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#this bastard deserves no sympathy

herbcerer · 1 year

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@powerupemily has a guy I like enough to draw him for them

He's so sad

#modernau #this bastard deserves no sympathy #let him suffer #(i love him so so so dearly)#my art

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storms-path · 2 years

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Auraugust 2022 Day 26 - Umbral

No story of heroes would be complete without its villains. Ancient, immortal, hells-bent on the destruction of our world to bring back their own, much and more can be speculated of the Ascians, but our actual knowledge of them is scant at best. Given the relative lack of sources, and the inherent bias from said sources, there are some who believe that the Ascians were less a real threat and more a metaphor for the trap of falling into idolising nostalgia and trying to return a glorified, untrue past. Still, stories through the Astral and Umbral Eras persist of cloaked figures influencing major figures in history’s pages, which casts doubt on this assumption.

“It’s over, Elidibus. Immortal or not, your story ends here.”

#ff14 #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #arashi washi #auraugust #elidibus #much like omega this one was inspired by me getting seat of sacrifice for trials roulette #and realising i hadn't said a damn thing about the ascians yet #arashi feels a lot of sympathy for them now she knows what they wanted #but they're still a threat to her world and she won't let sympathy get in the way of cutting them down #(and pushes away the niggling thought that she could well go down the same path if she lost everything she loved to world-ending calamity)#can't wait for the rest of pandaemonium to come out and make me cry even more about elidibus #poor bastard deserved better #for context this was scheduled on the sunday before 6.2 #so i'm blissfully ignorant at this point

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caramel-ribbons · 11 months

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I just watched Avatar for the first time all the way through, and yeah, it’s great, but the one thing that surprised me was how different Katara was compared to the fandom interpretation I’d seen and internalized before watching.

Like, before you watch Avatar, you’ve seen all these memes about Katara and her mom, and based on those memes, you assume it’s one of those lines you have to get used to hearing at least once every episode. But then you watch the show and realize that she only talks about her mom maybe five or six times per season and you also realize she only brings her up when she’s trying to comfort someone or empathize with them because that’s how she processes her grief and that’s one way she connects with people.

Or you hear the infamous line, “then you didn’t love [our mother] the way I did” and you prepare yourself for one of the worst character assassinations ever only to see the scene after nearly three seasons worth of context and realize she was kinda right. She’s been the mother, the nurturer, the comforter. She’s been patient, gentle, and accommodating where everyone else has gotten to be insensible and reckless and childish, and the one moment where she allows herself to feel her grief, suddenly she’s this evil bitch and not, y’know, a 14 year old girl whose been thrusted into adulthood in a way no other character has. A 14 year old girl who should be allowed immaturity and raw emotion and anger instead of the patience and grace she’s been forced to extend to every character without even the smallest amount of gratitude or even consideration in return.

Or you see all of the clips where Katara puts Aang in the “friendzone” and you expect to have this wishy washy back and forth where Aang is putting his feelings out there only to have Katara neither commit nor express any clear reciprocation or rejection. Then you watch and realize that, as cute as the ship is initially, that there’s never a point where Aang returns any comfort or grace to Katara despite her always doing this for him to the point of coddling. That for as much as Aang says he loves her, he never seems to outgrow his perception of her so he can recognize her as someone who feels grief, anger, and pain as much as she expresses love, kindness, and maturity. And instead of having moments where he learns to see her beyond her strength or compassion, you’re instead given moments where Aang forces his feelings onto her, both romantic and non-romantic, and Katara is expected to just…shoulder those feelings the way she shoulders everyone else’s.

Katara is the most misunderstood character in the show. As much as people recognize the complexities of Zuko, Sokka, and Azula, they struggle to do the same for Katara because they see her struggles as somehow lesser, and therefore, less deserving of sympathy. They can handle her so long as she’s being endlessly patient and loving and kind, but the moment her endless love, patience, and kindness runs out, she’s suddenly this annoying bitch who can’t shut up about her mother or reciprocate Aang’s feelings. But Katara’s trauma does matter as much as anyone else’s. No, she wasn’t banished from her kingdom. No, she didn’t lose her entire community, and no, she isn’t the only one who lost her mother. But the difference between her and everyone else whose experienced loss because of the Fire Nation is that she’s never given time to process her trauma. Aang gets to lean on Katara constantly. Toph gets to express her feelings to Katara, and yeah, Sokka also lost their mother, but unlike Katara, he isn’t put in the position of being a substitute for everyone’s parent. He even admits that he sees his sister as a mother. The only characters who ever comfort Katara or allow her to vent is Zuko and her father and that’s, like, three scenes in a show where the other characters are consistently given opportunities to seek out Katara for unconditional support.

The fandom interpretation of Katara has been so bastardized that even those who haven’t watched the show know her for this fanon version and not for who she is. She’s such an interesting character beyond her fandom limitations, though. She’s brave, hot-headed, and hopeful as well as gentle and caring. She wishes to learn waterbending, not only because she wants to fight in the war, but because she wants to continue her culture’s practices because, and people often forget this, she also lost an entire subculture within her already fractured tribe. And she wants to defeat the Fire Nation both because of her deep love and empathy for other people, but also because she wants to avenge her mother. But because some of the fans have reduced Katara to a bitch who constantly whines about her mother and friendzones Aang, you wouldn’t know any of this, and it sucks because she’s the only character whose been dumbed down to such an extent.

#avatar the last airbender #avatar #katara #you can tell she’s my favorite character #female character #zutara #I’m not anti or pro either #just something I noticed #I’m not against Aang either #just this writing

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konigsblog · 1 month

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loserstepbro!ghost x reader thots?

loser-stepbrother-simon that's never had a girlfriend before, leaving him to become obsessed with his stepsister. :(

tw: stepcest, noncon voyeurism, loser-ghost, stepbro-ghost, afab!f!reader. mdni 18+ - dead dove: do not eat. 🔞

he feels like such a pervert while taking pictures of your sleeping body. your slick and soft thighs spread out, and your glossy cunt staring back at him, looking so fuckable, so delicious. he needs porn material to use whilst jerking off whilst on deployment, please understand, love... :(

simon will grope you when you stay over with him. a part of you feels remorse and sympathy for your poor, lonely stepbrother who just longs for your comfort and love, letting him eat you out, or fuck you ‘til he has tears rolling down his cheeks from overstimulation himself, and groaning loudly and hoarsely, because you know if you don't comply, he'll get aggressive and pissy, or will ignore you for days.

it's hard trying to balance having a relationship with your adored and beloved boyfriend, and your constantly horny, needy stepbrother. since you're spending time at simon's, he's desperate to get into your panties the entirety of your stay — telling you he's in dire need of an orgasm and your tight pussy is the perfect fit for his hard length. it makes sense though, or at least to simon; all those times you've had sex together, he's probably morphed and shaped your tight hole to fit his dick, and only his.

he's envious of your boyfriend, he absolutely despises him out of insecurity and jealousy. that he can fuck your pretty, drooling cunt whenever he feels like it without shame blooming inside of him. simon hates himself for watching you get fucked by that horrible bastard... he'll record it though, to get off to when you're not with him!

simon is ridiculous and insecure that you have a stable relationship, he's worried you'll abandon him and his needs one day. he'll fake messages and lie straight to your face, telling you that your boyfriend is cheating on you, or is a disgusting asshole — that you deserve someone that'll understand you better, hinting towards himself... :(

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ellecdc · 13 days

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how do you think the boys would react to reader telling them that she’s like NEEDY needy (iykyk)

would they do it, or just like get shy and walk off? or? 👀👀👀👀👀👀

mature content ahead: view discretion is advised

So, are they in a relationship yet? I'm going to go with they're in a relationship for this but if you meant they weren't you can feel free to re-ask

James:

chokes on his spit and nearly trips as he turns to look at you in shock (not unpleasant shock, mind you)

"You're what?"

He'd coo in sympathy after you had to embarrassingly repeat yourself in a whisper, rubbing your thighs together desperate for friction

"awe sweets. Okay, come on." and he's leading you by the hand - he's almost more eager than you are as he rushes down the hall

ends up on his knees with his face under your skirt in the closest bathroom - you'd be taken care of for sure 😩

Sirius:

biggest shit eating grin you've ever seen in your life and you almost regret saying anything

I think he'd tease you a little bit: "Awe, poor dolly's feeling needy, hm?" He'd coo in faux sympathy, the bastard

He'd make you tell him exactly what you're looking for. "What do you want, dolly?" 'touch me' "Like this?" and all he'd do is push your hair behind your ear

two can play at that game: 'Fine, I'll go ask someone else.'

He'd let out a horrified squawk and throw you over his shoulder. "Now now, let's not get hasty. I don't want anyone thinking I don't take care of my girl"

bent you over in the nearest broom closet and you both leave flushed and satisfied

Remus:

would smirk at you but continues reading through the first draft of his essay "really dove? now?"

he'd chuckle listening to you pout and get all breathy as you try to sit still "We've got homework, baby girl."

You'd get petulant and lean back in your seat with a huff, crossing your arms.

without even looking, he'd grab the leg of your chair and pull it over towards him - he'd keep his head low and continue making adjustments on his paper as he slips his free hand under your skirt and moves your panties aside.

"Awe, poor dovey - you really were needy weren't you" he'd lightly tease, murmuring softly so only you could hear.

your breath would hitch as he slipped inside of you, earning you a gentle shush as he threatens to stop moving his fingers.

"I'll take care of you but you have to be quiet; only I get to know how pretty you sound, yeah?"

gets you off with just his fingers in the library - makes up for it again later once he's done his essay

Regulus:

he's mean, I'm sorry

he'd make you wait all day

he'd go to class, to every meal, to quidditch practice barely sparing you a glance leaving you all the more desperate

it was painful for him too, mind you. Thinking about you being needy made him needy, and he spent all day dreaming of taking you over and over and over again

but he's a bit of a sadomasochist lol

he'd finally be all wound up after quidditch practice and would pull you roughly into his room and, like he'd been imagining all day, take you over and over and over again

to the point of over stimulation

"Come on amour, you can give me one more, yeah? Wasn't this what you wanted? Weren't you so needy?"

he got three more for his dirty talk alone

Barty:

no questions asked

'Barty?' "Yes Treasure?" 'I...I want, erm....I mean I...I feel kind of needy'

slams book shut and throws it over his shoulder where it lands in the fountain with a splash

"Where are you two going?" his friends ask bemusedly

"I'm going to treat my girl like a slut the way she deserves, Black; if you're not going to help, mind your fucking business"

you spend the rest of the day in his bed, fucking, smoking, eating, fucking, smoking, fucking, reading, fucking again

you'd hardly ever need to worry about feeling needy with him - whenever, wherever, however - consider it done.

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hxnbi · 1 month

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「 FALLING FOR YOU 」

synopsis: who fell first and who fell harder

characters: itadori yuji, fushiguro megumi, gojo satoru, okkotsu yuta

ITADORI YUJI ➽ he fell first, and he fell harder

Let's be honest, this poor boy has gone through so much. And to have someone who reciprocates his feelings? He felt like he was on cloud nine when he learned that you thought the same thing; "I love you too, Yuji." So much so that he made you repeat it again and again until he was forcefully pulled away by Megumi and Nobara, as you were too overwhelmed by Yuji's... several confessions?—practically busy exploding in joy yourself to configure another thought.

Nothing in the entire world could be better than being with you for the rest of his life, and he made sure that you knew that there were no doubts.

Whatever or whenever it was, Yuji was at your beck and call. You may as well have compared him to a golden retriever-like boyfriend, because that was exactly what it was. He was so incredibly touched that you reciprocated his feelings, so much so that he wanted you to know for sure that he was devoted to you and only you. And in that regard, he indeed succeeded.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI ➽ you fell first, and you fell harder

No one, not Gojo, Yuji, Nobara, or even yourself—would've ever expected you to fall in love with such an aloof person, that person being the stone that is Fushiguro Megumi. Something that intrigued you from the moment you met him. It was shocking, and honestly, even refreshing, to see Megumi smiling. His stoic demeanour in saying practically anything, regardless of its seriousness, and his piercing, borderline terrifying gaze hid a plethora of emotions beneath that impassive tone of his, and try as you might, you couldn't help but feel drawn to him.

