#THE SPIRIT OF HUMANITY REFUSES TO BE CHAINED

[novaursa]

The Broken Crown (2/2)

- Summary: Aegon the Conqueror's youngest sister, Y/N Targaryen, once bethrohed to Torrhen Stark, is forced into a marriage with her brother after he calls off her engagement out of jealousy. Struggling with her lost future and the life she never wanted, she repeatedly refuses Aegon's attempts to consummate the marriage. When she tries to escape to Essos on her dragon, Visenya intercepts her, and Aegon, in an act of control, chains her dragon to prevent any further rebellion, leaving her feeling trapped and broken.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Previous part: 1

- Word count: 9 900+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

The light of late afternoon spills into your chambers at Aegonfort. The fire in the hearth crackles quietly, but the warmth it offers feels distant, barely touching the chill that has settled deep within you. You sit by the window, staring out at the courtyard below, where the life of the castle continues as if nothing has changed.

But everything has changed.

It has been weeks since Tesaerix’s cries were last heard, her roars of frustration and anguish fading into silence, replaced by the eerie stillness of acceptance. Chained to the ground, her spirit broken, she no longer fights against her captivity. And yet, the anguish that grips your heart is as strong as ever, a constant, gnawing presence that refuses to loosen its hold. It is as if a part of you has been chained alongside her, and no matter how many days pass, the weight does not lift.

The door creaks open behind you, but you do not turn. You know who it is—there is only one person who would come to your chambers unannounced.

Aegon steps inside, his presence filling the room, though he lingers by the door, as if uncertain of his welcome. You hear the soft sound of his boots against the stone floor as he moves closer, and still, you do not turn to face him. Your eyes remain on the distant horizon, though your mind is far away, lost in the echo of memories and dreams that will never come to pass.

"Y/N," he says quietly, his voice cautious, as if he fears your reaction. "Your nameday is approaching. I’ve arranged a celebration in your honor."

His words hang in the air, but they barely register. A grand celebration—another event meant to remind you of your place, of the crown that sits on your head like a lead weight. It is as though he believes that feasts and dances, the laughter of courtiers, and the lavish display of power might somehow ease the pain that lingers in your heart.

You force a smile, though it does not reach your eyes, and nod slightly. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice distant, detached. "It is kind of you."

Silence falls between you, heavy and suffocating. You can feel his gaze on you, searching for something—some sign that you might be softening, that the wall you have built around yourself might be cracking. But it remains firmly in place, unyielding.

Aegon takes a step closer, but his movements are slow, hesitant. He is not the same conqueror in this room, not the king who has united the Seven Kingdoms. Here, in your presence, he seems uncertain, unsure of himself. His hands hang at his sides, restless as if he doesn’t know what to do with them.

"I wanted it to be special for you," he says, his voice quieter now. "Everything I’ve done… it’s been for you."

You finally turn your gaze away from the window, meeting his eyes for the first time since he entered the room. His expression is conflicted—his usual mask of authority replaced by something more vulnerable, more human. It is a rare thing to see Aegon uncertain, and for a moment, you almost feel a flicker of sympathy for him. Almost.

But the weight of what has happened between you, the chains that bind not only Tesaerix but also your spirit, is too heavy. The wounds are still fresh, too deep to be soothed by soft words or grand gestures.

"Special," you echo, the word tasting hollow on your tongue. "I see."

He opens his mouth to say something more, but no words come. Instead, he stands there, a man lost in the silence of his own making. You can see the hope in his eyes, the faint flicker of desire that perhaps you will change your mind—that you will ask him to stay, to be by your side, to share in some moment of closeness that has long been absent between you.

But you don’t. The invitation he silently waits for never comes.

You turn your gaze back to the window, the sky outside darkening as the sun sinks lower, casting the world in shades of gold and shadow. Your heart remains cold, your soul untouched by his presence. Whatever he is waiting for, you cannot give it to him. Not anymore.

Aegon lingers for another long moment, the silence between you stretching until it feels almost unbearable. And then, finally, he steps back, his movements slow and reluctant, as though each step away from you is a struggle. He pauses at the threshold, turning back one last time, as if hoping that you will stop him, that you will call him back.

But you say nothing. Your silence is its own answer.

Without another word, he leaves, the door closing softly behind him, the sound barely a whisper in the quiet room.

You are left alone once more, the distant hum of the castle’s life continuing outside, but it feels far removed from your own. You sit in the stillness, the ache in your chest as sharp as ever, the weight of the world pressing down on you as you stare into the darkening sky, wondering when—if ever—this feeling will fade.

The sound of trumpets fills the air, their bright, brassy notes cutting through the din of the crowd gathered in the tournament grounds outside Aegonfort. Banners snap in the wind, the vibrant colors of the Targaryen sigil—red and black—mingling with your own, the gold and crimson of the standard Aegon created for you. The noise of the people is a constant hum, their excitement visible as they gather for the grand tourney, held in honor of your nameday.

You sit in the royal seat, placed high above the jousting field on a raised platform. The elaborate wooden structure is draped with silks and banners, casting an air of regality over the event. The weight of the eyes below is heavy on you, but your expression remains composed, practiced. This is your moment, after all, though it feels more like a display of duty than celebration.

Your gown gleams in the midday sun, the fabric shimmering with every movement. It is a deep red, the color of blood and fire, with gold embroidery swirling around the hem and sleeves, symbolizing the flames of your house. The rich silk clings to your form, the neckline modest but elegant, the material flowing down your figure in a cascade of crimson and gold. Around your waist is a finely braided belt, studded with small rubies that catch the light, drawing attention to the dragon motif woven into the threads.

Aegon had made sure you were dressed in the colors of the banner he gave you, a reminder that you are his queen—separate yet still bound by his will. The crown he gifted you, delicate but unmistakably regal, rests atop your head. It is a circlet of pale gold, with small crimson stones set into it, matching the colors of your banner. It feels heavy, a constant weight that you have yet to grow accustomed to, a symbol of a power you never sought.

Your hair, long and shining like polished silver, is braided intricately, the locks woven into a style fitting your station, adorned with golden pins that glitter in the light. A single lock has been left loose, curling over your shoulder, a softer touch against the formal stiffness of your attire.

Beside you sits Aegon, his violet eyes ever watchful, always keenly aware of your presence. He wears his usual armor, dark and imposing, trimmed with gold and red. You can feel his pride radiating off him like heat from dragonfire. His gaze lingers on you for a moment too long, as if to ensure you have not only embraced your role as his queen but that you look the part. The crown, the colors, the throne at his side—everything has been chosen with care.

"Do you not think she is radiant?" Aegon remarks to no one in particular, his voice carrying over the din, but his words are meant for the crowd. His smile is tight, meant to dazzle, but you know him well enough to see the strain behind it. You nod politely, offering a small smile in return, though it does not reach your eyes.

On Aegon’s other side sit Visenya and Rhaenys, both dressed in their own regal attire. Visenya, severe and cold as ever, wears black, her armor gleaming beneath her cloak, a silent reminder that she is the sword of your family. Rhaenys, in contrast, is draped in lighter colors, her violet eyes warm and playful, though even her smile seems dimmed by the undercurrents that swirl through the family.

The crowd roars as the herald steps forward, raising his hands to signal the start of the tournament. The cheers grow louder, echoing across the field as knights in shining armor ride out, their horses snorting and pawing at the ground, eager for the competition. The joust is about to begin, a display of power, skill, and loyalty—all in your honor.

Aegon rises from his seat, his imposing figure drawing the attention of everyone present. His armor clinks softly as he moves, and he raises his hand, signaling for silence. The crowd quiets almost instantly, all eyes on the Conqueror.

"In honor of my queen," he begins, his voice strong, carrying over the vast sea of spectators, "we celebrate her nameday with a display of the finest knights in the realm. Let this tourney show our strength, our unity, and our devotion." He pauses, glancing down at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But before the joust begins, I wish to honor her in another way."

The murmurs from the crowd grow louder as Aegon steps down from his platform, making his way to his waiting horse. His squire rushes to his side, handing him his helmet, the dragon sigil gleaming in the sunlight. He mounts the large, black stallion with practiced ease, turning to face the royal stand.

"I will compete in this joust," Aegon announces, his voice filled with confidence, "in honor of my queen, Y/N, who has graced us with her beauty, strength, and loyalty."

Your heart clenches at the words. His declaration, his participation in the tournament, is all for show—a grand gesture to prove his devotion to you. Yet all you feel is the tightening grip of duty around your chest. The crowd erupts in cheers, and you force another smile, nodding at him as though this is exactly what you wanted.

Aegon’s gaze remains fixed on you for a moment longer, as if waiting for something more—perhaps a sign of approval, an invitation for him to return to your side after his victory. But the emptiness within you, the lingering ache that no crown or grand display can mend, keeps you silent. Your smile falters slightly, but still, you say nothing.

The crowd’s cheers continue as Aegon turns his horse toward the jousting lanes, ready to prove his prowess on the field. As he rides away, the space beside you feels colder, and the weight of the crown on your head presses down harder than ever.

...

The thundering hooves of horses echo across the field as the first knights prepare for the joust. Banners ripple in the wind, bright colors dancing against the azure sky as the crowd cheers, eager for the spectacle. You sit in your royal seat, your hands folded in your lap, eyes drifting over the tournament grounds. Lances gleam in the sunlight, and the clinking of armor fills the air as the first challengers ready themselves at the end of the lists.

But your thoughts are far from the cheers and excitement of the crowd. The weight of your crown feels suffocating, and your gaze strays, not to the knights or the lances, but to the far-off silhouette of Tesaerix. Chained, grounded, a shadow of her former glory. From this distance, you can barely make out the flicker of her golden and crimson scales in the sunlight, but you know she is there, tethered to the earth as you are tethered to your fate.

Rhaenys leans toward you, her voice soft as she attempts to draw you back into the present. "It’s quite the sight, isn’t it?" she says, her tone gentle, almost coaxing. "These knights would give anything for a chance to win favor from the queen of the day."

You nod politely, but your smile is forced, your mind not on the tournament or the gallant knights. Rhaenys, ever perceptive, catches your distraction, her brows furrowing slightly. "You seem distant, Y/N," she murmurs, her voice laced with concern. "Is something troubling you?"

Your response dies in your throat as your gaze flickers back to the horizon where your dragon is held captive. The ache in your chest deepens, a quiet fury simmering beneath your outward calm. "Tesaerix," you finally whisper, your voice soft but heavy with meaning. "I cannot stop thinking of her, chained there while we celebrate."

Rhaenys follows your gaze and falls silent, perhaps sensing the gravity of your pain, but before she can respond, Visenya, ever sharp and vigilant, leans forward from her place beside Aegon. Her voice is cold, a warning cloaked in authority. "Do not even entertain the thought, Y/N," she says, her violet eyes narrowing as they lock onto yours. "You will not free her, nor will you make a spectacle of defiance here."

Your blood runs hot at her words, and you turn to face her, your gaze hardening. "And what would you do, Visenya, if Vhagar were bound in chains?" you ask, your voice low, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "Do you think you would sit there so calmly if she were made to suffer like Tesaerix? I would see her miserable as you’ve made my dragon."

The insult hangs in the air like a sharp blade. For a moment, the tension between you and Visenya is palpable, her lips pressing into a thin, dangerous line as she regards you with something between anger and cold resolve. Her hand twitches as if she might grip the hilt of the sword always at her side, her eyes flashing with a silent warning.

But before she can retort, the rumble of hooves draws your attention to the lists. Aegon rides forward on his black steed, his armor glinting in the sun like dark steel, his helm adorned with the sigil of the dragon. The sight of him, proud and commanding, steals the air from your lungs, if only for a moment. The crowd erupts into cheers as the king takes his place for his first tilt.

Aegon rides past the royal stand, his eyes catching yours for a brief second. There is something unreadable in his gaze—pride, perhaps, or a plea for recognition—but you do not hold it for long. He wheels his horse around and lowers his lance, ready to compete, the first challenger already in position across the field.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, the pressure between you and Visenya still lingering, but your eyes are now fixed on Aegon. His horse stamps impatiently, nostrils flaring as it waits for the signal to charge. You cannot help but feel the weight of what this moment represents. He is not just jousting for sport; he is jousting for you, for your approval, though you find it difficult to offer anything more than cold indifference.

The herald raises his flag, and the trumpets blare again. Aegon spurs his horse forward, charging down the lists with deadly precision. The opposing knight, though skilled, seems small compared to your brother’s imposing presence. The ground trembles beneath the weight of their charge, the clattering of armor and hooves filling the air.

Aegon’s lance strikes true, shattering against the other knight’s shield with a thunderous crack, sending his opponent crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust. The crowd roars its approval, but the sound washes over you, distant and hollow.

He circles back, his horse kicking up dirt as he passes you again, his gaze seeking yours once more, waiting for your reaction. But all you can think of is Tesaerix, grounded and silent, far from this spectacle. The chains that bind her feel like chains around your own heart, and no matter how grand this celebration, no matter how skilled Aegon is in his displays of strength, it does nothing to free you from the cage you find yourself in.

You offer Aegon a small nod, nothing more, and he rides on, returning to the field for his next challenge. The cheers rise again, but in the quiet of your mind, there is only the sound of chains, rattling against the earth.

The Great Hall of Aegonfort is alive with light and sound, the towering stone walls adorned with tapestries depicting the dragons of House Targaryen. Tables laden with rich foods—roast meats, fruits, and fine breads—stretch the length of the hall, and the clatter of goblets and the murmur of excited conversation fill the air. Musicians play in one corner, their tunes light and festive, attempting to match the celebratory mood of the evening.

At the center of it all sits Aegon, victorious from the day’s tourney, his head held high and a satisfied smile playing at his lips. He now wears a simple crown of dark iron, his armor exchanged for a fine tunic of black and red, the sigil of the three-headed dragon emblazoned proudly on his chest. His eyes, however, are on you.

You sit beside him at the high table, still adorned in your colors of gold and crimson, though the joy of the evening seems lost on you. Despite the merriment around you, a tight knot of frustration coils in your chest, one that has only grown since the tourney’s end.

The feast is in full swing, and yet the animosity between you and Aegon is seen by all around you. He notices your coldness, the way your gaze barely meets his, and the way you’ve hardly touched your food. You’re an island of silence in a sea of celebration, and the strain between you grows more obvious with every passing moment.

Aegon turns to you, leaning in slightly, his voice low so as not to draw attention from those around you. "Is something wrong, Y/N?" His words are careful, but there is a slight edge to them, a hint of irritation beneath his outward concern.

You finally turn to look at him, your expression tight. "Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?" you say, your tone sharper than you intended. "Why would the King of Westeros compete in his own tourney?"

His brow furrows, clearly taken aback by your criticism. "It was in your honor," he replies, his voice firm but measured. "I wanted to show—"

"You wanted to show off, Aegon," you interrupt, your voice quiet but biting. "You’ve already conquered Westeros. Must you also conquer a tournament that was meant to be a gift to me?"

He blinks, clearly not expecting such a reaction. "I was honoring you. Showing the realm your importance, your—"

"No," you cut in, your gaze hardening. "You were showing the realm your power. You didn’t let the knights fight for glory or honor. You took that from them, just as you’ve taken everything else. It wasn’t fair to them."

The tension between you sharpens, and the warmth of the hall seems to dim, at least in the space between the two of you. Aegon’s jaw tightens, his fingers drumming against the table as he processes your words. "You think I should’ve let them win," he says, disbelief lacing his tone. "As if they deserved it more than me."

You lean in slightly, keeping your voice low, though your frustration is clear. "Yes, Aegon, I think you should’ve let them win. You already have the Seven Kingdoms. Why take this from them too? The knights came here hoping for glory, for a chance to win your favor—or mine. But they were never going to, not with you in the lists. They had no chance."

Aegon’s gaze darkens, his fingers stopping their rhythmic drumming. "You wanted me to lose," he says, his voice soft but dangerous.

"It’s not about losing," you reply, struggling to keep your voice steady as the simmering anger within you rises. "It’s about fairness. What was the point of them competing if the outcome was already decided the moment you took the field?"

Aegon’s expression grows colder, his pride clearly stung. "I did this for you, Y/N," he says, his voice harder now. "For you."

"And that’s precisely the problem," you say, your voice trembling slightly, not with fear but with the weight of everything unsaid. "You think everything you do is a gift to me, but you never ask me what I want. You never stop to think about what I might need."

Aegon’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, the weight of his gaze is unbearable, like staring into dragonfire. He takes a slow breath, clearly trying to rein in his temper. "What would you have me do, then?" he asks, his voice dangerously quiet. "Step aside? Watch others take what I’ve built?"

You stare back at him, unflinching. "What you’ve built is already yours, Aegon. You don’t need to prove it to anyone. But maybe... maybe you could let someone else have a moment. Just once."

Aegon’s face tightens, his frustration clear, but he says nothing. His silence feels heavy, pressing down on you both like a smothering weight. The noise of the feast around you continues, but it feels distant, almost hollow, as if you are both cut off from the rest of the hall.

Finally, after a long, tense moment, Aegon rises from the table, drawing the attention of those around you. His expression is unreadable, his eyes hard as they sweep over the hall. "I need air," he mutters, his voice clipped. Without waiting for a response, he strides out of the hall, his departure swift and silent, but leaving a wave of discomfort in his wake.

The guests glance in your direction, curious whispers rippling through the crowd. You sit there, your hands gripping the edge of the table, your heart pounding in your chest as you watch him leave. The weight of your words lingers, hanging in the air between you, but now he is gone, and you are left with the aftermath of your confrontation.

Rhaenys, ever perceptive, leans in slightly, her voice soft as she tries to ease the tension. "You speak the truth, Y/N," she says, her tone gentle but understanding. "But Aegon... He is not one who takes criticism easily."

"I know," you murmur, your voice distant as you stare at the empty space where Aegon once sat. "But someone has to tell him."

Visenya, sitting quietly at the far end of the table, glances at you but says nothing, her expression unreadable. She has always been loyal to Aegon above all else, and though she may agree with you in silence, she would never speak it aloud.

The feast continues, but for you, the victory Aegon claimed in your name feels hollow, like everything else he’s given you—a gift wrapped in chains.

Aegon pushes through the grand doors of the hall, his movements sharp and purposeful, though inside, his heart is a storm. The warmth and noise of the feast fade into the background as he steps into the cool night air, the silence wrapping around him like a cloak. The torches lining the walls cast flickering specters across the stone courtyard, but Aegon hardly notices. His thoughts are too loud, too chaotic, drowning out everything else.

Servants and lords alike part in his path, their eyes darting nervously away as he strides through the corridors of Aegonfort, his jaw clenched, his fists tight at his sides. They sense his anger, his turmoil, and none dare to stand in his way. Even the guards lower their gazes, unwilling to meet the eyes of the king when he is like this—when the Conqueror wears his crown of fire.

Aegon’s mind races, replaying the confrontation with you over and over again. Your words had cut him deeper than any lance could. He had wanted to honor you, to show the realm your importance, but instead, you had seen only pride, only selfishness. He had fought for you, but all you had seen was a king who took what he wanted, again and again.

He walks with no clear destination, but his feet carry him toward the outer edge of the fortress, where the dragons are kept. It is instinct, perhaps, that draws him there—a need to be near the creatures that have always been his strength, his power. Yet as he approaches the dragon stables, a familiar sight meets his eyes outside them, one that still stirs unease in his chest.

Tesaerix.

The dragon lies chained to the ground, her once-majestic wings folded tightly against her body, her neck bound with heavy iron links that glint in the torchlight. Her deep crimson eyes, fierce and sharp, stare directly at him as he approaches, burning with a silent accusation.

Aegon stops a few paces away, his breath hitching as their gazes lock. Tesaerix does not roar or thrash as she once did when first bound—there is only a quiet, simmering fury in the way she looks at him now. The fire in her eyes, though dimmed, is far from extinguished.

