, eh? I won’t be needin’ to travel back into town again until late evening.” Your hands curl slightly tighter, touched.

The blacksmith watches you as you gather your thoughts, your face going stiff and new boots shuffling over the grass. Blue slides to your hand and his lips turn down.

He’d be lying if he didn’t say he’d been up most of the night and working before the sun had risen—mind occupied by the woman that had been in his bed and the little information he had. Obviously, Lord Wilkin was looking for you; adamantly.

Relentlessly.

When he’d been in town there had been guards everywhere, checking every shop and house like beasts of metal and sharp words. You were the Lord’s bride, of course. As the tailor had asked him, a bit dejected, if he’d taken a wife as he’d bought you your chemise and kirtle, the woman had mentioned the wedding.

“Little thing darted off during the Handfasting ceremony, I ‘erd. The Lord had only just put the knife to her palm before she yelled and fled. Oh, ya should have seen it, Mr. MacTavish. Like a bat from Hell, Lord help me. He’ll not stop till he’s found ‘er.”

Johnny’s stomach rolls, abdomen tightening as he shifts to release tension. Along the ground, his hand momentarily clenches. You hum under your breath, whispering out an easy, “Are we sure we should be outside for this?”

The man blinks in confusion.

“Well, would…you prefer being inside?” You look nervous, fingers flinching over themselves and Johnny sits up straighter, letting his large hand carefully grasp your knee. Your innocently wide eyes lock with his own. He offers a comforting look. “It’s no difference to me—you decide. Whichever’s easier, eh?”

“It’s just,” you begin, the skin below your kirtle burning you in the best possible way. What was happening to you? “Well…My family rarely let me out.” Johnny’s body stills to a near stone carving. “Said I was to stay inside. I suppose I’m not overly used to it, you see.”

It’s not impossible to understand the role that was placed on you. Arranged marriage, sold off to be a housewife for a large dowry paid up by the Lord. You’d been brought up to be tossed away at a moment's notice. The blacksmith’s jaw tightens, bone sharp through the flesh.

“...Well,” his voice is a bit ragged—scratchy. You listen with nervousness in your chest, a slow infection of unease. “I’m not your family, am I? It’ll be good to get some sun, I think—let’s stay here for a little longer and then we can go back in when you’re ready. There’s no rush to things.”

Letting you calm down, his thumb rubs a small circle before he pulls it away, perhaps realizing what he was doing before clearing his throat, cheeks alight.

A small breeze pushes through the pines, a wind filled with the scent of fire and earth—dirt and dew. It was peaceful here, among the old spirits and the hidden trails. So different in the light than it was in the pouring rain.

“I imagine you knew about the wedding?” You sigh, staring at your lap. “Lord Wilkin?”

“Aye,” Johnny nods, speaking quietly. He doesn’t want to force you. “I did.”

“I was placed into the marriage two months ago by my parents, an agreement of land and money was traded for my hand.” Watching, the man’s eyes go sad, lids tilting. He stops the grunt in the back of his throat as you continue. “I had resigned myself to it, truly. Being of enough standing all I was needed for was marriage—”

“That’s utter shite.” Johnny growls, angry at the sentence. “They would just toss you away like that? To a bastard ten times your age?”

You stare, brows tight. “I…I’m a daughter, am I not?”

Johnny’s jaw goes slack, eyes sharp with horror as his gaze looks deeply into your vision, biceps tense with cooling sweat and dirt. Such a sight it was, two beings as different as a mountain and a valley; so near but starkly contrasted in the harsh strength of rock and the gentle sway of grassy low-land. Bears and deer, barn swallows that sit on rafters and golden eagles that soar tempests.

The dark-haired man could never imagine raising a girl for nothing else than to be a man’s property—to sell as if a good and nothing more. Johnny turns his head away before he snaps at nothing, a low sound trapped in his chest. You never had a single choice.

Confused by his approach to this, you watch the side of his face as the man’s expression of anger slowly shifts back to a hidden seriousness. Eyes dark and his hand tightened into a fist.

“I’m sorry, Dearie. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Johnny blinks, shaking his head. “Hope I didn’t scare ya.”

“No,” you motion a hand. “No, not at all.”

“Good.” He sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. “Ah, please, keep going. I’ll be quiet as a mouse, promise.” You smile tinily.

“At the wedding, when it was near the end, they brought out the cloth and the knife for the Handfasting ceremony,” Johnny leans forward, and you look down at him on the ground. He lent a sort of silent vigor, you think to yourself. A comfort. “He dragged it along my skin and then he gripped my hand and forced the base of my palm harder into it.”

Your words get smaller and hushed, flexing your damaged hand. “...I think…that he wanted it to leave a scar. I bolted off before they could tie the cloth.”

Johnny stands and brings you into a hug, a hand coming to the back of your head and pressing your skull gently to his chest.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus.” He breathes, and you slowly wind your own hands around his waist; melting into him without even knowing it. Johnny’s scent encompasses you like a blanket, and your very bones seem to sprout flowers from the marrow as your eyes get watery, held in such a way that most people only dream about.

When the first silent tears fall he doesn’t make a big deal out of it—only holds you more firm and sighs into your scalp.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, honest and truthful. Could you run? Go to another fiefdom? How far would you even be able to make it? No food, no horse, no supplies.

You’d be found out in no time.

Johnny moves back, tilting his head down to you and grasping your face with a single hand. “We’ll figure it out, Little Lady. By my word, I’ll do what I can to make sure you’ll never go back to that bastard of a Lord again.” A hard thumb pushes back your tears and blue eyes soften on you. “Can you trust me?”

Can and not do.

Even the simple alleviation of pressure from a word makes you care for this man even more than you should. The simmering attraction to not only his appearance but his steadfast heart; indomitable morals.

“You, Johnny?” You sniffle, a grin twitching your lips up as the blacksmith’s face goes hot. “Yes, I can trust you.” Actions enough from last night had proven that.

Johnny huffs and lets the blush on his face spread along his neck, suddenly unable to look you in the eyes for too long before he has to clear his throat and gaze to the side. Not knowing what overtakes you, you lightly press your lips to his cheek—feeling the heat and the slight gasp that escapes his lips.

You giggle as he grunts a thanks, awkwardly shuffling on his feet as you both continue to hold one another. His grip travels down to your back as he raises a brow, trying to push past his beginning stutter as he speaks. “I’d tell ya that if you do that again, I might just have a fainting spell, Miss.”

“A fainting spell,” you tease, “from a kiss, Blacksmith?”

“Aye—especially if it’s from such a Bonnie woman like you, see.” You both laugh, faces burning up, as serious topics and tears fade into the past.

As you had said, where any other man would have been different, Johnny Mactavish had proven himself to be right and true. Even if you’d been impossibly tired last night, the small sliver of fear had still remained that something might happen to you here; in the presence of one man in the middle of the woods. No such fear remains.

Like a great Lord of old, Johnny had offered sanctuary from a man of cruel and horrible intentions. But perhaps he’d offered far more than that, with how he’s staring at you.

Your laughs steadily die down to a pulsing silence, hands around one another and faces only a few inches away. It’s bizarre how fast this had happened—these feelings brimming in the cup of your heart. A bowl overflowing with care and affection; of something else that cannot be named for fear it’s only a simple infatuation. A twin flame of red-hot fire that could rival Johnny’s forge.

“I…don’t want to overstep,” the man says, and your eyes are drawn to his lips as they move—a small scar you’d yet to notice living on his chin, a stain of lighter flesh. You swallow stiffly and dart your gaze back to his as you feel his heart pounding in his ribcage. It wasn’t a mystery to wonder if your own is doing the same. “Y’should tell me to stop, Dearie.”

“To stop what,” you pull the words from the depths of your throat. “What are you planning on doing, Johnny?” He shivers as you say his name as if put under a spell.

“Are you sure you’re not a witch, now?” You stifle a confused laugh, furrowing your brows with amusement.

“What?”

“One half-day is all it took for you to chain me to your will,” he grasps the bottom of your chin and angles your head up; you go willingly. His eyes search yours for any hesitation or flighty emotions. All he finds is wide awe. “Most would call that witchery, Little Lady.”

“Then it seems your will is easily broken, Blacksmith.”

“Perhaps it is,” Johnny smirks, his breath puffing out along your parted lips. Your body vibrates with anticipation of what was to come, hearing his voice lower to a deep rasp. “Haven’t ya heard…? Blacksmiths have a weakness for runaway brides.”

“Is that so? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Suppose I’ll just have to show you.” His lips are firm and his body runs hot.

Eyes fluttering shut, you sigh into him as his hands dig into your gifted cloak, meeting him with every pass. Low purrs of satisfaction echo from his chest and make you shiver, nose pressing into his lower cheek. Playfully, his teeth nip at your flesh and you gasp; eyes pulling back to stare half-lidded as blue sparks with mischief.

You should stop this—but you were starved for honest affection. Companionship, even. Johnny by far wasn’t the worst to throw your lott in with and he might just be the best possible to fill that role. Life in this era is fast and harsh; it’s unfair. You had to make quick decisions without thinking of the possible consequences.

So as you blink up at the man who watches you closely, you place your fingers on the side of his face and tilt his lips back to yours with a small smile. His hand at the curve of your spine twitches, sliding along the cloak in minute increments as Johnny’s heart hammers like his tools.

It’s as if the forge was still around the two of you—air hot and the feeling sticking to your skin like a brand of sin and forbidden magnetism. He shouldn’t have kissed you, but the hypnosis of the hammer was in his head; its rhythm and striking slam. You drew him in as the anvil does the iron.

In this moment of contentment, there is a fast sound of something in the air, something that rattles the two of you out of your tender embrace to gaze with contorted faces through the thin line of trees. Panting and open.

Through the foliage back to the homestead is the rapid movement of hooves and the baying of hounds.

It strikes you like a knife, eyelids moving far back as Johnny’s head snaps to the noise with something growing in the back of his expression. Calls; shouts. You know who it is, who’s found you out. You’d never heard it until it was too late.

“Johnny,” your voice says, fearful with wild eyes.

“Stay behind me,” he says, monotone with red lips. Shadows of horses and guards are near the house. You stare up at him in shock. A kiss is pressed to your forehead. “Nothin’ll happen to you.” His eyes dig past layers.

There was no running from this.

“Okay,” you whisper.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

1K notes · View notes

florencemtrash · 2 months

Text

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fourteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Secrets are revealed, relationships are tested, and the arrival of new guests at the River House make things all the more complicated. Oh and some canon typical violence.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

There was something cold and damp against your forehead, the bitter taste of medicine lingered on your tongue, dry and acrid, and a faint pulsing near the base of your skull.

“She’s waking up.” Gwyn’s voice came to your ears through fifteen feet of water. “You can hold her hand, if you’d like. She can handle it now.”

A hand slid into yours, palms calloused from hundreds of years spent swinging a sword. Warm and heavy. Golden light pricked behind your eyes like sunlight through thin curtains and you woke up to the sun smiling down on you, red-eyed and weary.

“Helion?” His healing touch traveled over you, whisking away any remaining tenderness in your stomach. You whimpered when he wove his fingers through your hair, gently peeling apart any tangles. It felt nice to be touched by him. Safe.

“I’m here.”

“It hurts,” you murmured, even though you couldn’t identify the pain very well. It seemed to exist both within you and outside of you, pressing down on your chest until even breathing felt unnatural. Everything just… hurt. Your head, your heart, your throat. Like you’d swallowed a mouthful of hot ash. “I’m so… I’m so tired.”

Again Helion combed your hair back with his fingers and you felt the sore spot on the back of your head prickle when he touched it. The blood had been cleaned, the wound closed, but you could still feel it there like a stamp sinking into your skin. The same way you could feel the stretch of scar tissue over your stomach. A thick, pale line a few inches below your sternum.

“You’re ok, my dear. Rest. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

“Thanks Dad,” you whispered, but you were already slipping away. You wouldn’t remember what you called him when you woke up again.

Helion gritted his teeth and brushed away the stray tears that dripped down your cheeks, then his own.

“I won’t let anything hurt you,” he said to the empty air.

The next time you awoke was not so pleasant. There was no caressing hand down your face. No slow murmurs from your father. No warm light blinking in the darkness.

There was the banging of doors. Cassian’s alarmed shouts mixing with Rhysand and Mor’s, and Feyre’s commands for Nyx to take Velaria upstairs and lock the door behind them.

“Don’t come down until I get you, ok sweetie?” The boy’s footsteps were light and quick up the stairs as he calmed a startled Velaria with gentle coos.

“Gwyn?” You reached across the bed for the priestess’s hand. Her robes looked like they were glowing to your sleep-dazed eyes.

Her teal eyes were hard. The grip on her knife tight.

“Gwyn, what’s happening?”

“Shhhh. Go back to sleep.”

Helion roared and the River House shook down to its foundations. The silky covers stuck to your weak arms, slippery and cool as you gripped Gwyn’s arm and forced yourself to stand. Your knees immediately buckled and Gwyn’s awaiting arms caught you in a sprawl of heavy limbs.

The House trembled once more. The wooden banisters creaked. The faelights that sat on swooping, wrought iron curls blinked on and off, signaling the House’s alarm as the floor slipped and slid beneath your feet. Help me! The House seemed to shout.

“Gwyn.”

“Hold onto me.”

You leaned heavily against the priestess’s side, her arm wrapped around your waist, and together you stumbled out the door and into the hallway.

You blinked, eyes adjusting to the lamplight just as Cassian flew across the room, crashing into the fireplace mantle in a burst of color that had you turning pale. The glass figurines and picture frames cracked and shattered in a rain of glass. But Cass only grumbled, “This is what I get for helping,” before bouncing onto his feet and charging back into the foyer where Rhysand, Feyre, Nesta, and Mor stood. Rhysand kept his arm out in front of the two sisters and grabbed Mor’s arm before she could step further.

“Let them go.” Rhys said, his voice low and deadly. He knew something they didn’t. “Helion has a right to this.”

“It wasn’t Azriel’s fault,” Mor seethed.

“Doesn’t matter. I’d do the same if anyone hurt Velaria.”

“What the hell does that—”

Helion slammed Azriel’s bloody and bruised body against the wall with a snarl. The shattered vases in the hallway and the blood dripping from Azriel's broken nose clear evidence that you'd stumbled upon this fight a few minutes late.