But as much as Megumi loved you, he also kept his distance from you. And that pained you to think that perhaps Megumi really didn't care about you as much as you thought—that is, until you realized the reason for why. He just didn't want you to be in danger. He tried to keep you far away from him, but for that reason alone, you found yourself falling harder and harder for the boy who had captured your heart. All that he did, the danger that he put himself under, was for you. And before you even knew it, you found yourself hopelessly in love with the person who had now become the centre of your world.

GOJO SATORU ➽ you fell first, and he fell harder

At first, it was just a tiny crush. Perhaps even a little more. Because, let's be real, who wouldn't be at least somewhat attracted to the strongest sorcerer? At first, that's what you thought. There was no way that someone as powerful as Gojo Satoru would pay attention to an average sorcerer like yourself, right? Wrong.

As Utahime and Megumi would say with utter conviction, Gojo can be an arrogant bastard at times. He's aloof, confident, and charismatic, but he's also just an individual—just an everyday human being. You were the one who truly understood him. You loved him for who he was—not for superficial reasons the rest of his world saw, but because he was a guy whose heart was genuine.

And he found himself falling for you, truly. He found himself loving and appreciating every part of you. To have someone so genuine, so open, unlike him, forced to view himself as merely "the strongest." He felt as though he could be weak around you. He fell hard for you and only you, and that would never change. Anything less would be a betrayal of your love.

OKKOTSU YUTA ➽ he fell first, and you both fell harder

I'd like to think that Yuta, for sure, has thoughts that he doesn't deserve to have you. So he stares from a distance. Everything that he did, the life that he lived, was cursed to a degree that nobody saw when he dared to acknowledge. He thought that you didn't deserve that. But even as he muttered those words to you that day, you looked at him—not with fear, not with disgust, not even with pity, but with sympathy and love.

His vulnerability, even when he was at his lowest, was undeniable. But that made you even more determined to help him—to be that person that Yuta could, for once in his life, lean on without reservation. His timid yet endearing personality drew you in, despite the darkness that surrounded him. But, unbeknownst to you, he had already fallen for you.

Yuta was enthralled, captivated—enchanted even—by all the kindness you showed him from the very moment he laid eyes on you. The way you would act like he was just an average person, regardless of the circumstances. He loved you for who you were, and you were the same.

©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.

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inbarfink · 3 months

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I mean, the thing is that fiction about aliens is almost always going to be about some sort of Other on some level. Whatever it’s about demonizing or fear-mongering about some sort of Outsider Group or trying to get the audience to sympathize with the Other via the metaphor of a lovable alien.

And Invader Zim is kind of an interesting spot there because, like, it’s not just ‘Bad Outsider Out to Destroy Our Beloved In-Group’ or ‘Poor Sympathetic Outsider Being Put-Down by the In-Group’. First thing first because Zim is kinda both. He is both the Outsider secretly hiding inside the in-group plotting their destruction - but the narrative and framing also sympathizes with him and supports his view of the in-group (that humans are stupid and gross).

So he can’t really be A Scary Demonized Outsider when he gets so much narrative sympathy and support, but also… he is a murderous little world-conquering bastard and most of his suffering is generally just him gets exactly what he deserves so he can’t be your classic sort of Sympathetic Outsider either.

And the other thing is that the in-group is not even really involved in Zim’s conflict. Zim’s biggest challenge in conquering the earth is Dib, another Outsider. Often, despite being a human and thus part of the literal in-group, Dib is an even bigger Outsider to humanity than Zim is.

Zim and Dib are both Outsiders, and Zim isn’t just an Outsider as an Alien on Earth - among his own people he is in the same situation as Dib is, an Outsider in his own in-group. (Not that he can ever admit to himself that is the case). So these two Weirdos are fighting to protect/further the goals of two in-groups that will never actually accept them.

And so often their main weapon against each other and the primary danger and the source of their suffering for themselves is the same thing; the in-group conformity and enforcement of social norms.

Dib’s main evidence that Zim is an Alien is, most of the time, just the fact that he looks and acts weird. But also he himself is constantly bullied for looking and acting weird.

And Zim’s most constant source of anxiety while undercover on Earth is the fact that he’s going to get caught being Too Weird and then not just fail his mission, but get brutally dissected and experimented on. But his best defense against being exposed is… basically just to point out just how much Dib also Diverges From the Norm.

It’s the story of two Weirdos trying to get the other punished for being weird in some way, while the Normies just kinda look on and laugh at them both. And the actual thing they want, recognition and acceptance from their in-group is the one thing they are doomed to never actually get.

And honestly, I think that's actually what makes a lot of real-life Outsiders cling to IZ, especially while we’re teens. I think, in a way, the fact that it’s kind of a messy Outsider narrative makes it more relatable to the messy middle-school/high-school experience than something more neatly crafted to be uplifting to the Weird Kids.

I mean, I certainly see the obvious value in fiction that’s actually trying to create a positive narrative for queer teens or autistic kids or maybe just scene kids or any combination of the following. This sort of media is very good, and can be just as important to some folks.

But... also the truth is that when you’re an edgy teen wrecked with self-loathing for Weirdness you don’t even fully understand “There’s nothing wrong with me and all the people making me feel like they are Bad!” can be a hard message to really believe in. Sometimes it’s easier to start from “Maybe I am all the terrible things people say that I am but.. still deserve love and sympathy, I can still be the hero of the story”.

And because, sadly, the problem of Weirdos attacking each other for being Weirdos using the same rhetoric that’s used to hurt them, just for the sake of approval and recognition from in-groups that are never going to treat either of them as nothing but a joke - is not a phenomenon exclusive to the Silly Alien Invader Nicktoon.

And Dib and Zim’s rivalry is a great basic framework to explore it both in analysis of the canon and in fanworks.

#iz #invader zim #iz analysis #zim #zim iz #iz zim #invader zim zim #zim invader zim #zim irken #dib membrane #iz dib #invader zim dib #dib iz #dib invader zim #iz dib membrane

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pandoa · 9 months

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every piercing petal

when they find you suffering from the hanahaki disease

~headcanons~ ~twisted wonderland x gender neutral reader~ warnings: angst, mentions of blood, a little cursing

requested by @miriamladyvoid~✰

he stays with you. he sees the blood drip from each pastel-colored flower, noticing the way each cough from your now frail body pains you with every breath, and stays by your side. he may not know how to help, but the least he could do was wrap his own arms around you in comfort, right? he sits you down as you choke out the few petals that had still been stuck within your throat as a gentle hand innocently caresses up and down your back. leaning your head on his shoulder, he lets you rest yourself against him as if any form of sympathy would alleviate the pain in your chest. he asks no questions from you. he only wants to surround you in feelings of comfort.

riddle rosehearts, cater diamond, TREY CLOVER, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, VIL SCHOENHEIT, rook hunt, LILIA VANROUGE

he wants to find the bastard who broke your heart. who would break you so horribly to make literal flowers grow in your lungs? just who was this person anyway? he walks in and sees you bent over your own knees as you choke on the thorns that scratched your throat, trying to deal with the grief all on your own. he becomes angry that someone would make you go through such suffering. and so, he made it his goal to find the jerk that did this to you. even if the whole idea seemed too reckless. it just wasn't fair. why did you have to ache over something you just couldn't control? all because you were so innocent enough to fall in love? to him, this disease wasn't a sickness. it was a curse. and he knew you didn't deserve it at all.

ace trappola, epel felmier, LEONA KINGSCHOLAR, malleus draconia

he wishes to help you heal. even if it seems like it's hopeless. there has to be some sort of remedy to this. whether it's trying to help you gain the affections of the one you loved or searching high and low for a possible antidote, he does his best in attempting to expel the vines that wrap around your lungs. he plays cupid, matchmaker, scavenger, and even potion-maker to try and rid you of this morbid disease. he just wants to make your days of lamenting disappear. to bring back that smile that used to shine on your face before you had ever fallen in love with someone who's heart was not yours. he'd go to the ends of the earth if it meant he could stop the ache piercing your lungs. just please... don't lose your hope either, alright?

DEUCE SPADE, trey clover, jade leech, KALIM AL-ASIM, rook hunt, epel felmier, MALLEUS DRACONIA, silver

he's confused. maybe it's the way he just couldn't comprehend the facts behind the disease. or maybe it's the way he didn't understand how you could allow your own feelings for someone to grow into a sickness that literally grows flowers into your lungs. either way, he genuinely does not know what to do. he notices the way you cough, and cough, and cough—keeping note of the blood that stained each flower in the process. perhaps he could research this disease if he was the type of person to. who did you love in the first place? why would you let it escalate so easily? he's lost, but he'd do his best to try and comfort you. although... it wasn't him that you loved, right?

riddle rosehearts, ace trappola, JACK HOWL, ruggie bucchi, floyd leech, IDIA SHROUD, sebek zigvolt

he develops the disease too. he sees your body doubled over in a frantic mess, tissues of blood and piles of flowers now scattered around your feet. and before he finally processes anything, he starts to feel a sharp pain in his own chest. one that felt like a million thorns growing within his lungs. he wasn't the one you loved after all. it was apparent now. and while the pain in your throat was caused by your love for someone else, his pain was caused by the lack of feelings you held for him. it was as if the world had blasted him with a sign that said, "congratulations, they're in pain because of their love for someone else, which isn't you, so you get to suffer as well!" even if you had found yourself healed from this sickness, the young man discovers that his ending is all the same. you did not love him. nor would you ever. so he continues hiding his own feelings for you if only to not burden you further.

♥... ALL ...♥

a/n: last one was mainly for funsies >:3

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queenvhagar · 22 days

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"I thought I wanted it. But the burden is a heavy one. It's too heavy. If you wish me to bear it then defend me. And my children."

I wonder what burden she feels she's holding at this moment. We know that she isn't speaking of the burden of ruling and managing the realm for the last several years while her father was sick, because while she was on Dragonstone, those duties fell to the Hand and the Queen. As far as the show tells us, Rhaenyra has no specific duties she's fulfilling as heir, nor has she been doing anything in particular to prepare to rule. We're not shown that she's doing anything with her time beyond anything beyond managing Dragonstone with Daemon and growing her family. So what exactly in her life at this moment is she seeing as this massive burden that she bears because she's heir to the throne?

I think the burden she's speaking of here is actually the pressure she's feeling as she's finally being faced with the idea that her father won't always be around to help her avoid the consequences of her actions. So even though it's obvious that he's on the edge of death, in immense pain, barely hanging on, and despite the fact that she hasn't visited him at this point in literal years despite knowing about his ailing health and she's done nothing to support him in ruling in his last years, she still feels entitled enough to demand that he do another massive favor for her. At this point, Rhaenyra has been enabled by her father for so many years that she doesn't know how to solve a problem without him. So she plays the heir card on Viserys to get him to defend her one more time: if you want me to be queen, and you don't want me to be held accountable and face consequences, help me get away with it one more time.

Rhaenyra is upset not because of any real burden she has as heir but because she feels like the walls are closing in and she's under attack. I would feel some sympathy for her if it weren't for the fact that she wouldn't be in this situation if she'd made better choices. If literally anyone else in the realm had obvious bastards they were using to usurp a seat of power, there would be huge consequences. Rhaenyra knows this and is doing it anyway because she thinks her position as heir to the throne gives her the power to be able to do it and get away with it. Her birthright as a Targaryen says she deserves absolute power because she's better than other people, so she can do no wrong and nobody can say otherwise to her. She believes she's clever enough to pass the deception, and otherwise her father can punish anyone who speaks up... until Vaemond goes to court, and her father is not there to blankly support her no matter what. Now, she's faced with people who intend to uphold the law of the land and she's upset that she might actually be confronted with her problems head on and not have someone to shield her this time.

#it's not the burden of duty she feels #it's the pressure #of course daddy and uncle got her back in the end and an unarmed man is killed from behind #all for speaking the truth #but haha that's just our malewife saving our girlboss amirite 🤣#rule by fear exemplified right here by tb #pro team green #hotd #anti rhaenyra targaryen

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rippersz · 8 months

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ᴀ ꜰᴏᴏʟ'ꜱ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

---

(Brienne of Tarth x Named Reader; Angsty; Hurt/Slight Comfort) (TW: Suic*de attempt; Suic*dal ideations/thoughts; Slight Romanticization of mental illness)

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“An autumn whisper between the maples kept urging: Die with me.” ~ Anna Akhmatova

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A Fool’s Death.

That’s what they call it.