He stands there for a long moment, staring at the dragon, the creature that had been bound because of you. Because of what you had tried to do. And now, here she lies—chained, just as you were, in a way, trapped by decisions neither of you had wanted.

"She hates me," Aegon mutters aloud, his voice barely above a whisper. It is not a question. He can see the loathing in the dragon’s gaze, the way her chest rises and falls with each slow, measured breath, as if restraining the full force of her anger. It is a mirror of the feelings he senses in you every time you look at him now.

He takes a step closer, though the chains rattling softly in the wind serve as a stark reminder of the distance between him and the creature. He should feel satisfaction at seeing Tesaerix subdued, knowing that she cannot be used against him again, that you cannot take her and flee to the ends of the earth. But instead, standing before her now, he feels... hollow.

The dragon’s crimson eyes bore into him, and for a fleeting moment, Aegon wonders if she knows what you feel, if she shares in the same grief and fury. Tesaerix has been chained, grounded—stripped of her freedom just as you have been. And now, here he stands, the man responsible for it all.

"You aren’t the only one who hates me," Aegon says bitterly, his voice hoarse. "She hates me too." He rubs a hand across his face, wiping away the tension etched there, though it does nothing to ease the storm in his chest.

Tesaerix lets out a low, rumbling sound, not quite a growl, but enough to make Aegon take another step back. The dragon shifts slightly, her chains clinking with the movement, and her eyes narrow as if daring him to come any closer. She does not trust him, not after what he has done. Just like you.

"I did what I had to," Aegon mutters, his voice quieter now, as if trying to convince himself as much as the dragon. "She would have left. Left me."

But the words feel empty, even to him. He had acted out of fear, out of a need to control what he could not bear to lose. But now, standing here before the chained dragon, watching her watch him with those blood-red eyes, he wonders if he has only made things worse—if the cost of keeping you with him has been too high.

The night air grows colder, but Aegon doesn’t move. He stands there, rooted in place, staring at the dragon who will never be free, who will never forgive him. The silence between them is thick, broken only by the occasional snap of the chains as Tesaerix shifts her weight.

Aegon exhales slowly, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He has won Westeros, but what has he truly gained? A kingdom at his feet, yet the one thing he wanted—your love, your acceptance—remains out of reach.

The sky above Aegonfort is a pale blue, streaked with thin clouds that drift lazily in the wind. Below, in the courtyard, the dragons are being readied for flight, their massive forms casting long shadows over the stone. Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes stand tall, their wings rustling, eager for the skies. Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys are already mounting their dragons, their expressions focused, their movements practiced and sure.

You stand back, lingering near the edge of the courtyard, your eyes fixed on Tesaerix. She rests at the far end, still chained to the ground, though her posture seems less resigned today. There’s a spark of anticipation in her deep red eyes, a flicker of life you haven't seen in weeks. As your siblings prepare for their flight, you hesitate, your heart heavy as you approach her.

Tesaerix watches you with a quiet intensity as you draw near, her cream-and-crimson scales gleaming in the morning light. The iron chains that bind her wings and limbs seem smaller than they once did, though the weight of them still hangs heavily on her. You place your hand gently on her snout, your fingers brushing the warm, smooth surface of her scales. She rumbles softly, a deep, thrumming sound that reverberates through the ground beneath you. It’s a sound of recognition, of trust, and your heart clenches painfully at the thought of her continued imprisonment.

"I’m sorry," you whisper, pressing your forehead to her head, the words thick with guilt. "I failed you."

Tesaerix shifts beneath your touch, her tail curling slightly, as if she’s trying to reassure you in her own way. The warmth of her breath on your skin, the way she leans into your hand—it’s a small comfort, but it’s not enough to ease the ache in your chest.

The sound of heavy wings beating the air pulls your attention away, and you glance toward your siblings. Aegon is already on Balerion, the Black Dread shifting impatiently, ready to take to the skies. Rhaenys sits astride Meraxes, her face calm, her dark hair lifting in the breeze. Visenya, cold and commanding as always, mounts Vhagar with the ease of someone who has done this a thousand times before.

But it is Visenya who surprises you.

Just as you think she will signal for the dragons to take off, she turns her head, her sharp violet eyes locking onto you and Tesaerix. Her expression is hard to read, as always, but there’s something different in her gaze today—something that isn’t purely cold calculation.

"Tesaerix will be unchained," Visenya says, her voice carrying across the courtyard, firm but not cruel. You blink, stunned, as her words sink in. "She will be allowed to fly."

You stare at her, hardly believing what you’ve heard. For a moment, you think you’ve misunderstood, but Visenya’s gaze does not waver. She looks at you as if she knows exactly what you’re thinking, as if she has anticipated every protest, every question.

"Dragons are not meant to be grounded," Visenya continues, her tone clipped, as though stating an obvious fact. "If she remains chained, she will wither. Grow weak. That is not something we can afford."

Her words are logical, practical, but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it. You meet her gaze, searching for any sign of softness, of understanding. There is none—only the cold, unyielding presence of the warrior who has always put duty above all else.

Still, the relief you feel is undeniable.

"She… she will fly again?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking it aloud might break the fragile possibility of freedom.

"Yes," Visenya replies simply, already turning her attention back to Vhagar. "For now."

The weight in your chest loosens slightly, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You turn back to Tesaerix, your fingers brushing along her snout once more, your heart swelling with the thought of her finally being free from the chains that have held her for so long. She seems to sense it, the change in the air, and her body shifts eagerly beneath the heavy chains.

"Thank you," you whisper again, but this time, the words are not for her alone.

Aegon, having overheard the exchange, looks at you from atop Balerion, his expression unreadable. For once, he says nothing, perhaps choosing not to interfere in this moment. The three of you have been at odds for so long, the air thick with unspoken grievances, but for now, he holds his tongue.

The chains are unlatched, the heavy iron falling away from Tesaerix’s limbs and wings, the sound of it loud in the quiet courtyard. For the first time in weeks, she stretches her wings fully, the golden and crimson membrane catching the light, glimmering like blood and flame. She lets out a deep, triumphant roar, her voice rising above the fortress walls, echoing across the land.

You smile—an involuntary, fleeting thing—watching as Tesaerix shakes off the last remnants of her confinement. She looks at you, and for a moment, there is a connection between you both, something pure and powerful, something that reminds you that you are not as alone as you have felt.

Aegon signals for the flight to begin, his hand lifting in a silent command. Balerion takes to the skies with a powerful sweep of his wings, followed closely by Meraxes and Vhagar. You watch them ascend, their forms growing smaller as they soar higher into the sky.

You mount Tesaerix, feeling the familiar warmth of her beneath you. With a single word, she launches herself into the air, her wings slicing through the sky, unbound, free. The wind rushes past you, lifting your hair, filling your lungs with the crisp air of the open sky.

For the first time in weeks, you feel a sense of freedom—not just for your dragon, but for yourself.

The sky is darkening as the four of you descend from the clouds, the distant glow of the setting sun casting the horizon in hues of gold and violet. The air is cooler now, and the wind that once rushed past you in exhilarating gusts begins to calm as your dragons lower themselves back toward the ground. Tesaerix lands gracefully, her wings beating only a few times before she touches down, her massive form folding into the familiar courtyard. The echo of her powerful roar, given just before your descent, still lingers in the air.

Vhagar and Meraxes land nearby, their massive bodies kicking up dust and loose stone as they settle. Visenya and Rhaenys dismount smoothly, their faces impassive as they slide from their dragons' backs and make their way toward the entrance of the fortress. They exchange a few quiet words between them, their long cloaks trailing behind as they move inside. There is an ease in their movements, a sense of routine and familiarity. They have done this countless times before, and tonight is no different.

But Aegon lingers.

He remains mounted on Balerion, watching as you dismount from Tesaerix, your fingers brushing the dragon’s warm hide before you step away. Her wings shift slightly, and she lets out a contented huff, clearly enjoying her brief return to the skies. Your connection with her, after all the time apart, feels more solid than it has in weeks. The bond between dragon and rider, though strained, has never fully broken. And now, as you stand beside her, it feels as though some part of you is healing.

Aegon watches from a distance, his expression unreadable. The towering figure of Balerion stands still behind him, the great dragon’s eyes half-closed as if bored by the day’s events. But Aegon’s attention is fixed on you. His gaze follows your movements as you move closer to Tesaerix’s snout, resting your hand on her once more. The quiet affection between you and the dragon is unmistakable, and for a moment, Aegon looks as though he is wrestling with something—an emotion he cannot quite name.

He dismounts slowly, his armored boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. As he steps forward, he does not call out to you, nor does he try to interrupt your moment with your dragon. Instead, he simply watches, his usual confidence replaced by something quieter, more introspective. There’s a chasm between you, but it feels different tonight—less heated, less full of the bitterness that has tainted so many of your recent interactions.

You sense his presence before you hear him, your head lifting slightly as Tesaerix rumbles softly, her large eyes flickering in Aegon’s direction. She is calm now, her anger toward him seemingly subdued after the freedom of flight. But you can feel the unspoken tension in the air as your brother approaches, the weight of the past weeks hanging between you.

“You’re staying behind?” you ask, your voice low but without the usual bite. There’s no accusation in your tone, just curiosity.

Aegon stops a few paces away, his hands resting at his sides, fingers brushing the leather of his gloves. He looks at Tesaerix for a moment before his eyes return to you. “I wanted to see how she fared,” he says, his voice measured, quieter than usual. “After being chained for so long.”

You glance at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. But for once, Aegon doesn’t seem to be playing the king, the conqueror. His words feel honest, unvarnished. His gaze shifts to Tesaerix, who meets his eyes for a brief moment before turning her attention back to you, her focus unshaken by the presence of the man who once imprisoned her.

“She’s strong,” you reply, your voice soft. “Stronger than I gave her credit for.”

Aegon nods, his eyes lingering on Tesaerix’s folded wings, the glow of her golden scales dimming with the falling night. “Dragons aren’t meant to be chained,” he says quietly, more to himself than to you. His words carry a weight that you know isn’t just about Tesaerix. He’s speaking of more than dragons now.

You feel something unspoken between you both—he knows what he did was wrong, but admitting it outright is something Aegon rarely does. Still, this moment feels different. It’s not an apology, but it’s close enough.

You look away from him, your gaze returning to Tesaerix, who lets out a soft rumble as you run your hand along her snout once more. “She missed the skies,” you murmur. “Just like I did.”

The silence stretches between you, thick but not uncomfortable. For the first time in weeks, Aegon seems unsure of himself, as if he doesn’t know how to breach the distance between you, even as he stands only a few feet away. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but the words falter before they leave his lips.

You can feel him hesitating, lingering on the edge of something unsaid. Finally, he steps forward, his gaze softening as he watches you with Tesaerix. “I wanted to give you something today,” he says, his voice low. “I thought… I thought letting her fly would show you that I’m trying.”

You pause, turning your head slightly to look at him, the surprise evident in your eyes. It isn’t like Aegon to admit such things. He’s always been the conqueror, the king who takes what he wants. Vulnerability isn’t something you’ve come to expect from him.

“She deserves to be free,” you reply, your tone neutral, though a flicker of something warmer slips into your words. “As do we all.”

Aegon looks at you, his gaze searching, but whatever he’s hoping to find, he doesn’t ask for. He nods, a brief but telling gesture. “Perhaps,” he murmurs, though his tone suggests that freedom is a concept he still struggles with.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The only sound is the distant murmur of the wind and the occasional rustle of Tesaerix’s wings. Finally, Aegon takes a step back, turning his gaze toward the fortress. “We’ll be flying again in the morning,” he says, though his voice lacks the command it usually holds.

“I know,” you reply softly.

He looks at you one last time, as if he wants to say more but knows there are no easy words for what lies between you. Then, with a final nod, he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing against the stone as he disappears into the shadows of the fortress.

The days have grown quieter in the weeks since Tesaerix was freed from her chains, and the anger that once filled the air between you and Aegon has begun to ease, though the distance between your hearts remains vast. The nights are cooler now, the winds carrying the scent of the sea as they sweep through the towers of Aegonfort. The sound of dragons is ever-present, their cries echoing through the stone walls, a reminder of the power your family holds.

You stand by the fire in your chambers, staring into the flames as they flicker and dance. Your thoughts drift, as they often do, to the life you could have had. Winterfell, the snow-covered plains of the North, and Torrhen Stark’s quiet strength. The ache is still there, a dull, constant pain that you have grown accustomed to, though it never truly fades.

A soft knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn, already knowing who it is before you see him. Aegon steps into the room, his movements slow and unhurried, his gaze settling on you with a strange mix of determination and hesitation. He has been visiting you more often as of late, his presence less forceful, less commanding than it once was. He no longer brings gifts or demands anything from you, but simply... comes.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he says, closing the door behind him, his voice low and cautious. He’s always careful now, as if each word could set off an unseen tremor between you both.

“I’ve had much on my mind,” you reply, turning back to the fire, though you know he can read the truth in your silence.

He crosses the room and stands beside you, the warmth of the fire washing over both of you. The heat of his presence, so close yet still restrained, is something you’ve slowly come to tolerate, even accept, though the bitterness of your lost future never fully leaves you.

“You’re thinking of him,” Aegon says after a long pause, his voice soft but heavy with understanding. “Of the Stark.”

You stiffen slightly, your eyes still fixed on the flames. It is rare that he speaks of Torrhen. You’ve both avoided the subject for the most part, as if not naming it could keep it from being real, from haunting what little peace you’ve managed to find. But Aegon is nothing if not perceptive, and tonight, it seems, he is unwilling to let it lie.

“Yes,” you admit, the word slipping from your lips before you can stop it. There is no point in denying it—Torrhen is always there, lingering in the corners of your mind, a shadow of what could have been. “I think of him often.”

Aegon nods, though the movement is barely noticeable, his gaze distant now, as if he too is grappling with something he cannot fully understand. “I know,” he says quietly, his tone carrying no anger, no jealousy—only resignation.

You turn to face him, surprised by his lack of hostility. For so long, you had expected rage, had anticipated that his possessiveness would rear its head whenever you so much as mentioned the man who had once been your future. But Aegon has changed, in subtle ways, since you returned to each other’s orbit.

“I tried to take everything from you,” he continues, his voice rough with the weight of the admission. “But I could never take him from your heart, could I?”

The vulnerability in his words surprises you, catches you off guard. Aegon has never been one to admit weakness, and yet here he stands, acknowledging the one thing he cannot conquer—your love for Torrhen Stark.

“No,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t.”

He sighs, and for a moment, he looks almost weary, as though the weight of his victories, his crowns, his conquests have finally taken their toll. “I’ve conquered kingdoms, united the Seven, but when it comes to you, there’s always... something I can’t reach.”

You meet his gaze then, your eyes locking with his. There is something raw in his expression, something fragile and unguarded. And for the first time, you see not the conqueror, not the king, but the man beneath all that—the man who, despite his power, is haunted by the one thing he cannot command.

“You have me now,” you murmur, though the words feel like a compromise, a truth that does not tell the whole story.

He steps closer, his hand brushing yours lightly, as if testing the boundaries of your comfort. “But I don’t have all of you, do I?” His voice is soft, tinged with a sadness that you have rarely heard from him.

You don’t answer right away, because you don’t need to. The silence between you speaks volumes. He already knows the answer, and so do you. No matter how much time passes, no matter how close you become, a part of you will always belong to Torrhen Stark—a part that Aegon, for all his might, will never possess.

Still, you allow his fingers to lace with yours, a small gesture of acceptance. You do not love him, not in the way he wants, but there is a quiet understanding growing between you, a shared sense of loss that binds you in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I’ll never be him,” Aegon says softly, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “But I’ll try to be what you need.”

The words hang in the air between you, a promise that feels both hopeful and tragic. You look up at him, searching his face for any hint of deceit, but there is none. He is being truthful, as much as he can be. Aegon may never be the man you dreamed of sharing your life with, but perhaps, in his own way, he is trying to build something out of the wreckage of what he destroyed.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He leans in slightly, his forehead resting gently against yours, and for the first time, there is a sense of peace between you. The fire crackles softly behind you, the warmth of it surrounding you both as the night deepens. Aegon may never truly understand the depth of your love for Torrhen, but in this moment, he doesn’t need to. What matters now is the quiet bond forming between you—a bond not of passion, but of shared wounds and quiet resolve.

And though the ache for what was lost still lingers, for the first time, you wonder if perhaps, in this strange, broken way, you and Aegon might find a path forward together. Not as lovers, but as something else—something more complicated, but no less real.

Ending Where Y/N Stays

The night sky is a deep velvet blanket above Aegonfort, scattered with stars that twinkle faintly against the vast expanse. 

You stand by the window, staring out at the dark horizon, lost in thought. It has been a full moon since the quiet understanding between you and Aegon began to grow, since the edges of your shared pain started to blur. The walls you had built around yourself, brick by painful brick, have not crumbled, but they’ve begun to weaken, piece by piece. And tonight, something feels different. Something inside you has shifted, though you can’t name it.

The sound of the door opening behind you breaks the silence, and you don’t need to turn to know it is Aegon. His presence is familiar now, though it still stirs a flutter of uncertainty in your chest. His footsteps are slow as he crosses the room, stopping just a few paces away. The air between you is charged, not of hostility but of something else, lingering in the space between you.

“You’ve been distant today,” Aegon says softly, his voice carrying a note of hesitation, though his usual confidence remains. He stands just behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, though he doesn’t touch you.

You don’t answer immediately, still staring out at the night, your fingers lightly gripping the stone ledge of the window. After a long pause, you turn to face him. His violet eyes meet yours, searching for something he cannot yet name, and for the first time in a long while, you don’t look away.

“I’ve been thinking,” you finally say, your voice quiet but steady. The weight of what you are about to say rests heavily on your shoulders, but there is no fear in it—only the calm that comes with acceptance.

Aegon’s brow furrows slightly, his gaze questioning, but he says nothing, waiting for you to continue.

“For so long, I’ve kept you at arm’s length,” you say, taking a slow breath. “I’ve pushed you away because I couldn’t bear the thought of... letting you in.” You pause, your chest tightening with the weight of the truth you’ve kept buried for so long. “But I can’t keep living like this, Aegon. Neither of us can.”

The silence that follows is thick, filled with all the things neither of you have said, all the things you’ve left unspoken. Aegon’s eyes soften as he steps closer, his hand lifting slowly to rest gently on your arm. His touch is light, almost tentative, as if he’s afraid of crossing some unseen boundary.

“What are you saying, Y/N?” he asks, his voice low, barely more than a whisper.

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, though not with fear. You take a step closer, closing the distance between you until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, the heat of his body radiating through the small space that remains.

“I’m saying that I’m tired of fighting,” you murmur, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m tired of denying what’s right in front of me.”

For a moment, Aegon says nothing. His eyes search your face, as if trying to understand the full meaning of your words, to grasp the depth of what you are offering. And then, slowly, his fingers slide down your arm, tracing a path to your hand, where he intertwines his fingers with yours. His touch is gentle, but there is a quiet urgency in it, a need that has been simmering between you for far too long.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice barely audible, a note of vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his usual bravado.

You nod, the tension in your chest easing slightly as you look up at him, your heart no longer weighed down by hesitation. “Yes,” you whisper, the word carrying with it the weight of your decision.

Aegon’s breath catches, and for a moment, he simply looks at you, as if trying to commit this moment to memory. Then, without another word, he lifts his free hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. The touch is soft, almost reverent, and the tenderness of it sends a shiver down your spine.

He leans in slowly, giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it begins, but you don’t. You close the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that is tentative at first, testing the boundaries of what you are ready to give. But as the moments pass, the kiss deepens, growing in intensity, the pent-up emotions between you spilling over, unchecked and unguarded.