Helion held a fistful of black leather in one hand and a gleaming sword of pure light angled up just beneath Azriel’s sternum in the other. His skin burned so brightly even Azriel’s shadows had slunk away to seek shelter in the few remaining dark corners of the House.

“You bastard,” Helion spit out the words like venom.

Azriel hung limp and exhausted, wings brushing against the floor. The bruises beneath his eyes and the cut of his cheeks spoke of days spent without sleep. Days spent prowling Velaris for Andrian. Days spent waiting outside your door for you to wake up.

“You think I don’t see what game you’re playing? This pathetic pattern of yours?” Helion’s eyes flashed a dangerous yellow.

“Helion!” Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to be. “Let him go!”

“It’s not a game,” Azriel said through gritted teeth. “It’s never been a game. Not with her.” “Don’t. Lie. To. Me,” Helion snarled. He pulled Azriel off the wall only to slam him back into it. Cracks splintered out like spiderwebs. Dust floated down and landed in Azriel’s hair like snow. “It wasn’t so long ago that you were convinced enough about a mating bond with Elain to invoke a fucking Blood Duel with Lucien Vanserra. Now you’re chasing after Y/n’s skirts like a dog? Looking at her with lovesick eyes as if being near you won’t bring anything but death on her head?”

You went still.

He’d… he’d challenged Elain’s mate to a Blood Duel?

He’d believed they were mates?

All at once it made sense why Elain and Lucien had disappeared to the Mortal Lands, chased away by a violence that should have ended with either Lucien or Azriel ritualistically buried in the ground. Nothing but a pint of blood and a name to remember them by. All at once it made sense why it had been so long since their family had lived under one roof.

Your words shriveled up in your throat and died there.

Azriel stiffened, eyes flashing dangerously.

Helion clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You’re not the only one who hears whispers, Shadowsinger,” he hissed. “First it was Mor you pined after for five-hundred years, then Elain, then the priestess. One right after the other like a prize just out of reach.”

Gwyn tensed beside you and your heart tightened in your chest like untempered glass ready to shatter.

“Gwyn?” You whispered.

You had no right to Azriel, no right to know about his past exploits with females, but still it felt like something you should have been told after long nights spent in the priestess’s presence. Months of living under their roof, eating their food, and falling in love without a whisper of warning. The things they must have whispered about when you weren’t in the room.

Her silence was all you needed to hear. Greasy and rotten.

Azriel’s hands shook the more Helion spoke.

“You like your females broken and vulnerable. You like it when they need you. When you get to swoop in feeling like some grand hero. So you felt you had the right to go after my daughter! And then you were too weak to protect her when the time came? You dared to lay a hand on her are you fucking kidding me?!”

The world froze at those two words. The Inner Circle was shocked into complete silence.

You swayed dangerously as the floor tilted beneath your bare feet.

Is that what they thought of you? Is that what Azriel thought of you? Broken. Weak. Pathetic. Someone who couldn’t handle their own. Someone who had needed saving. An easy target to charm and dazzle. A Librarian who’d been left alone for so long she’d throw herself at the first handsome male who smiled in her direction.

Azriel stiffened.

You were Helion’s daughter. And somehow that made everything worse, because Azriel knew how lonely you’d been as a child and how much losing your mother had nearly destroyed you. You’d shoved yourself into the Alcove where everything was familiar and safe, and all this time Helion had just stood by and done the bare minimum.

Azriel had been holding back his rage — his pain — but he felt it erupt with new passion. Lingering jealousy, that acid that had been building up every time you mentioned Helion or touched the necklace he’d gifted you, added fuel to the fire. Shadows burst out from his hands and ate away at Helion’s magic like a plague.

“Don’t you dare,” Azriel growled and spit blood onto the floor by Helion's feet, “You weren’t even here. She could have died on those streets.” His voice was hoarse and on the verge of breaking, “And you wouldn’t have been there.”

And he might not have been there either.

Rhys had held him back, refusing to let go even as Azriel had tried to crawl to you on broken bones. Even as Azriel had screamed for you.

Helion's face twisted into something ugly and foreign to you, because deep down he knew the true reason he was so enraged at the Shadowsinger. It was like looking in a mirror. They’d failed you in similar ways.

“Helion… Helion no!” But your father didn’t listen.

His power shot out in a blaze of light and heat and slammed into Azriel’s chest. His shadows were barely able to soften the blast. Azriel saw you then, shock and horror seeping down the bond along with something that felt a lot like heartbreak. You watched wide-eyed and slack jawed as the wall bowed out and then snapped in two. Azriel was thrown onto the front lawn, a gaping tear left in the House like a knife wound.

Helion stepped outside and stalked up to Azriel like a lion out for blood. There was murder and hatred in his eyes.

Everyone was shouting again as he raised his sword.

You felt a flare of something bright and hot in your chest, like a shot of whiskey or the first bleeding rise of the sun. You stood up on your own, eyes burning with a glassy, gold sheen that had Gwyn stepping away from you with a gasp. You were glowing, pure and clear and strong.

You’d only felt like this twice before. First, when you’d grabbed hold of Henna and stopped hiding who you really were, and then once more at the Palace of Hoof and Leaf mere minutes before Azriel had turned the book to ash. Both moments where your power demanded to be felt. Moments when your emotions turned to magic.

“Helion.” Your voice echoed throughout the room and into the wide open space beyond, eerie and calm. So loud. So quiet. Like an aching whisper in pitch black darkness. “Let. Him. Go.”

Helion blinked in surprise with his arms still raised over his head. Inch by inch that blade of bright light faded away with the dying light of a sunset. His eyes cooled and that magic rage left his body. He staggered away from where Azriel lay on the ground.

Your hands were trembling, but you forced them to be calm as Azriel got back on his feet, hazel eyes boring into yours. He drank in the sight of you. Your wrapped forearm. The white bandages around your middle peering through your thin nightgown. Your clean hair.

The smell of blood was but a distant nightmare, even if he swore he could still feel it on his ruined hands. Slippery and dark.

You turned to leave.

“Y/n, wait!” Azriel shoved a stunned Helion out of his way, racing back into the House in a blur of darkness. “Y/n,” he begged and reached out his hand, “Please let me explain.”

You froze. The weight of his hand wrapping around your wrist and the rough feel of his scars against your fluttering pulse pinned you to the floor. You felt uncentered — off kilter — and without meaning to, you were thrust into his mind.

You felt the way he’d pined after Mor for centuries. Always close by. Waiting. Watching for the moment she might actually look at him and realize what he was willing to become for her. Someone to love and kiss and take to bed. Someone who’d never have cast her off into that wood. Someone who would do whatever she asked until she was smiling and whole again.

You felt the way he looked at Gwyn, like she could be the answer to all his questions. Like she could be the one to hone all his sharp edges with her delicate smile and her creamy skin and dewdrop eyes. Because if she could love him, it might actually mean something. It would mean he was capable of fixing, not just destroying.

You… you knew the ways he’d imagined Elain. Three sisters for three brothers. Mates. Fate. Love. How he’d imagined touching her. How he had touched her. The thrill of hiding away in dark corners and the soft skin of her fragile neck beneath his lips. The arch of her back. Wood grain beneath his fingers as he pressed her up against a wall and kissed her. How he couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else ever again.

You felt the acidic contents of your stomach surge and wrenched your hand out of his grasp.

Azriel faltered, eyes wide and staring. Something inside of him fractured and broke. You hadn’t pulled away from him like that since Summer Solstice back when you were strangers and meant nothing to one another. But even then you hadn’t looked at him with this much feeling. This much betrayal.

His arm was still outstretched and hanging in the empty air.

Tears dotted your eyes, but you forbid them from falling. Not in front of him. Never in front of him.

“I am not broken.”

You went back to your room and slammed the door shut.

“I thought he liked me,” you murmured pathetically, leaning against Helion’s side. He’d slid into your room quietly and approached you like a wounded animal ready to scatter.

Your father hesitated, fingers caught in hair that reminded him so painfully of Leda — of your mother. Things had not ended well between them, but he could think of her with nothing less than fondness and gratitude. After all, Leda had given birth to you. Brilliant, wonderful, beautiful you.

He listened to the House and the way it seemed to be holding its breath. The doors shut a little tighter. The curtains hugged the windows. And across the hall shadows lingered by the door of Azriel’s room, reaching out towards yours but never crossing the threshold. They were held back by their master’s tight leash.

“I know this might come as a surprise after what I did, but I… He did like you. He does like you. They all do. How could they not?”

You shook your head slowly. “But not in the way I want him to. Not in the way I lo—” You shut your mouth and sighed bitterly. Your cheeks flushed with warmth and before you knew it you were crying again, leaking tears onto Helion’s bare shoulder and feeling wretched.

Azriel curled in on himself, collapsed on the floor like a broken doll with knees pulled up to his chest as he ignored the pulling of his shadows.

She needs you. She needs you. She needs you. They repeated over and over again, yanking on his leathers and strands of ebony black hair. Helion had left for one of the guest bedrooms upstairs after you cried yourself to sleep. Now was Azriel’s chance to beg for your forgiveness. To explain himself. To hope.

She needs you.

Azriel shrugged them off, scattering their disembodied voices with a wave of his gloved hand. He was back to wearing them.

I am the last thing she needs.

“Lucien’s found one of Bethsevah’s descendants.”

Gwyn stood by the doorway, pale skin and blue robes outlined by the mountain’s red walls. The priestess kept her hands behind her back, wringing them in a nervous twist of bitten fingernails, and waited for you to finally look up from your notes.

You didn’t like spending time at the House. You hated the way everyone’s attention shifted to you whenever you entered a room; the look of tight, empathetic smiles and knowing glances filling their eyes. It wasn’t that they were trying to be unkind, but you knew they whispered about the power you’d displayed. About your status as Helion’s bastard daughter. About the absolute state that Azriel was in.

This morning, when you’d left your room for Cagniv Library, Azriel had been waiting, filling his bedroom door frame with a hauntingly tortured look in his eyes.

“Y/n, please—”

You’d left without a second glance in his direction, footsteps hurried and head bowed down. His shadows had followed you to the front steps of the house, but no further and you couldn’t help but feel a weight in your chest thinking about how Azriel had looked. He’d started wearing the gloves again.

Bethsevah’s name rang through the air like a jolt of electricity. After thousands of years, her name still held a strength that demanded to be felt. The book was gone. Whatever magic Azriel had been forced to perform had swept it away to the Continent, and Rhys and Feyre had been wracked with worry and preparations ever since. Favors called in. Threats made. Weapons forged. Bodies armed. At any point they might be called away to the Continent, or forced to reckon with a Death God at their door.

You’d helped in your own way by digging through your notes on mating bonds and the manuscript that was becoming more useful each day.

Thanatos and the Bone Carver, one and the same, and mated to Bethsevah Mordeigh. Magic that wasn’t the same, but perfectly complementary. Magic that worked as a lock and a key.

You were made to ruin me.

Your initial theory, the one you’d shared with Azriel in that cramped apartment at the Alcove, had turned out to be true. Bethsevah, and Bethsevah alone as Thanatos’s mate, had possessed the ability to split him from his power and lock him away, and because his magic was cut from the same kind as his siblings, Beth had been able to do the same with Stryga and Koschei. Her blood, her genetic connection to that magic, would be the only thing capable of releasing the power in the lake.

All magic could trace itself back to a biological underpinning.

You were made to ruin me.

The memory was burned behind your sleepless eyes and haunted your dreams, but sometimes when you stopped concentrating so hard on the harsh angles that made up the Bone Carver’s face, you caught him transforming. Black eyes turned to brandy. His reed thin body filled out and grew strong. Wings sprouted from his back. His pale skin turned tan and scarred.

You were made to ruin me, Y/n. Azriel would say, and you’d pretend that the look of utter love and adoration in his eyes was real.

“When will they be arriving?”

Gwyn sighed in relief. You’d been so quiet the last few days. “Tomorrow.”

Mor bit her cherry red lips, glancing at Rhys and Feyre with worry in her eyes as they all stood in a row ready to greet their guests. Rhys was schooling his features into one of careful neutrality, but Mor had known him for centuries. She’d seen him through his awkward teenage years when his skin wasn’t so perfect and his body grew like a weed in Spring. Back when his temper wasn’t so honed and his ego undeserved. She knew when he was agitated. The squaring of his shoulders. The set of his eyes. The faintest twitch of his left ear.

What a fucking mess this all was. If he thought about it too hard it gave him a raging headache.

Azriel and Y/n were mates, although Y/n didn’t know and no one knew how to tell her, especially after Azriel had stabbed her through the chest under Andrian’s influence. Helion had nearly killed Az. Azriel had nearly killed Lucien. And if anyone ever told Lucien about Y/n being his half-sister, he was sure Lucien would try and kill Azriel too… again. And— oh FUCK. Helion didn’t know Lucien was his son. Y/n didn’t Lucien was her half-brother. Fuck fuck FUCK. Cauldron boil me.

Rhysand rubbed his temples and closed his eyes.

Azriel stood motionless, nothing but the minor sway of his wings and the masked look of anguish in his eyes to hint that he was still reeling from that day in the market square. He couldn’t stop glancing over at where you stood between Mor and Cassian, every inch of your skin covered and a forcefully blank look on your face.

Truth Teller was no longer strapped to his thigh. His shadows had returned, but with hesitance, and Rhys couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Azriel eat something. Every family meal that you didn’t attend, Azriel would just stare at your empty seat and flinch at the sound of knives dragging through meat.

Feyre winced at the onslaught of Rhysand’s thoughts. Do we even want to attempt to fix any of that right now?

Feyre darling, where would we even begin?

At least Helion’s moved to the House of Wind. Feyre offered it as a small consolation. Took me a while to convince him of that.

Rhys gritted his teeth. And he will stay on that fucking mountain.

Lucien had gone his entire life not knowing about Helion precisely because when he stood next to his brothers he blended in. There was just enough similarity there in the silhouette of their faces and their overwhelmingly bright red hair, that no one had ever batted an eye at the seventh son of Autumn. But put Lucien and Helion side by side and a keen eye would make out the same strong slope of their noses, the same dimples on their cheeks when they smiled, and the way their brow bones hung over deep set eyes.

You possessed such an eye — an eye for details and specifics. So when Lucien Vanserra walked through the front doors with the setting sun splashing his frame with fire and light, Elain glowing and beautiful beside him, you knew immediately who he was.