A Fool’s Death. You’re a coward if you do it. You’re a lazy bastard if you live with thoughts of it. You’re a selfish prick of a soul either way.

There’s no winning and there’s no losing. There’s no talk of it. Not even a mention. Not even a whisper. And if there is, you are spoken of. Judged. Scrutinized until The Fool’s Death becomes your death. Until the village and its people and everyone in your family are forced to spit upon your narcissistic bones and claim you disowned even though there is nothing left to claim and nothing left to disown. Just a corpse that is cold and dull and useless.

Cold and dull and useless.

You think that’s how you’ll do it.

Winter has already carried her snow and chill and winds into the region, laying it all upon the land like a warm blanket around a small child’s body. Painting everything white and leaving it to glisten to sludge beneath the eventual heat of the spring sun. A perfect time for rebirth. A perfect time for death.

—

Your hands shake as you slowly pull open the door to your quarters, wincing while it creaks and groans, forcing you to stop every time a noise rings out into the empty hall. Your heart, pounding away in your ears, ruins your sense of hearing while you stand like a statue within your own doorway. Anxiety slips through your bones. Fear pulls at you. The last desire you have is to wake everyone in the castle and call attention to yourself. No, having eyes and ears on you while you lay in the snow and wait for the freeze to set in is less than ideal. A Fool’s Death, after all, is never A Fool’s Death if done with company.

So once you decide that the corridors are empty and you can slip out through the back entrance into the kitchens, you do exactly that. A singular torch is lit, burning away within its stone perch, nearly beckoning you closer with its dancing flame. You trail toward it and stop there, watching it for a moment, reveling in the last bit of warmth that your skin will ever feel. You know that some hours later, when the moon is long gone and the clouds block the sun and the stars keep themselves veiled, you will no longer be able to feel fire. You will no longer be able to feel ice. You will no longer be able to feel the breath in your lungs leave you in short pants. It will all bleed into the same numb feeling. And you will freeze until Mother Nature tells you to thaw. And once your body has been revealed to the changing air of the seasons, once the earth’s creatures start to take advantage of your indirect kindness, you also know that your frozen flesh will not be mourned. Because no one will cry for you. And no one will beg the gods, both old and new, to bring you back. And no one will waste another precious breath worrying about who you were.

You, who were just another soldier out of an army of hundreds. A faceless woman. A person easily replaced. Inconsequential in every sense of the word. Your family was dead, your acquaintances were no more than good mornings and good nights, your position would be filled as soon as you broke rank. And no one would notice your absence. The Lord Commander wouldn’t even blink. The royal family wouldn’t even spare a thought. Though then again, it wasn’t like you deserved their thoughts, their sympathies, their prayers anyway. You weren’t a war hero and you weren’t important and you didn’t do anything beyond follow orders and live your life. Well- that last bit would change, of course. As soon as you pull yourself away from the torch and get going.

The chill of night is a harsh contrast from the few minutes of firelight, but you find that your body, already shivering and slow beneath the thin white nightgown, doesn’t take true notice of the cold. You’re only propelled forward by a distant urge. A previously agreed upon understanding with no one but yourself: This was necessary. This is what it was going to come to anyway, whether you died a fool sooner or later. This was the way of the world and you were just another pawn amongst the masses. Going to war, front of the line, hoping to die in glory.

But there was no glory there. There was no glory in your measured footsteps and there was no glory in your sagging shoulders and tired expression. And there was no glory in your desire. How could there be? How could the good gods ever wish to touch you after your blasphemy? How could you hang your soul out to dry and still expect to find your place in Nirvana? They will call you a coward. They will call you a fool. They will call you a rotten whore and they will say that they wish you’d done it sooner. They will walk past your nonexistent grave without a wandering thought as to what your name was. You could’ve saved everyone the trouble, they will say. Could’ve saved them the breaths. Spared them of your quiet awkward presence. Making everyone uncomfortable. Leaving the men to tease and toss aside the idea of censoring themselves just because you were a woman. Not the only woman, but a woman nonetheless. Of course they held their tongues when The Lord Commander walked past, or sat at the table, or existed and breathed in their general vicinity, but that didn’t matter. Brienne of Tarth was not always around to control them nor comfort you - not that she did the latter anyway. You weren’t important enough for that.

And the universe seemed to agree. The path was laid out before you, lit by the silver moon, traced by the glow of the white ground. You’d decided on your resting place only a few days ago. During a morning patrol with some of the newer trainees, you came across a spot of smooth Earth. Two logs, parallel to each other, framed a large empty patch of snow. From where you stood, it looked like a beautiful painting that had yet to be finished. There was no subject- no goal- no lesson to be learned- no deeper meaning and no unintentional intentional wicked talent. But before that could be rectified, before it could be completed, it would have to be ruined. Once you’re long dead, you’ll find the time to apologize to Mother Nature, but as you trek over the last hill, you’re more focused on becoming one with the frozen ground.

The site of your death is far enough away from civilization, near the edge of a tall cliff, so any wandering strangers won’t bother to come too close. Well that’s what you tell yourself, living in hope as per usual; but in reality nothing is stopping another living creature from stumbling across your frozen corpse. The snow is thick, yes, but not thick enough to hide all of you. And the sun is only some hours away from rising. Oh well. It won’t matter anyway. You’ll be passed out by then, icicles hanging from your eyelashes and blue coating the lining of your lips. Your heart will be quiet, weak, in your frozen chest. Your hands will be limp. And the rest of you will be blanketed by the sweet tasty frost of death, creating a home for its festering teeth. Teeth that will bite and gnash and taste and tear - but their attacks will be in vain. You will be numb. So wonderfully, perfectly, fatefully, numb.

And your fingertips, for what it’s worth, are already tingling with the beginnings of it.

The beginnings of it.

‘It’ being your end, of course.

‘It’ being the thing you want. Desperately.

‘It’ being the Fool’s Death you were born to have.

Oh so poetic it was…

Oh so… lovely.

…

You blink suddenly, forcing the chilled tears out of your eyes. Damn wind… so cold… so refreshing… Your knees bend to crouch into the snow, slow and exhausted like the sluggish looking of your eyes. ‘Hello’ the snow grins- beams- smiles so cheerfully up at you, ‘come to see me again, have you? It’s only been a few days. But I have missed you so much. We all have missed you so much.’ And you glance up to take in the ‘we’; the looming trees and the deep blue sky and the twinkling stars and the sweet bright moon, and you nod to yourself. Yes. This is how it is. This is the perfect atmosphere.

This is the glory of a Fool’s Death.

This is the peace of a Fool’s Death.

This is salvation.

No loud men and no flickering fires and no furs and no royals and no company and no messy thoughts and no sleepless nights and no terrifying dreams and no days of forced starvation and no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no hope, no love, no happiness, no reason, no reason, no reason no reason no reason to live live live live live live live- live!

The thin white slip on your body shields you from nothing. Your palms sink into the soft fluff of the ground. Instantly, upon laying down, you’re soaked to the bone. Water finds itself languishing along your body, playing games and laughing while it gathers in your scalp and dances on your fingertips. And the snow, whispering near your ear and beckoning you to salvation, stretches its hands and says ‘Come, dear friend. Come rest here. I am soft. I will give you everything you want.’ So you rest. And you give in. And your body relaxes; your muscles unclench and the tension slides from your shoulders as a sigh bubbles past your lips.

Is it one of relief? One of stress? One of defeat? You’re not sure. You don’t know. Your heart is shuddering- pulsing- with excitement, but it’s a mystery as to why. Death is not supposed to feel good. Death is not supposed to feel powerful. Death is not supposed to feel like you’re finally grabbing life by the balls and saying HAH! THIS IS IT! THIS IS MY MOMENT! THIS IS MY DEATH! MY END! AND YOU CAN NEVER TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME.

… So why does it feel that way?

Why does it feel so good?

…

…The night is quiet. It does not have answers for you. The moon looks on with unblinking eyes. You feel yourself grow heavy.

But the deed is not over yet. There is still one thing left to do. Slowly, the snow falls away as your limbs stir. They move on autopilot, not drawn by the thoughts in your head but again pushed by that faint desire.

Heels digging, nails running blue, curling into the snow, pushing it away - only to drag it back five minutes later; hastily working to complete the masterpiece. Desperate to become one with the Earth and fall into oblivion. A deep, bone-cold, quieting oblivion that will leave you shivering before it leaves you dead. Even beneath the blanket of snow that caresses your skin, that lays over your bare legs, that nuzzles the sensitive parts of your body, you begin to shake. And you begin to think.

The thoughts, interestingly enough, don’t freeze like the rest of you does. Instead, they grow. Swirl like a winter’s storm. Obsessive and rough, they pull you under like they always did.

This is great, isn’t it?

No, you think in response to yourself. It hurts, actually.

Oh stop whining. It will be worth it.

Why? How?

For years, it has been worth it.

That doesn’t answer anything. How has it been worth it? Is that why I’ve been hurting so much? For the sake of worthiness? Or something else?

Well you never felt worthy of anything else.

But I feel worthy of this?

Death? Yes. Everyone is worthy of death. Even The Lord Commander.

…What does she have to do with this?

You know what.

Your hands grasp at the snow, mindless and desperate. Pulling and pulling and pulling - clawing at the crisp white so it can cover you until no part of you is left to the air. Shielding you from the hatred of the universe. From the angry eyes of the gods. From the venom of the men. From the disinterest of the women. From the world… and its lack of care for you. And its lack of positivity. And its rude- disgusting- vile- way of treating you. And its overwhelming desire to kill you before you could kill yourself.

Too late now. We’re at least one foot deep in the ground! This is it. Keep digging. Keep digging. Keep digging! No stopping here! No energy left. Nothing left, actually. Not a goddamn thing. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Nothing at all….

Nothing.

At all.

Your eyelids flutter shut.

—

It’s two hours later when Ser Brienne of Tarth starts to wrap up her last duty of the evening.

A quick patrol of the furthest border is something not necessarily reserved for The Lord Commander, but is more of a safety measure she enforces upon herself before retiring for bed. Exhaustion pulls at her before she sets out, yes, but sometimes the nightmares… the white walkers… they leave her paranoid. Expectant of an attack that will never come. Worried about an enemy that no longer exists. Thus, she does it alone - and with only the royals’ knowledge.

It’s always a quiet affair, drawn along quickly by her and her steed Valour. They work with sharp eyes and a torch through the dark, stopping every few paces to listen for threats. There aren’t any, of course, but that doesn’t stop her from clip-clopping along the terrain with tense shoulders and keen senses, looking through the din of the torch’s fire in her hand. She has to be careful not to set her furs alight, but it’s not a hard task. Keeping it level, shunting it toward the ground and out toward the trees, proves to be more difficult. There’s no use in a flame if it can’t illuminate a damn th-

HUFF.

Valour’s hooves press into the snow, leaving them to stop - suddenly, quickly, with a jerk - as hot breath puffs from her nostrils and curls into the air. She’s tense, Brienne realizes. Tense and alert, with white ears twisting to take in sound. They stand in silence. Blue eyes watch as the animal’s head turns - first to the left and then to the right. But aside from the night and the usual rustle of the world, there is nothing. Nothing to hear, nothing to notice, nothing to fight or defend. Nothing to… find?

With one last sweep of the flame, she catches something quick. It’s nearly unnoticeable. Buried beneath the snow, but not one with the ground. It’s foreign. Out of place. A mere lump with no distinct beginning and end. Brienne chances a glance down at the horse, interest and apprehension dancing through her veins once she sees Valour’s eyes have caught the same thing. The same… intruder. The same issue.

When she slides off of the horse, half expecting to see the thing rise from the ground, one hand shoots to her sword. It waits. Curls around the hilt. Stretches beneath her glove. Twitches with adrenaline.

But there’s nothing. Not even a tremble beneath the dirt.

“Stay,” she whispers to Valour, moving the hand from her blade to gesture, palm facing the ground, for the horse to stand in wait.

And as cautiously, as quietly, as she can, Brienne approaches the mystery. She rounds one of the logs, taking notice of the odd placement, and tries not to wince each time her boots make a small crunch in the silence. Footprints will no doubt be left behind, but that doesn’t seem to bother her much as she catches sight of another pair in the distance. They’re small, the knight notices. With no distinct shape if not for a slight curve. The snow is kicked up, forced from its smooth blanket. Hurried in their demeanor. But slow in the amount of distance between each print.

Human, she thinks.