Aegon’s hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss becomes more insistent, more desperate. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his tunic, holding onto him as if he is the only thing grounding you to the world in that moment. The heat between you rises, and before long, the space that once separated you has vanished entirely.

He pulls away just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours as his hands cup your face, his eyes searching yours. “If you want to stop...” he begins, his voice rough with desire, but you silence him with another kiss, your answer clear.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of heat and whispered promises. His hands move across your skin with a gentleness you hadn’t expected, but there is an urgency in the way he touches you, as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough. You match his pace, your body responding to his with a need that surprises even you.

When the last barriers fall, when you finally allow him to take you, there is no hesitation. No more fear. The weight of the past is still there, lingering in the shadows of the room, but for the first time, it doesn’t define you. In that moment, with Aegon’s arms wrapped around you, with his body pressed against yours, the pain and anger that have haunted you for so long feel distant, like a memory you’ve chosen to let fade.

When it’s over, you lie together in the quiet of the night, the fire in the hearth casting a soft glow over your entwined forms. Aegon’s breath is slow and steady beside you, his hand resting lightly on your waist, his touch still gentle even in sleep. You close your eyes, exhaustion pulling at you, but your thoughts linger on the moment that just passed.

You know he loves you, and in some strange, broken way, you love him too. But the part of you that still belongs to Torrhen Stark remains untouched, a quiet, persistent ache that will never fully leave you. Aegon may have you now, but he knows—as you do—that he will never have all of you. And in the end, perhaps that’s enough.

Ending Where Y/N Leaves

The moon hangs low in the night sky, casting a pale, silvery light over Aegonfort. The fortress is still, the only sounds the distant crash of the waves and the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind. Inside, the corridors are quiet, the courtiers and guards long retired to their quarters. But sleep does not come for you tonight.

The decision has been growing inside you for days, a quiet resolve that started as a whisper and has now become impossible to ignore. The weight of it presses heavily on your chest as you stand in your chambers, your gaze drifting toward the window where the faintest glimmer of stars can be seen.

You cannot stay.

The walls of Aegonfort feel like a cage, closing in around you, and no amount of quiet moments or tender gestures from Aegon can change that. The love he seeks, the connection he so desperately craves, is not something you can give him. You have tried—gods, you’ve tried—but the life he built for you, the crown he placed on your head, is not the one you wanted.

And so, you’ve made your choice.

You move through your chambers with quiet purpose, pulling on a cloak and gathering only what you need for the journey ahead. Your heart races in your chest, not with fear but with a strange sense of calm. This is right. This is the only way. The only way to reclaim a piece of the freedom you lost.

Slipping through the silent halls of the fortress, you avoid the gaze of the few guards posted along the corridors, your movements careful and deliberate. The heavy stone walls seem to press in around you as you descend the steps that lead to the stables. Tesaerix is there, waiting for you, as if she can sense what is about to happen.

The air grows colder as you approach the courtyard, the scent of the sea strong in the night breeze. The dragon stables loom ahead, dark and silent, and for a moment, you pause, your heart hammering in your chest. But there is no turning back now. Not after everything.

Tesaerix stirs as you step into the open space, her golden and crimson scales catching the moonlight as she shifts her massive wings. She is restless, and her eyes gleam in the dim light, locking onto you the moment you approach. There’s a flicker of understanding in her gaze, and as you reach her, she lowers her head, letting out a low, rumbling sound.

You press your hand to her warm scales, your fingers trembling slightly. "It’s time," you whisper, the words barely audible in the stillness. Tesaerix’s breath huffs against your skin, her body tensing as if she, too, has been waiting for this moment.

The saddling is quick, your hands moving through the motions with practiced ease. You pull yourself up onto her back, settling into the familiar seat between her powerful wings. For a brief moment, you glance back at Aegonfort, the towering structure outlined against the night sky. The place that has been your prison, the place where you have been both queen and captive.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, and with a quiet command, Tesaerix lifts into the sky. Her wings beat powerfully, carrying you higher and higher, the ground falling away beneath you as you ascend. The rush of the wind in your ears drowns out the last remnants of hesitation, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel free.

The stars stretch out above you, vast and endless, and the open sky welcomes you like an old friend. Tesaerix soars with grace, her wings cutting through the cool night air, and you urge her eastward, away from Westeros, toward the horizon where the distant lands of Essos await.

You do not look back.

The sea below stretches out in endless darkness, the waves crashing silently against the shores you are leaving behind. The life you once dreamed of—Winterfell, Torrhen, a future filled with love and quiet moments—feels distant now, like a memory from a different life. And Aegon, for all his power and his efforts to keep you by his side, cannot follow you here. Not this time.

The night passes slowly, the rhythm of Tesaerix’s flight steady and constant as she carries you farther and farther from the world you once knew. The stars shift above you, guiding you onward, and the distant lights of ships below seem small and insignificant compared to the vastness of the sky.

You do not know where you will land, or what lies ahead in Essos, but for now, that uncertainty is a comfort. It is a reminder that you still have choices, that your fate is still your own to shape.

As the first light of dawn begins to break on the horizon, you feel a strange sense of peace. The path before you is unknown, but it is yours. 

[starcrossed-lov3rz]

An Equal

Feyd Rahtha x Fem!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, some violence (not very graphic), there is a moment where reader is touched without express consent (NOT FEYD THO)

Words: ~ 1.1K

Description: Feyd sees you as an exotic pet. Something to collect. Something to brag about. Until, one day, he finds out about human’s lethality. Being almost killed by you in a fit of rage, he realizes that you are not just an alien. You love him. - Based on this request

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“I feel like a fucking zoo exhibit.” You mutter, pulling at the ridiculous assortment of jewels and silks draped across your body. Zoo exhibit didn’t even remotely describe it….you were more like a piece of art on display. 

Every day, Feyd sent a darling to your rooms with the clothing he picked for you. They ranged from intricate to barely-there wisps of gauzy fabric. But today? He’d really outdone himself today. A silk skirt hung low on your hips, and the matching bra fit like a glove. A sheer shawl draped crossed your shoulders. Feyd spared no expense with jewels today. Delicate gold chains wound around your exposed waist. Your arms decorated in gold bands. 

“You look beautiful,” Feyd’s darling praised. “He will be pleased.”

You roll your eyes as the darling coils your hair into a loose updo. Of course Feyd would be pleased. His little pet is dolled up and ready to show off to every disgusting bureaucrat and diplomat here for the fight.

Feyd fought often, but you’d never seen him spar in the arena before. He insisted the darlings keep you away from the arena so he didn’t ‘break your weak earthling spirit’ too soon. You should be honored at how delicately Feyd treats you, given his awful temper and violent tendencies. You were anything but. It didn’t matter how often you tried to lash out and annoy him, Feyd always laughed at your antics. 

“Come with me, he wants to see you before the fight.”

Numbly, you follow the darling as she guides you through the maze of hallways. 

“My darlings,” Feyd greets you both. He’s standing amongst a group of diplomats, towering over most of them. 

“Is this her?!” One of the more brazen diplomats steps forward, examining you like some prized show animal. You grit your teeth in annoyance as he pokes and prods you, hands lingering suspiciously long. Looking to Feyd, it’s clear you’re not the only one upset with the display. Feyd’s eyes are glued to where the diplomat’s hands rest on your hip.

You roll your eyes, batting his hand away and moving to stand beside Feyd. “Where’s your leash, pet?” He asks, tilting your head up with a hand on your chin. Feyd’s fingers trail down your throat, toying with your delicate gold necklace.

“I left it next to yours,” you offer dryly. 

Feyd’s smirk dims, his hand instantly moving to grip your neck. The pressure is noticeable, but nowhere near the strength you know Feyd is capable of. “Watch your tongue, pet.” 

Sarcasm probably wasn’t the best move today. Normally, you would shy away from any behavior that could irritate Feyd. Not today. The lack of autonomy was wearing on you, slowly stripping whatever sense of self preservation you had left. Your eyes flick up to Feyd’s, choosing to stare him down rather than respond. 

The world melts away as you both refuse to back down from the silent challenge. The same diplomat from before breaks the tension. He bows quickly before addressing Feyd. “na-Baron, you were telling us earlier how well your earthling can play the baliset, I believe as our most gracious host that you should offer us so entertainme-”

“No.” 

You fight the urge to react, but you’re just as shocked as the diplomat. Feyd frequently made you perform for guests. 

“But, na-Baron-”

“No,” Feyd said. “The fight will begin soon. That will be entertainment enough.”

Of course. Feyd wasn’t refusing because the diplomat had mistreated you earlier. He just didn’t want to delay his precious fucking fight. You step back out of Feyd’s reach. “You should go prepare for your fight, na-Baron.” 

“You wound me,” Feyd smirks. “Are you not going to wish me well for this fight?”

“I believe the drugged slaves in the arena are luck enough, na-Baron.” Now you’re definitely playing with fire. Feyd’s fists clench and he reaches for the knife sheathed on his thigh. 

You brace yourself. This is it. You just couldn’t be satisfied with pretty dresses and Feyd’s condescending affection. The novelty has worn off, and he’s going to kill you. You shut your eyes, waiting for a blow that never comes. Instead, you hear the knife clatter against the floor.

“Pick it up.” Feyd orders.

“What-”

“Pick it up.”

“I-”

“Pick it up or you will take my place fighting those ‘drugged slaves’ in the arena.” Feyd’s tone is even, no hint of humor or whatever passes as a sick joke for him.

You crouch slowly, your face heating in anger and shame as you hear laughs from the group of guests. 

“na-Baron, she would be better suited as a prize for the victor.” Your hand tightens around the handle, and you see red. You recognize that voice. The disgusting diplomat. With the wandering hands. 

Trying to calm down, you force yourself to breathe evenly. Feyd’s eyes never drift away from you, his calculating stare watching your every move. As you straight up, you feel a hand grope your ass. “Let me take her place in the arena, na-Baron. I should have her cunt as a reward when I win.”

You snap, letting instinct and rage take over. Pivoting your stance, you drive Feyd’s knife into the stomach of the diplomat behind you. His hand drops from you as he screams in pain. “You bit-”

Feyd is silent. He hasn’t moved a muscle to help his guest. 

The diplomat scrambles back, tripping over his robes and falling to the ground. You can hear screaming from the onlookers, but everything sounds as if it’s underwater. You drop on top of the diplomat, stabbing him again and again. You let it all out. The anger. The frustration. The embarrassment. You pour everything you’ve bottled up from months of captivity into every stab. 

The knife slips from your hand, dropping to the floor. 

Your gaze focuses again.

He’s dead.

You look up.

Everyone but Feyd has fled.

He’s leaning against a pillar. Arms crossed as he watches the display with an unreadable expression.

Feyd pushes off of the pillar, walking towards you. He kneels beside you, picking the blade up and offering it to you. 

“Keep it.”

You laugh through the tears. Somehow those two words meant more to you than all the empty praise and gifts. In that moment, you're more than some pampered pet. 

An equal.

NOTE: Two uploads in two days? Is this Christmas? No, it's a request I finally completed!!! Sorry, no smut here! I was really feeling this prompt and it didn't organically develop into smut. Serious writing isn't something I normally do, so I hope it did your prompt justice!! ~ Lacie <3

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[brookghaib-blog]

Shattered Dreams

Pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

tw: abusive behaviour, angst, pregnancy

Summary: Y/N navigates a loveless marriage to Hoshina Soshiro

pt.2

--

The morning sun cast a warm, golden glow across the room, but it did little to dispel the cold atmosphere within. Y/N stood by the window, her eyes focused on the horizon, though her thoughts were miles away. Her hands absentmindedly caressed her growing belly, a reminder of the life growing inside her, a product of a union devoid of warmth.

She had dreamed of being a painter, of bringing colors to life on a canvas, but those dreams were tucked away like the paintbrushes and canvases she kept hidden in the small corner of their home. Her parents had been ruthless in their determination to see her married into a powerful clan, and so, her fate had been sealed with Soshiro Hoshina, the Vice-Captain of the Defense Force's Third Division.

Their marriage was an arrangement, a strategic alliance between families, devoid of love or affection. Soshiro was often away, his duties calling him to fight kaiju, the monstrous threats to humanity. When he was home, their interactions were minimal, their conversations cold and formal.

One evening, as Y/N was finishing a small painting, the door creaked open. Soshiro walked in, his uniform stained with the grime and blood of battle. He looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"You're painting again," he remarked, his tone flat. It wasn't a question, merely an observation.

Y/N nodded, trying to find her voice. "It helps me pass the time."

Soshiro walked past her, his eyes scanning the room with a detached indifference. "I wish you wouldn't waste your time on such frivolities."

Her heart sank at his words, but she kept her composure. "It brings me some peace."

He turned to face her, his eyes cold and unyielding. "Peace? In a world like ours, peace is a luxury we can't afford."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on her. "I know, but it's all I have."

Soshiro's expression hardened, his voice dropping to a low, harsh whisper. "I wish I could get out of this situation. This marriage is unbearable."

The words cut through her like a knife, and for a moment, she felt as if the room was spinning. She had known their marriage was not built on love, but hearing him say it so bluntly, so cruelly, was more than she could bear.

She looked down, blinking back tears. "I... I understand."

Soshiro sighed, his frustration evident. "Do you? Do you really? I am bound by duty, by obligation, and this—" he gestured around the room, "—this is a prison."

Y/N felt a sob rise in her throat, but she choked it back, refusing to let him see her break. "I've tried to make the best of it. I've tried to be a good wife to you."

He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "A good wife? You're just another chain, another burden I have to bear."

She looked at him then, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and defiance. "And what about our child? Is that just another burden to you?"

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, a hint of regret, perhaps, but it was quickly extinguished. "I didn't ask for this. Any of it."

Y/N felt the tears spill over, and she turned away, unable to look at him any longer. "I know you didn't. But this is our reality now. Whether you like it or not."

Soshiro said nothing more, and after a few moments, he left the room, the door closing with a soft click behind him. Y/N stood there, her heart shattered, the weight of his words crushing her spirit.

She walked over to her painting, staring at the vibrant colors she had once found solace in. Now, they seemed dull and lifeless, a stark contrast to the dark void that had settled in her heart. She placed a hand on her belly, a silent promise to the child within her.

"I'll be strong for you," she whispered. "Even if he can't love us, I'll find a way to give you the love you deserve."

As the sun set, casting long shadows across the room, Y/N realized that her dreams of being a painter, of finding happiness, were just that—dreams. Her reality was a loveless marriage, a life of duty and sacrifice. And in that moment, she vowed to find a way to survive, for her child's sake, if not for her own.

But deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was as much a prisoner as Soshiro, trapped in a cage built by obligations and unfulfilled dreams.

--flashback--

The memory of their wedding day came flooding back, unbidden. The grand hall had been filled with guests, a sea of faces all watching her, judging her. Y/N had worn a traditional kimono, its intricate patterns and vibrant colors a stark contrast to the cold, emotionless ceremony.

Her parents had stood beside her, their expressions stern and unyielding. There was no joy in their eyes, only the satisfaction of a deal well-brokered. Soshiro had been there too, his face a mask of indifference. He had looked through her rather than at her, as if she were an obligation rather than a person.

"Remember your duty," her father had whispered harshly in her ear as he led her down the aisle. "You must uphold the family honor."

She had nodded, her heart heavy with resignation. This was her life now, a life chosen for her, not by her.

--

As the days turned into weeks, Y/N found herself growing increasingly lonely. Soshiro's coldness was a constant presence, a wall she could not breach. She spent her days painting in solitude, each stroke of the brush a small act of defiance against the life she was forced to lead.

One evening, she gathered her courage and approached him as he sat at the dining table, reading reports from the Defense Force. The room was dimly lit, the shadows playing across his stern features.

"Soshiro," she began hesitantly, "I was thinking... maybe we could try to talk more. Get to know each other better."

He looked up from his papers, his eyes cold and distant. "There's nothing to talk about."

"But we're married," she insisted, her voice trembling. "We have a child on the way. Shouldn't we at least try to understand each other?"

Soshiro's expression hardened, his voice sharp. "Understand? There's nothing to understand. You were forced into this marriage just as I was. We are bound by duty, not choice."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat, but she pressed on. "I know it wasn't our choice, but can't we make the best of it? For the sake of our child?"

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I'm doing my duty. That's all that matters. This... relationship," he spat the word, "is nothing more than a facade."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I don't want to be just a facade. I want to be a family."

Soshiro's eyes flashed with anger. "You want? What about what I want? Did anyone ever ask me if I wanted this?"

Y/N recoiled as if struck. "No one asked me either."

He took a step towards her, his presence imposing. "Then you should understand. This is a prison for both of us."

She stared at him, her heart breaking anew. "But it doesn't have to be."

He shook his head, turning away from her. "Yes, it does. Accept it, Y/N. This is our reality."

With that, he left the room, leaving her standing there, her hopes shattered. She sank to the floor, the sobs she had been holding back finally breaking free. The walls of their home, once a place she had hoped would be filled with love and warmth, now felt like the cold, unyielding bars of a prison.

--

Y/N sat in the corner of their modest home, her brush gently sweeping across the canvas. The soft strokes of paint were like whispers, echoing her unspoken thoughts. Her fingers traced the curves of a landscape, every stroke a memory of a love lost and a life forsaken.

"My dear," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "this painting… it's a piece of my heart. Just like you."

She paused, her hand resting on her swollen belly, feeling the gentle movements within. The baby kicked gently, as if in response to her words. Y/N smiled faintly, a bittersweet expression crossing her face.

"You know," she continued, her voice tinged with sadness, "there was someone before your father. Someone who made me feel… alive."

Her mind drifted back to a time before the arranged marriage, before duty overshadowed desire. She remembered a young officer in the Defense Force, his smile warm and his eyes full of kindness. They had shared stolen moments of happiness, their love blossoming amidst the chaos of kaiju attacks and endless battles.

"He was an officer," she whispered, her voice catching with emotion. "Brave and kind. He made me feel loved, truly loved."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she recalled the day he had died, sacrificing himself to protect others from a rampaging kaiju. The pain of loss still lingered, a wound that had never fully healed.

"I wished…" Y/N's voice trembled as she spoke to her unborn child, "I wished it could have been him. That I could have married him instead."

She paused, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. The painting before her was a testament to her longing, a silent tribute to a love that had been torn away too soon.

"But life doesn't always give us what we want," she whispered sadly. "Sometimes we have to accept what we're given and find our own strength."

As she painted, the colors blended together in a kaleidoscope of emotions. Each brushstroke was a testament to resilience, to the quiet determination to create beauty from pain.

"You," she said softly, placing a hand on her belly again, "you are my hope. My reason to keep going, even when the world feels cold and lonely."

The baby stirred within her, as if sensing her love and sorrow. Y/N smiled through her tears, her heart heavy yet somehow lighter for having spoken her truth.

"We'll make our own happiness, won't we?" she whispered, her voice filled with quiet determination. "Together, we'll find a way to make our own path, away from duty and expectations."

With a final stroke of her brush, Y/N completed the painting. It was a masterpiece of longing and loss, a testament to a love that had been and a love that was yet to come.

As she gazed at the finished canvas, she knew that her journey was far from over. But with her unborn child nestled safely within her, she found a renewed sense of purpose and a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for happiness in the midst of duty and sacrifice.

The memory of her lost love lingered like a soft breeze in the corner of her mind. He had been an officer in the Defense Force, dedicated to protecting humanity from the relentless kaiju assaults. His name was never spoken aloud anymore, but in the quiet moments of solitude, Y/N allowed herself to remember.

"He was everything to me your father is not," she whispered to her unborn child, her voice a mix of reverence and sadness. "He was kind, gentle… he made me feel cherished."

