#a battle of beasts and bows

[mamabear-elinor]

The Fall of Rome: A Battle of Beasts and Bows [Part One: The Fall of the House of DunBroch] || [Brave Women]

In which the Order comes to Swynlake...[takes place: July 02]

@heart-of-dunbroch

[tw -- violence, gore, major character death]

ELINOR: Elinor had never been to battle. At least, never the type of battle that one usually thought of. The kind that were sung about in ballads. Most of her battles had been silently waged within herself. The battle to stay silent for years and years, as she watched Merida’s spirit crack around the edges as she was crushed beneath the cog of destiny; as she watched her bright, beautiful sons harden and dull under the pressures of their family name. The battle to mourn her unborn children alone. The battle to leave her husband and everything she had known behind. 

These were the wars that women fought, but now--she had been called to fight a proper one. Elinor was not afraid. She was angry. 

The Order  was daring to attack her home? Her daughter? Everything that she had tried to build, on her own, over the last year? Elinor no longer would so easily cower when the fighting came, as it would come this evening--the sky dusky purple, the forest quiet. The castle grounds had a thin mist of fog settling over them, dampening every sound. The air was still. 

They knew that there wasn’t enough of them to keep the Order from breaching the walls, so the plan had been to stay close to the castle and split the forces. Elinor, Merida, Dipper, John, and Phillip would be coming up on the flank, trying to split the force in half and draw them into the maze. Belle, San, Henry, and Rose would use the castle’s original intention as a fortress to push an offensive from inside the building.

Hopefully, it would be enough to drive them off. Howl, Hades, and Toulouse--as well as a few other allies were on standby, should things start to sour. Each of them had a magical amulet that they could smash to sound the alarm for back up, if necessary. They glowed soft yellow from each of their wrists. 

Elinor shifted in her spot, looking towards Merida as they waited in the hedges. “You don’t think they’d bring the boys with them, do you?” she couldn’t help but ask. She’d already asked it, but now that the violence was imminent she was growing nervous again. 

MERIDA: Before a battle was the only time Merida had ever felt calm. It was a feelin’ she could never explain, not to herself or to her mam. But it was the reason she was so wild otherwise, always restless and noisy and lookin’ for somethin’ to do with her hands. But now, she had a sword on her hip and her bow. It had been a long time since she’d held that bow, so worn and loved by Merida’s fingers that its once fine etchings on the wood had faded where she gripped it. Now she held it like an anchor as her heart beat steadily. She looked out the hedges with the eyes of a wolf. She breathed in the woods, her woods, and scented the Order as she would prey. They were comin’. She hadn’t warned Elinor yet– she would when they were truly close, but her mam was already nervous enough.

Truthfully, she was trying to pick out the scents of her brothers among them. But would she recognize Harris, Hubert, and Hamish? Had she forgotten what they smelled like, her own kin? Would the wolf know them? Or had the Order changed them too much? 

She breathed. She watched. And at her mother’s voice, she glanced her way, but only for a moment, not wanting to break concentration. 

“We can’t rule it out,” she said again. This had been her answer before and her answer now. “If it were me, I’d do it.” 

Because of course. What better way to complicate the battle than to bring three young boys into the heart of it– to confuse Merida and Elinor? 

“We should be ready for it.” 

And then– Merida stood even straighter. “Shite, they’re gettin’ closer– there’s a lot of ‘em. Tryin’ figure out–” she sniffed the air rather crudely, taking in deeper breaths.

ELINOR: Yes, they would try to use her children, wouldn’t they? 

Elinor felt her stomach roll with revulsion. How had she let herself get trapped in this situation? How had she left her sons to fend for themselves in an institution that would offer them nothing but grief, pain, and violence? 

She should have freed them, somehow. She should have known from early on that the Order was foul, corrupt, and corroded. The veil had been lifted and it felt as if she had been living inside a corpse and only just now realized that the flesh was rotted. It had been too late to get her sons out. Her daughter had learned before she had. Merida had saved herself. Elinor had saved herself, but she hadn’t saved her sons.

The guilt of that would live with her, she was sure, for years to come. 