Human indeed, the snow hums; bearing all to see as it glistens beneath the firelight of her torch and brings Brienne to her unsightly treasure.

Frosted skin. A soaked nightgown. Arms and legs bitten by the chill.

Dead, she thinks.

No. Alive. The snow breathes.

—

Someone is taking off your clothes. They’re cold, sticking to you, and little grunts follow as bits of your nightgown rip with the effort. Your body is shocked, shivering so hard that the stranger can’t keep you still and isn’t quite sure what to do. Eventually, a mind is made up and you’re stripped completely - then covered with woolen hose. At least two pairs- both of which are too big for you and hang by the feet and are quite loose around the waist, but the dresser doesn’t seem to care. Trousers are next. How many pairs? You don’t know. Then shirts. And furs. And even a pair of leather gloves that droop at the fingertips and gape at the wrists - but they’re warm and lined with wool and you can’t feel your body but that’s okay. You didn’t want to anyway. More grunting and growling and small whispered curses follow until you’re very much tucked into a bed far bigger than your own. It’s warm. Good. You’re numb and half-dead, but it’s good. Lovely, really. And the outside world doesn’t call your name as you close your eyes.

Waking up was not on your agenda.

It wasn’t even in the cards.

And you don’t really want to - but the universe never cared for your opinion. And it did what it wanted whenever it wanted anyway. So you have no choice.

Thus, your eyes flutter open and your lungs expand with breath and suddenly the world comes flooding back in one confusing twist of fate. Nausea wastes no time in tearing you down; instantly going to churn in the pit of your stomach and curl in the back of your throat and pound against the skin of your temples. A deep groan slips from between your chapped lips. The lining of your skull feels as though it’s been replaced with cotton.

The snow really took its chance, didn’t it? Brutal. Ruthless. At least the Earth doesn’t lie to you. At least the Earth doesn’t save you.

But someone did. Someone has.

They’re actually shuffling over; measured footsteps sounding like big loud stomps in your head. You close your eyes. Everything is too bright. Everything is too much.

“Morning.”

Hm. The voice sounds familiar. A bit wonky, like it’s far away, but familiar. You don’t have the energy to respond so you just let out a grunt and allow it to taper off into a weird rumbly hum.

“Hey,” there’s a sudden clicking noise near your ear, making you jolt and snort when your eyes flick open. There are fingers - long pale fingers snapping beside your head, falling silent when you glare up at the offender, only to find-

“Lah Commandah?!” Your tongue and throat are stiff and achy, keeping your speech limited and your voice strangled. You grimace at the sound and instantly try to growl the discomfort away, but she cuts you off.

“Don’t do that- you’ll just make it worse.” It comes out in a huff and silences you with ease.

She doesn’t look or seem very happy, which in turn makes you frown. It was a shot straight through the heart when the Lord Commander was in a bad mood - which surprisingly wasn’t always. In fact, she’d grown a little softer over the years. The tales talk of her unwilling attitude and stubborn pride, but sometimes she’s full of wit and humor. And on the best of days, she’ll give the most successful troops a small smile and a bow of her head. The only sign of ‘You did well’ that anyone would ever get from her. You’d never gotten a reaction like that before.

I wonder why she didn’t leave us out in the snow.

“Can you sit up?” Glacier blue eyes run over your face.

You’re not sure what you look like but you suppose it doesn’t matter. She’s seen worse.

“Dun-no, Lah Commandah,” you breathe, trying to do exactly that.

After the fifth try of shifting your arms and legs and quickly running out of strength, she seems to get the hint and suddenly large strong hands are sliding under your arms and tugging you up, then pushing you back. It’s done in one swift movement, leaving you dizzy while you rest your head against the wooden headboard of-… of a bed that certainly isn’t yours.

No, you’re definitely not in your own room. The layout is completely different. It’s more… it’s not pretty but it’s better looking than your own. Complete with greys and blacks and silvers and even a hint of red here and there. The fire that’s been crackling steadily in the background is clean and well-kept, where your room doesn’t even have space for one at all. And the curtains are drawn over the windows covering the right wall, leaving the place shrouded in a darkness that would have existed there anyway even if the curtains were open - it’s nighttime, pitch black outside, and suddenly you’re very much aware of the fact that you’ve kept your Lord Commander- The Brienne of Tarth- out of her own bed for more than a day.

By the time you blink yourself out of your dizzy distracted haze and try to find her form again, she’s already busy doing something else. Wringing out cloths over a bowl… and then returning to your side. Your lips, chapped and still tinged blue, open in an effort to say something- anything- but then a soft hot cloth is draped over your forehead, covering your temples, and suddenly you don’t have a damned thought left in your mind. The feeling is so nice. So blissful. You could stay like that forever.

If only the universe showed you mercy.

“It’s been two days since I found you,” the Lord Commander says, placing the bowl down gently on the side table beside the bed. Her eyes glance over your coverings, making sure the furs and gloves and shirts are all still in order. They are. She was very thorough before. She would not have made a mistake. There was no room for error.

But there’s room now for judgment. Judgment and disdain, and you’re terrified of those things and you really don’t want to have to hear her tell you that you’re a stupid wench and that the rest of the troops will forever make fun of you for your idiocy, so you swallow and wince and your hands twist together in your lap. The leather of the gloves is soft, well-worn, and the wool is only the tiniest bit matted - and you can’t help but admire the craftsmanship as you bring them up to your abdomen. They’re obviously not your gloves, just as everything else is not yours either, but you don’t know what to do first: apologize or thank her.

Honestly, you don’t really want to thank her - because she ruined your plan - but at the same time, she saved your life. Whether you wanted to end it or not doesn’t matter… because she would’ve helped you no matter what. And perhaps you’re selfish for being a little bit angry about it, maybe you’re being self-centered and dumb, but you can’t help the feeling of bitterness creep into your heart. You wanted to die… and she took that from you. She wanted you to live.

It was a duty. She doesn’t want anything. Anyone would have done it.

But that’s not true.

The men would have left you. Or hurt you. Or anything else.

But there she is, having gone through the trouble of saving you… and she’s looking down at you with a frown on her handsome face and a furrow to her light brows that seems like it never leaves and you wish so terribly that you could just tell her-

“I-m sorr-ey.” It’s a pathetic rasp of an apology, but it’s out of your mouth before you can catch it.

She blinks. You don’t know why her expression changes, why it softens into something less stern and concerned, but when it does you feel your breath catch in your throat. How anyone could see her as anything less than glorious is something you’ll never understand.

“Why were you out there.”

It’s a demand.

You look away, baring your eyes to the fire.

“…I sl-leep-wa-lk someti-”

“Bullshit.” She spits, one hand reaching down to curl into the bit of blanket that drapes over the side of the bed. Her expression has twisted back into one of anger. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

But what other choice do you have?

How could you be honest?

Why did she, of all people, have to find you? And why like that? Why couldn’t she have walked into the bathhouse during the few times you’ve wept your eyes out in the steamy silence? Why couldn’t she have caught you staring at your horse, dread in your eyes as you fantasized about running away and never looking back? Why couldn’t she have stumbled upon your vulnerability when you were still willing to live?

Why did it take a Fool’s Death to finally grasp her attention?

You want to tell the truth… but you can’t.

You can’t.

So you lie again.

“Was out- on a s-strollll. Got- um- lost.” You try not to cringe at the sound of your own bad grammar. Turns out not having full feeling back in your mouth does indeed prohibit being able to speak properly.

The Lord Commander doesn’t seem to care much. In fact, she doesn’t seem to be focusing on that at all. Instead, her face has grown slack - and she’s looking at you hard. Leaning both of her hands on the side of the bed, broad shoulders going up near her neck, eyes peering through light lashes - like she’s using her stare alone to dig holes into your soul and she doesn’t need to say anything in order for you to understand that she simply doesn’t believe you. And why should she? Your lies are so obviously half-baked; only muddying up the truth; ruining what little of it can be said.

Still. She doesn’t let up. Her gaze starts to burn. Shame tugs at your cotton-lined skull. Guilt claws its way to the surface.

Pink lips, scarred on the top right, part slowly. There’s a soft inhale. You brace yourself, clutching your warm hands into fists.

“You were buried,” the Lord Commander says, barely even blinking as she looks at you. “Covered with snow.” She shakes her head and allows it to fall to her chest, letting out a scoff so quiet you had to strain to hear it. “One of the smartest soldiers I have… and you expect me to believe that you got lost on an evening stroll?” Her head comes up, eyes pinning you in place with such dull ferocity that you can’t look away. “You can’t be serious.”

It’s at that exact moment when you realize that you’re sweating. It is the amount of warm things covering your body? The clothing and the furs and the gloves? Or is it your Lord Commander’s attention? And the fact that it’s never been placed on you like that before? With such… such focus. Such- dare you even think it- care?

You swallow against the nervous lump in your throat.

‘One of the smartest soldiers I have…’

Well if you were as smart as she thinks you are, you’d be fucking honest, wouldn’t you? Yeah. You’d tell her the truth. You’d admit that you’re a coward.

But you can’t.

You can’t.

She spends all of that time training you, keeping an eye on you, making sure you’re fed and well-rested and looked after in her own roundabout Lord Commander type of way… and you repay her with…with what?

With suicide?

So disgraceful.

So horrible.

So shitty of you.

How terrible can a person be?

How-

“Are you crying?” Your Lord Commander gapes, certainly caught off guard by your sudden emotion.

“N-no?!” You stutter, just as shocked to find yourself reaching up and smearing salty tears along your cheeks.

Oh how embarrassing-!

You stupid girl!

This is why you wanted to do it in the first place!

Because all you do is just fucking embarrass yourself-!

“N-no? No- s-sorr-y La-Lor-d C-Com-”

“Enough with the Lord Commander,” she admonishes, cutting off your bumbling apology with a swift tsk. “In private, it’s Brienne.” Then she hesitates before letting out a sigh and taking a seat next to you on the side of her bed. “…I’m not your superior here.”

All you can do is blink.

I’m not your superior here.

So what are you?

That’s all you want to ask.

What are you to me then? What is this now?

But even if you did find the courage, you’re not sure what she’d say.

“Okay,” you sniff, trying your damnedest to stop the tears.

But they’re a direct result of your aching heart. And aching hearts have veins that scream in agony, wishing for nothing but silence. Utterly tranquility. The very absence of tension-filled life. And you can’t get rid of aching hearts and screaming veins without getting rid of yourself…. And your only chance to do that was destroyed. Trampled upon. Interrupted.

I just wanted to die. It rests on the very tip of your tongue but never spills out into the air.

Brienne is so clearly unsure of what to do; she’s sitting rigid in her spot and staring at a mark on the floor. You want to tell her it’s okay. You want to tell her that she doesn’t have to comfort you. You want to tell her to just let you go back into the woods again… let you find yourself back in the snow. And she can go on with her life and forget it ever happened.

But you can’t.

That’s not how it works.

That’ll never be how it works.

Foolish girl.

“…Why were you out there, Anya?” Brienne’s voice is softer than fresh lilies.

You know why.

“…I c-can’t- I-”

Her head turns. Midnight blue eyes trace a line from your neck to your face, taking in the exhausted circles beneath your eyes and the blue-ish tinge to your skin and the utterly defeated look that blooms behind your expression. A war happens in you, taking place in the span of a moment, and you can do nothing but blink through lingering tears and stare at her.

“I can’t.” It’s a whisper. A confession all on its own.

I can’t… because you’ll think I’m a coward. And you’ll hate me. And I already hate myself enough for the both of us.

Brienne’s lips form a hard line, but she doesn’t say anything. She just peers back down at the floor and allows silence to creep into the room and lay between you both like a tired direwolf on its last legs.

The fire burns in the background. The sweat on your body cools. The dizziness in your head subsides.

It’s going to be okay, some part of you speaks. It’s going to be okay.

But you’ve told yourself that before, haven’t you?

And look where that got you.

It has to be at least 30 minutes later when Brienne finally speaks.

“There was a girl I knew once, in my early youth,” you watch her mouth move, enchanted and confused. Where was this going to lead? “She was older than me by two years. A pretty girl- like you.” Your heart trips over itself, but you don’t have time to dwell as she continues. “My father saw that, out of the very rare few, she was good to me - and so we were allowed to play often. For her it was ‘horsies’ and ‘hide and seek’, for me it was ‘swords’ and ‘knights’.” There’s a soft smile on her face, half hidden by the natural shadow of her body facing away from the hearth and half lit by the fire that lived there. Her lips twitch and she begins again. “We did everything together. She was a village girl but that didn’t matter… until it did. Time eventually caught up to us and we were forced to live our lives on our own. No more days of play and no more sharing stories.”