She recalled their stolen moments together, stolen from the chaos of battle and the pressures of duty. Their love had been a secret, a fragile oasis in a desert of obligations.

"He understood my dreams," Y/N continued softly, her eyes distant as she painted. "He encouraged me to paint, to pursue what made my heart sing."

But fate had been cruel. In the heat of battle, he had sacrificed himself to save others, a hero's death that left Y/N shattered and alone.

"I never got to tell him," she murmured, tears glistening on her cheeks. "I never got to tell him how much I loved him."

The painting before her captured the essence of their love—a tranquil landscape bathed in warm hues, a reflection of the peace they had briefly found together.

Y/N set down her brush, her fingers lingering on the canvas. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of paper and the gentle rhythm of her own breathing. She glanced at the painting, feeling a sense of peace settle over her weary heart.

"And your father," she said softly, her thoughts turning to Soshiro Hoshina, Vice-Captain of the Defense Force's Third Division. "He's not like him. But he… he has his own strengths."

Y/N's gaze softened as she thought of Soshiro, proud of his position and the dedication he showed to his duty. Despite their strained relationship, she admired his commitment and the way he commanded respect among his peers.

"I wish he would make an effort," she admitted quietly to her unborn child, "to see beyond duty and obligation."

There were moments, fleeting glimpses, where she saw glimpses of kindness in Soshiro's eyes, moments that stirred a fragile hope within her. She longed for him to understand, to bridge the distance that separated them.

"He could be a good father," Y/N murmured, her voice tinged with longing. "If only he would try."

With a sigh, she placed a hand on her belly again, feeling the baby's reassuring movements. In that tiny life, she found solace and strength—a reason to hope for a future where love and happiness could coexist with duty and sacrifice.

As the sun began to set outside, casting long shadows across the room, Y/N vowed to cherish the memories of her lost love while nurturing the possibility of a new beginning with Soshiro and their unborn child. She knew the road ahead would be challenging, but she was determined to find a way to make peace with the past and embrace the future that awaited them all.

In the quiet of their home, amidst the whispers of her heart and the promise of tomorrow, Y/N found a sense of resilience and hope that would carry her through the trials yet to come.

"I think one day, he'll come around, he's a great man, but we are stuck to a evil situation, I'll keep pursuing him maybe with the right timing, he'll see i'm worth his heart."

--

Y/N stood before the mirror in the bedroom, her reflection framed by soft morning light filtering through the window. She smoothed down the fabric of the floral dress she had chosen carefully, a hint of makeup highlighting her features. Today, she had decided, would be different. Today, she would make an effort.

With a determined breath, she adjusted a stray lock of hair and nodded to herself. Maybe, just maybe, today Soshiro would notice her efforts. She clung to that hope like a lifeline as she gathered a lunchbox filled with his favorite foods and headed out.

-At the Defense Force Headquarters-

The Defense Force Headquarters bustled with activity as Y/N navigated the corridors, the lunchbox cradled carefully in her hands. She had never been to the headquarters before, but she was determined to surprise Soshiro and show him that she cared.

She found her way to the Third Division's office, heart fluttering with nerves. The door was open, revealing a team of officers engrossed in their duties. Soshiro stood at the front, his commanding presence unmistakable. Y/N's pulse quickened as she approached, a nervous smile playing on her lips.

"Soshiro," she greeted softly, trying to catch his attention.

He looked up briefly, his expression guarded. "Y/N? What are you doing here?"

Her smile faltered for a moment, but she pressed on. "I… I brought you lunch. I thought we could have lunch together."

Soshiro glanced around at his team, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. "You shouldn't have come here," he murmured, his voice barely concealing his annoyance.

Y/N felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her cheeks, but she pushed it aside. "I just wanted to do something nice for you," she insisted, holding out the lunchbox.

He hesitated for a moment before reluctantly accepting it. "Thank you," he said curtly, his gaze flickering over her outfit and makeup "Why are you wearing that? And are you wearing make up?"

She smiled, she did something right. "Yes, do you like it ? I thought that it would look nice."

"You're too big for that right now, wear something appropiate for God sake." ...oh

Some of his teammates exchanged glances, the awkward tension dancing in their eyes. Y/N fought to keep her composure, her cheeks burning with humiliation.

"Always putting on a show." Soshiro remarked casually to his team, his tone dismissive.

Laughter erupted from the group, the sound echoing in the small office. Y/N's heart sank as she fought back tears, her hands trembling, also laughing, as if she didn't recognize the mocking.

"I... I also made a cake for everyone, I hope everyone likes chocolate, you guys work really hard, so I decided to give you something since I was already planning on coming here." She tried, she really did, she just put it down and pretended to be as happy as she could fake.

"I… I'll leave you to it," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, she turned and hurried out of the office, the sound of laughter following her down the corridor.

--

Outside, Y/N found a secluded spot in the courtyard, hidden away from prying eyes. She sank to the ground, clutching her knees to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. The lunchbox lay forgotten beside her, the food suddenly tasteless.

"Why do I even bother?" she whispered to herself, her voice thick with despair. "No matter what I do, it's never enough."

She had tried so hard to make Soshiro notice her, to earn his affection and respect. She had dressed up, put on makeup, gone out of her way to show him how much she cared. And yet, it had all been for nothing.

"He doesn't care," she sobbed, the weight of rejection crushing her spirit. "He'll never care."

The courtyard was silent around her, the air heavy with the weight of her disappointment. She wiped away her tears with trembling hands, trying to regain her composure.

"He's right," she muttered bitterly to herself. "I do try too hard. I should have known better."

But deep down, beneath the pain and humiliation, a small voice whispered defiantly. She deserved to be loved. She deserved to be seen, not as a burden or an obligation, but as a person worthy of affection.

--

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N found herself retreating further into the confines of her room. The once vibrant woman, filled with dreams of painting and love, now felt like a shadow of herself. Pregnancy had brought changes to her body—subtle at first, but increasingly noticeable to her critical eyes. She avoided mirrors, unable to face the reflection that stared back at her with insecurities and doubts.

Her maids bustled about the house, attending to chores she once took pride in doing herself. Y/N had withdrawn from everything that brought her joy. The easel stood untouched in the corner, the canvas blank and waiting for strokes that never came. Meals went half-eaten as she tried to compensate for the weight she felt she had gained.

"I'm not pretty enough," she whispered to herself, fingers tracing the curve of her belly where their unborn child nestled. "Not worth it enough."

She stayed in a separate room from Soshiro, their marriage now a chasm of unspoken words and unmet expectations. The sound of his footsteps in the hallway made her heart race with a mix of hope and fear. She longed for him to notice her absence, to care enough to reach out, but each day passed in silence.

--

Soshiro returned from a long day at the Defense Force headquarters, his thoughts troubled. He had noticed Y/N's absence at meals, her retreating presence a stark contrast to the woman he had married—a woman he barely knew. His duties had consumed him, but now a gnawing worry clawed at his conscience.

"Soshiro," his second-in-command called as he entered their shared living space. "Have you seen Y/N? She hasn't been around."

He paused, his brow furrowing. "She's probably in her room," he replied nonchalantly, though his heart tightened with concern.

"She hasn't been seen all day," his second-in-command pressed, his voice tinged with worry.

Soshiro's footsteps quickened as he made his way to Y/N's room. The door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the dim hallway. He pushed it open gently, his eyes searching the room.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on the floor. She looked fragile, her shoulders slumped and her expression distant. The room felt suffocating with unspoken tension.

"Y/N," Soshiro began tentatively, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his briefly before flickering away. "What do you want, Soshiro?" Her voice was hollow, devoid of its usual warmth.

"I've been worried," he admitted softly, stepping closer. "You haven't been yourself lately."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, tinged with self-derision. "My apologies for inconveniencing you," she replied, her tone laced with bitterness.

Soshiro frowned, kneeling in front of her. "Y/N, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

She shook her head, strands of hair falling around her face. "It doesn't matter," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm just… not good enough, am I?"

He reached out to touch her hand, but she flinched away. "That's not true," he insisted, his voice firm. "You are more than enough."

Y/N laughed again, a bitter sound that echoed in the quiet room. "Do you know what it's like, Soshiro? To feel invisible in your own life? To try so hard, only to realize it's never going to be enough?"

He hesitated, at a loss for words. Guilt gnawed at him—the guilt of neglect, of failing to see the pain she carried beneath a facade of duty.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't realize…"

"You didn't realize," she echoed, tears welling in her eyes. "You didn't even notice."

Silence enveloped them once more, broken only by the faint sound of her stifled sobs. Y/N wiped away her tears with shaking hands, her resolve hardening with each passing moment.

"I'll make it easy for you, Soshiro," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "I'll be the perfect obedient wife. I'll fulfill my duty and nothing more."

"No," he protested, reaching for her hand again, but she pulled away.

"It's better this way," she insisted, her tone final. "You won't have to worry about me anymore."

With that, she rose from the bed, leaving him sitting there, his heart heavy with regret and a sense of loss he couldn't fully comprehend. She walked past him, her steps measured and purposeful, as if steeling herself against the pain.

Soshiro watched her go, a knot tightening in his chest. He wanted to chase after her, to hold her and tell her that she was wrong—that she was loved and cherished. But he remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by his own inadequacies and the weight of their fractured relationship.

--

Alone in her room once more, Y/N sank to the floor, her back against the cold wall. Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked now, the weight of her despair crushing her spirit.

"I tried," she whispered to the empty room, her voice breaking. "I tried so hard."

Her hand rested on her belly, feeling the gentle kicks of their unborn child. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

In the darkness of her room, surrounded by the echoes of shattered dreams and unspoken words, Y/N allowed herself to grieve. She grieved for the love she had lost, for the hope that had faded, and for the woman she had once been.

But amidst the darkness, a tiny spark of determination flickered—a resolve to survive, for her sake and for the child growing within her. She didn't know what the future held, but she vowed to find a way forward, even if it meant burying her own desires and dreams beneath a facade of duty and obedience.

[t-tomuras]

✺ ─── • 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬

Pairing: Kitsune!Katsuki Bakugou x F!Neko!reader

Wordcount: 3.2k

Warnings: Kinda lore heavy, katsuki and reader are animal spirits with ears + tails, clawing, pinning, taunting, blood, biting, creampie.

Notes: Silly little rewrite I did since I've made some headway with my companion piece featuring Tomura. Fun little AU I share with @katsukikitten inspired by @m-ete0ra's amazing Kitsune Katsuki art!

You’d seen the fires before, nothing created by man ever licked into the night sky quite as high or burned as hot even from miles away. You could be on the other side of the mountain, far from the flames and still know its source by smell alone; you knew well what now scorched your lands was foxfire.

Able to do nothing but lounge in the perch of your tree as you watch the choking smoke plume and singeing cinders blot out your view of the full moon and glittering stars as if whatever vendetta the wrathful fox spirit currently held that resulted in the havoc he wrought took precedence. It makes you snarl, deadly elongated canines glinting in the lowlight as mighty trees that stood the test of time now cracks, splinters and tips from both the blaze and the spirit destructively flitting about the forest floor below.

Watching with a look of utter disdain over all the desolation the spirit, what the humans foolishly revered as gods, caused. Yet still the Mountain God himself favored them over your kind simply because the Nekomata refused to appease the humans that encroached on their lands like the kitsunes did. Using mortals as what they truly were and should’ve always remained: prey. 

Tails of pristine fur compared to the neko’s thinner variation, sharing the same feline gaze but somehow only Kitsunes were favorable while the yokai’s were deemed ominous and menacing. The fox spirits, favored only for the beguiling sense of wonder they evoked in the simple minded creatures, rescued the wretched species from a lower station on the food chain. Tales soon spun that painted them as saviors and holier beings and their praises sung while the nekomata’s reputation devolved into scary stories used to instill obedience in naughty children; your kind driven into the shadows and yet still you thrived. 

You, alongside a democratically elected King of the Yokai’s as well as a few other formidable Nekomata, held the power to disrupt the unbalanced ‘natural order’. The king and yourself personally harbor the capability of resurrection, the ability to restore a life as easily as you could take it if you saw it fit. 

And yet, still the world in which you inhabit find a way to demonize you, neither the insolent humans nor the Mountain God were ever satisfied with the feats in which your kind can accomplish. Proclaiming the act part of the dark arts and condemning the practice, only worsening the view and casting longer shadows for your people to stand in. 

Would it be so unspeakable if the Kitsune’s found themselves capable of that gift? Would it still be labeled necromancy unjustly and criminalized? You’re certain the answer would be yet another favorable outcome for your sister race.

Insufferable, infuriating. 

Your fury only grows as you continue to watch the destructive rampage, knowing well that there could be only one culprit with the strength to cause calamity of this magnitude so suddenly; understanding easily that only a ninetails could accomplish such a feat and only one hails from this region, Katsuki Bakugou. If you listen closely enough, you’re almost positive you could hear his maniacal laughter and guttural growls echoing through the night as he finds joy in his tirade that bleeds from his territory into yours. Keen eyes watching from your perch until the flames finally breach the imaginary line that separated his kind’s turf from your own before you pounce. 

Descending from the highest treetop with precision from branch to branch, sleek tail curling and tilting to aid in your venture. It’s easy to find him, even without the heady scent of burning caramel he always exuded, with a path of destruction that leads you right to Katsuki. 

He’s chasing some other poor yokai labeled as evil in nature and an enemy to humanity, a defenseless tengu, fortunately for Katsuki. You already weren’t feeling particularly hospitable with his invasion on your lands but your mood would’ve only stoked into a murderous rage instead of the current ruminating resentment if it were one of your own people. 

You land gracefully atop a sturdy branch as you stop just short of four hundred yards of Katsuki, finding a decent vantage point on a branch in a tree safe from his spreading fire to leisurely observe his actions with increasing contempt from the high ground. It’s funny, would the weak little humans still find spirits like Katsuki so ethereal if they saw the ferocity in which he pursued his prey and towered over the lifeless body before he let it be consumed by his foxfire, reducing it to ash as if to remove the possibility of evidence? 

“You must be bored,” you finally call in a mocking tone, bleeding into playful as you watch Katsuki glance around for the source, “all of this carnage for a lowly tengu? Or are ninetails actually just weak?” Your voice echoes around the open clearing, joining the cacophony of carnage as it dances around for the added effect of coming from all directions. Cat smiling spreading on plush lips before you laugh at the slight bristle to the fur of his tails and the way he hunches into an offensive position despite not knowing your location. 

Yet. 

Katsuki’s ears flick wildly but his back remains to you, cautious not to give away that he’s trying to pinpoint your location but you’re smart. You know better than to taunt your targets from a stationary point when you intended to attack. 

Smile on your lips tugging further into a full cheshire grin to twist pretty features as you gracefully circled Katsuki from the high ground. Quietly darting from branch to branch in the surrounding trees, burning or otherwise.  

“Found it along my way,” haughtiness bleeding into the rumbling grown of his voice as his spine straightens in feigned nonchalance, “recognized its nasty scent as the one that stole from my kin.” 

Dazzling bromine attempts to track your practiced erratic movements, watching for any leaf that flutters hastily to the ground and listening for the slightest groan of tree bark that’s even moderately a pitch different to the others that burn under his fire.

“But you smell like something else I’ve been lookin for.” 

Katsuki crouches low on his haunches, shoulders creeping high as his tails of a beautiful gradient of off white and toasted gold fur swirl and sway like the flames that rage in the underbrush around you. The hair on your nape stands on end as bromine hues begin to glow brighter and you recognize the beginnings of a casting, your own feline-like pupils constricting with intent and from the dazzling blaze before you finally pounce. Sharp claws gouging flesh from his sculpted back first, finding purchase in his shoulder blades as you toppled Katsuki to the ground from the force. Your teeth sink deep into the toned flesh of his trapezium muscle next, bidding deep mauve to weep from the wound and down your chin as you bite harder, guttural growl rumbling in Katsuki’s chest. 

“Funny,” your taunt slightly muffled around his flesh, “I thought you gods only bled gold?”

He snarls at that, the vibrations of his pain and rage reverberate against your own sternum as you release your hold a moment later to go for his jugular; but, Katsuki’s quick to recover, staggering to all fours then propelling back to slam your back into the rough bark of a tree behind you. Your hold releases from the force, gasping in a desperate bid to fill your lungs with air in a steady rhythm once more but that moment is all Katsuki needs in order to seize the upper hands. Gives Katsuki enough time to grab at the pretty kimono you wear, certainly stolen from a poor human that strayed too far into the wrong woods of the mountain. 

He fists the delicate material so harshly you can hear it rip as you’re wrenched over his shoulder, back slammed flat into contrastingly frigid solid earth. The base of your skull colliding first and so suddenly you’re unable to guard before the impact, disoriented easily as Katsuki climbs on top of you and pins you down by your hips and shoulders with all of his weight. 

Snarling victoriously and gnashing his teeth tauntingly as he crowds your space, making you thrash even more wildly than you would by simply being pinned with the unwelcome proximity. Writhing just enough for your knee to come up and connect with the sensitive tissue dangling unprotected between meaty thighs that makes Katsuki growl again.

Though he doesn’t buckle the way most others do, you should’ve expected enough of him and his infamous nature. Grunting as he pushes your head into the ground with his palm and impresses more of his weight to secure you properly. Bakugou palms your face then, tilting it upwards to give him clear access to your throat with the intention of ripping out your windpipe in one fell swoop. 

Panic threatens to seize your lungs, your claws desperately dig into Katsuki’s skin but he pays the pain no mind, going for the kill only to stall with his dripping maw almost enveloping your throat. Glowing bromine widening and burning brighter as he retracts just enough to press his nose against your pulse point, earning a surprised yelp from you that makes saliva gather on his tongue. Worsening to the point it drips from the corners of his lips with the scent that clouds Katsuki’s senses. 

Usually overpowering notes of ash and poison that naturally comes with dabbling in the dark arts are successful in masking the individual scent of each demon but that doesn’t seem to be the case with you.

The ominous scent is greatly overshadowed by the overwhelmingly pleasant notes of orchids and berries that linger on your skin even despite the smell of burning wood that chokes the atmosphere. An intoxicatingly sweet mix that has Katsuki inhaling deeply again, finding your wrists to grasp with a bruising strength in one hot palm in a subtle threat of foxfire as he pins them to the ground above you. Splaying you out beneath him as he shifts, pressing his thicker shins into your own to effectively immobilize you despite your thrashing before placing his free hand at your ribs. Pads of his fingers digging into your flesh with a bruising strength as the points of his sharp nails just graze puncturing the delicate meat in warning to keep still.

He chastises himself even as he drinks in the smell of you, reminding himself that you’re a demon and he has a duty to put you down and yet he can’t. Drunk on everything happening in this moment, ignoring how you hiss at him threateningly but not how you buck your hips into him. You hope to cast him away, even with the difference of strength, it’s your center of gravity, you should have the advantage but he uses his weight and build to his own, snarling long and low until you reluctantly settle.

Katsuki takes it as a submission, and with each deep inhale of you, his nose glued to the column of your throat that begs for him to run the flat of his tongue up the expanse of it, he feels slightly deluded into thinking it’s also a reciprocation of interest.

The more rational side of his brain, quieter now as he loses himself to lust, reasons this has to be some cheap spell he’s never encountered before but he can’t bring himself to care. Doesn’t really feel the need to break himself of its hold, at least not before he satiates the carnal desire bubbling in his gut, roaring in his veins and threatening to consume him the way his foxfire engulfs the forest around them. 

He shakes the distracting line of thought away, fully devoting himself to this moment and his desire as he tightens his hold on your wrists so the other can slide from your ribs, down your waist and push your pelvis into the ground. Thick and calloused thumb digging into the fat of your hip as he does and he succeeds in pulling a pretty whine from you that makes his cock stir against your mound. He releases a shaky breath, lips parted for the humid puff to dampen the skin of your throat and send a pleasant tremble down your spine. Lips resting at the curve of your shoulder before his tongue laps up your throat, forcing you to tilt your chin upwards with the movement and give him more access, crimson hues threatening to roll at the slightly salty taste of your flesh on his tongue. 