Fuuuuccccckkkkkk. Cassian groaned. Nesta, she knows.

Stop it. There’s no way she figured it out that quickly. Nesta said. Then she actually looked at you. Your mouth was open in a round “o” and your face had gone pale. Oh for fuck’s sake. Really?

Your gaze was locked on Lucien as he walked up to Rhysand and shook his hand.

“Lucien, welcome back to the Night Court. It’s been too long.”

His golden eye whirred, moving up and down the line and lingering first on Azriel. His full lips flattened, freckled nose twitching with thinly veiled distaste. “Not long enough.” But his many years spent as emissary wiped the emotion from his face quickly and he moved on, greeting everyone with a detached kindness.

“Luc.” The High Lady grinned, finally tugging a genuine smile from Lucien Vanserra’s lips.

“Hey Feyre.”

She wrapped him in her arms, closing her eyes and giving him a hearty squeeze.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“You too.”

There was a somber familiarity there, and you got the sense that Feyre was the only one Lucien truly felt connected to. Whatever history he had with the other members of the Inner Circle was tolerable at best.

You finally caught his eye — the one strange face he’d never seen before. He easily towered above you, built with Helion’s strong legs and resplendent in a deep green riding cloak and cream-colored trousers that accentuated the tinge of color in his skin and his mismatched eyes.

He tipped his head to the side, his long braid falling over his shoulder, and smiled softly. “You must be the Librarian that got roped into all of this madness.” Yes. Because that’s all you were to him — some unnamed female from the Day Court. An unfortunate victim of circumstance. “Y/n Halwynn.”

You blinked, surprised to hear him speak your name so casually when you were reeling over the fact that standing in front of you was another one of Helion’s children. Another bastard that perhaps should never have been. Your half-brother.

“The one and the same.”

Lucien evaluated the shrewd set of your eyes and the fit of your clothes over straightened shoulders and found that, at first glance, he quite liked you. You were of the bookish variety — that much was evident in the small novels dragging down your pockets and the smudged inkstains on your fingertips — but you held yourself in front of him well. You looked kind, if not skittish.

“Lucien Vanserra.” He held out his hand and you regarded it with hesitance before accepting it.

“I know the name.”

“It is a rather infamous last name.”

“Bit of an infamous first name too.”

Lucien smiled a little wider. Yes. He quite liked you.

Elain hugged her sisters in turn, breathing in their familiar scent and gripping them tightly. Her time in the Human Lands had served her well. Gone were the days of frail bones and heavy eyes always looking out sunny windows. Her skin was flush with color, her hands strong and calloused, and her knees pleasantly bruised after months spent laboring in the fields outside Vassa and Jurian’s manor. She smelled like soil and flowers. She was as lovely as everyone had always described her. The second Archeron sister who’d been born with an unnatural beauty even before turning fae.

Your eyes dropped to the floor so you wouldn’t have to see what Azriel did when she greeted him. But it didn’t matter. They avoided one another carefully, and Azriel kept looking at you, begging you to lift up your eyes so he could offer you a smile.

A word.

A glance.

Anything.

Bethsevah’s descendant appeared next, willful and stunning in her own way as she waited by the door. Her frizzy grey hair was held away from her face with a strap of leather, stormcloud eyes staring out unflinchingly from a time-worn face. Everything about her was grey from her hair to her clothes and the iron jewelry that hung from her neck and wrists. Cassian sometimes forgot how humans wore their age so openly, and how this woman in particular seemed to brandish it like a weapon.

“Ione Morgana.” Her voice was deep and hardy. Her eyes narrowed at everyone now that the familiar introductions had finished. “That’s my name and it’s the name my family has carried as long as we can remember. Although the redhead seems to believe otherwise. I am old, as you creatures can very well see, and I am tired. My parents are long gone. My sons dead. My sisters dead too. Now,” she banged her walking stick on the ground, although she hadn’t used it when walking up the steps, “Which one of you will see me to my room?” Her words came out more as a command than a question.

Rhys tipped his head to the side, his surprise evident on his face. “You’re a very bold woman. Do you not comprehend who you’re standing in front of? My wife in particular?”

“Boldness comes with age.” She stuck her nose in the air like a wolf sniffing for a bunny, “Something you’d do well to learn.”

An amused smile grew on Rhysand’s face. “I’m over five hundred years old.”

“You certainly don’t act like it, standing all crooked like a tryhard.”

Cassian coughed into his fist and Mor snickered.

“I could kill you.”

Rhys!

Relax, my love, I’m just curious how she will react.

The woman — Ione — hardly reacted at all. In fact, she almost smiled. “Time can kill me. Sickness can kill me. At this point a stiff wind could knock me down and break my back. You’re not special.” She whacked her walking stick again, harder this time. “Now. My room?”

Nesta raised and then dipped her head in silent acknowledgement and together they disappeared into the east wing of the house looking like two grey chess pieces moving over the tiles.

“Wonderful isn’t she?” Elain commented with a fond look in her eyes. She was Ione’s favorite by far.

Jurian came in last, sweat beading his brow as he dragged a huge steel cage up the steps, and Lucien and Elain’s faces turned solemn. Vassa flitted inside her prison — a cage within a cage so that she couldn’t snap at Jurian’s hands when he got too close. His eyes were bloodshot, knuckles bruised and bloody.

Your breath hitched in your throat. You’d imagined the firebird as something majestic. You’d imagined feathers dipped from the richest dyes trailing light from their ends like red, green, and blue sparklers. Instead, her eyes were the only vibrant feature about her, and they were sharp from hunger.

“What’s happened to her?” Cassian breathed. When he stepped forward, Vassa lunged from her perch, screeching when she clashed with the steel grate. Her claws tore at the metal but never broke through the magic Lucien had placed there.

Jurian whispered words of comfort and love through the metal, and in time, Vassa seemed to settle.

“It started last week,” Lucien said through clenched teeth, “The day Koschei got his hands on the book, Vassa started going mad. She can’t sleep, not in her human form or as a firebird, and she keeps… hungering for something she can’t name. The day we found Ione, she…”

“She tried to kill me.” Jurian raised his hands and slid his sleeves down. Claw marks, barely healed, ran jagged down his arms. “Let’s not mince words, Lucien.” He grimaced. “Koschei’s trying to call her back to the lake, but she’s fighting it with everything she has.” He looked back at Vassa, eyes dull and tired. She screeched once again and feathers fell from her body before curling up into blackened husks on the floor. You could just make out the sections of skin where she’d ripped out her own feathers, raw and dotted pink with blood. “I suggest you give us a room far away from everyone else.”

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

^^ Me writing this chapter because Helion finally beat the shit out of Azriel and revealed all the tea about his past relationships with Mor, Elain, and Gwyn and because I got to bring Lucien to the Night Court. And soon! We'll get to see how Lucien reacts when he learns that Y/n is his sister!!!!!!!

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x reader angst #yessssss Helion beat him up!#Daddy Helion to the rescue #we love a character with “don't touch my daughter” energy!

607 notes · View notes

badly-drawn-doflamingo · 1 month

Text

Yorki and ‘His Illness’;

Oda really knew how to drive the knife in when it comes to the story of Yorki and his crew, man…

From the choice of scenes before we get to see the bed-ridden body to the actual real world equivalents, its really rough on the heart.

What we knew about Yorki, from the scenes right before the announcement of his illness getting worse, is both his confidence and his strength.

The scene we get to see is his crew surrounding his brand new bounty, Yorki cheering and proudly proclaiming his joy for it. We see the great swaft of muscles on him, his chest fully exposed and his hair bright and fluffy along his shoulders. His face is clear, his arms fill out his coat, which is important later on, and he holds such a pride that he reminds me quite a lot of Luffy. We see him break up fights, offering advice to his men and we see him joking and drinking alongside his caring crew… and Brook. Brook is always by his side, during the mornings when he brushes his teeth, to the night when they drink side by side. They’re always together.

[ buff pirate cowboy! ] Until they’re not. Now comes the topic that may be a bit rough, the real life equivalent of what we see Yorki suffering from. I'll list the symptoms and y’all can make what assumptions you wish, and again, I’m not truthfully claiming its any REAL ILLNESS, but I mean simply it is inspired by, acting the same and such. We see a cold compress, so it’s bothering his body temperature. We see sunlit windows, open to the fresh air as if that could help. We see spotting across his face, and hands; small wounds, growing in number. We see his hair, like a mock halo loosely scattered across the pillow he lays in, and it’s stringy now, not glossy or kept. His mouth his covered by a mask, so they believe its airborne/touch. These sound to me, a lot like a certain sickness, one passed by blood which is interesting given the scenes we see before this are Yorki and the members who now are sick, sword fighting with a rival crew. The doctor states he's unsure what it is, but is treating it best he can, as what he believes it to be is unknown. But knowing what we do on old methods of that certain sickness, it would make sense. The mask helps, the spit and body fluids being a factor, but the idea of sunlight and fresh air helping is an olden falsehood. The men come into the room, and Yorki speaks to them through horse coughs, offering words of encouragement and laughing through the mask as they shuffle out. They know the truth of this serious matter, and Yorki does too. They leave, each crying their hearts out for perhaps they did not realize the truthful change until that moment. Brook certainly looks perturbed, staring blankly ahead at the bed. Note, most do not get too close to the bed, standing feet away, and not touching Yorki.

What a physical change from the man we saw before. But not too much mentally… or has it. He has a mask, mentally and physically still up; he gives them hope, tries, but… they see through it after months of his brushing off of the sickness perhaps.

After everyone leaves, Brook remains to stand, away from the bed until called. Called. Yorki calls to him, stating his name as he always did. “Brook.” “Yes.” And Brook comes closer, but not quite to the bedside, staring ahead with a blank expression. Than Yorki leans over, and grabs his hand, and in a flash of a moment Oda CHOSE for us to see, Brook looks disgusted. He grimences, brow furrowing at the wounded hand that touches him, but than we see what he sees lying in the bed; a weeping, broken husk. Yorki has begun to weep, sobbing as his confident facade is broken and melted away in front of his Vice-Captian. And Brook melts too, dropping to his knees and forgetting all of these ideas of illness, tossing any safety away for his crew and himself just to make Yorki feel seen, or perhaps because of his own need to love his dying partner. He clutches Yorki’s hand, and now we see the true damage the illness has done; Yorki’s wrist is thinner than Brooks. His arm is gaunt, and we see the bone. He is withering away, has been for months it seems, but Yorki always was good at excusing it with a confident smile. But now, in the bed, unable to stand and wracked and eaten away by something we can only claim perhaps as some blood related illness, he weeps before his partner. “Brook-” “YES? My Captain?” “Give them HOPE.”

I’ll just include the rest of the scene here for your own enjoyment.

I could dive into the fact that Brook believes he failed those words, or the fact the crew did not just die of poison, and their deaths were so gruesome the anime had to censor it. The fact Brook continues to “give the crew hope…” or the way he mentions he may not have made it out of the triangle alive.

However! That is for another day.

221 notes · View notes

larluce · 2 months

Text

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace Thank you so much for all your love ❤️. As someone who just entered the fandom and whose native language is not english it means a lot 🤧. Prepare yourselfs though, this is going to get dark.

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 (You're here) , PART 10

A little more of "Valiant"

Despite Gaius words and Arthur's protests, Merlin starts his duties as Arthur's manservant just a week after been stabbed in the back. Not that he wants to be careless with himself, but the tournament is coming, which means Valiant will arrive soon. And his magic is finally working properly so he needs to be there for Arthur when it happens. Arthur, of course, reduce his duties significtanly so Merlin doesn't do a lot of effort while still recovering from his wound, but he lets him attend him in the tournament, which is all Merlin needs right now.

Merlin: (putting Arthur his armor on perfectly)

Arthur: You're quite good at this (thinking, confused) How weird, he was disastrous at the beginning.

Merlin: Gwen gave me dressing armor classes when I was still in bed and taugh me about your silly tournament etiquette (thinking) Is not a lie, it was very nice of her, but I need to be more careful, I'm not suppossed to be this competent yet.

Arthur: (looks at Merlin intendly and points the collar of his armor) This needs adjustment.

Merlin: Oh, sorry. (adjusts the collar, so his hands are between Arthur's shoulder and neck and his face is close to Arthur's)

Arthur: Now is too tight, lose it a bit.

Merlin: (nervous due to the closeness and the intensity of Arthur's eyes) Like... like this?

Arthur: (smiles mischievously) Just like that (points the cape with his head) The cape.

Merlin: The cape! Right, the cape. (goes to get the cape and begins to put it on quickly)

Arthur: There's no rush, Merlin. Take your time.

Merlin: (gets lost in Arthur's eyes as he finishes to put the cape on, thinking) What... what is happening? 😳😳 (snaps out of it) Your sword! I almost forgot your sword!(goes to get the sword)

Arthur: (sighs, thinking) Damn Guinevere and her extra classes.

Time skip. As expected, Valiant's snakes are exposed and Arthur kills them and gets Valiant arrested. Since they didn't try to expose him before, Valiant didn't have the need to send his snakes to kill Sir Ewan. So he is alive to be at the trial as a witness too. Before he can be burned at the stake though he's found death in his cell. Apparently he killed himself with a hidden knife.

Uther: Such a coward. "Valiant" was to big of a name for someone like him.

Arthur: Totally.

Uther: But I'm curious. How did you know the shield was echanted?

Arthur: I didn't know.

Uther: Really? Because you didn't seem surprise when the snakes came out of the shield. In fact, it seemed you were prepared for it.

Arthur: I didn't know for sure, but I had my suspicions. He was a knight, I couldn't well accuse him without being sure, much less without proof. Don't you think, father?

Uther: (thinks for a moment) You're right. Well done Arthur. After the display you did at the feast for that boy and then asking me to make him your servant I got a little worried. But I must say that, despite that slip in your behaviour, you've been acting more mature and with more wisdom. Almost like-

Arthur: A king?

Uther: (frowns) I think is too soon to say that. Let's say like a proper heir to the throne. You're dismissed.

Arthur: (starts leaving, but turns around) Father... I need to tell you something... about my nightmares.

Uther: Is this something like Morgana's? You need Gaius to prescribe you her concoctions?

Arthur: No, I don't think is the same. I'm not sure they're actually nightmares, really. I... I saw my mother.

Uther: What?!