A soul-deep sadness settled into her eyes. She had yet to look at you. Maybe because it would make her too vulnerable… maybe because she didn’t want you to cry again. Either way, you felt yourself frown. Why was she telling you this? What happened?

And as if she could read your thoughts, she continues.

“By the time I was old enough to decide that I wanted to leave, she was already married. Kind husband, even though I only met him once. It was when I stopped in to say goodbye. I wanted to tell her that I’d write, whenever I found the time and place to do so.” Her hands, you notice, are fidgeting - running over and pulling each other quietly within her lap. The natural lines in her face grow darker as she falls back into her memories. “…I didn’t know she was struggling. I was so busy with my own life. My father’s wishes, my training, my fights with the men who challenged me… our communication grew slim. So I didn’t- I-… well.” Brienne swallows. “Her husband answered the door and when I asked after her, he burst into hysterics.”

Your heart stops.

She- no… She didn’t….

Brienne’s head goes up, her eyes turning to look at the ceiling - keeping her tears in her eyes, resistant in letting them fall. Resistant in being weak. You want to hold her and let her cry, but you know it’s not the time. She sniffs and her chest heaves with a sigh and it takes everything in you not to start sobbing. Tears build, they fall slowly, but your throat aches with held back sounds of distress.

“…She ended her life two days before I arrived.” A pause. Then- “A butter knife…,” she scoffs out a laugh and shakes her head, still pointing her face skyward - as if the gods have all the answers to her grief. “… I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t know what to do with her husband. So I gave him my condolences and I left. Cried in the woods for as long as I could and kept going. And since then, I haven’t stopped.”

Despite her efforts, tears still creep over her eyelids and race down her cheeks. They mirror the ones on your own face - warm and sad and annoying in the stiff little trails left behind.

And you sit like that for a while, silently crying. Her gaze stuck to the heavens, thinking about the friend she lost; and your gaze stuck on her, thinking about the possible metaphor behind her actions. Behind the full circle-ness of it all. She couldn’t save her friend but she saved you. What did that mean in the grand scheme of your lives? What did any of it mean? How would you continue to train everyday after seeing your Lord Commander cry? After witnessing her care?

She saved us. She saved us. She saved us.

“Thank you,” comes your hoarse whisper- the first in-tact thing you’ve said since waking up.

The sound of your voice tugs Brienne out of her stupor and draws her eyes to your sad face. You don’t have the energy to give her a sympathetic smile, so you settle on a soft look. If it says all you need it to say, she doesn’t show it - but she does look away quickly and reaches up to brush the tears away.

“What for?” It’s rough - hard - a sliver of the tough Commander she’s used to being.

No no no - don’t go back to that. Your heart is safe here. I won’t judge you for your tears.

“…Saving me.” It’s more courtesy than anything as you say that, but it’s fine. You’re not magically going to wish for life again after Brienne shares a sad story with you… though it already has your heart struggling against its achy confines.

Brienne shakes her head, the gold of her hair catching the fire’s light so beautifully that you have to take your eyes off of her in order to catch your breath. If we were her friend in her youth, we would have surely fallen in love with her.

“You shouldn’t have gotten to that point,” her voice is watery- muffled with the lingerings of sadness. “No one should.”

You nod. What else is there to say? What else is there to admit? Clearly she knows. Clearly she understands. And yet… you’re still curious…

“…Why do-n’t you hate me f-or it?” Your words come out in a squeaky whisper, but you don’t care. You just need to know. You just need to make sure that you’re not reading things wrong- that there’s a chance she may actually care- and that perhaps there is a reason to stay…

Brienne doesn’t respond immediately. It’s clear that she takes a few moments to bring herself back to the present. To clear her throat and wipe her eyes again and sniffle a few times and then turn back to you. She’s tried so hard in clearing herself up, but the eyes have never lied. And you see the sadness breeding there. Festering. Sadness is wicked. You don’t know if you’re the cause of it.

“You’re strong, Anya." A pause. "Training wouldn’t be the same without you.”

But you know she means to say Nothing would be the same without you.

---

Something I've been working on for a bit. It's not as good as I hoped it would be, but I'm tired and my back hurts so whatever. I hope you're all doing well.

And if you're not and you need some help, here's the National Suicide Hotline: 988 - And the link https://988lifeline.org/

It's gonna be okay, my friend. One second at a time. - Yours, Rip x

---

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth got #brienne x reader #ser brienne #ser brienne of tarth got #ser brienne of tarth #angsty #angsty fic #mental health issues #mental health problems #mental health issues tw #be safe #I love you #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne of tarth fanfic

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electronicwitchcollection · 5 months

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~*Accidental Mate: chapter 6*~

You had left your home earlier than needed this morning, wanting to enjoy the warm summer sun on your way to work. Your report was secure in an envelope in your hand, swaying lightly at your side as you walked. The breeze was refreshing, teasing through your hair you had to keep down in order to hide the teethmarks bruising your neck. You felt surprisingly refreshed considering the nights sleep you had. It was plagued with vivid dreams, sensual lovemaking that had lingered with you this morning when you had woken. You felt light, carefree as you headed to your Captains office, looking forward to getting back into your routine. Today was going to be a good day, you could feel it.

A flash of orange caught your attention in the distance, standing out drastically in the sea of black uniforms and dark hair. You'd notice that floppy mess of bright orange hair anywhere. Ichigo was weaving in between the forming crowd of people on their way to work, trade mark frown on his young face. "Ichigo" you greeted him with a friendly wave as he neared you, stopping him short

His face relaxed upon seeing you, offering a half smile "YN, hey. How you doing?" He had stopped to chat with you, nodding to the side of the path where you wouldn't be in the way of the mornings traffic "heard you were the one Kyoraku lumbered Grimmjow with "

You chuckle at the pained look on his face, at least someone knew the right amount of sympathy you deserved, unlike Renji. "Better now that I'm home" you grin at him before sighing, you had a feeling many people would have questions over the trip you would rather forget "It wasn't that bad, you seeing Renji today?" Anything to change the subject

"yeah, I'll catch up with him and Byakuya later, promised Rukia I'd help train her new squad members" Ichigo explained while rubbing at his nose, seemed awfully itchy all of a sudden. You held back a laugh at the familiar way Ichigo addressed your Captain, knowing full well it aggravated him to be addressed so informally . He leaned in closer to you, giving you a strange look.

Leaning back slightly you raised a confused eyebrow "what are you doing?" He wasn't usually one to invade personal space like this, at least you've never witnessed it. You weren't actually opposed to physical contact and closeness, it was, however, unexpected from the young man.

"sorry, it's just.." he leaned in a little closer despite your obvious discomfort, sniffing at you curiously as his brows furrowed in confusion"you smell strange"

"I smell? Like what?" You ask flabbergasted, raising your arm to sniff at your uniform. It smelt fine to you, you had showered this morning and the subtle smell of vanilla still lingered on your skin "is it bad?"

"no" he shook his head, leaning in even closer trying to associate the smell with the memory refusing to come to the forefront of his mind "it kinda smells like.." the rest of Ichigo's sentence was abruptly cut off by a fist swinging in from nowhere, clocking Ichigo in the chin and sending him tumbling to the ground. You gasped, startled by the unexpected turn of events.

Grimmjow was suddenly standing in front of you, chest heaving with rapid breaths as he glared down at Ichigo rubbing at his darkening chin "what the fuck is wrong with you!" Ichigo snapped at the Espada from the floor, returning an icy glare. Grimmjow usually at least gave him the courtesy of a threat before he attempted to fight him.

Grimmjow had seen red when he saw Ichigo leaning in towards you. Invading your space, getting to close to what was his. He would be damned if he would just roll over and let that bastard try to steal away what was his. He thinks he could be a better mate? Give you what you needed. That weak ass bitch couldn't provide for you the way Grimmjow could, couldn't protect you as well, could please you as well. His alpha pride was screaming at him to annihilate the threat, take on the challenge Ichigo unknowingly laid down

His hands curled into fists, pupils thinning into slits as he regarded the other male angrily getting to his feet. Big mistake. "What the hell is your problem?!" Ichigo seethed through clenched teeth, shoving Grimmjow roughly in the chest, before ducking another lightening fast fist aiming for his nose. Grimmjow snarled back, animalistic and dangerous, sending all your hairs on edge

You had seen enough, finally getting over the shock you rushed in between them, laying a hand on each of their chests to try and diffuse the situation "stop!" You told them both sternly, eyeing first Ichigo then Grimmjow. Both their chests were heaving with unexplained anger. Well, Ichigo's anger was explainable, considering he had just been sucker punched for no apparent reason. "What's going on?"

"Ask him! Crazy bastard" Ichigo exclaimed angrily, though at least taking a step back. Grimmjow growled in response, trying to advance closer. He didn't even look at you as you pathetically tried to keep him in place, staring daggers over your head at his intended target. A small crowd had gathered around, curiously watching the spectacle unfold in the middle of the street

"You think your better than me?!" Grimmjow snapped to the orange haired man, pushing you away effortlessly. Not thinking clearly, he hadn't thought to adjust his strength as he pushed you. He knocked you away harder than he intended, not even glancing your way as you tripped over your own feet at the sudden force and landing on your ass with a huff. That was the second time that asshole shoved you over, and you were just about finished with it . "Think you can take what's mine?!"

"Don't shove her!" Ichigo ignored Grimmjow's shouting, reaching down to offer you a hand up with muttered concern . You were about to gratefully accept the hand when Grimmjow lunged at him, tackling them both to the ground in a frenzy of trading blows and spited insults. You jumped to your feet yourself, at a loss of what to do. You needed to stop the fight before it got out of hand and weapons were involved, but you weren't stupid enough to risk getting close when they were wresting around on the floor like that

"stay away from her" you heard Grimmjow threaten before throwing a punch to Ichigo's face, getting blocked by said man's crossing arms "the hell are you on about? You're the one who hit her asshole!" They seriously couldn't be scrapping because you got knocked over. There was a deeper meaning behind this scuffle, which you couldn't care less about at this point, you just wanted them to stop fighting.

"cut it out!" You tried calling to them, your plea washing over both their heads as they grappled in the dirt. Ichigo got his foot between them, planting it on Grimmjows stomach and kicking him off as hard as he could. Grimmjow landed in a crouch, feet and hands skidding across the floor with the level of power he was kicked with. With both men springing to their feet you took the opportunity to dart in between them. You trusted Ichigo enough to not accidentally attack you when your back was turned to him, so chose to fully face a pissed off Grimmjow, murderous intent flashing in his eyes.

"Grimmjow, stop" your plea came out strained with the exuberance you needed to attempt to hold him back, shoulder shoved into his midsection, arms wrapped around him. He felt hot to the touch, whole body vibrating with adrenaline as he glared at his rival, standing a few feat away watching intently, ready to react if he were to turn on you. That only enraged him further. Like he was some rabid beast who couldn't control himself around his own mate. His mate who was annoyingly trying to hold him back from defending his claim. Not mate, Grimmjow mentally corrected himself.

"woman" Grimmjow lowly warned you, attempting to get around you without shoving you again. You stubbornly followed his movements, not letting up the pressure you had on his middle. Grimmjows eyes flicked down to yours. You looked mad, confused. A little scared. That bastard had scared you, and he was going to pay "move"

"no" you stubbornly refused, tilting your chin up to meet his eye. Trying to get him to see you were serious, if he was going to try and get at Ichigo, he was going to have to go through you first. You couldn't tell in that moment if you were being brave or stupid "not until you calm down"

"My my, isn't it wonderful to see you children all playing nicely together" A new voice interrupted the moronic display, musical lilt indicating thick amusement in the deep voice. Relief flooded you at the new appearance, someone to help talk sense into this idiot. Urahara had walked over to investigate the commotion, amused grey eyes peering over the fan he had in his hand, loftily wafting it over his face. His usual hat was tilted back enough to allow his eyes to be visible as he watched the chaotic scene, sharp vision taking note of all the visible damage between the two parties

"You!" Grimmjow growled, turning away from you so suddenly your arms lost their grip, to stomp over to the eccentric exile. Urahara pointed at himself in a over exaggerated "who, me?" kind of way, lowering his fan to reveal the ever present smirk on his face "come with me" Grimmjow growled a moment before he grabbed Urahara by the face, muffling an unmanly squeak before dragging him away with the help of his sonido technique. The quick departure knocked up an angry cloud of dust where you had last seen Urahara standing

You stared amazed in the space where they had disappeared, waiting for your brain to catch up and make sense of what had just happened. The crowd of nosy onlookers started to disperse, gossiping between themselves at the spectacle they had just witnessed. Your mouth opened and closed a few time as you struggled to form a coherent sentence. Well, Grimmjow was Urahara's problem now. Or depending on how you looked at it, Urahara was Grimmjow's problem.