Katsuki has to swallow thickly, hum rumbling in his throat as he adjusts his body so his hips slot between plush and powerful thighs to grind his cock against your barely covered cunt. Your legs almost instinctively spread further to feel the delicious friction at your burning core even though your mind screams to fight back, that now is the perfect opportunity to free yourself. That he’s still a fox, a wretched spirit that believes themselves a god, a man who’s heart you should steal and bring back to the king as a spoil of war while Katsuki’s distracted but you don’t. 

You can’t.

Almost purring along with him as his hot palm paws at the fullness of your chest, thick digits a ghosting tease over pebbled nipples, torso nearly exposed from the way he’d manhandled you earlier and he forces your back into a slight arch from his nosing alone. 

Another deep breath from him, inhaling you once more as your own lips part around a silent moan as Katsuki’s face presses against your jugular but you don’t feel threatened in the slightest, “yer not who I’m lookin for.” 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it wasn’t Katsuki’s sudden and altogether withdrawal from you. Soothing weight against your body is gone all at once, already on his feet and palming at his hard cock as he leaves it neglected while you sit up on your forearms, working to regain your senses quickly before Katsuki is able to leave.

And you react violently the moment you do, as you should. Ears flattened against your skull and teeth bared at the ninetails as he swipes at the drying blood you’d drawn from him earlier, already thinking of how he’ll explain to the village healer just how exactly he’d gotten such deep wounds for her to mend. 

But there’s a smirk on his face as he crouches low enough to grab at you from your underarms, gravely voice settling deep into your bones and (regretfully, for you) straight to your throbbing clit, “but you might be now.”

Your eyes widen as he lifts you, pressing you to his body as your back connects with the tree trunk he’d slammed you against earlier. Katsuki paws roughly, fingers digging harshly into the meat of your under thighs just below the curve of your ass, urging them to hook over his hips. Lips melding with yours in a bruising kiss before you can spit venom at him, prefer a less verbal sort of tongue lashing from you while he fumbles at the obi of his Yukata, pushing the material back enough to free his aching cock without leaving him fully bare.

Pushing at the already open neck of your kimono to finally expose your chest before he shoves at the intricately layered obi to peel away the layers that hides away your weeping slit, slotting his length between your folds with a throaty groan at the feel when he’s revealed a satisfying amount of your body to him. Tongue swiping over yours, rutting into you slowly to coat himself in your slick while the fat tip kisses your clit with each drag that has you mewling sweetly for him. Rewarding Katsuki with wanton moans to swallow greedily, repeating the action almost cruelly slow, just enough to draw more pretty sounds from you but not enough to deliver you sweet rapture until he catches at your fluttering entrance. 

He pushes in slowly when he does, the gradual stretch so delicious your eyes roll and you reach between your body’s to grasp at the girthy base as if you want to push him in quicker. It makes Katsuki chuckle against your lips, ducking to your throat to hear your mewls uninhibited as he marks you with a gentler touch as he sees fit. 

As gentle as a man like him can be, anyway. Sharp canines scraping against this skin, raising the flesh in his wake before leaving deep punctures to lap at the blood he draws with a low hum.

You’ll regret allowing this later, you know, sure to sneer at your reflection but for now you moan unabashedly as you both find a satisfying rhythm. Eager to reach euphoria even if it was with a creature you were predisposed to loathe. 

But those were the best kinds of highs, the things you shouldn’t partake in nor enjoy. Sinking your claws into his shoulders when Katsuki nudges at that spongy patch within you just right while you keen. He’s quick to take cues, especially with the way your cunt squeezes him tightly, groaning in turn, claws digging into the tree bark with a ferocious grip as he fleetingly tries to subdue his climax while yours washes over you in pleasant waves.

Teeth grit as he feels the coil tighten in his abdomen, driving into you with precision until you’re careening over the edge so soon after your first one with a cry of his name. Head lolled back for him to freely nip at your throat, sucking another mark right at your pulse point. Drinking in the inebriating mixture of your natural scent, burning pine and the sheen of sweat that clings to both of your bodies as you cream around him. 

Thrusting into you with a renewed vigor when you slacken against him, desperate for his own euphoria after relishing your own. Running his tongue along his canines, gripping tightly at your hips while you can only helplessly take what he has to offer. His jaw hangs agape the closer he teeters on the edge, sac tightening when you clutch at Katsuki’s shoulders, sharp nails of your own carving out your pleasure in his flesh as you whine in such a sweet way, begging “please suki, please.” 

As if your only need is for him to fill you so full his seed will leak around his spent cock.

Grunting in a near animalistic way as he hurtles towards his demise, sinking his teeth into your shoulder when he reaches his peak, groaning long and low against your skin like he was more than relieved. Painting velvet walls pearly white in thick spurts, hips twitching into yours until he feels the threatening sting of overstimulation. 

Allowing both of you to bask in the afterglow of your coupling as felled trees crackle soothingly in your surroundings. If you closed your eyes, if you were delusional enough anyway, you could imagine a plush mattress top caressing the skin of your back instead of biting bark and the crackling of woof sounds from a warm heart. That maybe your lover was just that and not a mortal enemy that precedes your own bloodline.

He pulls his softening cock from you, shushing your pitiful whine playfully as he tucks himself away before lowering you until you’re settled on the ground and certain you stand on mostly steady feet. 

Practicing a tenderness you didn't know the kitsunes to have as Katsuki takes the time to fix your clothing, smirk only widening as you hum in the afterglow of your orgasm tipping your chin for your hazy gaze to meet his. 

Regarding you as if he had something to say before his lips press to yours again and you melt into the contact, indulging in him for just a moment longer before Katsuki is sure to stoke another flame in you. One that will burn with the fuel of determination to have his heart in your hand before long, muttering a sultry taunt into your skin as he expects to partake in you again.  “Mountain God’s wrong, you yokai’s are good for somethin after all.”

[fatkish]

Hi I really liked your post for Gyomei with a reader who is like, more of a natural spirit than a demon. Would you be up for doing HCs with Sanemi x reader who is a "natural" demon. This one is maybe more spicy and aggressive than Gyomei's little friend, but it's mostly directed against Muzan's breed of demon, which they will hunt down relentlessly.

Sanemi x Natural Demon Reader HC’s

Part 1/2

You are a natural demon, a demon born from human emotions/wishes/desires and the natural world

You were born from storms and human’s natural fear of their destructive power and wishes for protection from them

You have the ability to control wind and lightning

You have been prayed to and answered prayers from people who have begged for protection

You were protecting a village from demons when you encountered Sanemi

Sanemi had been sent there by his crows, there had been reports of a demon that had been terrorizing the villagers

What neither of you knew, was that it was a small band of demons working together

You were looking for them and trying to find the supposed demon when you encountered both them and Sanemi

You used your wind to slice the demons into pieces, keeping them from regenerating

You and Sanemi were working together until each of the demons had been killed

Once the demons were dealt with, Sanemi turned around and began to attack you

He sliced your head off but you grabbed it and dodged his attacks

You tried reasoning with him but he wouldn’t listen

You decided to grab some chains and managed to chain Sanemi down

He kept trying to fight against you and you couldn’t help but chuckle and reattached your head

You sat down beside him and tried to talk to him but he shouted and cursed you out, telling you he was going to kill you

You tried to tell him that you weren’t the same kind of demon as the ones you fought, but he refused to listen

You then told him that you’d both wait until morning, if you didn’t die from sunlight then you would release him

When he snarled at you and told you to go fuck yourself you smirked and gave him a kiss on the cheek

You then crawled on top of him and told him to settle his feisty ass down or you’d have to ‘calm’ him down, as you said this you traced his scars on his chest

You had always appreciated a muscular man, and this guy was a good looking one, he was cute, if you ignored his vulgarity and violent attitude

You sat beside the tied up man and watched as the sun came up

Sanemi cursed you out and ridiculed you the entire time, he even managed to cut himself and tried to make you react to his blood

When the sunlight finally hit your skin, you smiled and held your arms out, basking in its warmth

You turned around and smiled down at Sanemi, you began to untie him only to be tackled to the ground and caged underneath him

You smiled up at him and ran your leg against his crotch, applying enough pressure to create some stimulation but not enough to hurt

You then flipped him over and caged him with your arms, trapping him

You then leaned down to nibble on his ear and whisper into it, telling him to either calm down or you’re gonna have to get rough with him

He growled and you both began wrestling against each other, eventually Sanemi won, (you let him) and he tied you up before deciding to drag you back to the demon slayers HQ to decide what to do with you

He was rough with you the entire time and constantly threatened you, you only smiled

When you arrived, the other Hashira were there, Sanemi basically threw you to the ground and held his sword at your throat, threatening you not to move or else he’d kill you, you only smiled and decided to play along

When Ubuyashiki arrived, everyone bowed and Sanemi slammed your head into the ground, forcing you to bow, even though you were already tied up

When Ubuyashiki asked about you, asking what kind of demon you were, you told him you were a storm demon, more of a storm spirit, but that you were born from humans and that you actually rely on humans in order to live

Ubuyashiki smiled and asked that Sanemi release you, to which he reluctantly did. Ubuyashiki and his wife then bowed to you and asked that you forgive Sanemi for his actions

You quickly reassured them that it was fine, you didn’t mind and you had fun

You walked over to Kagaya and inspected his face, you then told him that his curse could possibly be removed, but that you don’t have the ability to do so

The Hashira each turned their heads to you so fast you thought they’d each hurt their necks. They asked you if it was truly possible to save their master

Ubuyashiki looked at you with hope in his eyes and asked your opinion

You told him that a natural sun or fire spirit may have the power to rid him of his curse, or perhaps even a moon spirit, but that they’d have to be powerful enough to burn away the curse with their own life force, or they’d risk their own life

Sanemi begged you to help find a spirit capable of burning away the master’s curse

You smiled and agreed that you would do your best to try and help locate such a spirit, although your kind were rare, and even if you found one, there’s no guarantee that they’d help. You did have one condition though, you would help, so long as Sanemi and his future kin become devote followers of you

You explained that all Sanemi would have to do is pray to you for protection and power to defeat the demons everyday, and that you would lend him your power, in exchange, his prayers to you would keep you alive, since you were born from humans, you need their prayers to stay alive

Sanemi agreed to become a devote follower and from that day on, you both slayed demons together

You would imbue his sword with actual wind, giving it more power as he attacked demons

Eventually you both got along rather well, he’d even offer you some of his ohagi as an offering

[ambrosialdesire]

Can I request yandere porco x reader who doesn't take him seriously/ isn't afraid of him or being bratty or whatever so he transforms to scare her

hellion

18+ DARK CONTENT BELOW, MINORS + BLANK BLOGS DNI

pairing: s4 porco x fem!reader word count: 5.9k warnings + tags: general yandere and obsessive themes, unhealthy relationships, past + current human-trafficking/purchase mentions, forced feminization/infantilization, stockholm syndrome development, forced proximity, torture/violence mentions (choking, starvation, drowning, tying up), drugging (sedation), prey & predator vibes, kinda psychological horror?, humiliation, slight praise, degradation, slight gaslighting, kinda mindbreaky, all characters are 18+ synopsis: you were an impulse purchase that he never thought he'd make before, and although he doesn't regret it, he's having a difficult time trying to soothe your feisty spirit. who knew that all it took was one transformation and a chase you'll never forget? a/n: i'm gonna be so fr idk how to write bratty characters LOL i rarely read bratty readers in general so i'm really free-balling this 💀 kinda simple and to the point compared to my other fics, esp since i've never wrote for porco before so this is like testing the waters and most likely SUPER ooc. it's also more of a psychological fic since i'm not in the mood of writing complete nsfw haha but i hope you enjoyed this anon! sorry it also took so long to be done but then took me like three days to make and edit 😅 (i still think it's a little sloppy, esp the end BUT that's what anon questions are for so i can sorta explain and piece it together more lol) again, hope y'all enjoy!! note: please keep in mind of the tags above and do not proceed if triggering or uncomfortable, especially if you are a minor!! do not read my or any other writers' dark content if you are underaged. this is a fictional work and does not reflect irl morals, do not believe this is how a real romance works or functions.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

He hated when you got like this, putting up a constant nonsensical fight against him.

You'd be a perfect candidate to be his successor from the way you bite down into his skin when he tried to touch you, scratching up his face when he got too close, and always almost managing to slip through his grasp to dash towards the open basement door before he tugged the chain wrapped around your throat back towards him, watching you bare your teeth at him angrily. You were truly a wild animal, that's why he chose you in the first place.

Porco wanted to tame this wild spirit of yours, simply for the fact to see if he could.

Little progress was made, he made your purchase not long ago in the slums of Liberio, where the truly wicked and evil roamed to sell and purchase anything deemed illegal by the Marleyan government. As much as he refused to take these kinds of assignments, preferring to be back on the battlefield with Zeke and Pieck, Porco was already in deep waters for fighting with Reiner again. Not his fault that the Vice Captain's face was so punchable. Thus, here he was, being forced to shut one of the operations down that was said to involve a human-trafficking ring. Down he went alone in disguise, shuffling through the disgusting sweaty bodies of devil scum drooling over a piece of fresh meat on the stage.

He remembered got a good view of the bidding, eyeing each fearful chained-up person with boredom until you were pulled up. God, you really were the star of the stage. Two burly men had to tug your fighting body onto the crumbling wooden stage, a mixed sound of what could be a snarl and screech emerging through your cracked and bruised lips as you refused to move any further. You put up a good fight against the henchmen, the crowd jeering at the display of tug-o-war.

Once they managed to get you to the middle, the auctioneer started to ramble on about your pricing. Your hands may be wrapped in cloth and tied together, but the minute he neared you to show you off, you struck him with a mean uppercut, almost pouncing on him once he fell over before the two men held you back. Even then, you were thrashing around on your wounded feet, spitting out curses and howls at the fuckers beneath you, telling them that you'd hope they'd all burn and rot in hell.

He's the only one that snorted at that statement, feeling all eyes on him.

Porco really wasn't any different from those around him as he raised his hand up, offering over a thousand for the wild girl, more than what the other fucks around him could possibly afford. It won't make a dent in his bank account either because once he takes you home, the authorities would've already been called to the place. He gets to keep his money and you, while Marley gets rid of more scum; a two in one deal. You glared down at him, a burning fire settling deep within the darks of your pupils as he grinned back in return.

You were going to be a fun little purchase, that he's sure of.

He didn't really want to, but considering that you were a snappy little thing, you had to be down in the basement of his home until he managed to get your temper under control. The chain was long enough for you to reach the bathroom down there from the bed, but not long enough to reach the door. Once you managed to slightly calm down, realizing that your new "owner" was unfazed by your act as he leaned against the wall, you cautiously settled on the bed. You were still tense, unsure of what his intentions are.

"You got a name?" Porco started, finally breaking the silence as he crossed over his arms.

"You have my papers, don't you?" Your eyes squinted at him, the raspy retort coming quick out your mouth. He did, but he didn't bother looking at them just yet.

He scoffed, pushing himself off the wall, slowly stepping closer to you. "Snarky one, aren'tcha? Just tryna be a little civil here."

"Civility? Don't make me laugh. Buddy, you're the one that bought me. I think we both know that any sort of civility you had has been long gone the moment you raised your stinkin' fucking hand in the auction and brought me down here." If your temper wasn't enough indication of a need of reformation, your mouth definitely was.

"I'm surprised you even lasted that long in the slums with that tongue and attitude of yours, most would've been turned into chopped meat without even a second thought." You were about to say something back before he slammed his hand into your face, pushing your head into the bed and prying your mouth open with his fingers. A gurgle of a scream erupted out of your throat as you struggled to push him off you, but no dice.

"But I'm not like most. Me? I could crush your skull whenever I want, maybe slowly pull each of your limbs apart so you'll feel each tendon and ligament rip away from your sorry torso." Porco pushed harder until you got the message, silencing yourself as your face ached and throbbed from the pressure, yet your eyes still held that same vindictiveness from the auction that never seemed to quite be quenched. Your jaw abruptly closed around his fingers, a pained hiss slipping out of his lips as the pearly whites grinded into his skin.

He's going to relish seeing that light die from you, when you finally realize that he's the sole reason of your living, that you should've been grateful from the start that he's the one that bought you instead of the beer-gut ridden trash that wasted away in the slums.

Porco finally removed his hand out of your mouth, drool and teeth indentations staining his fingers. Light steam was coming off of them, the superficial wounds closing up. He knew you caught that, eyes focused on his hand.

"Now, get some rest. Training begins tomorrow."

‘•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’

When he said training, he meant torture.

That's what you thought as you experienced every debilitating and humiliating ritual he forced onto you every day. You eventually learned his name because of someone saying it upstairs — God you wished that the floors above were as soundproof as the basement's walls— Porco, but you called him 'piggy' sometimes, despite him trying to train you into saying sir. Simple, but it got him irritated real fast.

Porco was a strange man, you knew he was definitely not like the other men you've came across in your imprisoned life. Every wound you made on his person, no matter how deep you curled your nails into him or bite down as hard as you possibly could, he was left unblemished. Not even a fading scar or lasting indent, it was as if you've never injured him in the first place.

He bled, the taste of iron familiar on your tastebuds, but it really was like nothing occurred after a few minutes. You knew that he healed fast too, that weird steam came out of the wounds right after you inflicted it from what you could see with the lantern light, but you don't know why it did. Were you so out of touch from the outside for so long that new medical advancements were made?

He also disappeared for short periods of time, leaving you occasionally starving if he didn't leave enough food beforehand and surprisingly bored; he was really your only company nowadays, so it was quite frustrating to come to the conclusion that you'd even miss the bastard despite the shit he's made you go through. Once Porco came back though, he'd be a little nicer to you but that would last for roughly a week once you gotten sick of his company again.

He only sedated you when he needed your complete compliance or when he deemed you too much, your head rolling around weakly as he undresses and bathes you with him in the tub, the heightened sensation of calloused hands brushing against every inch of your skin. You may be out of it, but every other sensation was magnified. It was the only peace the two of you got with each other, even if you weren't a truly willing participant.

Porco was also quiet when it came to this activity, the steam and heat of the tub creating a slight flush on his tanned cheeks as he leaned back against the porcelain. His normally gelled-back blond hair would be damp and falling over his face, expression lax. You thought he was on the completely lankier side before since you rarely see him without the green coat, but no, he was quite muscular despite being pretty slender.

It made sense, he's lifted and thrown you like you weighed absolutely nothing, holding you down without much struggle, and letting you exhaust yourself while he looked completely normal.

He seemed disinterested in each other's nudity, though you did notice the first few times when he started the bathing routine that he took in every little detail of your body, eyes wandering more than usual. It's not like you could've stopped him and he never touched you sexually, only touching your privates to clean those areas. You've accidentally let out a quietly hitched breath here and there when he brushed those digits of his in-between your pussy, your drugged mind struggling to comprehend the feeling. You believed that he never noticed during those mishaps, not bothered in the slightest during it but whenever he got out of the tub first, it was pretty obvious he'd be partially aroused.

You wouldn't say that you were completely innocent in the act of staring at the other either, you've spotted his cock more than a few times and were slightly internally glad that he never took it for a spin against you. He must be a show-er more than a grower (if he was any lengthier hard, you might be in trouble), but he was notably bigger than the other disgusting men you've came across. Thank god for that, at least. It was finally nice looking at a man that wasn't built like a water buffalo in denial of balding and having the smallest dick around.