Her face was pale and she was silent, not replying to Merida’s confirmation that the boys would probably be here. There wasn’t anything to say. There was only what they could do. The time for talking had long passed, though Elinor wished only to sit down with her sons. With Fergus. Explain to them--get them to see the truth--

But they wouldn’t. The boys were too young. They had been poisoned against her. She had let it happen. And Fergus--

He wasn’t the man that she had married. He’d been corrupted and corroded the way the Order did to everyone. 

She adjusted her stance and then glanced at Merida’s, sniffing and snorting like a bear. “Merida, please,” Elinor hissed, unable to help herself. Her heart was racing and she felt ill--the bear lurking close. 

MERIDA: Merida ignored Elinor– as was her superpower. 

She was focused on the scents, every battle instinct she’d crafted over the years honed in. There was no time to quarrel with her mam. The forest was full of enemies. Soon, the castle would be full of enemies. And among them– 

Though it had been years, she recognized the scent of family. Her father’s scent. Fergus had always smelled like whiskey and pine, calling up memories of family camping trips throughout the forests of Scotland. Her da, who always brought more drink along than he needed– whose laughter billowed louder than thunder, who was a storm all by himself. She’d wanted to be just like him when she was younger, happy to have his red hair and curls, to be DunBroch through and through. 

Now, he was comin’ right at them all.  And she’d have to face him from the other end of a sword. 

“They’ve split their men into two flanks!” Merida hissed. “Da’s with ‘em.” She laced her bow and then crouched down, peering over the hedge. 

Movement in the tree line. 

At the first head, Merida let an arrow fly. It caught a man right in the shoulder and he fell with a scream. 

“THEY’RE HERE!” Merida cried out, then laced another arrow as the men charged. 

ELINOR: Fergus. 

Elinor felt her stomach drop and she felt suddenly faint. Or like she wanted to put herself in front of Merida’s bow and Fergus’ sword and—convince them to lay down their weapons. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go. She had known this was how the fight would go, but she didn’t want it. She still held onto the hope that when Fergus saw her, he’d be the man she remembered. 

The one she had married. Who was a good man. Not a man beaten down by family expectations and failure after failure. 

There wasn’t much she could do as the Order poured through the front gates. They hadn’t been expecting an attack, she saw that on their faces as they took in the group standing outside the castle. It was Fergus, tall and broad shouldered, who called the Order. Her sons, three in a row, Hubert and Hamish tall and proud, Harris slightly smaller—stood next to their father, swords in hand. 

“Half you lot with me! The other half, to the castle!” He turned to face his family. There was no recognition that she could see in his blue eyes before his face twisted and he started after them. 

“Merida, not—not your brothers,” she said breathlessly to her daughter. “We—we should draw them around to the back of the castle…can try to…meet with the others.” As she said it, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to move. The sword in her hand lay like dead weight with the point pressing into the earth.

MERIDA: In battle, there was no time to think. Maybe that’s why she liked it so much. You had to trust yourself instead. You had to believe that you knew what you were doing and that you’d do it right. Merida moved with that confidence and trust as she laced another arrow and sent it flying into the neck of an oncoming Order man, not even sure who it was. But she nailed the target the way she always nailed the target, and her bow was not empty for long. Another arrow kissed the nocking point. She pointed it toward the onslaught, right at her father. When her blue eyes met his own– that was when she hesitated. That was when the thoughts crept in. She had to shoot her father. She couldn’t shoot her father. She was rather certain she could shoot her father more than she could shoot the triplets, who clambered around him, eyes wide in fright– none of them ready for battle, though Hubert was makin’ a show he was. Why the hell had Da even dragged them here?! She could talk of strategy all day long, but seeing the wee lads, their arms skinny as cypress branches holding weapons they did not know how to trust, not the way that Merida trusted her bow– she couldn’t believe Fergus had gone through with strategy over safety. That he’d endanger his three boys, his fookin’ heirs– all so Merida and Elinor  might hesitate. It worked. She hesitated. Fergus charged. “Shite,” Merida cursed and she unnocked her bow, grabbing Elinor by the arm. “COME ON!” She bellowed, at the same time that Fergus bellowed his own command to attack. She dragged her mother into a fast pace. They weaved through the hedges, having the advantage of knowing where they were bloody going. “ELINOR! IT’S NOT TOO LATE!” Fergus shouted from behind them. “THEY’LL FORGIVE YE. LEAVE HER BEHIND.” They. The Order. Her, his daughter. “Tch! What a nyaff!” Merida growled. “I should bite him! See how he likes it!” She wouldn’t. Fergus was too honorable to ever live as a werewolf. 