A heavy hand on your shoulder embarrassingly made you jump in fright, adrenaline wearing off made you a little wary. Ichigo had that frown back on his face as he looked down at you. "Are you okay? He didn't hurt you?" He asked softly. Like Renji, he didn't agree with violence of any kind against woman and seeing you get shoved to the ground irked him. Not to mention he knew how important you were to Renji, he would look out for you the same way he would want Renji to look out for his own sisters, how Renji had already looked after his sisters

"Im fine" you promised. You really were, you didn't hit the ground hard, and your ass cushioned your fall. Ichigo let his hand slip from your shoulder as you turned to face him "are YOU okay? That's one hell of a bruise forming on your chin" you nodded the the rapidly blackening mark across his jaw. Ichigo rubbed it gently with a shrug

"lucky shot"

"Do you know what got him so mad?" You couldn't for the life of you what could've sent Grimmjow into such a fit of rage. Neither of you had even noticed him until he started swinging. There was nothing he could've overheard you two say that would warrant a reaction like that. Ichigo shrugged, seemingly Unphased by the altercation now that it was over

"It's Grimmjow, does he need a reason?" Fair point well made. In your very limited experience of Grimmjow, no, he didn't need an excuse to become unhinged. Just another part of his radiant personality

"You know, I would of happily followed you back here if you had asked. You didn't need to drag me across the Seireitei by my face" Urahara happily told Grimmjow when they came to a stop outside of his own small lab on the outskirts of the twelfth. Kyoraku had gifted him the space after his help during the Quincy war, along with the option to return to soul society at his pleasure. While he had decided to split his time between here and the world of the living, the gesture was appreciated.

Grimmjow ignored the overly happy quip, all but ripping the door from its hinges and walking into the lab. Grimmjow restlessly paced the little free floor space, waiting for that idiot to follow him in. Urahara leaned against one of the desks, watching Grimmjow pace like a caged animal.

"what can I do for you Mr. Jaegerjaquez?"Urahara questioned in a light tone. While he found it better to be direct with Grimmjow, he couldn't always pass up the opportunity to tease him. Perhaps this wasn't the time for that though.

"there's something wrong with me, you need to fix it" Grimmjow spat the words, unrelenting in his pacing, refusing to look him in the eye. He hated asking for help, loathed feeling weak. Urahara had proved himself to be a genius, even if he was a childish asshole. If anyone knew how to fix him, it was this guy.

"Yes, I'm leaning towards anger management issues with psychotic tendencies myself, but without the proper examinations I wouldn't like to diagnose.." Okay, there was always time to tease the explosive Espada. Urahara stopped his comical, yet accurate assessment of Grimmjow's mental state when said lunatic whipped around to bare his teeth. Urahara held up in hands in mock surrender, trying hard to remove any evidence of amusement from his face "What are your symptoms?"

"I think someone used one of those shinigami spells on me" Uraharas eyebrows shot up under his messy hair, he hadn't expected that. He waved his hand in a 'elaborate' motion, interested in the unusual claim "I keep getting feelings , thoughts that ain't my own. It's like I can't control my own damn thoughts or actions "

That didn't sound like any "shinigami spell" Urahara had ever heard of. Being someone who had mastered nearly all of them, and created a few of his own, he very much doubted there was one like that, that would escape his notice. Grimmjow was being vague for some reason, very uncharacteristic for the blunt man. "I'm going to need you to tell me everything Grimmjow, if you'd like for me to help you. I cannot fix what I do not know"

Grimmjow growled frustrated. Of course the nosy bastard would want to know every little detail. Gritting his teeth, Grimmjow saw very little choice in the matter "I fucked someone. Now I can't get the bitch out of my head. She's making me feel things I don't fucking feel. My instincts are overpowering my head, I feel like I'm going out of my damn mind." Grimmjow dragged his hands down his face, mentally exhausted battling with his instincts and intrusive thoughts. Already they were creeping in, demanding he go back and finish off that punk Ichigo, take that woman back to her den and fuck her to cement his claim.

Urahara studied Grimmjow for a moment. The dark circles under his eyes, his restless moving around. He did look like he was fighting some internal battle, and that he wasn't necessarily coming out victorious. The idea that Grimmjow had gotten feelings for this mystery woman flashed through his mind briefly, before comparing the notion to what Grimmjow had said.

While Grimmjow may not have experienced caring for someone before, let alone love, it really wouldn't explain his instincts going haywire. Nor feeling like he wasn't in control of his own thoughts or feelings. Love could make one do crazy things, it didn't actually turn them crazy. He was concerned for Grimmjows sanity as it was.. Urahara concluded it had to be a hollow thing, not human. He had studied hollows for decades, everything from their special abilities, their eating habits, to sleeping habits to..

"Grimmjow, when you slept with this woman, was it by chance your mating season?" Urahara had a suspicion he knew what had happened, though if it had happened without Grimmjows knowledge or this woman's consent... oh boy

"Rutting season" Grimmjow automatically corrected, nodding the affirmative yet waving a dismissive arm. The fuck had that got to do with anything? He had halted his pacing to watch the hat wearing idiot come up with a solution to his problem

" I see, and did you, per chance, happen to claim her?" Urahara asked as evenly as he could, pressing his fingertip together over his chest

"I fucked her?" Why did this idiot always have to speak in riddles. Fucking is fucking. What more was he getting at

"You misunderstand. Did you claim her? Mark her? Bite her hard enough to draw blood?" It was scary how accurate he described what had happened that night. Grimmjow remembered the taste of your blood on his tongue as he sunk his teeth into your neck. How you moaned like a bitch, writhing beneath him as he marked you as his own,ah shit. Grimmjow reluctantly nodded, seeing where this fool was heading

"Congratulations ! It appears you have successfully mated!"Urahara proclaimed animatedly, clapping his hands together as though it was a joyous revelation. Impossible. You were a shinigami, not a hollow. He couldn't of ACTUALLY mated with you , despite his inner alpha taking over his instincts and treating you as such.

"bullshit" Grimmjow snapped, kicking over a small table, sending paper flying all over the floor. A just reaction to the nonsense he was being presented with, He needed a solution, not some crazy story this crackpot had cooked up "She ain't a hollow"

"No, I agree, it is quite unusual that you had mated with someone who could not reciprocate" Urahara absentmindedly rubbed over his scruff on his chin, thinking over all he knew about hollows and their matings. No studies were ever conducted between Hollows and humans, however. This was completely unprecedented. "But it seems to be the likely cause of your distress. You've formed a bond, it's understandable how it could be effecting your instincts, it's a big change"

Grimmjow looked like he was about to throw up. His eyes were wide with shock, staring at the floor hardly believing the words he heard. He couldn't be bonded to you. You drove him fucking insane. He didn't want a mate, didn't want to be bonded. You were a weak shinigami bitch, you couldn't even mate! How could he have mated with someone who couldn't mate!

"How can I break it?" Grimmjow asked almost desperately. There had to be something he could do to undo what happened. He'd be willing to try just about anything. He couldn't stay like this, couldn't be bonded to you. To someone who wasn't even bonded to him

"Im afraid you can't, hollows mate for life as far as our research has revealed " Urahara watched silently as Grimmjow struggled to wrap his mind around the surreal reality Kisuke just delivered. It was a lot to take in, granted. Grimmjow leaned heavily on the wall, sliding down the cool surface to sit on the floor, legs suddenly feeling weak. He propped up one leg, using his knee to support his elbow as he raked his fingers through his hair, internally imploding

"So..." Urahara's teasing voice made a reappearance, curiosity getting the better of him. He hated half stories and questions left unanswered, he honestly waited as long as he could before asking, admittedly, it wasn't that long. "who's the lucky lady?"

Grimmjow sent Urahara a murderous look at the return of his teasing tone. Funny, Urahara mused, he was well aware of the old proverb "curiosity killed the cat", turns out, the cat was about the kill the curiosity.

Grimmjow was just about ready to make him eat that hat. The fake innocent look he got in return wasn't fooling him. Bastard was enjoying this. Well fuck, Grimmjow thought, amazingly considering answering the question before it dawned on him. The fuck was your name again? He racked his brain trying to remember what the old drunk had called you when he introduced you. He couldn't remember, his annoyance dominated the memory, too pissed at being lumbered with her to pay attention to what they had said. His face must have show his confusion

"Grimmjow! Don't tell me you don't know her name!" If he didn't get that stupid look off his face, Grimmjow was going to punch him. It wasn't like he had planned any of this, why would he bother to remember your damn name!

"I didn't fucking listen when she told me! We didn't talk so I didn't fucking ask. I was never going to see her again! She's not in the 11th!" Grimmjow angrily defended himself. He felt like he was going insane. This had to be some kind of joke. Mated to someone who wasn't mated to him, mated to someone he didn't even know the name of.

"well there's a start, do you know what division she's in?" Urahara tried to help narrow it down, his own selfish curiosity getting the better of him. Though he thought it best to find out her identity, he'd have to have a chat with her, explain everything that was going on. Grimmjow didn't seem stable enough to adequately explain the situation. He barely seemed to grasp it himself.

"No" Grimmjow hadn't asked and she didn't offer up the information. Not that he would've listened if she had. The whole thing was a damn mess.He couldn't concentrate enough to seriously try and remember her name, not with the tormenting thought of Ichigo getting close to you dominating his thoughts. "That damn Ichigo knows her"

"Ichigo knows a lot of people Grimmjow, that doesn't exactly narrow it down" Urahara explained gently. The Espada seemed one distasteful joke away from loosing his mind, perhaps it best to save his teasing where Ichigo is concerned. He'd already stumbled upon their fight this morning, before nine am no less. He didn't want to add fuel to that particular fire

"The old drunk knows her, made me go on a mission with her" That was useful information at least, seemed a visit to the head captain was in order. He should be made aware of the situation, considering what Urahara knew about hollows and how protective they could be with their mates, that's not even fracturing in the influx of testosterone and other chemicals when in mating season. Thankfully, hollows only had two mating seasons a year.

"The fuck am I supposed to do now?" Grimmjow grumbled from the floor, forming and releasing a fist in his lap, absentmindedly flexing his bruised knuckles. Ichigo's jaw was tough, he hated to admit. Not so tough that he couldn't break his jaw though.. that was an appealing thought.

"These feelings aren't going to go away. If anything I imagine they'll get stronger as they progress and solidify. Perhaps it best for you to try to get to know this woman, see if you can't get her to fall in love with you" Grimmjow bristled at the word, head snapping up to stare at Urahara as though he had suddenly sprouted another head. Why the fuck would he want to do that?

"why the fuck would I do that?"

"Because, Grimmjow, your feelings aren't going to go away. I'm not confident in saying what will happen if they're not reciprocated. Your instincts are going to want to be around your mate. Wouldn't it be better if she also wanted to be around you?" Urahara Sincerely hoped Grimmjow would take his advice seriously, he had a few theories of what could happen if you didn't accept his advances. From his experience, nothing good ever came from denying your instincts.

"How the fuck do I do that?" He asked carefully, not wanting to seem suddenly eager to win you over. He was still debating running away, finding himself a den in the Forrest and living off the land away from everyone. Would be a damn sight easier than trying to prove himself as a mate. Sure, he could easily kill any man that chose to challenge him, could hunt and kill to provide you with food. He had no problem satisfying you, if your previous encounters were anything to go by

"Romance, Grimmjow. Romance. Women appreciate a sensitive man who'll talk about their feelings. Now I'm not one to brag, but I've been quite successful with the ladies myself" there was that urge to vomit again. Grimmjow felt like his whole world had been pulled from under his feet, dumping him mercilessly into the dark unknown. He hardly heard the blonde man prattle on about romance, flowers and chocolates. Didn't absorb the recommendation for candle lit dinners and moonlit walks. The whole idea made his stomach churn, he felt suffocated in the room, walls closing in on him.