As time passed by, you feel like you confirmed your suspicions that he never really was interested in using you for any sexual needs, he was more into seeing how much it would take for you to break. Maybe he's done this to others to get his rocks off, but you'd never give into the sick man's perversions.

One thing that was prominent you've noticed while in his care was that he rarely made you do anything by yourself. He's the one that fed you with you on his lap, clothed you in stupidly feminine outfits from the start of the day to the night, bathed you alongside him. He cleaned and dressed any wounds you inflicted on yourself, but left surface scratches and bruises alone. Porco was in complete control and if you didn't let him take the reins, that's when the punishments rolled in.

Balancing books on your head as you stood on your tiptoes, if any of them fell or if you went back on your heels, he'd hit the back of your calves hard with a riding crop and restart the entire thing. Forcing your head over a bucket of freezing cold water, asking you difficult questions with no right answers to them, and pushing you down into it when you said anything that he didn't want to hear. He choked you out and left you intentionally starved for days when you refused to eat what he made, tied up and blindfolded in a tight closet with no indication of how long time had passed because you didn't want to wear what he chose, anything to ensure that you've learned your lesson.

You didn't, of course you never did. Whenever he asked if you had enough, you only just laughed at him and spat at his face, the punishments only ending once he got tired of it. Your stubborn attitude was the only thing keeping you sane in this world of yours.

No matter how much you were forced to endure endless embarrassment and shame, you'll never grovel or beg for mercy, not even shedding a tear for the agonizing pain you felt as you laid on the scratchy mattress every night. And besides, he wasn't the only one who tried and he most certainly would be the last once you figured out how to get out of here.

You felt a jab to your stomach, abruptly waking you from your short rest. The lights weren't even turned on, but even you knew that the next horrid day has just begun, a flashlight blinding you next.

"Morning sweetheart, you know what time it is? It's 3 in the morning, nice and early for our next session. Are you going to be good and let me put your outfit on?" The nicknames only started a few weeks ago, just because you were being obedient and compliant to his demands. It's to make you feel nice, to think that's what you should be doing to get on his good side.

Fuck, he's really insane.

Obviously since you were completely exhausted, you might as well let him take control again until you regained more strength. You nodded slowly, rubbing your eyes as he finally moved the light off of your eyes. He murmured something of a praise, stroking your head gently before going upstairs to retrieve the outfit. You sat there in silence, partially nodding off until you heard his footsteps near the door, body slightly stiffening.

You may not be outwardly afraid of him, but unconsciously, he made you become unintentionally afraid of the new fucked up punishments that he created. At a certain point in this life, it was undeniable not be terrified of something unexpected.

"A friend recommended this new place for women clothes since she noticed I've been in a good mood lately." Porco pushed the door open, a light pink babydoll dress in his hands. "Ain't it nice? Might be better than all the other ones I've put you in, the seamstress really has outdone herself, don't you think sweetie?"

Everything about it looked too short, ruffles and lace making most of the skirt and the sleeves overtly puffy. He may think he's putting you into something cute, but it was obviously something uncomfortable to wear. It's intentionally supposed to make you tick, you knew it was.

"It's..." You started, thinking about how to go around this without sounding offensive. "Pink."

He frowned, obviously expecting more from you but simply shook his head. Alright, that was a somewhat valid response.

"Still tired huh? Yes, most of your clothes are pink, but this one," He placed the dress next to you, along with the undergarments and shoes. "This one is for a special occasion."

Special occasion? A year must've already passed by since he purchased you, it wouldn't be all that surprising if he was celebrating that. You lifted your arms up and let him remove your nightgown, leaving you only in your underwear. Porco removed the dress from the hanger, turning towards you and pulling the dress over your head and arms, organizing it properly over your body.

Definitely too small now that you were wearing it, the bands around the arms making it feel like you were gonna lose circulation on them and your breasts nearly spilling out of the top of the dress, no matter how much he was adjusting it. The skirt was also way too revealing, just barely covering your panties but he soon tugged those off, putting on an even more scantily clad pair. He brushed out your hair, taking a few pieces and attaching a bow with it behind your head. The shoes were just simply white flats, the only part of the outfit that you had no problem with.

"There. Such a beautiful girl, wouldn't you agree?"

He cooed as he stood you up and dragged you to the bathroom, pulling off the drape that covered the mirror. You weren't allowed to use the mirror, that was what he said as one of the rules way back then. You didn't know why he asked that of you, but you've never seen yourself in years anyways, the details of your appearance foggy in each glimpse of a reflecting surface. The basement was dark too, the only sources of light being the flashlight or lanterns that Porco brings down here to see you. But this?

This was the first time you truly felt horrified at anything, bruises of varying colors littering around your skin, most prominently around your neck. You looked sickly, a pale complexion covering your skin, and bone-dead tired, eyebags weighing under your lower eyelids heavily. The only thing that looked decent on you was your brushed out hair and dress, despite how it squeezed at your almost feeble body.

"What... what did you do to me?" Your hands went over your face, feeling your very soul crumple into itself.

Porco snorted, his hand wrapping around your jaw and forcing you to look at the reflection. "Nothing. This is you, all you. The only thing I've done is the bruises but everything else is your fault."

You pushed him back, his body hitting the wooden door with a thud. Tears were starting to well up in your eyes since the first time in forever as you balled your fists at your side. You started wailing, curses slipping through your lips.

"Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"

"Y/N—" His tone was becoming angry, a warning.

Porco never said your name before.

You took off one of the flats and quickly threw it hard at the mirror, multiple fragments shattering off the wall. You grabbed the biggest piece that landed on the ground, feeling the palm of your hand cut open, warm blood spilling down your fingertips. Without a second thought, you lunged at your captor. Porco was stronger as he stopped you midway of your attack, but his hands slipped from the grip he had on your bloody hands and wrists, it was almost unnoticeable but not to you.

With the little strength you had left, you gave it your all, letting out a wrathful shriek as you jabbed the piece into his stomach, twisting it in as deeply as you could.

The world fell silent as you watched his blood seep through his shirt.

This was the first time you've looked into his eyes in the light and this close in general, the hazel color showing nothing but displeasure. You heaved slowly, taking in shaky breaths through your nose. Slowly, you released the shard and backed away from his still-standing body, the chain connected to you rattling along on the stony ground with your movements. Your eyes were still locked onto him, impatiently waiting for him to collapse so you can take the key out of his dying cold body.

Yet, that didn't happen.

"You're fucking pathetic, stupid even." Porco's hand reached for the mirror shard embedded in his gut, pulling it out with a slight hiss, as if it was nothing but a splinter. "If only, just only, you remembered that I can heal from any wound that your dumbass places on me, we wouldn't have this issue but I guess I gave your slow little brain one too many hits."

The steam was coming off of him again as he threw the bloody shard pack into the broken pile, your teeth baring at him.

"What the hell are you? Some kind of monster?" He laughed, pushing his hair back with blood, the red mixing in with the dark blond.

"Worse," Porco charged at you with inhumane speed, grabbing your throat and lifting you up in the air with one hand, your hands clawing at his forearm as black spots began to form in your vision. "I'm one of the worst monsters of them all. A Titan."

‘•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’

You awoke to find yourself in a forest.

Originally, you thought you died. It's been years since you've last seen the outside, even felt the wind's breeze go against your face and feel the rising sun's rays warm up your skin. Yet, as you opened your eyes, you reached out to the grass, feeling the smooth blades brush up against your fingers, you knew you were still alive.

Sitting up, you slowly took in the surrounding environment. Did Porco abandon you because he thought you were dead? A giddy feeling rose up from within, excited about the possibility of finally, finally having the freedom that you've desired for so long. You wobbly stood up, realizing that you were still in the outfit he made you wear, now stained with dried blood. Ugh, at least he should've had the decency to put you back in rags or something before dumping your 'corpse'.

How far were you from the nearest civilization? You'd be lucky if you managed to come across one before either dying of dehydration or starvation, hoping you'd run into an Eldian internment zone rather than a major Marleyan city. Maybe even dying here in the wilderness would be a better death than being around people again, considering that all of them would just disappoint you once more.

There was a sound of grass crunching, small branches breaking from behind you as footsteps drew closer.

"Awake aren't we?" Fuck. You turned around, seeing him standing back at a distance, still wearing his bloody clothes.

"I wish I wasn't now that I know you're here piggy. Goddamnit, why didn't you just fall over and die when I stabbed you?" You grumbled the last half, tugging at the bottom of the skirt dejectedly. From afar, you could imagine that his eyebrow was twitching in irritation once you mentioned the nickname.

"You're so annoying, you know that? It's been a year and no matter what I do to you, you still persist. Still convincing yourself that you can't be broken. You've really ran me dry to figure out what I can do to make that pretty little head internally pop, well, I got one more thing that'll make you finally listen to me." Porco fished out a small pocket knife out of his jacket, holding out his palm for you to see before he sliced the middle of it, blood immediately gushing out.

"I'll give you a 15 minute head start, timer starts when I transform. If you can hide or outrun me, I'll let you go free. No catches, you'll simply be free to walk among us again. But if I find and catch you," A cocky smile grew on his face, pointing the knife down at you. "You're going back to the fucking basement."

Wait. What does he mean by transform?

A flash of blinding lightning appeared abruptly right in front of you, gusts of wind nearly knocking you over. You covered your face to try and shield yourself from the sudden weather change onslaught, the sound of something crunching forming loud in your ears. The light finally faded away after a few minutes gone by, a huge shadow hovering over you instead. Hesitantly, you peered up out of your arms and gaped in horror as you stared at the monster in front of you.

Where Porco once stood, a bony skull-like faced Titan stood before you on all fours, a mane of familiar blonde hair wrapping around its head like a lion. It had a shorter and muscular stature than most Titans you've seen in books before your kidnapping, still towering over you but not as much as a normal Titan would. White-tipped claws on each of its digits were prominent on both its hands and feet, digging into the soft grassy ground beneath it.

What the fuck? What the fuck?! Your captor was the Jaw Titan user the entire time? Is that why he disappeared every now and then? Holy shit, you knew what the Jaw Titan user's dick looks like.

Its small hazel eyes glared down at you through the skull-like mask and you felt frozen to the spot, too afraid to make any move. Was he even still in control of himself in there? A guttural growl came out of it then, snapping you out of it.

Porco's waiting for you to move, he... he wants to chase you down. You have no other choice, and you'd rather put up another fight than to lay down belly-up.

You took off the other flat that still remained on your foot and threw it at the face of the creature, soon dashing as quickly as possible into the lush forest. In your head, you knew your outfit was going to be an immediate sore thumb in the surrounding greens and browns so you started to rip it apart as you ran, trying to scatter the pieces as much as you possibly could to throw off the trail. All you were left in was your thin underwear and even that was a risk to keep on, but it was all you had left to preserve the dignity you were barely holding onto.

As you ran, you felt every stray branch dig into your already-damaged skin and every breath you took in felt like needles in your nostrils. It was better than nothing, better than getting immediately caught by that thing. You don't know how much time has passed since you started running, all you knew was that you must've wasted precious seconds when you gawked at the atrocity of a Titan.

There was a whipping sound and then a thud, trees cracking and breaking behind you. The echo of birds flapping away from the source, cawing in alarm rang loudly in your ears and you felt immediate dread crawl up your spine. Your head start was up, he's coming.

You still ran as fast as you could despite the burning in your underused muscles, trying to find somewhere decent to hide in. An overgrowth, a bush, anything at this point. The sounds of whipping and cracking were getting closer and closer, panic bubbling in your stomach until you missed a step, falling over and knocking the wind out of yourself.

You cried out as quietly as possible once you got air back in your lungs, slowly sitting up with damp dirt clinging onto your bare skin. Taking a glance at the ledge you fell from, an idea popped in your mind. Underneath, it was wide enough to fit your body and deep enough for you to hide in, so long as you could cover yourself up with leaves and dirt. The sound of a gurgling snarl close by meant that you had little time to put your plan into action, and you grabbed the nearby shrubbery in handfuls, crawling into the space as fast as you could.

Laying on your back, your place the gathered materials on your body, completely covered from head to toe. You didn't know how it looked on the outside, but it had to be something that could be overlooked when he was searching around. It had to be because you were not going back, you refused to.

The close rumble of the ground almost had you scream out in terror, but you put your hands over your mouth as tightly as you could, your breaths shaky out of your nose. The thuds grew closer and closer, body jumping with each passing step, and then it stilled. You could slightly see what was going on outside, heart dropping when you immediately spotted him.

The Titan was just standing there, completely still besides his head moving around to scan the area. He must've figured out that your clothing trail had gone cold or that it was fake the entire time, but the one thing you knew was that he was quick to catch up either way. A hissing sound, almost sizzling, broke the silence. You watched as Porco's original body appear out of the creature's upper back, right near the neck.

What. The. Hell.

"You're here, aren't you?" His voice was calm, no hint of frustration or irritation. Porco had too much pride to proven wrong, he was confident that he tracked you in the right spot and you hate that he was correctly onto you.

"Your footsteps stopped not too far from here, y'know. You tryna hide now? Ran out of stamina? Twisted your ankle?"

You clenched your eyes tightly together, praying that he'll give up, that he won't find you. Never in your wretched life have prayed before, but you'd start worshipping the very god that'll manage to make sure that Porco won't look in this shallow cavern.

"Fine. If you don't want to reveal yourself—"

There was another sizzling sound, your eyes opening and seeing that he went back into the body, the creature beginning to move once more. The Titan then opened its bony maw, revealing a second pair of sharper teeth before an ear-bursting screech projected out of it, your hands shooting to your ears to try and cancel out the horrid sound. The scream kept wailing aloud like a never-ending storm alarm, your head beginning to ache. It felt like it was going to pop the longer it went on, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

Silence.

There was a slight ringing in your ears, but the screaming was gone and when you looked out of your hidey-hole, he was no longer standing there. Did he actually give up? You stayed still in the divot, head throbbing and heart pounding against your ribcage. You'll even wait until the next morning if it meant for any kind of confirmation that he was gone.

Suddenly, a claw came down on the roof of your cavern, the sharp tips just barely missing your body. It ripped away the dirt and rock, the sunlight blinding you as you sputtered out the pieces that came down on your face from the removal. Complete fear radiated off your expression as its unnerving mask stared down at your trembling form. You... lost.

You think that its — his — eyes were gleaming with glee right now, seeing how pitiful you looked, filthy and damaged. His hand reached for you, body stiffening as the fingers curled around you, picking you out of the hole carefully. The body of the Titan slumped down and the same hissing sound came out of the back of it, Porco reappearing once more.

"Took me only 30 minutes to find you, what a pathetic attempt of a run," He insulted, leaning his body over the fuzzy head of the creature. "Though, I will have to give props to you with the hiding. I wouldn't have spotted you until you moved in the hole from the scream."

"P-please... make this th... thing stop touching me." You almost whispered, the coldness and rough texture of its grip tight around your body. You hated that you were directly forced to stare at it, its eyes blank but still glaring deep within your soul.

"You afraid of it? You scared of the big bad Titan?" Porco taunted, his arm slightly moving and the grip tightening around you even more. You let out a strangled cry, your breathing becoming erratic. The feeling of the jagged bones jutting into your flesh like squeezing a balloon to its limit, the imagery of your organs bursting out of you, began to make you hysterical.

"Please s-st... stop! P-please! I... I don't want to die! Porco, I'm begging you! Get me out!" You started sobbing, blobs of tears flowing down your cheeks. You hated him, but you hated this monster even more. To think that they were truly real, a true threat to your fragile existence, it was something that was horrifyingly difficult to mentally process.

Porco gawked at your sniveling body, not even trying to wiggle out of the Jaw Titan's hand but still crying out to him for his help. This is what he wanted right? To see you completely give up, to depend on his assistance, to save you. He felt so fuzzy and dizzy on the feeling, almost like he drank too much liquor. Just to play around with you a little more, his hand twitched, causing the Titan to squeeze you even more.

You screamed out in fear once the pressure got even more narrow, your cries resonating louder within the deep forest as you simultaneously begged him to stop. Aw, how adorable but alright, he's had his fun for the day. This might've gotten the message across, let's see how long it'll last or else he'll have to do this again and again if he had to.

"Will you finally listen to me?" He finally spoke up, your teary eyes immediately meeting his and nodding furiously without hesitation.

"Yes! Y-yes I will!"

"And what do I want to hear from you?" You sniffled, looking completely drained of all fight.

"I-I'm sorry... s... s-sir. I wo... won't ever do i-it again."

Porco thought he never felt such euphoria in his life until he heard your apology, a wickedly proud grin growing on his face. He pulled himself out of the Jaw Titan's back, watching the creature start to steam and deflate as he reached for you, peeling its fingers off of your body and helping you down. Unexpectedly, you latched onto Porco once you got on the ground, your arms wrapped around him tightly in a vice hug. You... never did that before.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You repeated over and over again, your tears wetting his coat. "I won't fight you again, I-I promise sir."

His hand reached over to your head, light stroking the tangled strands as you trembled against his body. "That's what you get for being a bitchy brat, you don't want me to do it again right?"

You shook your head in response, gripping onto his clothes even tighter at the thought of being chased by that thing again.

"Then you gotta listen to me better, okay? You listen, no Titan. And now that I'm reminded of your bad manners, you've torn up that pretty dress of yours earlier. That wasn't cheap, you ungrateful bitch. How are you going to make it up to me?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." Worry began to fill up your still-teary expression as you pulled your face out of his shoulder. You were taking every insult with a grain of salt, dismissing them completely. "I-I'll do anything to make it up to you, sir."

Porco really wasn't any different from the devil nuisances down in the slums, an excited shiver going through his system. If you're really offering anything, then he might as well get what he deserved out of you, he's been waiting a year for it after all. He lifted your face with one hand, rubbing away a smudge of dirt off of your skin with his thumb.

"We'll discuss what you can do about it later. Now, let's go home and get ourselves cleaned up, you smell like mud and look like shit." Another apology slipped through your lips as he moved forward with your hand in his, the corners of his mouth curling upwards with pure joy.

The animal within you has become neutralized, the flame dying and being left behind with the fading Titan behind the two of you.

Porco finally got what he paid for.

[woodenanemone]

Choso refuses to gift you the beating core of his lifeblood housed inside his chest, or the inner expanse of knowledge and thoughts he called his brain. He fears that his heart is too finite, his mind too frail. These appendages are far too dishonorable for you, bound by the chains of mortality and human vulnerability. It is only his soul that would suffice, along with the promise of his essence to you, that could be worthy enough to be submitted to you. Only the substance of his spirit could go on after death. And for that, he yields it to you.

poetic choso is ruining my life rn

[intynidad]

The cult leader yan fic is so @#*")-/_+&-?! I can't explain it but *eats fic from how good it is*

Also, I would like to know what does the deity think about the influx of followers, but not for him but for them?

-teacher anon (am I really an anon if I don't ask anonymously LMAO anyways)

I hope my fix tasted well lol

I’m glad you like it so much! Welcome teacher anon!! Also have anyone play cult of the lamb? Because this is inspire by it lol

Yandere cult x cult leaver reader x yandere deity pt2

You sink to your knees, your hands clasped in prayer, as your consciousness begins to drift away, transcending to the ethereal realm of your master.

In the depths of this mystical connection, a resounding voice booms around you, its source elusive yet all-encompassing. It speaks with a commanding presence, echoing from every corner of your being, as if the very fabric of existence is alive with its words.

"Little lamb..." the voice reverberates, its power resonating through your core, drawing you deeper into its enigmatic embrace.

“Master, may I speak freely?” You said still looking into the ground

“You may, my little priest…” Only when your master gives you permission do you dare to rise from your feet, no longer in you cabin but in a dark void where you feel the very fabric of darkness crawls and grabbing your body, not in a malicious way but in a way of making sure you don’t fall.