ELINOR: They ran. Elinor was fit. She went for walks, even a jog here or there. Before coming to Swynlake she’d been an avid equestrian and hiker. The outdoors had always been a place of refuge for her. 

But she’d never run like this. Their feet squelched along the ground, Merida’s hand a vice. Her lungs burned as they twisted through the hedge maze and she was sure that they might burst. She was grateful for the days she’d spent out here, pruning all alone, learning the maze. And she was grateful for the Swynlakers who had come to help clean. It meant they only tripped over half the debris they would have either. 

Elinor squeezed her eyes shut against Fergus’ shouting, wishing she could give him a piece of her mind. If this could just be settled by one of their famous rows, wouldn’t that be enough. 

“Ach, Merida,” she still managed to tsk despite her panting. “You’re not biting your father.”

They ran a bit more. “Turn here, it’ll lead to the back door of the castle, eh? We can’t face them alone. We’ve gotta find Phil or John.”

Or maybe they could just lose them in the castle’s winding pathways and corridors. Then, they could be someone else’s problem. (Though, Elinor’s heart was aching to see her boys again.) 

MERIDA: Merida didn’t want to find Phil and John! 

She didn’t want to leave her mess for another person to handle. She also didn’t want to fight her siblings though, so– crivvens, fine, they’d find Phil and John! At least they’d not kill the boys. They could probably knock Hubert’s sword out of his hands and toss ‘em all in one of the castle’s closets, where they’d be grumpy but safe. (Then again, Harris had always been a bit of an escape artist. They’d need to tie ‘em all down for good measure!)

She obeyed Elinor, for once not arguing. There was no time to argue. She cut into the courtyard and then there, the castle door! 

She opened it and rushed inside. They made it through the mudroom and into the kitchen and then Merida heard the shouting from deep within. 

“Shite, they sent more men around the front! They’re already in here,” said Merida and she turned–

But Fergus burst through the door. They couldn’t go back into the garden.

They’d meet more Order men if they kept goin’ through.

“Up the stairs!” Merida cried, hoping to use the servant stairwell. She needed to get her mam somewhere– safer than this. 

ELINOR: They burst into the kitchen—Elinor’s beautiful kitchen that she’d just gotten properly cleaned!—muddy boots skidding on the floor. The urge to yell: take off your boots, oach! rose in here ridiculously. She ignored it.

She did not, however, ignore the urge to yell at the sight of her ex-husband, the boys piling behind his large frame, eyes wide. “Fergus DunBroch! What are—“ 

But Merida’s hand was an iron grip in hers and she was already gone, fast and nimble. Elinor tripped after her. 

There was the clank of swords behind her as her ex-husband and sons gave chase. Elinor managed a quick prayer of thanks that this was Best castle and not Cawdor, which the triplets knew better than the mice in the walls. 

Up the stairs they went. Up and up, turning this way and that, the rest of their broken family only steps behind, like hounds chasing deer through the wood. (Merida would probably not like the comparison, but it felt apt. Elinor certainly felt like a deer: delicate, terrified.)

Eventually even the servant’s quarters ended and they were dumped out into a large, circular room. Elinor had never been in it. She had no idea where they were, only that it smelled damp from the slitted windows that had never been fashioned with glass. That would need to be done at some point, she couldn’t help but note for the ever-running to do list in her head—

Just as Fergus and the boys burst into the room as well. 

They were trapped. Elinor glanced at Merida, still holding her daughter’s hand tightly. Then, she took a breath and drew herself up to her full height. 

“Fergus! Boys!” It had been a long time since she’d used that tone and for a moment, it was all she could say, overcome by the sight of her children and her children overcome by the sight of her. It had been a year since she’d seen them last. They’d grown so tall. Hubert and Harris almost at the height of their father’s shoulder, Hamish just behind. Hubert’s face was covered in an outbreak of pimples, Harris had a small, pink scar only a mother would notice beneath one of his eyes. He must’ve gotten it in training. It gave his always sharp gaze a more wizened appearance. 