Arthur: I don't think is really her, I never saw her. But she's beautiful there, blond hair, blue eyes like mine, and she had the most tender smile. (smiles sadly) She always tells me that she loves me and she would've given her life for me all over again (sombers his expression) But then she tells me the most horrendous things. Like you used magic to get her pregnant and that you were reponsable for her death.

Uther: ...

Arthur: But that's not true, right? It can't be true. You would never do something like that and then lie about it, wouldn't you?

Uther: (forcing a smile) Of course not, I loved your mother with my life. There isn't a day that passes that I don't wish that she was still alive. I could never have done anything to hurt her, much less with something as corrupted as magic.

Arthur: (thinking) Not knownly, not on purpose, now I understand that.(smiles and says) I can see it. You would do anything to get her back.

Uther: Exactly. Don't pay attention to those nightmares. If it keeps going I'll tell Gaius to prescribe you something.

Arthur: Thank you, father. I'm sorry for bothering you with this. It's just... Sometimes I wish I had met her. Just once.

Uther: (smiles, sadly) Me too, son. Me too.

Time skip. Arthur goes to see the dragon under the castle.

Kilgharrah: The Once and Future King. What a surprise.

Arthur: Don't give me that shit. It won't work on me.

Kilgharrah: (analysing Arthur) What is this? Your body is young but your mind is old. I don't know what you did, but magic must be involved.

Arthur: I just came to tell you two things. One, leave Merlin alone. I know you want to manipulate him into setting you free so you can get your revenge on my father.

Kilgharrah: He hasn't been answering my calls. But still, why would I listen to a Pendragon?

Arthur: Because I know were the last dragon egg is.

Kilgaharrah: (surprised) There's a dragon egg?

Arthur: For now it's safe. But I won't tell you where it is if you desobey me.

Kilgharrah: What use is this information for me if I'm still trap here?

Arthur: That's the second thing. I need three dragon scales. If you give them to me, I promise to set you free.

Kilgharrah: Why should I believe your word? You just told me you don't want Merlin to set me free.

Arthur: No, I told you I didn't want you to mess with his head just to get what you want. I know he'll come eventually. Just help him with whatever he needs.

Kilgharrah: Lets say I believe you. You expect me to not take my revenge once I'm free?

Arthur: In fact, I'm counting on it.

Kilgahrrah: ... I don't think I follow.

Arthur: You're not wrong. Magic was involved for me to be here. Twice, if you count the way I was born. Three dragon scales, the blood of 300 hundred man and the corpse of a king were needed for me to arrive, but I need to do the same sacrifice to stay.

Kilgharrah: (in realization) The forbidden ritual of the ancient Kings. Interesting.

Arthur: Do we have a deal?

Kilgharrah: It depends. Which king are you planning to sacrifice?

Arthur: I think you already know.

Kilgharrah: (smiles evilly) Very well, anything else you want to ask me?

Arthur: (with a lump in his throat) When I... when you're finally free... Avoid women and children as much as you can, please. And don't just kill left and right. I just need... (cuts himself)

Kilgharrah: 300 hundred deaths. I get it.

Arthur: (pauses) No... 299.

...

I WARNED YOU! It was kind of planned from the beginning. But I want to read you. Do you think it makes sense for Arthur to turn out like this? 👀

#merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin #merthur #merlin fanfic #merlin fic #merlin prompt #merthur fic #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merthur prompt #Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

256 notes · View notes

lovingjingyuan · 28 days

Text

It's Just The Past You Can't Remember

Blade wants you because you look like his past lover whom he married when he was Yingxing. The same name, birthday, face, hair everything resembled his wife who died to help assist him in his crimes taking the flesh of the abundance emanator that turned him immortal.

This will be hard to understand if you don't know the actual in-game lore how Blade actually became immortal so I'll sum it quick ***Jingliu said something along the line in the quest where they all meet up. Yingxing is a fool for taking an abundance emanator's(Shuhu) flesh to assist Dan Feng in saving Baiheng but ended up backfiring turning him into a immortal, becoming a curse for him*** Yeah that's the actual in game lore in a quest. Hopes this helps understand! I changed some parts to adjust to the story but the one I just said is the real version.

Yandere Blade x Yingxing's reincarnated wife

---♡𓌜 Bladie 𓁍

Blade laid his eyes on you through the coward. This wasn't the first time you two had met on another planet. You were in Elio's script so he always knew exactly where you are and what your every move is.

Even if he cannot remember his past fully he knew out of Five people Three must pay the price. And he pursues those very words. He remembered that Yingxing, his past self, had a wife who died in his arms.

Jing Yuan and Jingliu confirmed those very words. Pictures of their engagement kept in Jing Yuan's basement confirmed those dreams he had of his past life with you.

So now he stood waiting for the opportunity to take you. He will never let anyone take you away now. No matter how long he'll always hunt you down on every planet you go to just to pursue you.

You laid your eyes on Blade while he walked towards you pushing through the cowards of people.

Why is he here? You think to yourself as you push through the people to get yourself out of here. Fear rushed through your veins as you hurried out of here.

You ran to tell the guards on this planet that a wanted criminal from the IPC was here. A stellaron hunter. This was never your first encounter with him where he constantly harasses you with the idea you're his past lover and he's here to take you back.

You can't remember your past life! And you don't know this man at all so why is he here?! Every relationship you got in was over in a heartbeat. They all abandoned you due to fear of Blade and his sword slaying through their necks.

To Blade, you're still his wife even if you can't remember the past. Can he remember it clearly himself? No, but knows enough to put the pieces together and desire to live through those moments once again. To him; you being a new person is basically almost a win-win. He’s not his old self you’re not your past self so why not start a new beginning together? Just a refreshing start, just the two of you forever.

You stopped in your tracks when in one swift motion an arm wrapped around your waist pulling you in his embrace.

"Found you," the harshness of his voice rang in your ears. Cold blood rushed through your body.

"You again! Why do you always do this?!"

"I'm here for one simple thing" his voice was deep and cold yet he was serious, "I came here to take back what's mine."

You plunged a knife into his abdomen. He grunted in pain but held you steadily refusing to let go. Those wounds won't hurt as much as losing you again. Even if the game and adrenaline is captivating as it is, he won’t lose you again.

"Is that the best you can do my dear?" His voice rang through your ears.

"I don't know why you're obsessing over the past! You're just a Stellaron Hunter. You should be focusing on atoning for your sins instead of this!" You used every strength in your body to push him away. It was never enough he didn't even budge.

"Why would I let you off so easily? You belong to me." His arms still gripped tightly around your waist having no intention of letting go. "You once belonged to Yingxing so you belong to me."

This made your blood boil. You held back every nerve in your body not to blow up at him calling him an imbecile and use profound language towards him.

"I don't know who Yingxing is or his wife. You don't have to hunt me down. Your wife. She's long gone dead. You know it so stop hunting me down everywhere I go!" You snapped at him, balling your hands into a fist.

He grabbed your chin tilting your chin towards his face. He blood orange iris staring into yours. You can see your reflection in his eyes. His pupils expanded. He was truly in love with the past.

Blade remains silent for what seems like a good while. His hands brushed against your waist softly holding you firmly.

"What if I want to reclaim what was once mine in the past?"

"Well, you can dig up your wife's grave then!"

His eyes harshed. His blood boiled. Even though he knew for sure you were his past lover. The dishonorable mention of his wife still angered him immensely when someone badmouthed his lover. “And you're the reason your wife died! She helped you take abundance emanator’s(Shuhu) flesh! Helping you betray the Luofu! Because of your selfishness, she died and you're immortal!"

Although you didn't fully understand his past relationships with his wife. You knew this from the books you read. How your past self had helped him betray Luofu out of love.

You know that you cannot deny that it may be true you are his past lover but a reincarnation. Yet your stubbornness prevents you from accepting the truth.

“You can't love someone from dreams and memories you don't even remember-" his hands covered your mouth preventing you from speaking any further as he immediately cut you off.

"I remember. My dreams are accurate to my past" He always told you he dreamt of his past when he was once Yingxing.

He continued, "You are her!" His words are swift and furious. He always reminded you that you have the exact same name, face, and birthday as his past wife.

"My last dream was you and me on bed during our wedding night." Blade always told you of his dream every time you've met. "You told me that you will always love and stay with me no matter the situation."

So that he dragged you away without your consent keeping you trapped with him forever. You'll live your life with him. And once this life of yours dies out he'll go on his hunt for your next life.

Maybe he'll give you the flesh of an abundance emanator to become immortal like he once did so he can keep this fairytale he longed for forever.

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr #yandere blade #yandere blade x reader #blade x reader #hsr blade #x reader #yingxing #high cloud quintet #yingxing x reader

293 notes · View notes

intoxicated-chan · 4 months

Text

𝐈𝐭❜𝐬 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐮𝐭!

Summary ➳ When you and the rest decide to sneak up on an Orc camp, you receive an injury. You believe you can handle it yourself but Legolas thinks otherwise.

(A/n) ➳ I AM SO SORRY! Tumblr ended up deleting the request but I remember it but not all of it so forgive me if this isn’t what you wanted. If it isn’t then don’t hesitate to shoot a message or request again!! I also learned that apparently the Fellowship traveled at night and slept during the day. I seriously did not know that until today.

Word Count ➳ 1.5k

Content Warnings ➳ Gender Neutral Reader, description of violence, blood, death, stitching, blood loss, angst-to-fluff…

“There must be some other way.” Legolas uttered to Boromir. “You cannot believe that sending (Y/n) out to assassinate the Orcs is the best solution.”

“She won’t be alone, Aragorn will be there with them.” Boromir replied. “The two of them will attack from above while we attack from below.” He drew his sword, walking closer to the Orc that was alone. He was swift with it, moving behind the Orc and slitting its throat. “See? Wasn’t that hard.”

You took a deep breath as you aimed your bow, you kept your focus on the leader. You could see from the corner of your eye Aragon sneaking up on the other two. You knew he was waiting on your signal and he would wait however long, but you were all on a strict time.

Another deep breath and- “Hey!” You shouted out of instinct, Legolas’s arrow went through the Orc’s head, killing him but you brought attention to yourself.

You jumped down from the tree and quickly nocked, drew, aimed, and released at one Orc that was reaching for its weapon. You swerved past another arrow, more flying past your head until you took cover over a giant rock.

Before you could nock another arrow, an Orc came from behind, grabbing your arms to throw you against the ground. You rolled when he attempted to stab you, dodging more swings until you managed to kick his sword away.

He charged at you, taking your knife that was strapped to your leg, and used it against you. You used your bow to block a couple of slashes until he fell to the ground. Instead of standing, he got onto his knees and managed to stab you in your thigh.

You let out a scream but in return, you shot an arrow through his head. Your breathing staggered as your hand wrapped around the knife and slowly pulled it out and then covered it with terrible bandaging.

“(Y/n)!” Legolas popped up a few seconds later. “I heard you scream.”

“I believed I twisted my ankle.” You covered your wound with your as best as you could, smiling through the pain.

“Let me help you.” Legolas took your hand, helping you walk to the rest of the group. Luckily, your cloak covered your bleeding wound and your dark pants were enough to hide the blood seeping out. “We just have a couple more hours before daylight.”

Like Legolas said, Aragorn finally decided that it was time to rest. “We will set out when it becomes dark.” He told you all before he started to set up his makeshift bed.

Legolas looked over your ankle, looking closely and pressing against it, looking back at you for a reaction. “It doesn’t seem to be twisted, but it may be strained. You have been jumping a lot, and might have happened when your footing was incorrect.”

You could practically feel the sweat running down your forehead. “Does it seem bad?”

Legolas smiled, his usual smile that was beaming with kindness. “No, the pain should fade later. Are you in pain or hurt anywhere else?”

“No, no, thank you.” After Legolas joined Aragorn, chatting. It wasn’t long before it was just murmurs among the Fellowship. Sam and Frodo were cooking together, Gimli was most likely perched up against a tree sleeping, but you didn’t know about the rest.

You were farther into the forest, a needle and thread in your hand. You placed a thick piece of fabric in between your teeth and bit down, you used your other hand to keep the gash close together so you could stitch it.

You let out a strained cry as you attempted to stitch your wound yourself but it was difficult due to your vision blurring. You didn’t know how long you were out here, so focused on closing your wound that you didn’t hear branches breaking or leaves crunching.

“You’re hurt.” Legolas’s voice broke you out of your concentration. You could see the panic in his eyes, he kneeled by your side, taking the needle from you and moving your hand from your thigh. “And you’re doing it incorrectly. You’re hurting yourself more.”

He used his other hand to pull a container of water, and flushed out your wound. “How did you get this? And when?”

“Just a couple hours ago.”

“And you’ve been bleeding this entire time?” Legolas’s voice was filled to the brim with regret, like he was ashamed of himself. He carefully threaded the thread into your skin, making sure it wasn’t too tight or too loose.

You took out the cloth from your mouth. “Look Legolas, I’m still alive and well.” You tried to ease him. “I’ll be alright, I’m okay.”

“I should’ve known, you have been moving slower, as well as your reaction time.” He acknowledged. Once he finished stitching your wound, he poured water again to wash out the rest of the dried blood.

He helped you to your feet, throwing your arm over his shoulder and an arm around your waist. He moved at a slow pace back to camp, everyone was now asleep, save it for Aragorn who just watched you both silently.

He helped you lay down. “I’ll be fine.” You repeated yourself, it felt like the hundredth time.

Legolas shook his head. “Please, do not hide anything. You shouldn’t be silent about these kinds of things.”

As if waking up very early in the morning couldn’t be any better, Orcs have seemed to find you all. You had a feeling that they were stalking you all, waiting for the moment to attack. You used your bow instead of your sword, making sure none of the Orcs came close to the Hobbits.

An Orc charged at you. You dodged the first couple of swings but not the kick to the leg, making you kneel and it felt like the stitches broke.

You screamed as you used your arrow to stab it into the Orc’s shoulder. Legolas’s arrow came from behind and slew the bastard and Merry came to your side to help you stand.

“Run into the forest!” Boromir shouted, blocking the sword coming down at him. “Go! Quickly!”

Merry helped you speed through the forest. You suddenly felt sick, like you wanted to pass out. But it wasn’t long before the Orcs gave up the chase and Merry sat you against a tree.

“They’re bleeding!” Merry alerted the rest of the Fellowship.