“You did what I asked you…?”your master say with difficulty

“Yes master, your flock is growing and many people have done the oath in your name”

“Yet they do not follow me” your master booming voice rise in volume

You get to your Knees again and put your hands together.

“They are-are just mindless lambs that do not understand the magnificent of your presence my lord, give them some time and they shall learn” you say not fearing for your life, yet for the ones of YOUR followers

You felt an invisible hand take your cheek delicately

“Make them understand, little lamb and i shall reward you with pleasures and salvation that your human mind cannot comprehend yet”

And with a movement of the same hand you were gone,back into your cavin with a small tear falling down your face.

Meanwhile, in the ethereal realms of your master, a powerful figure gazes upon the chains that bind their form. The once unyielding iron seems to have weakened, but its grip remains firm and unyielding. Despite the exertion and relentless struggle, every attempt to break free is met with the unrelenting resistance of the chains that hold them in place.

However, your master is a patient and tenacious being, having endured the weight of captivity for what feels like an eternity. The longing for freedom courses through their veins, fueling their determination and resolve. They refuse to surrender, even in the face of imminent liberation. The shackles may hold them for now, but the spirit of liberation burns brightly within, ready to seize the moment when the chains finally yield.

When he amasses a multitude of devoted followers and receives the offerings and sacrifices needed, the barriers separating the mortal realm and his ethereal existence will weaken. With each loyal disciple and every sacrificial act, his power grows, edging closer to the coveted goal of manifesting in a tangible form. The anticipation of that transformative moment fills him with an intoxicating mix of anticipation for when he finally gains a physical presence in the mortal realm, he will unleash his divine influence upon the world…

And claim you as his rightful spouse, he dreams of the day he might finally claim you and hear you scream but not from pain but from the pleasure he is planning to give you.

Once he get a physical form he will not let you go,his little lamb

[jacaeryssworld]

of flame and flesh → SYNOPSIS

word count: 1.8k+

main masterlist | story masterlist

Elaenya Targaryen had always been a difficult child. She was a complicated birth, refusing to leave her Mother's, Alicent Hightower, womb long after her twin babe brother, Daeron, had been born. Unborn babe Elaenya had caused so much distress to her young Mothers body that she nearly bled out on her bed, the Sept's debating on whether or not to cut open her stomach to fish the child out. She eventually decided that she was ready to leave the womb and was quickly pushed out of her Mothers body, Alicent's screams echoing throughout the castle as she painfully birthed her last and final babe. The minute she took her first breath, Elaenya made it known just how difficult she was going to be. As all babes do, they come out of the womb screaming and tense, already missing the warmth of their Mother. She was no different. Except, she rarely stopped during her first few months of life.

It was as if Elaenya Targaryen had despised the fact that she was born and wanted everyone to know exactly just how much she hated it. Or that she didn't like her Mother very much. Elaenya cried and whined whenever Alicent tried to pick her up, whatever reason it may be, pushing herself as far away from her Mother as she could once she was in her arms. Her Mother refused to take care of her during any of her fits, leaving the room so the maids and handmaidens could take care of the young girl. It didn't take long for Elaenya to calm down once Alicent had exited the room, burying herself into the wet nurses breast as her brunette Mothers presence was no longer felt. 

It was as if babe Elaenya Targaryen had already known the future actions of her Mother that would be the beginning of their downfall.

Elaenya Targaryen was described as a dragon in humans flesh by the people of the court, not easily being chained by higher authorities, the freedom her spirit and soul constantly craved, and due to her independent nature. It was an accurate description that she took in stride with pride. Striking fear in those who questioned her choices or actions, nearly burning them to ash by her she–dragons flame. Elaenya was every bit an inch a Targaryen as her Father and forebears.

Elaenya often ran wild around the castle halls growing up, her loud giggles bouncing off the walls as her Mothers handmaidens chased after her, enjoying the adrenaline that came with the chase. She touched things that she shouldn't have,  especially if her Mother ordered her not to, cheekily smirking at disobeying her Queen Mother's direct orders. The Targaryen girl also enjoyed sneaking into the kitchens late at night, devouring most of the sweets the cooks had whipped up for the next days breaking of fast. Elaenya never really cared for being caught, nothing bad would happen to her anyways. She was the King's youngest daughter and although he may not love her as much as his eldest daughter, Rhaenyra, he still wouldn't allow anyone to touch a single white strand of hair on her head. The Princess also hated the dresses her Mother made her wear. She felt as if she could barely breathe in those things and would much rather prefer her dragon riding gear or her twin brothers clothes, her and Daeron practically being the same size.

Elaenya and Daeron Targaryen were very much opposites. They may have looked alike physically, sharing the same light hair and pale complexion as their older siblings, but acted in complete different ways. Daeron often found himself following his eldest brothers, Aegon and Aemond, around as well as following their lead when it came to teasing their nephews or each other. While Elaenya interacted with the maids children, asking (more like obeying) that they played with the Princess on her orders, or with her older sister, Helaena. She also spent significantly more time with her dragon, her King Father allowing her to after she confessed to him that she much preferred her dragon over the company of other people within the King's Landings castle. While Daeron teased and ridiculed his nephews, Elaenya had found herself softly interacting with them, never talking ill of them. Even though she never really bothered with the Velaryon boys presence, she still treated them with kindness. And when she witnessed her older brothers eye be taken by Lucerys Velaryon, she still couldn't find any ill will towards the boy or his family. After all, something like this was bound to happen one day or another, it was just a matter of when it would occur.

Elaenya Targaryen never really cared for courtly manners or attending any of the court hearings her Mother, Father, and Grandsire had held and attended. She was the youngest out of her four siblings, she didn't think she needed to learn any courtly skills, after all her twin brother had taken on that role when he began to show interest in those kinds of things. She often found herself yawning or daydreaming whenever Daeron talked about his courtly duties or what he had witnessed at court that particular day. Elaenya eventually perfected the art of tuning out whatever was being said when court decisions, and many things of the like, were being discussed about. So when she heard some maids whisper about something one of them overheard from the King's chambers, she began to tune them out. Until she heard her name be uttered, following her oldest nephews name and the word betrothal. The day Lucerys' claim to Driftmark was challenged was the very first time Elaenya had attended any kind of courtly manner in years. She didn't attend to defend or hear about her nephews legitimate claim to Driftmark but rather attended to find out whether or not the maids were correct about her King Father planning on betrothing her to Jacaerys Velaryon.

And they were.

Elaenya Targaryen is spitfire.  She never let others command her in what to do,  much rather preferring doing things on her own terms in her own time.  So when the betrothal between her and her eldest nephew,  Jacaerys Velaryon,  is announced during Lucerys' challenge of his claim to Driftmark,  she nearly boils over in anger.  From since a young age,  her Father repeatedly told her that she could pick whoever gained her hand in marriage,  directly going against his young wife's wishes for her daughter to have a politically gaining marriage.  Having her Father backtrack on his promise and giving her away to a boy she hasn't seen in years,  makes her want to burn all of King's Landing atop of her dragon. 

Elaenya didn't even know why her Father chose her to become her nephews wife,  well besides being his only eligible daughter and potentially mending the rift between both families,  she saw no other gain.  She never attended court nor knew what most of them were talking about half the time,  so she wouldn't be someone Jacaerys would turn to for guidance once he step upon the Iron Throne as King.  She refused to commit to anything,  preferring unpredictability and spontaneity in her daily routine,  which also directly translates to her not wanting to be engaged to someone she barely knew. Elaenya did not know one thing about being a wife or a Mother, not having the greatest example growing up. She felt that this betrothal would only end in fire and bloodshed for all involved.

The youngest Princess was seemingly the enemy to the Velaryon-Targaryen family, for by blood, and default, she was a Green in a sea of Black and therefore,  an imposter.

Jacaerys Velaryon had always had his eyes on the youngest Princess of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower, Elaenya Targaryen. She always treated him and his brothers with kindness when her elder brothers relentlessly teased them.  They were close,  in certain aspects.  Albeit the Princess having much better things to do than hang out with her nephew,  the two still engaged with one another quite frequently.  The more time he spent with her as a child,  the more he felt for the Princess.  Young Jacaerys didn't realize the full weight of his feelings until he was of age and already on Dragonstone,  far from King's Landing and essentially Elaenya.  Perhaps that is why he was so excited to return to the Red Keep after so many years of being away,  disregarding the ill reasons as to why he and his family returned to the palace.  He was finally able to see her after so long apart and maybe he would get to speak to her again.  Even if it was only a singular word,  he'd be content with speaking only a word to her for that one moment meant everything to him.  And he'd get his wish,  but not in the way he expected.

Hearing Viserys’ denial of Jacaerys and Baela's betrothal made everyone in the Great Hall slightly gasp and look around in anxiety.  The King wouldn't surely deny such a good union as was presented to him by his Lady cousin,  Rhaenys Targaryen.  But alas,  he did and instead suggested that he betroth his youngest daughter to his eldest grandson,  hoping to mend the rift between his two families through this alliance.  Nobody had dared deny the King of his wish,  everyone knowing that it wasn't a suggestion but rather a statement of what was to come.  Jacaerys was ecstatic to hear that Viserys had much preferred his youngest daughter with him,  thanking the Gods and whoever else that he would finally get the chance to try to be with the girl that's held his heart ever since they were babes.  And as he looked around to see the faces of his family members and their reaction to the arrangement,  he realized that it would be a lot harder for Elaenya to settle herself with his family.  For they viewed her as an outlier and therefore didn't belong amongst the Blacks.  But Jacaerys Velaryon,  try as hard as he might,  was determined to make this work for everything his Mother worked so hard for was on the line and was at threat to burn.  It all had to work out.  It had to.

[armandisdaddy]

I Will Break You Chp.3

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen (Pirate) x Fem OC (Mermaid/Siren)

Content/Warning(s): !!18 PLUS!!, Non-Con/ Dub-Con, Violence, p in v penetration,Descriptions of Blood/Violence, Abduction, Obsession, Toxic.

Chapter 3.

Days had past since she saw him last. The bastard he took it upon himself to take what was hers. She despised him. She was losing her mind in that room with four stone walls and the tiniest window to see the ocean waiting for her. At night when the moon was high she could hear her sisters calling to her; crying out for her. Every night she cried out for them. Her heart pulling in anguish with each day that past where she didn’t feel the water on her skin to roam the vast sea and discover things that humans left behind. She was becoming depressed. Her eyes sunken in from her sleepless nights. Her skin pale almost green she hadn’t eaten since she had been there refusing to nourish herself. He was not going to enjoy his hostage if she had anything to say about it.

Lydia had come back each day to deliver her meals and to make her presentable for the day only dressing her in light weight dresses and brushing her hair just to tame it slightly but still let it run thick along her back. She smiled knowing that Aemond had what he called a gift in store for her. Lydia had discussed it with her master for quite sometime after letting him know how horrible she was doing stuck in that room. So he figured he should let her get some fresh air. With the moon high and shining against the calmed sea Aemond came into her chambers wearing a loose poet blouse that opened slightly at his chest. She looked terrible and he would be lying if he said the sight he saw didn’t pull at his heart strings, but his obsession with her clouded his judgement. She heard the clicking of his boots hitting the hardwood floors and she flinched wondering what he had in store for her. Lydia had tried to manage her hair and make look somewhat presentable but she could not hide the clear depression that settled into the poor girls bones. He sighed thinking of what to say, “Lydia let me know of the state you were in and after all her convincing I thought it would be nice to take a walk on the beach for a little while.” Hearing the words beach…a walk…she perked up knowing her sisters were always waiting for her maybe this could be her chance…she calmed down and decided to play her part. She put on an adoring smile and spoke gently. “I would like that very much..”, it hadn’t been long but it didn’t take her long to fully understand their language after only a few days. He smiled at how that seemed to cheer her spirits but he knew that would be short lived as he began to pull the shackles from behind his back. He could see the light that just appeared in her eyes quickly fade away and the smile she wore did as well. “oh…” was all she said. “I know it seems barbaric, but I cannot have you trying to leave me…now can I my sweet little siren?” He reached out for her his rough hand claiming her cheek and she flinched away feeling its warmth. She wanted to hiss and claim one of those fingers. She could imagine his blood curdling screams…but she understood this would not help her. She simply held her hand out for him and he took no time tether himself to her.

After leaving her chambers they traveled down to the shore she could smell the sea and the smell of salt in the air. She felt at peace only to be pulled from when he yanked at the chain that bounded her to him. She felt the cool sand between her toes and though she was happy to even be this close her heart still yearned to return home. Aemond stood in silence enamored by her beauty and the way she looked as she stood in silence taking in the scenery. “breathtaking…” he whispered to himself, but he was broken from his trance as the sound of siren singing in the distance caught his attention. He looked to her and saw the look of longing in her eyes…her foot subconsciously took a step forward and he braced himself. Tears welling in her eyes as she called back out to them. The beckoned her and cried out for her in sadness and she looked back at him her eyes blown wide in desperation. She let out a mind curdling screech and pulled away from him with all her might and though she was weak she was stronger than he anticipated. “NO!!!” He screamed out to her pulling back, but she continued forward dragging him with her. “If you won’t let me go I will take you with me…” she grunted lowly as her sisters frenzied within the water waiting for her to come back and waiting to kill the man who took her away from them. Aemond called for help which alerted a few of his men nearby and she was on a mere inch away she began to run pulling the chain to drag him with her frantically looking around to see them closing in. She fell to her knees once she was surrounded and sobbed. “I just want to be free….” Were her last words before she felt a sharp pain in her head and everything went black.

When she came to she saw Aemond hovering over her with a look of distain in his eyes. “I will admit I underestimated you…that won’t happen again I assure you…how could you want to leave me after that special night we shared…I know you feel it too…I saw it in your eyes…I saw it…” she hissed at him and screamed in frustration. “Special? You mean the night you took me without my consent or the night you took me from the sea….both were not special…you are a mad man. I want to go home can’t you see this is killing me…I will die in here…please.” She sat up and reached for him, her eyes pleading for freedom…and he couldn’t help but feel she was right but this obsession with her would not let him do it. “I can’t…you belong with me…” He had that look in his eyes again and he stepped toward her his hands finding her thighs and she scrambled away trying to make herself smaller into the bed and he took a hold of her ankles pulling her to the edge of the bed. “You are mine…I will have you..I will break you….you will not escape me…I will make you love me…want me…” he held himself in between her legs and and whispered within her ear biting at the flesh of her neck. “You will love every inch of me…you will know where home is it is not out there it is here with me.” He quickly unbuckled his breeches letting them pull at his ankles. He grabbed her throat and rubbed his cock between her damp folds groaning at the warmth of her cunt. He sighed in relief as he entered her core burying himself into her and she inhaled sharply. She stretched around him so beautifully and once he gained his composure he began to pump into her his face still buried into neck. “Mine…all mine…I will break you…break you..” he whispered over and over like a prayer as he held her legs to her chest. She was fighting the pleasure…fighting with the feeling of coming undone for him. Fighting against how good his cock hit every part of her insides just right. “no…please…” he groaned her pleading only arousing him more. “Even in distress you sound so beautiful…sing for me..my darling siren…” she held onto him moans escaping her, her body betraying her. Her back arched and before she could thinks she cumming her body shook in the aftermath of her orgasm and he wasn’t too far behind. He picked up the pace and with one harsh thrust he pressed the head of his cock against her cervix and filled her with his seed. He kissed her lips and for a second she forgot her hatred for him and kissed him in return. He laid with her for a while until she finally pulled away and became distant again. He sighed and stood up getting dressed. Leaving her he looked back wondering if it was worth it…she would still be miserable even if she learned to love him would he still be able to make himself believe she was happy here…he shook the thoughts away and left to do more research on her kind…determined to find away.

[rainroses45]

A Beating Heart

ཐིཋྀ⋆description: To love a spirit is to love everything but life itself, so when dean falls in love with you he falls into your casket (inspired by corpse bride) Dean x f.reader

ཐིཋྀ⋆a/n: guys i think im in love with dean also sam BUT DEAAN..anywho my english professor bailed so i wrote this out of ze boredom hope you enjoy (NOT EDITED)

ཐིཋྀ⋆song inspired: tequila and whiskey and Suffocation

ཐིཋྀ⋆warnings: umm death mention, skeleton, all that death and spirit stuff

Like any unloved thing, i don’t know if I’m real without a sinners touch. I don’t believe he would have seen me as one to love but rather one to tear apart.

My heart may not beat but I still feel it ache for his words. His simple words of “I do,” could calm the spirits around me and see his light.

His brother didn’t understand, the twisted relationship we had. He saw me as a another hunt. I was not his love. I want not to be his wife. I was a translucent window that glimmered under the pomegranates reflection. One. Two. Three. He was mine.

“Why do you look so sad, my dear?” His voice rang through the grove. The gentle wisps of the wind blowed my veil over my face.

“The night is still young Dean, you should return back to your brother.” I whispered. My face was still hidden from his view, but he could still see my eyes shimmer in the moonlight. A liquid so far fetch that it stained my cheeks like glitter.

The ring felt heavy on my finger. It felt like a chain that only I could break - yet he is the one with the key. A pity truly, if only I would have left and never returned to this corrupted world.

“My love, what do you speak about?” He walked over to me, getting down on one knee - a sight i wish to never see again- and brushed the veil over my head.

My eyes could not lie. What about us? What about all the broken happy ever afters? What about our love? I was a spirit. He was a human. I could not live for him and he could not die for me.

“We can’t marry.” The words sound strong yet my bones shake under the truth. “You must burn my body and forget about me.”

“No..no,” he looks at me with disbelief. “I refuse to believe you wish for me to rid you of this world…of this love…of this marriage.”

“It is true my- it is true Dean,” I corrected myself, whole heartily believing this was for the best.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me the truth Y/n,” he grabbed my chin gently raising it to meet his eyes. Oh how I learned every shades of color his eyes presented, when I perish this world I hope to be wrapped under his gaze and nothing more than a hint of hazel to haunt me.

“You know I would haunt this plains with my weeping calls of love for you, but I cannot trap you under the same curse I have endured all these years.” I place my shaking hand on his cheek. His warm skin and the cold breeze felt the same. It was only the emotion that changed, after all I was dead.

“I will die with you,” he stands up abruptly. “I will hang myself where the very man left you and declare my heart as yours-“

“NO!” I reach forward grabbing his hand before he left. “You mustn’t kill yourself over me.”

“That is the only way we can be together,” Dean smiles as he holds both my hands in his. “I’m willing to die for you, and you are willing to do the same for me.”

I shake my head as tears begin to stain my cheeks, “no, I will die for my sake of being free and to give you the chance of love.” He looks at me confused. “Don’t you understand Dean, I’m hurting more here!” I yell, “trapped in this limbo of needing true love and a stupid ring to fulfill this curse, but it’s never enough…it’s never enough.” I whispered my last statement as I look down at my hands. The ring was leaving small burn marks on my hand, little signs of the destruction it will cause.

“I won’t burn your body.” He reaffirms, “I’m not destroying the woman I love, the woman I would give my own life for.”

“Then you leave me no choice.” My eyes began to darken their once ghostly white color turned black. Crows escaped the woods with a heeding call to death. The earth awoken at the call of its roots, simmering in the internal flame of hell.

“Don’t do this Y/n,” he tried to walk towards me but was quickly pushed back with an invisible force. “Sweetheart please, you can’t do this.” He grunted trying to break free.

“If I touch a burning candle I can feel no pain,” silent whispers begin to chant as the world began to spin. “In the ice or in the sun, it’s all the same.”

“What are you doing?!” Dean yelled as a circled flame appeared in the middle of the forest.

“Yet I feel my heart is aching; thou it doesn’t beat, it’s breaking,” the crisp voices began to sing louder as the wind brushed my hair from my face.