“You—“ she started, still not sure what she was going to say until the words were out of her mouth “—need to leave.” 

“Ma—“ That was Hubert. 

“Just give up the wolf, woman. Then this’ll all be over,” Fergus said. 

Hubert and Fergus glowered at Merida. Hamish was looking wide-eyed at his father. Harris’ gaze stayed steady on Elinor. 

Elinor stepped in front of Merida, not raising her sword. Yet. She didn’t know if she would be able to, against her own children. That was what got her into this mess in the first place, wasn’t it? 

“No.” 

MERIDA: In her years living in Best Castle, she’d never arrived in this room either. The castle was not something she’d ever wanted to explore. It reminded her too much of the home she’d never return to after all– and in all its brokenness and unfinished pieces, she had heard her mam’s voice, and always walked the other way– straight out the door and into the woods, where Merida had always felt much more at home. 

She cursed herself now for her cowardice. Because she’d led them into a dead end and now when she whirled around, the DunBrochs were trapped in one place for the first time in years. 

Fergus. Elinor. Merida. Harris. Hubert. Hamish. 

Merida’s eyes darted from man to boy. There was a volcanic pressure in her chest that wanted to erupt and turn into something– something like tears, something like shouting, something like begging her Da to look at her (he wasn’t looking at her), something like runnin’ cross the room to gather the wee ones into her arms, smother them with sloppy kisses and noogies for those unruly red curls. 

Instead, Merida drew her own sword. 

“Elinor,” said Da then, those big, blue eyes soft and watery. He spread his arms on either side, so his sword was no longer pointed forward. “Please. She is not your family. We are your family.” 

“Can ye just shut up, already?” Merida barked from behind. “Mam’s not the one trying to kill anyone!” 

“Da…” squeaked Hamish. “S-she looks the same…” 

“Of course I do! I am the same!” 

“It’s a trick,” said Hubert. He was frowning, but he had the most solid stance. “That’s how shifters are.”

“Exactly, boys. She killed your sister.” Fergus’s brow furrowed. He pointed the sword again, now at Merida. “My daughter.” 

“If that’s true, I would’ve killed Mam too. I’d’ve already ripped all of ye apart,” said Merida. “But– I’m not–” 

And she tossed her sword down. “I won’t! So just– gah, I can’t believe I’m sayin’ it, but can we all just talk it out?” 

The tension in the room doubled as the triplets shifted their stance– but otherwise didn’t move. Fergus readjusted the grip on his sword. 

“Mam,” murmured Merida, inching closer to her. She had always been better with words. 

ELINOR: Merida’s sword clang to the ground, but Elinor just readjusted the grip on hers, mirroring her ex-husband. She wasn’t going to leave them unarmed. Elinor wouldn’t raise a blade against her children, but if it came down to it: she’d run Fergus through. 

Or she’d try, at the very least. 

“He doesn’t want to talk, Merida,” Elinor said with a scornful glance at Fergus. “If he did--we wouldn’t be in this mess.” 

If he had ever wanted to talk--about anything, maybe they wouldn’t be in this mess. But talking about Merida--or not talking about Merida--was just another mistake in the grand scheme of Elinor’s life. Of Elinor’s marriage. Her and Fergus had never talked about anything. They existed in uneasy peace, Fergus behind a wall, Elinor a beautiful vase, set out on the table to be admired.

She had shattered long ago and now all those ugly, horrible parts of herself spilled out. And Fergus had crumbled too, his parts even uglier and more horrible. Because at least Elinor was a good mother. Or she tried to be. She wanted to be. 

“I don’t want to talk to a beast in the shape of my daughter,” Fergus snarled. “Isn’t it painful, Elinor? To look at her and think about our baby girl?” 

Elinor felt her heart burn. “No, because she’s right here.”

“She’s tricked you! You just--cannae see it, my love. Come, the boys miss you. We miss you.” 

“Mam, please, come home.” That was Hubert. He had come here looking the most sure but when he spoke some of that toughness cracked and she saw the little boy beneath, who needed his mother. 