Legolas dropped in front of you, pushing your hands away from the wound. “I need a needle and thread.” He said, more like demanded. “Or a cloth to stop the bleeding.”

Aragorn ripped a piece of his shirt and handed it to Legolas, he snatched it and was quick to tie it around your wound. “I’ll need some herbs, in case the wound becomes infected.” Sam shuffled through his bag. “Luckily you should be able to walk but not run.”

You swore under your breath. “It seems the Orcs are watching us at all times.” You looked up at Aragorn. “What do we do?” You asked him.

“There may be another camp nearby.” Aragorn replied. “Boromir, Legolas, we need to search.”

“Someone should stay and protect the Hobbits.”

“Gimli is here and (Y/n) still has the strength to use their bow.”

“But what if they need to retreat? What will happen then?” Legolas still pressed, wanting to remain by your side. “We cannot put the Hobbits at risk, especially the ringbearer.”

“Gimli will be here, just go with them.” You told him.

“I will not.”

Aragorn was too annoyed to even put up an argument anymore. “Let us go then.”

When they were out of sight, you pushed his shoulder slightly. “What was that?” You asked him, confused out of your mind.

“Someone must be here to protect the Hobbits-”

“I know that, it would’ve been fine. They are taking care of the camp, the Orcs won’t be nearby to bother us.” You once again tried to explain to him. “What is going on with you? Are you still feeling guilty?”

“No-”

“Doesn’t seem like that.” Your breathing hitched as you attempted to stand.

Legolas grabbed your warm to stop you. “You cannot be moving at the moment. Give yourself time to relax.”

“It’s just a small cut!”

“A cut that could’ve killed you.”

You huffed. “What is going on with you Legolas?”

“Becoming reckless is one thing but hiding a serious injury that could have killed you is another. It makes me worry, it makes me question if you have more injuries you’ve hidden.”

“Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the wound. I didn’t think that it would mean so much for you.” You admitted.

“I worry, I worry every single day, every fight, during the night and during the daybreak. Will the morrow be the day where someone or something takes you from me?” His hand grazed over your wound. “I just want to know I’ve done everything and anything.”

“I’m sorry.” You apologized again.

“Just promise me, I do not care how small it is or how big, please do not hesitate to ask for help.”

You nodded. “I promise.”

391 notes · View notes

lady-harrowhark · 1 year

Text

I promise I’m going somewhere with this but I am currently fixating on how seeing Naberius’s trident knife in the beginning of HtN gives Harrow the Gideon Memory Migraine™, despite no clear connection to Gideon:

Ianthe considered this. She nudged the confection basket hilt of the rapier at her hip aside, and took out a long knife that, again, ran a hot rill of pain down your temporal bone. It was—though you had never bothered to learn—Tern’s main-gauche, his trident knife, a long blade from which two other blades would spring at the press of some hidden mechanism; she flicked that mechanism now, and with a snickt they burst out like a firework, two hard points of gleaming steel. She flicked it again, and the blades went snickt back into their housing.

Is it simply that it’s something from the Canaan House era in general? Or is there more going on? Stick with me here.

One of my pet theories I’ve been harboring since Kiriona’s wounds were revealed is that Harrow herself wounded Gideon after she threw herself on the fence, paralleling Jesus’s side wound from being speared after his crucifixion. They needed to ensure Jesus was truly dead, and presumably Harrow also needed to be well and truly sure that Gideon was dead before proceeding. Ianthe says she put a sword through Naberius’s heart to pin his soul in place for her ascension, and we see his body run through with the sword. Harrow needing to do the same to Gideon would certainly be some very juicy angst fuel.

The other crucial component here is one of my other favorite pet theories: that Harrow knew Gideon’s sword was haunted, likely before even coming to Canaan House. I’ve seen a few people do some more detailed explanations about that, but I’ll do a brief rundown here.

Harrow says as far back as GtN about the sword “I never liked that cursed thing anyway; I always felt like it was judging me.” After the events of HtN with the River and Canaan House 2.0, we know she has an innate and potentially subconscious talent with spirit magic; it seems likely she was able to sense what was in the sword whether she knew exactly what was going on or not.

In HtN, Guideline #3 in her her pre-lobotomy letters to her post-lobotomy self has several stipulations (wipe it down with arterial blood nightly, coat it in regenerating ash, don’t cut flesh or bone with it) that sound a lot like precautions one would take to keep a soul from hopping out of it.

When discussing the sword with Abigail in Canaan House 2.0, we get some very specific qualifiers around how much information Harrow is able to provide about the sword. Directly before remembering that the sword was Gideon’s we have: “Harrow’s brain, though still a jumble, was no longer a mess in a darkened room. Memory had gifted her a small torch she could light the disarray with.”

After that, she struggles to recall further details, her own brain providing obstacles: “The light was not proving helpful enough: she was, in desperation, kicking over piles of the rubble in her own brain.” In the end, she’s able to tell Abigail: “I hated that damned sword for years. I don’t know why; it just felt strange - rancorous. I cannot deny that I often assumed its edge would be the last thing I saw. I don’t know.”

Circling back to the final battle of GtN, we get my favorite little nugget of support for this: Harrow is described as looking “affrighted” when Gideon tells her to go get her two-hander. I’d initially taken that to mean she was startled (and maybe a bit annoyed) to find out that Gideon had brought it at all, or freaked out at the situation in general. But I’ve begun to wonder if she specifically didn’t want Gideon to bring that sword with her to Canaan House because she knew, or at least suspected, what it contained.

Which brings us to the trident knife. If Harrow needed to fix Gideon’s soul in place by impaling her herself, and she knew there was a malevolent soul in the two-hander that could conceivably hitch a ride in another body that it came into contact with, she would have needed a different tool for the job… Which may very well have been the trident knife. Seeing the weapon she used to mutilate her cavalier’s body with seems like exactly the sort of thing that would bring on one of Harrow’s Gideon-induced headaches, no? It’s also notable that when Harrow sees this knife, it’s directly before Ianthe stabs her through the hand, again analogous to crucifixion wounds. I gotta say, if this holds water, there’s a certain poetry to both Harrow and Gideon receiving versions of the Holy Wounds on the blade of the same knife.

(Edit to add: further theorizing prompted by @camilla-rekt‘s fab addition can be found on this reblog)

#this is really just a jenga tower of theories but i'm still sitting here rubbing my hands together like a cartoon villain #i am just ripping biting tearing to know what happened between those two chapters #(and incidentally there may have been actual ripping biting tearing involved but i digress)#i wonder if this could have anything to do with the favor harrow owes ianthe… hmm #Nona the Ninth spoilers #harrowhark nonagesimus #Gideon nav #kiriona gaia #ianthe tridentarius #Nona the Ninth #ntn #the locked tomb #tlt #tlt meta #tlt theories

2K notes · View notes

xlpoww · 7 months

Text

I wish you would - ZORO'S VER. PART ONE

anonymous asked: i’m a sucker for a opla sanji or zoro x jealous reader 🏃‍♀️ just the months long pining, banter and flirting, assumptions, miscommunication, the heartbreak upon realizing that what they had was just in their head, THE COLD SHOULDER i love it. give me it all. anything. THERE ISNT ENOUGH. BUT WITH A HAPPY ENDING. thanks pookie ily 😣

this is a different format than y'all are used to, but i find some requests more fun/easier to write this way! so i hope y'all don't mind :)

anytime your ship would dock on an island, without fail you and zoro could be found in the bar that night

the whole crew knew there was something between you two, something no one could ever have assumed zoro was capable of.

the longing stares brought on by your inebriated lack of filter. you never normally giggled that much? did you. the ghosts of smiles that your jokes brought to zoro’s lips. if you blinked you would miss the way the corners of his mouth quirked up, only slightly.

your friends were getting fed up honestly. how long would you two hide being the masquerade of being best friends? not everyone could bring down zoro’s walls without a second thought. no one had ever made you smile as bright as the green haired swordman. kiss already, jeez.

“oye zor, i could totally take you!” there’s a drunken flush over your cheeks, and as you lean towards the man in question, your drink sloshes around in your glass. he turns to you with a quirk of his eyebrow, placing his drink down on the table. there’s a ghost of blush dusting across his face, his brown eyes swimming with emotions your intoxicated mind is unable to decipher.

you swear there’s a twinkle in his eye as he speaks, “i don’t think you could handle me sweetheart.” the pet name lights a fire in your stomach, and paired with the raps in his voice? you can’t help the visible intake of breath. zoro’s eyes fall to your own lips, the air feels thick with want. as quickly as the moment begins, your pulled from it by the slam of a glass on the table.

“jesus guys! get a room.” usopp's voice grabs your attention, snapping you back to the reality where zoro doesn’t reciprocate your feelings.

most nights would end with you getting sad and leaving off to your room to go sulk and sober up. you knew your place, it was zoro’s closest friend. nothing more nothing less.

so when the girls would flirt with him, (how could they not. he was gorgeous.) you would bite your tongue and kick back more beer. you had no claims to his heart, no valid reason for your heart to sting so much when girls drape themselves over him. the only comfort being he never returned their affections.

until one night, he does? a girl flirts with him and he flirts back. the interaction feels like a personal attack, a sword right through the middle of you. the pain in your heart was worse than any wound you’d acquired in battle. you weren’t sure if it would ever go away.

you’re not even close enough to hear the interaction, (which was probably a good thing). zoro had walked off to sit at the bar alone while you’d stayed sitting at the table talking to nami. your eyes always followed him though, and the frown that falls onto your lips when a girl walks up to him is hard to miss.

“y/n?” nami follows your gaze to see a woman standing next to zoro, and he turns to look at her. his body language is nothing like anything she’d ever seen with anyone but you.

you’re left speechless, mouth open in shock. who was she? and why was she worthy of his gaze? why had he never looked at you like that. you feel a hand placed over yours, and turn to see nami looking at you. there’s a sadness in her eyes, a pity that took the knife in your heart and twisted it.

“what’s wrong mademoiselle?” sanji speaks up, looking at you with concern. you can’t meet his eyes, you know he means well of course. even so, the flirt was the last person you wanted pity from.

the rest of your drink is tossed back, the stinging feeling in your mouth nothing in comparison to the heavy weight on your shoulders. with an unhidden urgency, you left the table, your chair behind you making a loud noise as you make your quick exit. with a jealousy you didn't believe you had the right to possess, you stomp out of the bar. you didn't have the stomach to spare the sight another glance, but if you had, you would have seen zoro’s concerned eyes on you.

you didn't leave your room that night, or the next morning. sanji had brought food to your door, it went untouched. nami had come to check on you, but you waved her off.

even when your beloved captain came, you opened the door with a smile and told him you were just tired. the look in his eyes meant you knew he wouldn't accept that excuse for too long.

usopp came to bug you later in the afternoon, he would take the hint rather quickly.

the one person you wished had come to check on you, was the reason you were curled up in bed with a hole where your heart should be. how funny was that.

when the man finally came to knock on your door, you just turned over in bed. zoro was left there to wonder in silence, what had happened to his girl?

taglist: @shuujin @angeli-fucking-cat

#zoro x you #zoro x reader #one piece zoro #ronoroa zoro #roronoa zoro #opla zoro #opla zoro x reader #opla #one piece live action sanji #one piece x reader #requested #angst #hurt no comfort #part one

341 notes · View notes

the-moon-files · 2 months

Note

Aaaaa yay, you updated for Linked Universe again! 🙏 And right when the hyperfixation was coming back for me, too 👀

I was looking over your posts for LU, and if you don’t mind, I’d love to share some of my own random thoughts with you! I hope that’s okay 👉👈

After I read your “Humans aren't just round-eared Hylians?” post I have had,, many thoughts 👀 One random difference between humans and Hylians I thought about was the possibilities of varying strength,,, You briefly mentioned how Hylians seemed lighter than they seemed to Guide!Reader, and let me tell you, it was such a small detail, but I was transFIXED. I have this image of humans/Guide!Reader just being naturally stronger than the average Hylians - and it made me think of scenarios of the Reader just effortlessly hauling around two Links on their shoulders like sacks of potatoes- And them also picking up things that are supposed to be really heavy with ease! Like, Four would make a longsword, and Reader picks it up out of curiosity, expecting it to be really heavy, but it’s actually not that bad?? (Four in the background: 🧍)

If the Reader is already pretty strong (and maybe even has a profession in fighting, like a boxer or something,, [I might be projecting slightly—]), then ooo 👀 I can see there being this one time where a bunch of monsters ambush the Chain, and as everyone is fighting with the Reader giving them advice and whatnot, a Lizalfos managed to slip past everyone and sprint towards the Reader to attack them. The others are panicking because they won’t be able to reach the monster in time, but just as the Lizalfos raised its sword, one single punch from the Reader sent it flying back into the fray, knocking it into a Moblin. Reader is just standing there with their fist still in the air like “👁️👄👁️ h u h … whY ARE YOU GUYS STARING, YOU’RE STILL FIGHTING—”

In your newest post about the Guide!Reader’s voice, you mentioned how some entities could hear them, and I don’t know if he would, but I think it’d be kinda funny if Ganon and all of his other reincarnations could hear the Reader talking to Link- I’m not sure if he remembers his past lives, but if he does and hears/recognises Reader’s voice, I love the image of him thinking “Oh god, THIS guy again??” Because Reader WILL clown on him-

Dehydrated Ganondorf: *insert evil monologue here*

Guide!Reader: Uh-huh, sure, bold words for someone whose skin looks like a prehistoric riverbed. :|

Sage: *w he eze*

As I was writing all this, I had to think to myself, “Huh,, Guide!Reader doesn’t die when they fall into lava, aren’t really affected by harsher temperatures and winds, and also can swim against strong currents. They’re environment-resistant basically. But there’s bound to be at least one weakness to it all, right?” I did come up with said weakness, and I think it’s kinda basic, BUT one idea I had was that because Guide!Reader is so resistant to the natural elements of Hyrule, they are conversely quite weak to unnatural causes in turn. If they get injured, say they get cut with a knife by a Bokoblin, then that wound would take much longer to heal than it should. Any injuries that the Reader sustains in Hyrule are harder to heal (which I feel like could make some interesting angst,, 👀); their injuries would take more magic to completely heal them, or have more healing potions to drink. I also thought of the Reader being very vulnerable to any sort of poison- Like, if they get a pinch or two (or three) of strong poison in their system, they get knocked out for like two days 💀

So basically, Guide!Reader is very resistant to the environment, possibly quite strong, but does not have any good constitution,,

[On another note, maybe it’s just a me thing, but I personally love the thought of Wind looking up to the Reader as like a big brother figure,,]

And also!! Happy birthday!! 🥳🥳🎉 As a way of procrastination, I’ve been compiling memes with Guide!Reader and the Chain because the brain rot is hitting HARD,, I can share it with you in the future if you like! /gen /pos And sorry if this is such a long post dkjfgndf-

NOT SOMEONE BEING HAPPY I UPDATED UwU

ur ideas, ur compliments, ur bday wishes, etc. hitting me like^^

Sun: Masc!Reader (he/him) this will be default unless ppl specify otherwise! , Guide!Reader, Boxer/Martial Artist!Reader

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: Most Links of the Chain mentioned + Sage (Totk Link)! No focus/centric Link

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: light cussing, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

In reference to This Post! Wait, Humans Aren’t just Round-Eared Hylians??