Grimmjow jumped to his feet, ignoring the call of his own name as he marched himself out the room, looking for the salvation of wide open spaces. Grimmjow ripped the door open, not stopping when he roughly bumped into someone trying to enter, unhearing the muffled call from Urahara and the annoyed remark from whom he had body checked. As soon as he was free of the walls he ran, sprinted as fast and as hard as he could to the tree line. Pushing himself further, easily weaving between the dense trees, running as far away from his problems as he could

"Captain Hirako, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Urahara finally addressed his new guest after they had lost sight of Grimmjow in the trees. A problem to deal with at a later date. Unprompted visits from his long time friend weren't uncommon, though it was quite early in the day for Shinji to be avoiding work.

"how many times do I gotta tell ya to stop with all that Captain nonsense" the usual greeting from over one hundred years ago fell as easily from his lips as breathing did. He breezed into the room as if he owned it, looking down at the array of papers strewn out on the floor, raising a questioning eyebrow to his companion

Urahara just shook his head. He'd deal with the mess later. He indicated to the empty chair in-front of him, smiling when his friend stubbornly chose to stand leaning against the same wall previously propping up Grimmjow

"you look stupid in that hat". Shinji couldn't help but add the tease. They struggled to have a conversation without at least one jab each, which delighted him to no end. At least he didn't have that same stupid look on his face as he used to have when Kisuke first became Captain. The years had given him a confidence he didn't possess back then.

"almost as stupid as that wonky hair cut your sporting" Urahara grinned from behind his fan, unable to hide the amusement from his eyes. He enjoyed their back and forth, Shinji's dry wit hadn't changed much over the years.

"so, what the hell is his problem?" Shinji Hirako asked of his friend, nodding to the door Grimmjow just ran through. Urahara sighed, Grimmjow wasn't going to make this easy on himself. But that was a problem for later. He instead, smiled at his new guest, pulling his fan from the folds of his top to fan his face.

"Grimmjow just received some very difficult news" was the simple explanation offered. Shinji nodded, he already had a pretty good idea what that news was, it was actually what he had came to speak to Kisuke about. Shinji went on to explain what he needed to explain, getting a similar solution to the one he had thought of himself. A very awkward meeting was needed, and soon.

#Accidental mate #grimmjow x you #grimmjow x reader #grimmjow smut #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #bleach #kisuke urahara #ichigo kurosaki #bleach fanfiction #bleach smut #small Shinji appearance

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targquill · 1 year

Text

aemond being bad at love headcanons:

summary: aemond struggles with showing affection to his betrothed, but he tries his best.

warnings: unhealthy relationships, possessive behavior, manipulation (sort of??), smut (very short)

a/n: it’s been ages since I last wrote any type of fanfiction, so I’m a little rusty. also, English is not my first language and there might be some mistakes. my requests are currently open!

Aemond knew marriage was part of his royal duties, and he intended to play his part accordingly but he dreaded the thought of dooming you to a lifetime of misery.

Even before being maimed by his bastard nephew, he was rather shy and awkward around people, but the scar on his face made everything worse by inspiring fear or disgust - often both - to whoever interacted with him.

Growing up, he preferred to be alone and there were very few with whom he had exchanged more than a few words - mostly his family, Sor Criston and Vhagar.

When Aemond went to your house’s seat to be introduced to his betrothed, the first thing that caught his attention was the shy smile on your face. It wasn’t a nervous nor an overly practiced smile, but a genuine one to match the “nice to meet you” that left your lips while curtsying. He did not allow himself to smile back, but deep down he hoped you would not grow to hate the sight of him.

Once you were taken to the Red Keep to wait for the marriage, Aemond started to ignore you. Part of him wanted to approach you, but he would rather not put that ounce of sympathy you had showed him in danger by being in your presence any longer than necessary. The prince did not know how his personality would be perceived, and he was not confident enough on his poor socialization skills to court you the way a proper lady deserved.

He would pretend not to see when you waved at him or quickly turn his attention to something else - even if there wasn’t anything else to focus on - whenever you addressed him. He thought it wouldn’t take too long to give up, but instead of showing disinterest, you looked more and more disappointed whenever he would pretend to take no notice of your advances.

Soon, it became unbearable. He decided to aim at the possibility of you not hating him, instead of deliberately pushing you away. It didn’t matter how many books he had read, none of them taught him to be nice. So many songs and tales of charming princes and their ladies, and there wasn’t one he could relate to. He was royal only on his blood and his name, but his ways were far from a prince’s. But if you wanted attention, he could try to give you attention.

The prince noticed how your eyes lit up the day he greeted you back on the hallways, a barely there nod of his head, your cheeks flushing red as your ways crossed. Aemond’s heart felt heavy for a second: Was it foolish of him to trust feelings? Wouldn’t you forget him as soon as the burning interest turned into nothing but ashes? The betrothal was settled, and something as small as his doubts were not enough to call it off. He did not want to end up in a marriage like his parents', but from a young age he accepted that it would be no different when the time came for him to be betrothed; but you made Aemond cling into the faint possibility of the Gods selecting a different fate for him.

It didn’t take long for him to sit by your side during meals, stealing a few glances sporadically. The prince still refrained to talk, but he would gladly answer any observations you pointed out - even if it was a monosyllabic answer or a mere “hum”. He felt relieved because it seemed pleasant enough for you and, oddly enough, it was pleasant for him too.

He found himself longing to see you every day, the people on the court completely faceless as his eye searched for you. There was nothing brighter than the smile you always offered him, as if all the light that filled the room was nothing but a weak ember upon your presence. Aemond had grown used to his days being dark and grim, but you lit a way out of such darkness, and he couldn't help but to be drawn into your light. You were his salvation, the gift he had received after his years of torment - only his.

Aemond couldn’t stand seeing you interact with the frivolous ladies of the court. Every time he saw you looking - or worse - talking to any other men, Aemond had to control himself not to kill them right there and then. You were too good for them. Besides, the prince felt conflicted when you seeked other companies when he finally started reciprocating your interest. How could you spend time with other people when he was right there?

He hated how he was perceived most of the times, but his scar and the overall cold demeanor could be useful - people were easily scared by him. Thankfully, his lurking went unnoticed by you while the ladies and the lads that were drawing your attention away from him grew more distant everyday and you would eventually find yourself with no other company but him for the rest of the day. Everything went smoothly until you caught him. You were trying to keep your lady from excusing herself from your presence and ended up following her gaze and founding him behind a pillar. It didn’t take long for you to connect the dots and Aemond saw your affection slipping through his fingers.

“I do not wish to be disturbed.” Aemond stared at the door he had just knocked as if it was the mightiest of opponents. All he did until that moment was to protect and care for you. He meant well, but the only thing the prince brought upon the only lady (apart from his sister and mother) he ever cared for was distress. He wanted to see that gentle smile again, but even more than that, he wanted to be the one to inspire it.

Aemond opened the door to your chambers and caught a brief glimpse of you: laying on your bed, face down into the pillows and a blanket over your body despite the heat. “I believe I owe you an apology, my lady.” You looked at him and your tear tainted face made his heart ache. “I did not intend to upset you.” You sat, legs still covered by the blankets turned to the side of the bed. “And what else could you intend, my Prince? I can’t imagine another outcome for shutting me away from everyone else.”

“I’m not good with people, with feelings.” The prince started, trying to speak his truth as clearly as possible “When you arrived, I avoided contact because I was certain you would despise me. When you didn’t, I didn’t know how to reciprocate and, as we got closer - if I even can say that, but as I allowed myself to be seen by you - I was afraid of losing you.” Aemond paused and looked at you. He walked towards you, just to get a little closer, but noticing you tapping on the spot at your side on the bed, he sat beside you. “I thought that the more you met new people, the faster you would grow tired of me. I deeply apologize, my Lady. Can we start over? Teach me how to care for you.” You gently reached for his hand and held it. “Of course, my Prince.”

Things got better gradually. Aemond would start inviting you for a walk around the gardens and enjoy some comfortable silence. He would ask you to watch him train, so excited to show his skills to you and glad to see you cheering for him. The prince would notice how you and his sister got close and some mornings were spent with Haelena and her children. He only started talking more once you spent a few afternoons with him at the library, where he would talk about his favorite books and even teach you some High Valyrian.

With the marriage soon approaching and your bond growing stronger everyday, the only thing keeping Aemond from stealing a kiss from you was his own spite. There was also the respect he had for you and your virtue, but the core of his reasoning was more lewd and selfish: He wanted to take your innocence, every single part of it, on your wedding night. Nothing excited him more than the thought of you slowly being devoured by lust, giving in to the carnal pleasure only he could give you. That was the plan, at least.

One night, however, as he escorted you back to your chambers after supper, Aemond did not expect you to make a move. He never stayed long at your door at that time, but you kept clinging to the sleeve of his coat. “I’ve learned something new in High Valyrian, my Prince.” You said, sounding oh-so-innocent for him to handle, eyes shining despite the dim lightning. “Have you been practicing on your own, my Lady?” He was happy to see you so interested in his culture. You nodded, hands traveling to play with his hair. On your tippy toes, you whispered to him:“Vūjigon issa”. He stoped for a second and you giggled at his reaction. “Do you need me to translate it to you, Aemond?”

The prince looked around quickly just to make sure no one was around before pressing his lips against yours. The fact you wanted him too sparked the flame inside of him and all his common sense evaporated. The kiss was slow and full of love, allowing Aemond to express the feelings words often failed to convey. You kissed him back with passion, allowing him to explore your mouth with his tongue and sighing heavily when his hands snaked around your waist. Aemond wanted to stay at your embrace forever but as soon as he felt your nails grasping the hair on his nape, he had to stop or otherwise he would have deflowered you right there and then. He stepped back, a smirk on his face as he beheld your flushed complexion. “Soon, my Lady, I will do more than kiss you. Look forward to our wedding night.”

The noises from the feast were loud, but the only thing you could hear as Aemond lead the way to your shared chambers was the blood throbbing on your ears. He took his time to reassure you and kissed all of your doubts away, each brush of his fingers burning your skin with desire. All your live, you heard that sex was something to be endured in order to conceive heirs, but when your husband found shelter between your thighs and explored you core with his fingers and his tongue, it seemed more like a blessing. He was gentle when entering you, but once you had adjusted he lost himself on the pleasure and fucked you hard and deep and fast, marking the skin of your neck, hips and waist. He rested his forehead against yours after he came, staying inside a little longer and left soft kisses on your face and neck. After some time, you did it again. And once more before you fell asleep in his embrace.

The married life with Aemond was a little bit more peaceful. Of course, as any other couple, arguments happened. At a particular night, Aemond had been a little too harsh with his words, something he hadn’t done in a while. You were genuinely hurt, but time made you understand your husband’s ways and how he never truly meant his cruel words.

“My Lady, I hope you are aware that I do love you.” He said, after joining you in bed. Aemond would take a strand of your hair on his fingers or brush his thumb on your cheek. “I’m learning how to demonstrate that properly. I promise you that your patience with me will be worth it, I’m trying to become the husband you deserve.”

He knew how to make your heart ache with compassion for him. There was no way you could be mad at Aemond for too long, not when you knew how hard he was trying. “My dear, troubled husband, do not be so hard on yourself. I love you too.”

#a.: writing #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen hcs #headcanon #hotd headcanon #aemond targaryen headcanons

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wodania · 2 months

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🐅 for Sansa!

(lesbian with comphet aha)

Uuhhhhhh there’s also a lot for this one I adore the starklings. these ones might be controversial I know Arya and Sansa are heavily debated character on Tumblr but as a lover of both I’m gonna go for it.

Sansa is very much a people pleaser which is a symptom of her growing up in a society where women are expected to be perfect wives and mothers. She’s a child whose been forced to play the role of an adult bride at the end of the day, and I feel like a lot of people are very harsh on her without realizing that she is literally a child. I do think she’s quite similar to the quieter, more diplomatic Ned, while Arya takes after the independent, strong-willed Catelyn, but that doesn’t mean that Sansa doesn’t try to appeal to her mother. Her calling Jon her bastard brother is her doing just that. Her and Arya are a reversed version of me and my little sister (me being more like Arya and my sister being more like Sansa) so I very much have many MANY feelings about these characters and I can’t put them all down but hopefully this makes sense 😭😭😭 basically I think a lot of Sansa’s behaviour is a defense mechanism and symptom of being brought up in an unhealthy society and that she’s a child who deserves sympathy in her story. She’s smart and she’s a people pleaser and she’s scared and she’s a little girl who is being preyed upon by almost every man in her life from her betrotheds attack dog to her mothers childhood companion!!! She is a child!!!!