“Doing something I should have done before,” I cry out to him as I push myself into the fire. “I’m sorry.” I say, a casket began to rise from the ground, a crack in the land of salty seas pooled beneath my feet.

“And the pain here that I feel, try and tell me it’s not real.” The voices echoed through Dean’s head, the sound of the screaming voices scattered his thoughts.

The casket opened revealing a skeleton wearing a tattered wedding dress. Each end of the dress began to burn at the salty taste of my tears. I was left to die, enslaved by my lonely husband, and murdered by the end of the nights howls.

“Please Y/n don’t do this, I beg you please.” He tried pulling away, his body pressed against an oak tree. “I need you.” He didn’t know that his tears fueled the flames, fueled the chanting of within the graveyard of Romeos and Juliets.

I smiled kindly at him as tears blinded my view. Finally, without another thought I said the finale line, “I know that I am dead; yet it seems that I still have some tears to shed.”

And with that a light blinded dean, and the force that once trapped him, faded away with the fire. He ran towards where I once stood and saw nothing but flutters of blue butterflies.

I was gone. I was free. I was loved. As pieces of me left with the lady of the night. A ring stayed there, with the words I wish I could have said.

I love you.

[l33bang24]

Night Terrors

Han Jisung x GN Fem reader

Summary: The reader has a terrifying nightmare about an event that unfolds in a fanfiction series involving her boyfriend. When she wakes up, her boyfriend is by her side, offering comfort and reassurance.

⚠️Warnings⚠️: nightmares, crying, blood, bruises, gashes, gore (let me know if I missed anything)

(Big thanks to @heybrownieboy for letting me use her Of Chaos and Spirits series to write about!! I hope you enjoy this short story ☺️)

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

Y/N’s POV

Today has been relatively uneventful. I initially intended to tackle some household chores due to my extra free time. However, I spent most of the day in bed, browsing through Tumblr and reading Stray Kids fanfiction. I typically try to avoid delving too deep into fan fiction about the guys, mainly because whenever Lee Know caught me reading a spicy story involving him, he never let me live it down.

I was looking through the Stray Kids fake text tag and came across an alternative universe series called Of Chaos and Spirits. I had seen it before when scrolling through my feed, but I never read it. The storyline starts with the female protagonist having extraordinary psychic abilities since birth. Not only can she see spirits from beyond the grave, but she can also communicate with them and other supernatural entities. To conceal her remarkable gift, she adopts the alias Eris. The author ties the reader to the group by having a supernatural entity haunt Jeongin.

As I delved into the story, I was engrossed in a scene where the protagonist and her friends converse about banishing a demon from a bathroom vent. The tension rises when Beomgyu alerts the group chat about his belief that Jeongin is being haunted. The plot thickens as I continue reading. However, I was taken aback when the protagonist suddenly becomes alert and turns her attention towards a fountain, sensing something peculiar in that direction.

The man before her had bloodshot eyes, and they seemed to be staring right back at her. His torn pajama set was caked in mud and stained with blood, while his skin displays an array of bruises and bumps. He also had a deep, ragged gash across his neck. It was dripping puss from an infection surrounding a large splotchy purple scrap. The chains dangling from each limb made him stand out the most.

As the story continues, I find that two of the members of the group were not only kidnapped but murdered by something that wasn't human. One was Lee Know, and the other was my boyfriend, Han Jisung. As I went through each chapter, certain parts made me cry, as though I could feel the emotions the author was trying to convey.

I was utterly captivated by the scene where Han was being chased. The author's illustration of his emotions made me feel like I was with him. After finishing the latest chapter, I call it a night and prepare for bed.

I was running.

I kept pushing through the pain, my lungs burning with every breath and my feet aching as if needles were embedded in them. But I refused to stop running.

I could feel a shiver run down my spine as claws scraped against the stone floor, and low growls filled the air behind me.

An army of hellhounds was hot on my heels, their fiery eyes fixed on me.

I pushed myself even harder, refusing to give in to the unbearable pain and overwhelming exhaustion pulsing through my body.

If I were caught, I knew I'd be torn to pieces, and that thought terrified me more than any pain I was feeling at the moment.

I couldn't shake the thought of being sent straight back to Hell. It was terrifying.

I found myself in a place I never wanted to be. Escaping was a blur, but I held on to the hope of finding safety soon.

The field would come into my view soon. Purgatory was safe.

As my thoughts drifted away, I failed to notice the menacing presence of the hellhounds creeping closer. Their menacing growls reverberated through my very being, sending chills down my spine.

I gazed upon the sprawling field, willing my body to surge forward faster.

A scream is ripped from my chest as teeth plunge into my neck. I fell to the ground with a wrenched cry as blood began to pool around me.

“No. No. No! Please, no!”

Grabbing at the ground, I try to lift myself off it, but it was useless.

The hellhounds had caught me, and I couldn't fight back as I felt more teeth sinking into my skin and screams of terror fell from my mouth.

As tears cascade down my cheeks, I extend my hand toward the vast field. My vision blurs and the realization of facing death once more engulf me.

“I’m sorry, Sungie.”

I jolt awake and see I'm drenched in sweat, with tears streaming down my face. My boyfriend's concerned face came into view as he gently asks, "Babygirl, can you hear me?" I nod, trying to avoid thinking about what happened. “You were screaming and crying out for me, but no matter how hard I tried to shake you awake, nothing seemed to work.” His hands rub my arms as he asks, "What happened?”

I couldn't hold back the tears any longer and broke down. Without hesitation, Jisung envelops me in a warm embrace, gently soothing me with his comforting words. His arms wrap around me, offering solace and reassurance. I nestle between his neck and shoulder blade, seeking solace in his comforting embrace. Time seems to blur as tears flow, but he gently drew me back and tenderly brushes away my tears.

As I try to calm down, I took a moment to explain to him what I had read earlier that day. I share with him the events that unfolded in the story I had read were eerily similar to what had occurred in my dream. Instead of teasing me about my fan fiction interest, he gently kisses my forehead and expresses his sympathy. "I'm sorry you had a bad dream, Jagyia. Do you want to watch a lighthearted drama on TV to take your mind off it?" Grateful for his understanding, I nod, managing a small smile.

As Jisung moves to leave the bed, I instinctively reach out and hold him back, silently dreading the return of my nightmares if I release him. He responds with a warm smile and gently tugs me along as we go to the kitchen to gather supplies for a cozy movie night. Not a word is spoken about my apprehension, and he lets me accompany him, understanding my unease.

As we reentered the room, he let me sit in his lap, where I curl into a cozy ball. By the third episode, a sense of drowsiness washes over me, and I let myself surrender to sleep, knowing that I was safe and secure in Jisung's embrace.

[butchfairyzine]

“FEY: A Guide to Fairies of the Butch Variety” themes (Text version)🐸

This book will explore butch fairies, arranged into six differently themed sections. Below are descriptions of these themes, as well as a number of example concepts that might fall under them! You can choose one of the examples we’ve provided, or come up with something yourself - as long as you run it by the mods to approve!

We will be choosing five (5) artists and one (1) writer per theme - one (1) artist to illustrate the ‘title spread’, and four (4) to illustrate the ‘guides’ within. The writer will be asked to provide snippets, comments, short poems, and descriptions to intersperse with spot illustrations on the ‘guide’ pages.

🌱 Garden Fairies

Garden fairies thrive in the world’s backyards - they can be plant-themed, critter-themed, and insect-themed. Large or palm-size, they tend to their surroundings with care and good spirit, and are often brightly colored, eye-catching things. This is your ‘Seelie’ group, for a real-world folklore equivalent.

Example concepts:

A fairy taming a grasshopper steed

A petal-winged rose fairy sleeping in a flower bud

A butterfly fairy collecting nectar

🏡 House Fairies

House fairies reside in and around the home. They are usually small, hiding from humans in nooks and crannies and forgotten places - and will get stuck between the couch cushions. They come out when the coast is clear to make mischief: rearranging trinkets, pilfering snacks, turning up the corners of carpets - all heinous behavior!

Their own dwellings are not to be trifled with, however. They’re of the utmost coziness, warm and safe and full of . . . ‘collected’ goods . . .

Example concepts:

A fairy facing off against a housecat

A fairy in their little home surrounded by myriad stolen trinkets

Fairies scheming to throw something nasty in a human’s stew

🕸️ Dark Fairies

Dark fairies dwell in the domains of shadow - in fairytales with unhappy endings, in childrens’ nightmares, under the surface both figuratively and literally speaking. They rejoice in sowing discord and causing mayhem, and shun the light. These are your ‘Unseelie’ equivalents.

Example concepts:

A murderous moth fairy poised to strike

A hag-like fairy offering a bargain one can’t refuse

A gaggle of tooth fairies

👑 Courtly Fairies

Courtly fairies are those who spend most of their time between lavish palace walls, voluntarily or otherwise. Towering spires, silkspun sheets, all wreathed in swirling gold filigree - a fairy court makes itself known for miles around. Most other fairies consider them the least carefree, though every once in a while a monarch does crop up who rules the land with wild abandon, whipping all fairykind into a frenzy for a decade or fifty. 

As an aside: dark fairies enjoy courtly fairies as particular targets for their curses, twisting their beauty and opulence into ironic reflections.

Example concepts:

A cursed fairy monarch chained to their throne

A rogue fairy prince on the run

A fairy knight in beetle armor

🌆 City Fairies

City fairies have bid the splendors of the fey adieu for the neon-splashed fast lanes of a human metropolis. Usually, they try to (more or less) blend in, bask in humans’ energy, break their hearts and leave them wondering how you do that thing you do. Little city fairies exist, too, trying their best not to get crushed underfoot as they go about their busy lives!

Example concepts:

A raver fairy stealing the show in a color-soaked warehouse

A mundane-looking fairy creating otherworldly pastries with the help of some friends

A fairy guardian of some public property

🔥 Wyld Fairies

Wyld fairies are closest in essence to magic itself, to nature and those primordial forces they let flow through them: the elements. They eschew court-made laws, borders, customs, and causes, simply forging their own paths through life with little consideration of worldly issues. They are bright like fire, deep as water, free as the wind.

Example concepts:

A fairy fire dancer

A seahorse (or, ‘kelpie’) herding underwater-fairy

A fairy exploring the edge of the upper atmosphere

[quitealotofsodapop]

I was thinking of that old post I sent you awhile back with Pokémon teams for the Pilgrims and thought "You know what, it'd be even better if, when Wukong first joined the journey with Tripitaka, he only had a couple of really small pokemon. Specifically, the chimchar that helped him before Tripitaka found him and the mankey that would eventually evolve into an Anihilape after his fight with Macaque cuz that would be thematically appropriate since Anihilape's pokedex is literally about it coming back to life as a spirit out of sheer rage and i can't imagine anything that would piss a protective primate off more than seeing theirtrainer bwing forced to kill the one they love" And I also added a damaged ear to the mankey to show it had a rough life before Wukong came along and adopted him

This one!

But yesss! Wukong just has the babies on him at first.

The little Chimchar accidentally found "a big monkey pokemon" inside a cave and thought he was stuck. He tried for a small bit to get him out, but the chains wouldn't budge. :( So instead he came back every day with pieces of fruit until Big Monkey can get strong enough to escape :)

Wukong cries the first time the little monkey rerurns to him, offering him a tiny peach/pecha berry.

Chimchar is there to greet him when Tripitaka realises him, and is hooting excitedly for his release! Though he does bite the human at first think he's trying to capture Wukong.

Tripitaka def refuses to partake in Pokemon battles, but you try telling that to two baby monkeys who wanna fight to protect their new guardian's honor (ง •̀_•́)ง

Interesting idea where Inferapes didn't actually have the gold armor/plating before Sun Wukong gained renown, and they started wearing gold to honor/mimic him.

The little Mankey having a rough life is so sad but sweet that Wukong just saw him and went "My baby monkey now".

And OHHHH the Mankey evolving into Anihilape after Wukong and Macaque's fight!! He's so furious that his protector/adoptive parent was forced to hurt his own mate that literally part of him died (symbolically so did part of Wukong).

The pokemon themselves have likely passed on since the days of the Journey, or they gained internal life in their own ways. Anihilape is a ghost type after all, and I could see a certain Wukong-looking pokemon stealing "giant pechas" to see what the big fuss is about XD

[llovelyclouds]

notes on cassiopeia the first

here's all my notes on cassiopeia (my beloved) that i thought seemed relevant during my tlt reread!

(you can find the rest of my posts from this project here!)

CASSIOPEIA THE FIRST

titles:

Fourth saint to ascend, (??) gen, founded the sixth

notes from harrow the ninth:

Name origins, from the pronunciation guide at the end of htn: "NOTE: Cassiopeia's most famous namesake is the vain queen of Greek mythology who chained Andromeda to a rock, but this does Cassiopeia the First a disservice, as she was honestly just a universally beloved and clever human being who made beautiful meals with the occasional finger error. The evolutionary pressure of Lyctorhood has, alas, selected for jerks."

Came up with the magma metaphor for the river that John later uses (htn. pg. 94)

The only lyctor to last seven minutes in full physical submersion in the river (htn. pg. 97)

Died trying to lure an RB through the current of the river. It followed her, but the spirits killed her, and the RB emerged unscathed 20 mins later (htn. pg. 97)

Had a ceramics collection (htn. pg. 105)

Was able to perform necromancy her first time in the river (htn. pg. 156)

For some reason, the fact that Harrow was also capable of this was part of what gave John the idea that something was up with her birth… interesting!! What does this say about Cassiopeia?

Specialised in studying the river (htn. pg. 171)

Coined the term "periscoping" in regards to the RB's (htn. pg. 173)

Was great at cooking, but once cut off a finger that fell into the food and didn’t mention it until everyone had eaten it (htn. pg. 231)

was a lightweight lol (htn. pg. 268)

Died fighting the seventh RB, Varun (htn. pg. 333)

Brought the RB into the river alongside its brain (htn. pg. 337)

was the person to tell Mercy that blood wards can be bypassed with the genetic material of a close relative (htn. pg. 474)

notes from nona the ninth:

was originally brought on Johns team by oversight execs to handle contracts as their lawyer, but was "on their side before the first year was over" (ntn. pg. 13)

"C- was panicking because with the project over she was getting recalled to England and didn't want to go, she'd got N- and didn't want to leave her, refused to admit they were dating even though we all knew." - John 5:20 (ntn. pg. 73)

specifically worked in contract law (ntn. pg. 99)

when she found out about the cow wall they had to lock her in the kitchen so she could throw up in private for a while (ntn. pg. 192)

"C- kept saying, Pick one. Are we more invested in proving this new plan is bullshit, or in saving you? I was like, It's both, how can it not be both. C- was like, It can't be both. Pick one and stick to it. Decide what you give a fuck about." (ntn. pg. 280)

"'Does God know why the Sixth House left?' 'I'm assuming some grisly moral reason that you're about to impart,' said Ianthe, 'and I want to warn you against sounding like a tract.' [...] 'Cassiopeia the First left us instructions years ago,' said Camilla. 'We left for a lyctor.'" - Ianthe & Cam (ntn. pg. 335)

"Cassy played long games." - Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 336)

"C- had been saying, Can't we gin up an act of good wizardry? Any way to stabilize the North America glacier? Any way to trap the atmosphere over the Northern Territory, show them we can fix things here?" (ntn. pg. 397)

“C- admitting out of nowhere she’s dating N-. All of us like, What? We've known for a year? Go ahead and get married already, we've got a nun. N- was all, That’s not legal. C- of all people said, Who cares. That’s how bad it was. [...] C- and N- got married right over there, you can’t see it now ‘cause of the rubbish. I made flowers grow for them out of the garden, but they came out… weird. Some of the roses had teeth. C- and N- thought that was hilarious. [...] The dome meant we hadn’t had full sunlight in a while. It was beautiful anyway. I cried the whole service. I couldn't remember the last time I’d eaten food.” (ntn. pg. 400)

“At this point my people were like, John, what the fuck? What the fuck is happening? We were all yelling at each other. First time I’d ever seen C- angry.” (ntn. Pg. 401) 

 “C- said, John, your problem is that you care less about being a saviour than you do about meting out punishment. I said, C-, I was just your best man! C- said, You still are. That doesn’t change the fact that you can be quite the most appallingly vindictive person I have ever met.” (ntn. pg. 401)

“They’d shot C- first… and right in front of my eyes they shot N-. Bubble wrap. I don’t know what happened to them..” (ntn. Pg. 406)

“Cass and Mercy and I worked on cell thanergy- we need thanergy, fresh thanergy, to activate…” - Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 471)

[yanderes-galore]

You're both either Ponies or Humans for obvious reasons. Was originally deleted for personal reasons.

Yandere! King Sombra with Pegasus! Darling

Concept

Reupload/Repost

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Yandere-like behavior, Sadism, Forced relationship, Mention of slaves, Slight possessive behavior, Kidnapping, Isolation, Manipulation.

- You could’ve been a close friend of the Mane Six, invited to help protect the Crystal Empire.

- That or you could’ve been a crystal pony yourself that wished to try and help the Mane Six.

- A pegasus like you could always prove useful!

- You thought you’d all succeed, too….

- Until Cadence’s spell fell and Sombra, the dark king, was let inside.

- Twilight was close to getting the Crystal Heart but unfortunately had failed.

- Defeat was imminent but you had decided to fight back.

- You refused to go down without a fight and confronted the umbral stallion.

- “If you think I’ll simply follow your orders and bow to you, you’re mistaken, Sombra.”

- The king is surprised someone like you would defy him.

- You have no magic to fight with, only those pesky wings.

- Crystal pony or not, he thinks you’ll prove promising.

- “Having a little tantrum, aren’t you, slave? I’m your king. You WILL bow!”

- Even when he establishes himself and orders you to cower, you only stand your ground with your wings spread out.

- “You are a tyrant! I refuse to bow to a monster.”

- Just when you try and fight, dodging magic from the horn of the beast, you end up eventually falling.

- Collapsing to the ground… you turn to look at your wings.

- Wings that were now covered in black crystals and too heavy to move.

- “It was foolish to fight me alone. Although, your bravery and fierce behavior is intriguing~!”

- You struggle to stand, fatigued from your efforts.

- Sombra leans towards you with a laugh.

- “I think you’ll be the best out of those other slaves, won’t you?”

- Most of your time in the Crystal Empire is now spent locked in a room.

- Sombra isn’t too worried as your only ability, to fly, is now taken away from you.

- Without it you couldn’t leave anyway.

- Sombra would probably be a Sadistic, Manipulative, Possessive, and Controlling Yandere.

- A goal of his is to make you loyal to him.

- But you have a strong spirit… not even trying to listen to the lies he spews to get you to obey.

- This may be why he likes you.

- Even in shackles with crippled wings, you do what you can to fight him.

- How cute.

- You’re still used to work for him but you stay in the castle for the most part.

- You’ll dirty yourself if you work with those other slaves.

- Then you’ll, ironically, lose your shine.

- “You will NOT leave this castle. Unless you wish for me to corrupt those legs, too.”

- Sombra gets a sick sense of enjoyment when making you upset or using his magic on you.

- This just shows how well he can manipulate you to his will with just a little magic.

- Obviously this makes him controlling as well.

- If you be good, he’ll allow you to see your friends.

- Not like you can make much of a plan against him.

- They can’t use their abilities just like you.

- You’re never going to get out of his control.

- “Look at them~ They’re like little pets in their shackles and chains! Isn’t it amusing, dear?”

- It terrifies you when you learn why he’s been giving you favoritism.

- A king needs someone to rule alongside with.

- You happen to fit his criteria, even if you’re not a unicorn.

- It would be dangerous to not accept such a proposal.

- Won’t you join him in his rule? What choice do you have?

- “I’m sure you won’t turn down my offer. It’s the best you can get! If you do turn me down… there’s a cell waiting for you, I’m sure.”