YOUR BRAIN>>>????!!!

This was such a yummy treat tysm for this, sharing is caring 🫶

I absolutely think Humans could be 10x stronger than Hylians, I mean if we base everything abt their universe off of Link weighing ~8 apples lmao

that means swords, armor, broadswords/claymores, battle axes, huge shields, if those weigh abt like fake swords/wooden ones back on earth to us, then i cant even imagine what canons/horses/tree trunks/boulders weigh 💀

like props on a stage weight rather than the real thing lmao

No but how many Links can you fit in one carry??

ok u got a heavier Link on your back, like Time, Twi or Wars, then Four/Wind/Hyrule/Legend (yes he’s light/smaller side, tho he may deny) in ur arms like one Link per arm, maybe 3 Links if you can like wrap ur arms around them

so like 4 Links total? well, Wind or Four r so light/small one could possibly ride on ur shoulders, so 5 LMAO??? that's like half the Chain already AHALJFAfJLL-

on another note,

I LOVEEE ganon being able to hear Guide Reader bc spent too long around them, also i originally based that off of characters who’ve shown they're meta/highly magical kinda (esp the meta part where they may have directly addressed players/broke 4th wall)

No bc Ganon would just be SO fed up by like, Wild’s time, it would literally be EXACTLY like what u said I’d imagine:

(u just playing the game and not realizing until later they can hear you)

Ganon: “ugh that blonde twink again, god when will this plan actually work-?!”

You: “eyyy, Ganon! omg, why’s he?? Hot??? damn, botw best ganon version fr”

Ganon: “you know what maybe you should just kill me right now, hero Link.”

(the thought of Ganon never being able to escape ur voice whenever Link was near him bc u didnt have a body to fight/kill, and instead he just had to deal with ur comments is SENDING ME)

changing subjects again sorry

YES!! that's the weakness/drawback I was thinking abt for Humans in Hyrule, while yes their environment isn't that effective on us, (i like to use “inside a video game” as the reason bc i think its neat)

humans are notoriously fragile in our own world already - we get sick, we get acid-reflux/throw up from bad food/food poisoning, etc.

so it makes sense we’d be more sensitive to this new environment, but even if we got adjusted,

we’re more external-proof, not internal-proof

(u know that's another reason why it works for Hylians and not Humans, we aren’t automatically healed by food, but their world does, and even in botw/totk when u have “dubious” food, its never inedible, its just useless to eat, so technically Hylians can kind of eat most anything off of that logic, like there is no such thing as “bad food” for them)

and u could take this either way tbh,

like we’re either entirely resistant to magic/dont take to it well bc our world didnt have it so potions/fairies don't work and we have to heal naturally

or just yeah, its like ur in a new country tbh, new germs/nature/food/etc. and u def cant guarantee u wont get a little sick from that

this would definitely include genuine poison!

bro the amount of WORRY the Links would feel after realizing the human guide guy who’s physically here now can barely handle their food??

Wild’s making a thorough list of what foods work for you and what don't, like safe foods to go back on, including recipes,

the way Time/Wars would absolutely be willing to take little detours/stop by towns more to make sure you have the right food you can eat,

and even tho Wild’s cooking, Sage is constantly testing for poison, like the dish itself, the herbs/plants, every ingredient needs to be extra safe even by Hylian standards (like not eating adventurous stuff like pufferfish or smth that could possibly have poison if cooked wrong/not enough etc)

that is to say, even if Wild makes a new recipe/other meal, he always has a backup safe meal to give you instead on those nights, and just way too many in general (yes he knows it doesn't buff ur health but he cant help his Hylians instincts to stuff the hurt person’s face with food ok??)

Hyrule! Is!! Losing!!! It!!!!

he has all the healing magic in the world and the one man he wants to help the most, for keeping him from being lonely on his adventure/looking out for him/being on his side no matter what, now he finds out he can’t even help them??

mans would literally keep trying to heal u til he’s drained it all out to just try and get the wound to close, if u didnt stop him

U get injured for the first time, and while a bruise/cut taking weeks to heal (depending on how bad) is normal to you, Hyrule + lowkey everyone is Freaking Out

Wounds DO NOT take weeks to heal?? They take hours at most??? Dude, are you dying-

(Wind got elbowed for that one, purely bc he voiced Sky/Hyrule/Wild/Twi paranoia out loud lol)

that is going with the version ur mostly unaffected by magic, but u could also do the human thing where we get adjusted to things over time (at least more than nothing), including food/sickness

The way All the Links just surround you or outright don’t let you come into crowded parts of town so ur poor immune system wont make u sick again 😭

on the bright side they'd all get rlly good at preventative measures like this, and taking care of sick you lol

(yes, u bribed Wind to get little bro cuddles when ur sick, it wasn't hard, he sees u as the most genuine bigger bro probably bc ur likely hte most affectionate out of all the Links)

(should I get into cultural differences between humans/hylians like humans being more openly cuddly/affectionate? like how in humans are space orcs fandom they acknowledge its unusual for us to “packbond” so easily to so many different species? and how this could possibly apply to not only Hylians but any Friend-shaped creatures across the Hyrules?? ..nah. I’ll save that for another post)

AND YES!! feel free to shoot rambles/thoughts/not even requests my way! Id love to talk abt it or just post it for the world to marvel at too lol

ohh mY God;; YOU HAVE MEMES FOR THIS?? PLEASEEEE SHOW ME????

thank you for this, srsly /pos

Peace out,

🌙

#linked universe x reader #lu x reader #male reader #lu x male reader #linked universe reader #link x reader #loz link x reader #linked universe male reader #sinks my teeth into ur ask like a chew toy and shakes it around in excitement #on all fours like a rapid dog #ive reread this like idek how many times #anyway pls always send me stuff i love this AU #humans are not hylians au

140 notes · View notes

acourtofmarvels · 11 months

Text

You Called

Rhysand x she/her POV

Warnings: Miscommunication :D

Word count: 2746

Rhysand watched as she danced under the starfall. Absolutely beautiful. The most beautiful female he'd ever layed eyes on.

She was his mate.

That word seems foreign in his head. 200 years old, he never thought he would ever find his mate.

She didn't know though. The bond hadn't set for her. At least thats what he thought. He'd known for about 20 years now. His brothers had some suspicion but he didn't tell anyone.

He tried for about 15 years to get the bond to set for her. He wanted it to come naturally and not be the one to tell her. It's not the right time, he thought. So he gave it a rest for now.

He couldn't be around her though, so he distanced himself for 5 years. Only approaching or speaking to her when needed.

Her POV

"Did I do something to Rhysand?" It was late at night, Starfall was over. I had drug Mor to stay with me in the House of Wind. Usually we would stay at the townhouse but I wasn't feeling entirely sure I was welcome.

"What do you mean?" Mor mumbled. She was very drunk and trying to sleep. I didn't drink much tonight, which was not normal for me. I always go all out for nights like this like but I had to much on my mind tonight. I couldn't even fully appreciate starfall.

I had a nice night, don't get me wrong. But the whole time I just had this aching pain in my chest I didn't understand.

"He just seems different. He barely talks to me anymore. Barely even acknowledges me. I don't know what I did..." He can't possibly know.

"Babe, just relax. It's probably nothing. He gets in moods sometimes." More voice was quiet. I know she was fighting sleep to talk to me. I shouldn't have had this conversation at a time like this.

"Some long ass mood..."

***

"Az! Please wake up! Open your eyes, Azriel." I shook his shoulders. We had been shot down from the sky. When he hit the ground he was knocked unconscious. Even with the ash arrow through my wing I was still able to land.

We had been on a mission for the past 2 weeks. We were flying home from Spring Court when multiple ash arrows started flying through the air. Azriel blocked most of them from me but I still got shot. I couldn't grab him in time before he hit the ground.

It was night time. I could barely see anything through the trees and the dark sky.

I could hear footsteps and voices getting closer. I must protect Azriel. I'm wounded but I won't go down without a fight.

I needed to get help. I covered Azriel's body with my own as I closed my eyes. Rhys. I wasn't sure if I could reach him from this far. Rhys I need you. What if he has me completely blocked out? Rhysand please, they're coming.

The footsteps were close. I pried myself off of Azriel, pulled my sword off my side and stood up straight. My body ached. I could feel the poison from the arrows weakening my body, making me sicker by the second.

I think I blacked out, fighting these people, whoever they were. I didn't stop, couldn't stop. My body was drenched in their blood, or maybe it was my own blood.

I was overpowered. Knife to my throat. This was it. This is where I die. I can't save Azriel. I can't save myself. Killed by men in masks.

"Cowards," I choked out, blood dripping from my mouth. "Show your faces."

"Illyrian scum." The one holding the dagger to my neck said viciously. "Don't worry. We'll send your wings to your High Lord. Then we'll take his when we-" his sentence was cut short by his head coming off his body.

I gasped as the dagger nicked my neck slightly. The rest of his men began screaming loudly, holding their heads as they all fell to their knees. Then, absolute silence. And they were all dead.

I turned around quickly, still on the ground to see who killed my attackers. I let out a sob as I saw his familiar, piercing violet eyes.

He was on his knees before me, taking hold of my face in his hands. He looked over at all my injuries.

"You came," my voice failed me. I was holding onto him for support. I knew I was about to lose consciousness from the ash poison and the loss of blood.

"You called. Of course I came. What happened?"

"Azriel, you have to take him. Take him home now, Rhys." I pleaded with him, tears I had been holding back began to roll down my face. "He's hurt. I couldn't wake him up. Take him, please."

Rhys whipped his head over to Azriel who was unconscious in his own puddle of blood. I was praying that he was just unconscious and not...

"I'll be back for you." Rhys placed a kiss on the top of my head before he picked Azriel up in his arms and winnowed away.

He's gonna be okay. He's gonna be okay. He's gonna be...

I'm not sure how long Rhys was gone. Minutes or seconds but I was growing tired. My body was failing on me. I was defeated. The poison was still in my system. I had to stay awake.

"Keep your eyes open," the order was from my High Lord. Not my Rhys.

"I'm tired Rhys." He picked me up off the ground. I wrapped my arms around his neck weakly.

"You're gonna be okay sweetheart. We're home now. Just keep your eyes open." I could hear other voices around me. I could recognize Madja's voice. But I was only focused on Rhys. He set me down on a bed and began to walk away.

"Please don't leave me." I held onto his hand tight. His promise that he would never leave me was the last thing I heard before I finally slipped into sleep.

That's me. Why can I see myself sleeping? Is this a dream?

"She's okay, we've got her." I looked around the room, Madja was by my beside working her magic to heal me.

"What the hell happened?" My line of vision went to Mor as she burst into the room. My heart was beating so fast, anger coursed through my veins.

"Keep your voice down." That voice rang in my ear as if I just spoke. Rhysand. Rhysand spoke. Where was he? "They were attacked outside of Summer. They're okay."

I was looking at myself again. Aching sadness and guilt ran through me. No. No this wasn't me. This isn't what I'm feeling. I see myself through Rhysand's eyes. These are Rhy's emotions I feel.

His emotions were overwhelming. Everything he felt for me was maxed out to 100. He felt sick. Guilt was the most I could feel. Then sadness... Anger... Regret.

He felt guilty for not getting there sooner. For not being able to protect his brother and me. Sadness for the state we were both in. Anger for the men who hurt us. And regret for not making them suffer longer.

Mor was talking to Cassian. I could hear their voices but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Rhys was tuning them out as he watched my sleeping figure on the bed. His thumb rubbing circles on the back of my hand.

Theres something else here. I can feel it within him but... but I don't know what it is.

I finally awoke hours later. That was such a weird dream. Or at least I thought it was a dream until I looked to my right and Rhysand was sitting beside me. His hand was still holding onto mine but he was fast asleep.

He didn't leave. He stayed like I asked. He looked cold. I should give him my blanket.

I barely moved a centimeter in my bed before Rhys woke up. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" He moved closer to me. He placed a hand on the side of my face gently as he looked me over.

My whole body warmed to his touch upon my cheek. He was so close.

I opened my mouth to speak but my mouth was far too dry. Rhys noticed immediately, using his magic to bring me a glass of water. "Here." His voice was so soft as he brought the glass to my lips so I could drink.

I was trying not to laugh at his protectiveness. I know he was worried, had been worried. But I'm alright now. I wanted to tease him but maybe I'll take this attention some more.

"I'm alright," I assured him. I took the glass from his hand and placed it on the nightstand after I took another sip.

He kept looking me over. I was sore but I know my wounds have healed now.

"You can go now, I wouldn't want to bother you any longer." I tried to remove my hand from his but his grip only tightened.

"You could never bother me," he sounded hurt by the word I used. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Damn you heart. Don't flutter now. You can't do this.

I tried to slowly inhale and exhale out my nose, trying to calm my breathing. He can't know how I'm feeling. He can't know that I'm his mate.

"Azriel, is he alright?" I tried to cover up my nervousness by thinking of something else. Why does he keep staring at me?

"Azriel will heal, it will just take longer for him. But he'll be back to himself in no time." 5 years. This was the longest conversation we had in 5 years. He pushed me away right after the bond snapped for me.

I honestly didn't know how to react after it. It was so unexpected. I had know Rhys for so long, he was my family and my best friend. Why did it take so long for this apparent bond to snap into place? Was the Cauldron playing a game with us?