#my asks #I could also talk a lot about my interpretation of her as a white passing native but that’d go on for WAYYY too long #a little girl forced to marry into a family that sees her as an intruder #who is forced to adhere to standards of femininity that are harmful and predatory #whose connection of her faith and culture (lady) is killed as an omen to the horror that is to come #who is seen as a political object worth lusting over by the politicians and adults around her #who is not treated as her own person deserving of respect by even those who claim to support her

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lorcandidlucienwill · 6 months

Text

“Have any of them told you, their respected High Lady, that the babe in your womb will kill you?” -Nesta Archeron

So, what if this was the moment Nesta decided to destroy the Inner Circle? Part 1

Nesta stormed away from Amren’s house. She had no regrets for what she had said or done. Her only regret had been hurting Feyre’s feelings. But her sister deserved to know the truth. Even if it was in the harsh manner Nesta had delivered it. The cold rage was still riding her, dulling her other emotions. It was decided: she was going to destroy the Inner Circle, with Cassian at her side. Her little sister had kept them alive for years. The least she could do was save her from that awful man who claimed to be her husband and his horrible court. She wouldn’t let him ruin her life. He was a master manipulator, the bastard. She had met Tamlin, who had seemed more pathetic than anything. But Rhysand…he was the real villain. Nesta had no idea if Rhysand was using his daemati powers on Feyre or if he had manipulated her thoroughly that he needed no mind-manipulating powers to control her. She stormed through the small side streets of Velaris. She sensed, rather than saw, a large, winged figure swooping down on her. She said nothing but did not protest when Cassian took her in his arms. Her rage instantly subsided.

“Cassian,” Nesta murmured into his chest when they were up in the sky. “You know this is wrong. We can’t let my sister be with Rhysand. We can’t let him rule any longer. Help me free my sister. Rid this court of his evil.”

Cassian said nothing, only continued to fly. Nesta sniffed the emotions rolling off of him and was stunned. She had expected fear and sympathy on her behalf. And indeed, there was a whiff of fear there, but it was mostly something red-hot, like…

Anger. But at whom? Amren? Rhysand?

“It’s alright, Cassian,” Nesta murmured. “I’m here, I’m ok. I’m safe with you.”

He still said nothing. Unnerved, Nesta enquired, “Cassian? Are you alright?”

Still nothing.

“Cassian, you’re scaring me. Please say something.”

“How could you,” Cassian said, deadly soft. Nesta stilled.

“How could I what? Feyre deserved to know about her pregnancy, did she not? Just like I deserved to know about weapons I had made.”

He shook his head, seething. “You told her to hurt her.”

“And I regret that, but the truth hurts sometimes. Rhysand was wrong to keep it from her!”

Cassian didn’t reply.

“You agree with me, right? Cassian?”

Finally, they landed. “Cassian. I don’t understand why you’re so angry at me.”

“You would turn on my High Lord?” Cassian asked in that quiet voice again. The hairs on Nesta’s arms stood up. “I won’t let my sister suffer at his hands,” Nesta snarled. “Surely you can see how horrible he is, Cassian. Come on. Together, we can destroy him.”

A pause. Then a sigh, pained. “Nes,” he murmured, “why couldn’t you just obey?”

“What do you mean?” Then, swift as lightning, Cassian grabbed her. Nesta screamed and thrashed, but Cassian held her in a vise-like grip. Nesta reached for her power, but it had retreated to its silvery depths. She had no magical training, no way to summon that power. And suddenly, Nesta was wondering if that was on purpose.

“Cassian, you’re hurting me!” Nesta cried. She managed to elbow him and tried to slip away, but Cassian tackled her. Nesta was screaming, sobbing, she lost track of everyone and everything as Cassian pressed his thumb to her pulse. “I trusted you,” Nesta whispered, heart breaking. Then she blacked out. When she woke up, her head was throbbing, her throat was dry, her body aching. Nesta shifted, trying to sit up, and found her body resisting. Frustrated, she shoved again. Again. And then, with no small amount of horror, she strained her head to look down at herself. She was in the House of Wind, in her bedroom. Shackles adorned her wrists and ankles. She was chained to her bed. No no no no no no no no. Nesta let out an ungodly scream. She was trapped again. She was drowning. She was in that Cauldron again, trapped with no way out. She was under the lake again with the kelpie, no way out. She couldn’t breathe. Breathe breathe breathe. She desperately tried to still her mind. But the thoughts raced, rapid as a rushing river. Trapped trapped trapped trapped. Cassian had done this. To her. She had trusted him, and he had taken advantage of that. He had chosen Rhysand.

She prayed to gods that would not listen to free her from her cage. She writhed, trying to pull the chains off their hinges. Then suddenly, she got an idea. “House,” she whispered, “give me the keys to the chains.”

To her delight, the House dropped a key onto her lap. The House, who had always supported her. Had become her friend in these weeks. Nesta strained her neck, bending over to reach the keys on her lap, but it was just too far off. Cauldron save her-

“Nesta!”

Nesta let out a sob as Elain rushed into her room. She had a set of keys of her own in her hands. She rushed over to the manacles and began to unlock them. “Hurry, the others will be back soon,” Elain said. Elain, her soft and sweet sister. The sister Nesta had spent her whole life protecting, but now barely spoke to. She had come for her, to save her. And Nesta realized that Elain wasn’t the loyal dog that she had thought she was. Elain had acted complacent, but there was a sharp mind working under her gentle demeanor. She was stronger than anyone gave her credit for. Including Nesta. “They didn’t tell me about you,” Elain whispered as they snuck out of the house. “I saw you, though. In my mind.”

She had had a vision about the Inner Circle locking her up. So, she still retained her powers. Nesta’s head pounded insistently, getting worse with each step.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Elain said. She pulled out a syringe and plunged it into Nesta’s vein. “Ouch! What was that for?” Nesta rubbed the ache in her arm. Elain put a bandage over the mark.

“The headache is from faebane. They injected it in you so you couldn’t use your powers to get out. This is the antidote. I snuck it from the kitchens.”

Nesta stared at her sister in horror. The Inner Circle had done unspeakable things, but to chain her to her bed, to inject her with faebane… What kind of horrors had Feyre endured at their hands? “We have to save Feyre,” Elain said, as if she had read Nesta’s mind. “From all of them.”

“What of Az, Elain?” Nesta whispered. Elain’s mouth tightened ever so slightly. “He is nothing to me. Not anymore.” Nesta sensed there was a story there, but decided to save it for another time, when they weren’t running for their lives.

At least, they reached the 10,000 steps that would lead them to Velaris. Nesta shook her head. “It’s hopeless,” Nesta whispered. “We’ll never make it.” “We will,” Elain said fiercely. There was a steel in her voice that Nesta had never heard before. Determination. And together, they began the descent.

#anti inner circle #anti cassian #anti rhysand #pro nesta archeron #pro elain archeron

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murdocksdaughter · 1 year

Text

unfaithful truth (jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader)

a/n: sorry i haven’t posted in forever, i was in a terrible writing slump but have this angst jace fic as compensation

warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, crusing

word count: 1k

“Why would you do this to me?”

(Name)’s question cut like a freshly sharpened sword. Jacaerys flinched at her words, he knew what she meant by her vague words. He looked up from his desk to look his wife in her eyes. She stared at him with a venomous look like she would strangle him where he stood.

“Answer me Jacaerys!” (Name)’s voice cracked, eyes stung as tears threatened to fall. Her hands balled up in tight fists. A rage like no other had consumed (Name) completely. Jacaerys only gazed upon with guilt. He knew he had dishonored their marriage and in one foul swoop shattered her heart completely. But he had no answer for her question.

“I don’t know…” His voice was small and weak, opposite of a prince.

“Bullshit!” She screamed and her hands once balled up into fists slammed on to his desk. “You know that’s bullshit! Why did you sleep that bastard whore?!” Tears started to fall freely as (Name) looked at her husband dead in his brown eyes.

A searing pain spread through Jacaerys’ heart at the word ‘bastard’ but he knew he didn’t deserve sympathy. “I have no excuse,” he whispered. (Name) sneered at the prince, shaking her head as her eyes bore into her husband’s. (Name)’s heart broke. This was the man she loved, trusted, swore her life to and he disregarded it all.

“You brought her to our chambers, fucked her in our bed! All while I was gone to see my family…was I not enough for you?” her voice became low and soft. Jacaerys looked down to the side, he couldn’t defend himself.

“(Name), I’m sorry…” That's all that Jacaerys could say. He was sorry or maybe he was sorry he was caught, that it was revealed to her in public gossip.

(Name) scoffed at his reply. The man she once loved, still loves looked pathetic in front of her. His head hung in shame, his eyes not daring to lock with hers. Jacaerys sunk into himself now having to face the consequences of his sins.

“Sorry? That’s all you have to say? Jacaerys you embarrassed our family, you embarrassed me!” (Name)’s voice cracked as it became louder. Sobs choked in her throat as more hot tears stained her cheeks.

“I was a fool to believe in you, to believe in your words. I saved every heartfelt letter you sent me. I thought…” A sobbed wracked through her. “I thought this would be different. That I could escape the fate of so many women before me,” (Name)’s shoulders shook as she fell to her knees. The heartbreak settled in.

“I thought you would actually love me.”

Jacaerys watched her with a heavy heart, pangs of guilt spreading through his chest. The woman he loves was falling to pieces in front of him because of him, his own greed. He wanted to say something, to hold her. That’s what he would be doing if he wasn’t the reason for her grief.

“I’m sorry I failed you.” he whispered to his wife. Jacaerys grimaces at his own words as he looks down at his hands.

(Name) winced at the words from Jacaerys. She looked up at him with misty eyes, she wanted to hit him, scream at him, hurt him the way he hurt her. But she couldn’t, when she looked at him she still felt love in her heart. She hated that she looked at him and she didn’t feel hate. (Name) felt anger, she felt hurt, but not hatred. And that enraged her even more.

“Get out…” she whispered. Her hands slapped the stone floors, “Get out! Just get out! I don’t want to see you!” (Name) screamed at him, her voice hoarse and raw. Jacaerys nodded and stood up from desk, knowing it would be best to go without protest. (Name) was left in her chambers broken, she felt stupid for thinking Jacaerys would be different.

She was naive to think her husband was above cheating. (Name) thought back to the words of her handmaiden the night before their wedding.

“Jacaerys is a prince no amount of pretty words will ensure he will not act as if he is entitled to have what he wants. Vows mean nothing in the eyes of men who believe they are god.”

(Name) never thought she had to heed those words. She never thought they would be right. (Name) was hopeful, she thought she knew who Jacaerys truly was. He was a kind man who promised her the world, who would never do anything to hurt her. At least what he told her during their courtship, in the letters he’d send her when they were apart. It’s what he made her believe.

Once (Name) had calmed herself she needed to know if Jacaerys had always been this shallow. She rose from the floor walking to a cabinet in her room. Opening the doors she pulled out a little box with a small heart engraved on the lid.

This box held every letter Jacaerys sent her. She often reread them, she liked how it filled her with the same giddy excitement that felt when she first received them. Sitting on her bed she opened the box to the familiar sight of discolored paper.

(Name) sat on her bed for what felt like hours going through every letter. Rereading the sweet words of her husband, only this time the joy hadn’t filled her as before. A dread filled her this time. As she sat processing every word they almost sounded like lies. As if Jacaerys only wrote her what she would want to hear.

The letters no longer had this fairytale wonder to them. The magic they once possessed had faded. Tears welled up in her eyes again, they were hot and full of an unbridled rage she had never felt before.

(Name) screamed again. Letting everything that had pent up inside her out, the letter in her head crushed as she clenched her hand together. The feeling of mourning overtook her, the death of her marriage with Jacaerys had hit her. And here she sat to grieve.

Alone.

#Jacaerys Velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon imagines #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd imagines #house of the dragon imagines #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #fanfic #hotd x y/n #hotd one shot #hotd x you

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