I'd always had a little crush on him but always pushed it aside. Falling for my High Lord? It was embarrassing. Everyone in Velaris most likely had a crush on him. How could you not? Have you seen him?

He still hasn't let go of my damned hand. Gods, it felt like my hand was on fire.

There was silence for so long. Rhys wasn't looking at me. He stared down at our conjoined hands. His brow furrowed as he was deep in thought.

"You seemed surprised when I arrived. Like you expected me not to come help you." He seemed angry.

My face heated up in embarrassment. "I-I just didn't think you would be able to hear me from so far away."

"No, that's not it. You expected me not to come to your aid. Why?"

I was flustered. I hated he could read me so well. My shields were always in tact so I knew he wasn't in my head.

I tried to pull my hand away but his grip only tightened. "Let me go." He of course let go at my wish.

"Why did you think I wouldn't help you?" His voice raised slightly.

He would keep pushing if I didn't give him an answer. He had no right to be mad at me. I should be mad at him. "Because you have been cold! Distant! Did you know this is the longest conversation we have had in nearly five years? I did expect you not to come. You hardly speak to me and when you do, you answer with one worded responses. You avoid me. Do you think I haven't noticed when you make some sorry ass excuse to leave when I enter the room? I don't know what I have done for you to dislike me so. So sorry for expecting you to not come to my aid when i ask of you."

I was furious. If my body wasn't so sore and tired I would have stormed out of the room dramatically. Now it's just awkward because he is sitting there not saying anything. Not denying it either.

"You think I dislike you?" His voice was so quiet I almost didn't hear it.

"Why else would you ignore me?"

He looked like he wanted to say something else but he bit his tongue. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "You are not ready for that answer."

So he admits it. He has been pushing me away. Purposefully it seems. The answer 'I'm not ready for'. Asshole.

I hated myself for the tears that weld up in my eyes. My mate doesn't even want to be around me.

"You don't get to decide what I can and cannot handle." I looked away from him, crossing my arms over my chest.

"This isn't easy for me." Gods I wanted to punch him so bad.

"I have zero pity for you. Must be so hard pushing someone away who has done nothing but love you." I was already humiliated enough, why not put a cherry on top. Might as well tell him how I feel.

"No, no. Don't say that. You don't love me." He was pacing back and forth in front of my bed now.

"Of course I love you. I have loved you even before we-" I was the one who bit my tongue this time.

His eyes bore into mine. "Before what?"

Can he really not feel it? This bond between us? I feel it in every bone in my body. From the bottom of my feet to the top of my wings.

"Before what?" He almost yelled.

"Before we were mates!" I yelled back at him. "There! I said it! Are you happy now? Get the fuck out!" I threw a pillow at him.

"How long have you known?"

"Get out, Rhys! I don't want to have this conversation right now." I threw another pillow at him. It was all I had around me. He caught it and threw it at the wall behind him.

"Goddamit it, Y/N! How long have you known?"

"5 years. 5 years of feeling this bond with someone who has given me the cold shoulder."

"15 fucking years I tried. I tried 15 years for the bond to set into place naturally for you and of course the second I stop trying... The moment I stopped putting myself through all that pain and decide to give you space it fucking clicks."

I think my heart stopped beating for a second. I was temped to reach my fingers to my neck and check my pulse to make sure I hadn't died.

"What?" I almost didn't even hear my own voice.

"I've known for 20 years that you're my mate and loved you for even longer before that. Guess the cauldron really wanted to fuck us over." He walked back over to the side of the bed and sat back down in his original spot. He let out a sigh of defeat.

"How could you not tell me?" Tears rolled down my face.

"You didn't tell me either..." I almost rolled my eyes. I had my reasons, I wanted to know his. He must have picked up that I wanted a legitimate answer.

"I... Wanted you to love me, for me. Not because we were mates." He looked down at his hands folded in his lap.

"Rhys..." I pleaded him to look at me. "Rhysand." He lifted his head finally. "You're my best friend. I am lost without you. Sometimes I-I feel I cannot breathe without you. My heart beats for you," pushing through the pain I moved to the side of my bed. I grabbed his hand and placed it over my heart. "It has always beat for you."

"You are my everything," he replies, taking my own hand and placing it upon his heart as well. It felt as if our heart's were both beating erratically in sync. He leaned forward till our foreheads were pressed together. My eyes closed on instinct, the tears still rolled down my cheeks.

"I thought I lost you. I have never been more terrified in my entire life," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

"I am here." I pulled away only an inch. I placed my other hand on the side of his face, beckoning him to look my in the eyes. "I am not going anywhere."

"I love you with everything that I am. I cannot live without you. My heart calls your name." He wiped the tears from my face before pressing our lips together.

Acotar Masterlist

#rhysand #acomaf #acotar fanfic #acotar imagine #acotar fanfiction #rhysand acotar #rhysand x oc #rhysand fanfic #fanfic #cassian fanfic #azriel fanfic #feysand #acosf #acotar #acotar x reader #rhysand x reader

877 notes · View notes

mychoombatheroomba · 4 months

Text

Too Slow

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 1

He knew STRATCOM training would be brutal. He knew that they were teaching you all to face down hell itself. Turns out, Leon isn't the only one who's already been there.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Next Chapter

Chapter Index

Disclaimer: This series is super, super long! Like, 40+ chapters long, just a fair warning!

Whenever Major Krauser smiled, everyone knew that someone was going to be in a world of hurt. That rule had become very plain very quickly in training for the US Strategic Command. Things were bloody and bruising enough as it was, but whenever someone mouthed off, or failed . . . hell, even when they succeeded, the Major would put on that toothy grin and then the gloves would really come off.

Leon always managed to find himself on the opposite end of that smile, one way or another. Always wound up finishing the day with a little more black and blue on him than everyone else.

It was making him angry. Angry enough that today, when the knife of the man Leon was fighting clattered to the ground and Krauser just smiled, Leon very much considered just getting a head start and rushing the Major then and there. Might as well, if it would save him some time and effort.

“Well, well, rookie,” Krauser grinned, and Leon’s opponent took the opportunity to scoop the knife up from the dirt and get the hell out of dodge. Then, it was just Leon in the metaphorical ring. Leon and the heat of the midday sun beating down on him, just as oppressive as Krauser’s damn smile. “Not half bad. But we all knew Kennedy was going to get the hang of this quick, didn’t we?”

The rest of the trainees almost snickered. They knew what was coming. Better Leon than them.

“What do you say we give him a real challenge?”

Leon braced himself. Angled himself towards Krauser, adjusted his grip on his knife. Even if the weapons weren’t edged he knew this was about to hurt, so he took a steadying breath.

Then, Krauser turned his back to Leon and walked away.

Was this a test? Should Leon attack him while his back was turned? Or was that just going to make whatever ass-kicking that was coming his way worse? He balanced on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do-

Another pair of boots against the dirt caught his attention, and where Major Krauser had stood, someone else now took his place.

You took his place.

Leon had seen you before. All of his fellow trainees had. He and the rest would watch your unit running drills sometimes, like first-year students staring wide-eyed at the seniors. You’d been here longer than he had. Trained with Krauser for longer. It showed in the way you moved, but mostly in your eyes.

For a moment, Leon was reminded of Raccoon City. Of that over-strong and over-dressed monstrosity that had stalked him that night. No hesitation, no fear.

You, like that thing, looked at Leon like he was a job to complete quickly.

And you advanced on him just as quickly, even as Leon realized you didn’t have a knife on you. “Sir-” he almost got to voice his concern before it was stripped from him, just as you aimed to strip the knife from his hand.

You almost did it, too. It was a quick move, just like Krauser taught him. Control the arm, the blade, then pry. Quick and efficient.

Leon was quick, too. He twisted free of your grip and shoved you away - a stupid misstep, he knew and the rest of the unit watching the fight knew it too. They all jeered at the move, and Leon bristled. Keep your opponent close, he could practically hear the Major’s voice. You aren’t using a fucking sword! You can’t hit them from that far away!

But Leon preferred distance. Distance was safe. Distance meant that whatever horror was coming his way wouldn’t get the chance to rip a chunk out of him. To sink its teeth into his flesh. To turn him-

He glanced over to see if Krauser was watching. To see if he would comment on the mistake.

Instead, his C.O. just watched, never losing that grin.

“Eyes on me!” You growled, and Leon listened. He locked all his focus on you, losing his concern for you being unarmed as he sized you up, ignoring the rogue strands of hair in his eyes. He could see what this was. Krauser was using this as a lesson for both you and him. One person armed with a blade, the other with more experience.

The odds should have been against you, but for experience. Still, even with the advanced training you had over him, you remained just out of Leon’s reach. Watching. Waiting, just as he was.

“We gonna dance all day, or are we gonna do this?” Leon huffed, but you didn’t entertain him with an answer, or even a move. You just remained where you were, your guard up and your jaw tight.

“Not much of a dancer either, I guess.”

He lunged, slashing at your stomach, right to left. You barely avoided it, exhaling sharply as the training knife cut the air an inch from your belly. He felt the touch of your hand, barely registering it as he went on pressing another attack. This one at your shoulder.

You moved your opposite hand, blocking and moving all at once, leaving no air for him to breathe in between. Control the arm, the blade-

Your fingers worked quickly, but the kick you delivered to the back of his knee helped. Leon’s stance buckled, his eyes going wide as a yelp escaped him as he stopped himself from falling. His hold slipped as you pried his grip free, and then there was a knife at his throat and a pair of cold eyes looking down at him. Your focus didn’t waver. Not one inch.

A moment passed as he looked up at you, his ears and cheeks growing hotter as frustration burned at him. Then, a little whoosh of air as you drew the knife away from him, let it spin effortlessly around your fingers until the handle was facing him. “Again.”

And again.

Over and over as Leon felt his energy waning. The other cadets must have hated him for taking so long. Or, maybe, they were thankful it was him taking your hits and not them. If you were pulling those hits, it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. Fists, feet and the dull blade of his own knife had met his skin hard over and over again, until Leon was sure that he would be a painting of his own failures in a few hours. You had the courtesy to avoid using that force on his face and neck, at least. He landed a few non-lethal hits and did his best to analyze what worked. How he got through your defenses. The trouble was, you did the same, and you did it a lot faster than he did. It could only have been a few minutes, but the cycle of defeat after defeat made it seem longer. Agonizingly, infuriatingly, longer.

All the while, Krauser remained silent on the sidelines, watching. It was more unnerving than anything else, but Leon didn’t pay him much mind. No, he was in this until the end, now, and so help him, he was going to win.

He bared his teeth as he stabbed forward, trying to keep himself focused. Measured. He’d faced worse than this. Everything in Raccoon City had been worse. You were just another person, like him.

One who made mistakes, just like he did.

Mistakes that, if he was honest with himself, he couldn’t quite pinpoint in the moment. All he knew was that he felt his knife connect hard with your side, scraping across your ribs, and he felt more vindicated than he had since he’d been recruited by STRATCOM. He even heard some of his fellow cadets give him a cheer for the blow. He smiled - really smiled - for the first time in what felt like months, happy just to have gotten one win in.

Then he looked up at you and that smile died. The cold focus you’d been holding on to for the whole match had just been torn to shreds by the anger he now found himself staring at.

Leon knew then that if he didn’t move fast, he was completely and utterly fucked.

The moment it took for him to realize that was all the time you needed.

As he tried to back away, your hands shifted, moving from the failed redirect you’d tried to set up and a hand came to cage the knife and his arm against your side. He tried to pull away, to escape, but you were faster, your hold true. His arm moved at your direction, up and over your head, pulling him forward.

Right into the kick you pushed into his gut, one that landed hard enough to make him almost lose his lunch, his vision blurring as the air escaped from his lungs with a pathetic sound. He was vaguely aware that he wasn’t holding the knife anymore.

Then pain exploded from his face, and he only realized you’d backhanded him as he fell, seeing the controlled follow-through out of the corner of his eye.

Skin scraped against the dirt as Leon just barely caught himself, his head still reeling from it all. He blinked, scrambling to get up as he saw red. He’d taken hits like that before, that wasn’t the problem. The problem, far as he was concerned, was the fact that you’d done it in a sparring match. A test of equals. The problem was that Krauser had set him up for failure, pitting Leon against you. The problem was that he was in this fucking spec ops training in the first place. The problem was that he’d been made to choose between his freedom and that of a child, and now-

Your weight against his back forced him down but made his anger rush to the surface. He thrashed, trying to get you off of him. Trying to apply what knowledge Krauser had instilled in him. Instead, he cried out in pain as your hand found his hair, pulling his head up by it while you pinned the rest of him to the ground. Cold steel slid in across his throat, the chill burning him as surely as his anger did.

“Hold!” Krauser. Finally.

Leon saw the Major step forward just as you released your hold on him. For a moment, he thought you might push his head into the dirt for good measure. Wouldn’t put it past you. He counted himself lucky when the knife moved away from him and your weight shifted.

Then, your hand was in front of him, open. An offer for help.

It was petty, Leon knew it, but he snarled up at you and slapped your hand away. He didn’t see the frown that crossed your face after. Didn’t care to.

“Pretty sad showing, rookie,” Krauser observed, circling where Leon was now pushing himself up from the ground. Leon thought he knew the tirade that was coming next, but today was a day for surprises. “And you-” he turned his gaze towards where you stood at attention, and Leon paused when he saw the expression you wore now. Eyes downcast, mouth curved into a frown. “What do you think is my problem with what I just saw you do?”

You swallowed, that hardened focus slipping. “I shouldn’t have hit him like that, sir.”

Krauser shook his head, considering your words. Then there was a flash of steel as he drew his own knife, moving towards you faster than you could avoid. You raised Leon’s knife, still held in your hand, but it wasn’t enough to stop Krauser from resting the flat of his blade over your ribs. Right where Leon had managed to land his hit. You flinched, your eyes flaring in a panic before settling again.

“My problem, Sergeant, is that you were too slow.”

Your jaw tightened, and you nodded. “I’ll do better next time, sir.” You sounded so small. How could you sound so small when only a moment ago you’d pinned Leon to the earth? When you’d seemed so unstoppable?

You were dismissed without fanfare, and you did not say a word in protest. When you passed Leon, you spared him the briefest of glances as you slapped the knife flat against his chest. Shame was what you wore, now, poorly hidden and almost all-consuming, it seemed. Leon didn’t get long to analyze it before you were gone, his own anger now culled back by concern. Misplaced concern.

He shouldn’t give a damn, not after the treatment you gave him. You had thoroughly beaten him in almost every way. One failure was enough to upset you so much . . .

Krauser went on with his instruction and Leon turned his attention back to the Major, trying to ignore the spreading pain across his cheek and the spreading curiosity in his head.

“Don’t worry, rookie,” Krauser chuckled, gesturing to Leon’s face. “Bruises are the best teachers.”

Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N: Here I go, posting a chapter by chapter of a 40+ chapter fic to make myself feel like I'm doing something instead of procrastinating writing the next chapter, yeehaw!

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #jack krauser #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil #between the bones #gender neutral reader #leon kennedy x you #no y/n

186 notes · View notes

very-lonely-ghost · 4 months

Text

Start with a Kinfe

Parring : Mizu x Fem! reader - Establish relationship

Warning: SMUT, Kinfe kink, eating out (r! receiving), Tiny cuts, NSFW, Not proof read, Teasing, Praise,

About: Mizu for sure has a knife kink and would definitely fuck you with the hilt of the blades that she has made. Also would hold it to your skin to keep you from moving.

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: Elllo there, I hope this is good. It' my first time writing like this. Please tell me if i could do anything better or if you have any idea. Now Please Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mizu being a samurai and also sort of a blacksmith has to have a knife kink. Like she just likes to tilt your head with it and also fuck with the hilt of the knife.

Also if it wasn’t clear she would only use knives that she has made. Eventually she would use her sword but still start with a 100 knives.

She would use the knife to cut off your under gametes/bandages. She would also keep it to your neck/to your body to make sure you wouldn’t move. It’s not her intention to hurt you. Unless you were truly being a very big brat. Even if you were being a brat and she nicks you she would kiss each and every tiny little cut that she accidentally makes.

~~~

You ground as Mizu kissed and sucked marks on your neck. You tossed your head feeling the sensation of her tracing up your thigh. You feel your bandages get tighter and the skin under them gets hotter.

“Mizu…” You crumbed out when she kissed the marks you made on your neck.

“Could we try something different please?” You pleaded, wanting to feel a new and different sensation.

“What do you have in mind, Princes? '' Mizu breathed on your neck making you shiver.

“I- Don’t know.” You stifled out as Mizu bit down again on your soft skin.

“Just please” You whimpered

“I have an idea, if you don’t like it just tell me” Mizu whispered before retreating and then went searching for something. She looked through the discarded clothing that were around and eventually pulled out something shiny.

You rubbed your thighs together trying to relieve some of the warmness from your core. You saw Mizu retire with an item in her hand. You looked at it and it seemed to be a knife. Your heart raced a little in excitement at what she was gonna do.

As she came she parted your leg to lay in between them again. As she did that you turned your head a bit embarrassed from how much control Mizu had over you.

Mizu used the end of the blade and tilted your head back to her. As she did she was careful not to accidentally hurt or cut you. When you faced her your faces were very close together. Blush took over your face as you looked into Mizu’s bright blue eyes.

“Look how cute you are, being so blushie just from a simple action.” She teased you. “If you are already this wound up how about we get rid of this? '' She said, dragging the flat side of the knife along your body till she got to the bandages around your chest.

She looked up at you smirking before she cut them from your body. You moan softly from the release of the strict cloth. She then lowered her head to kiss on your chest and leave love bites all over them.

You moaned and tossed your head side to till you felt a cold mettle on your neck. You knew it was the knife though it was the dull side of the knife. You kept still from its presents. Though as Mizu released from your chest she looked at you.

“You better be a quiet Princess or else you will be punished.” She said in the sweetest voice. You moan you out a response as she took the blade and went lower on your body.

“All ready so wet Princess, how cute” She breathed out before cutting off the badges around your sex. The cold air hit your skin as you tried to stifle a moan that came through you.

Mizu leaned down and gave your pussy a soft lick. You bucked your hips slightly forgettingabout the blade. You accidentally nicked your soft skin. Though it didn’t hurt, it felt like a sitting sensation.

“Mizuuu~ please” You pleaded desperately for stimulation.

“Be patient Princes” She smirked as she kissed your thighs, keeping the blade to your stomach above where the first cut was.

She sat up and looked down at you. Her eyes were dark with desire. You could feel your core get hotter and hotter as she sat above you.

“Are you ready Princes?” She looked at you as you nodded your head. Though you were expecting what happened next.

You felt the cool meat of the knife be dragged down our skin till it got to right above your acting clit. Mizu then flipped it around and dragged the wooden shade through your sex covering it in your desire.

“M-Mizu” You crooked out from the sensation.

“You’ll be a good girl right and stay still and keep quiet.” She whispered close to your ear in a seductive tone. You nodded your head desperately wanting to be able to cum.

With that she pushed in the hilt of the blade into you.

You bit your lip trying to stay quiet and good for her but a few slipped as she started to move it in and out of your pussy.

She wiggled it around messing with you as she also kissed and bit your breast. The sensation was very good, almost too good as you got closer to your release.

Mizu started to move the blade quicker as you clenched around the hilt. Mizu whimpered out quietly hoping you would hear as she thought it was her that you clenched around and it was her that made you feel nice. She wished she was a true male so she could fuck you into oblivion for know this will do.

As you approached your orgasm Mizu pulled the hilt from your pussy. You moaned out at the loss of sensation but it was quickly replaced by her mouth as the blade was on your stomach to keep you still.

She licked and fucked you with her tongue. It felt so you couldn't help the noise that fell from your lips and how your hips bucked at the feelling of her tongue.

As she licked and used her giver to stimulate her clit you lost all sense of self contour.

“Ah Fuck~ MIZU” You moaned out as you cummed on her tongue. She licked up all of it and then released from your cunt and looked at your body.

She saw how stimulated you were and saw the few cuts that she had left. She then went and kissed them then kissed your lips smiling at you.

“You were a very good girl for me” She said, making your face turn a deep red color. “Though I hope you didn’t think that's all I would do” She smirked at you as you knew your doom.

~~~

With all of that being said she would still be soft and gentle with you but fuck she couldn’t help but watch how you squeeze the hilts of the blade so nicely.

When she uses her true sword she would surely the next time she uses it to fight think of you and how cute you looked as she fucked you with what was basically her sole and heart.

Also if anything bad were to happen she would stop and make sure you’re ok.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading. Please if you think i can do anything better or have suggestions please tell me. Have a nice day ^-^

144 notes · View notes

snippychicke · 5 months

Text

It's Just Business Three

YOU THOUGHT I FORGOT? NEVER!

Look at that face! Look!

Fandom: One Piece (LA mainly)

Rating: Teen so far

Pairing: Sanji/Reader

Warnings: No real warnings, but god, I hope you like pining

Summary: You felt like you had known Sanji forever, considering your family had been the main merchants Zeff used to supply the Baratie. You had a small crush on him, but knew it was hopeless considering you were the one woman he didn't seem to pine over.

It was fine. Or so you thought until you ended up on the Going Merry as a bookkeeper and supply manager. Being around him 24/7 was a lot more difficult than just a few days a week.

(Please note 》°《 denotes a scene in the past while -*- will be a regular scene break. Because yeah, I like my non-linear story telling.)

Masterpost | Ao3

You weren’t unfamiliar with fighting. After all, merchant ships attracted pirates like honey attracted flies.

But damn, the fishman pirates were really of a different breed. You were on the defensive more than anything, blocking blows and only able to land a few potshots in retaliation. You could feel bruises already blooming from where you got hit, the unsettling feeling of blood trickling from various wounds.

But you didn’t give up. How could you when the others kept bravely fighting? Zoro’s blades danced in the air with unnatural graces against the other pirates, the man barely waivering despite the fact he still had his massive injuries from Mihawk. And Sanji was far more skilled than yourself considering he trained regularly with Zeff, his long legs proving to be far stronger than they looked.

Except as much as they fought against Arlong's pirates, the two men were bickering heatedly amongst themselves too - which was not helping anyone except the enemy.

“Will you two stop fighting!” You snarled as you ended up between the green-hair swordsman and the blond chef--both literally and figuratively. “Beat these assholes and then have at it for all I care, but god damn if we lose I am going to murder you both.”

Zoro shot you a dark look, as if to silently scoff at the fact you could even hope to beat him - you couldn’t, but you would try your best, god damn it - before he rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the fishmen that were regrouping.

Sanji however, frowned as he looked you over and stepped closer to wipe blood from your lip. “I told you that you should have stayed back on the ship, or even the village.”

You glared at him. “The only orders I take are the ones I get paid for,” You shot back. “Just ‘cause you’re stronger than me doesn’t make you my boss.”

His frown deepened. "That's not what I meant. I just mean you'd be safer back on the Going Merry."

"We all would, but that's not why we came, is it?" You hated the fact he had been right about Nami, but you hated Arlong and his crew more for what they did to the young woman. You had gripped Sanji’s hand tightly when you heard Nami softly ask Luffy for help, full of rage on her behalf for what the bastards had done. He had squeezed back as he took a drag of his cigarette, as if silently promising that you would get revenge on her behalf.

"I thought you said something about fighting them, not each other," Zoro yelled out, three swords holding back the pirates while you and Sanji argued.

"Mind your damn own business!" You and Sanji snarled at the green haired swordsman at the same time.

You were fairly certain you heard Zoro curse you both, swearing something about waiters and bossy women. You ignored his comment as Sanji darted for one of the gray-skinned fishmen, and you followed suit.

-*-

It had been a knife in your heart when Sanji greeted Nami so warmly, sounding so elated to see the red-head.

Yet the fact she passed him and went for Zoro and Usopp made you cackle heartedly despite yourself, going as far as leaning on the dejected man as you tried to calm your laughter. (The mix of the battle high and relief it was over may have made you a bit unusually giggly.)

“It’s not that funny,” He grumbled, though at the same time his arm wrapped around your waist to help steady you.

“I’m sorry,” You wheezed, pressing your head against his shoulder. “You just… and she didn’t even pause. My poor boy, I don’t think she’s that into you.”

Sanji was quiet as you calmed yourself, though his arm never left your waist, or even loosened the smallest bit. “Sometimes a woman requires a bit of wooing,” He defended once your laughter died away, making you snort. “Nami’s been through a rough time, so of course she’d run to her friends.”

You tried to keep the smile on your face despite any trace of humor draining from your heart. He was in deep this time, wasn’t he?

It was probably a good thing you’d be parting ways, so you didn’t have to watch him try to woo her, as he said. Even if it meant you wouldn’t see him for who knew how long. Or the fact the idiot could die out on the open sea and you would never see him again. Never see the humor in his bright blue eyes, lips twitching in a smile. Never be able to bicker good-naturedly with him, arguing just for the sake of arguing. Or just feel at home with his casual touch--he was one of the very few who you felt safe enough to indulge in that need for physical touch.

Sanji spoke your name softly, drawing you from your thoughts. “You okay?” He asked as you looked up and was able to see worry pinching his eyebrows together.

You offered a weak smile. “Yeah, just tired all of a sudden. Adrenaline must be wearing off.”

The concerned expression didn’t leave despite the soft smile on his lips. His thumb rubbed along the curve of your wait reassuringly as he pulled you closer. "Once Luffy's finished, we'll head back and I'll make a big meal, okay? Just hang in there until then.

Oh, it wasn't the immediate future you were worried about. But you nodded your head nevertheless, and tried to enjoy what short time you had left with your friend before you parted ways.

~*~

Despite your obvious exhaustion, you assisted with preparing the celebratory meal that night, for which Sanji was thankful. You weren’t exactly one of the line cooks of the Baratie, but you knew enough that he didn’t have to worry once he explained his initial idea of a large stir-fry.

He was looking forward to more of this; the adventure, fulfilling his dream of finding the All Blue, Zeff’s dream. But also sharing it all with you. Seeing you more than just a few times a week, stealing short moments between both your duties and his.

The two of you had always been close and had shared a few small (and some not so small) adventures through the years. He couldn’t lie to himself, his feelings for you were far from platonic, but the problem was you thought you knew him too well and never believed he was being serious as he tried to flirt. No matter how close he held you, or how many times he pressed kisses to you head and hand while calling you sweetheart, you thought he was just kidding. That it was all platonic.

He wasn’t sure how you were going to react when --if-- you ever realized the truth.

》°《

Zeff frowned as he looked down at you and Sanji, both of you out of breath and covered in sweat as you sat back to back. "You two shrimps are pitiful, really."

You grumbled as you leaned against Sanji, trying to catch your breath. He had been beating your ass fairly, though at least you had given him a work out.

"We've been doing this all afternoon," Sanji shot back, still full of spit and vinegar in his small body despite everything. "Let her have a break, and I'll fight you instead."

You moved to look at him, confused. He… was defending you? After the fact you were in this position because you had been fighting in the pantry?

Zeff laughed, his arms crossed in front of his chest that was probably bigger than both you and Sanji combined. "You think you can take me, little eggplant?"

Even with one just a thin pegleg, you knew to challenge Zeff was a death wish. Your parents had told you stories of Red Leg Zeff of the Cook Pirates, likely in an attempt to make you behave when aboard the Baratie.

Yet despite knowing how harsh Zeff truly could be, Sanji only glared harder. "I'd rather take you than force her to do any more training."

Zeff smirked, though his expression softened. "You little shit. How about you go scrounge up some lunch for you both and take a rest. And maybe next time you won't be so prone to starting fights."

The captain-chef turned and left you and Sanji alone on the deck. You groaned as you tried to flop down on the slatted wood, except Sanji wrapped an arm around your shoulders and kept you sitting up. How he still had any energy or strength was beyond you. You felt boneless. Or maybe more like all your bones had been shattered.

"You heard the old bastard," Sanji said as he pulled you up as if you were just an overly large flour bag. "Let's go get you some food."

"God, how do you have energy?" You whined as he helped you back inside.

"I train at least twice a day, more if I piss the geezer off,” was his grumbled answer.

What little energy you could spare was used to have a flash of empathy for him; you couldn't imagine having to do this twice a day. "So, you’re Mr. Fancypants in the kitchen and on the battlefield."

He shot you a smile that looked a lot like Zeff’s when he was somewhat proud of something. "Heh, guess you could say that."

#op sanji #one piece sanji #sanji #sanji x reader #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader

112 notes · View notes