“Hugh,” she said. “You don’t have to fight me. Either of us. We aren’t hurting anyone. The Order only takes care of people who are hurting others.” 

“She’s right,” Harris said in his characteristic, analytic way.

“Ach! Can’t you see? She’s just trying to protect the beast, who isn’t weak at all. If it didnae suit her to look weak, to look like your sister, she’d be maulin’ you right here on the floor!” 

“Stop!” Elinor snapped, feeling an anger as black as the fur of her bear begin to rise in her chest. It made her dizzy and her sword tip dropped into the dirt, her wrist limp against the weight of the metal. She took a deep breath. 

“Mam?” Hamish murmured, echoed by Harris, all three of the boys looking at her wearily. 

“I’m fine, boys. I just--I wish you would listen to me. No one is going to hurt you here. I love you. Merida loves you.” 

MERIDA: Merida had forgotten about the bear.

She often did. Because the bear and Elinor were opposites in Merida’s eyes. Elinor was regal, composed, graceful, and elegant– everything that Merida could never be. The bear, though, was a beast– snarly, ugly, intent on destruction. Only when her Mam’s wrist dropped and she took a deep breath did all those warning signs set off the alarm in Merida’s head. Shite. They couldn’t have the bear makin’ a royal appearance, not today. She wasn’t even sure Fergus knew the bear existed. It certainly wouldn’t help their case. 

C’mon, Mam, stay calm, she urged in her own brain. Which meant she needed to stay calm too. 

Funny, innit? How Merida, in this moment, found her own center in the middle of a storm.

She took a step forward, though still behind Elinor. She raised her hands in surrender, though it was just a gesture. “Listen to me,” she said, trying to make her voice smooth and calm. She only looked at her brothers. All the years she’d been away flashed in front of her. They’d all gotten so much taller, all looked so different– not just from her own memory, but from each other. She’d always been able to tell them apart, by the way they wore their expressions so differently on their faces. But now they each wore the Order too, and she could see the way it changed them– or wanted to change them. 

Hubert, who had adopted Fergus’s confident snarl. Harris, who preferred not to look bothered at all. Hamish– who was worried. He kept lookin’ at Mam the most. It all broke Merida’s heart. 

 “I– I’m sorry,” Merida blurted. She was still trying to stay calm, but tears peppered her eyes. “I’m sorry, alright, that I got bit. I failed all of ye– I broke our family. I know I did, but I never wanted to. If I could go back, I would, in a second. I’d give up me wolf.” It hurt to say at this point, but in the face of her kin, she yearned for their raucous dinners, the camping trips, even the arguments that didn’t end with swords pointed at each other’s throats. 

“But I can’t go back. All I can do is fix it the way I am. So I’m sorry, and I– I swear I’m still me. Give me a chance to prove it to ye. That’s all I want, just a chance.” 

“Shut yer maw, beast,” growled Fergus, threatening as thunder. 

But Merida could see– in Hamish’s eyes at least– even more hesitation. 

“Mam,” said Hamish, as his brow crumpled further. He took another step toward Elinor as he began to lower the sword. “Y-you trust her?” 

“Hamish!” Fergus snapped. “Back to your position, boy!” 

ELINOR: Elinor’s heart broke for her daughter. It had broken so many times over the past years that she wasn’t even sure where all the pieces were anymore. Scattered about Cawdor Castle. Dropped deep in the lochs of Scotland. With Fergus, with her children--both living and dead. 

But the way Merida spoke now…it made Elinor furious. She wanted to claw Fergus’ eyes out of his blasted head. She didn’t need the bear’s anger, she had the anger of a mother. How could Fergus look at their daughter and see a beast? How could he look at her and see anything other than a scared girl, who wanted her family back, who blamed herself for all of this? Elinor wanted to turn to her and cradle her face in her hands, kiss her all over her freckles, the way she used to do when Merida was small. She couldn’t do that. Now was not the time. 

Instead, she just reached back and touched Merida’s hand, hoping that the gesture would help. Even just a little bit. 

Her eyes snapped toward Hamish as he moved towards her. Sweet Hamish. He was just as brave as his brothers, just in a different way. Elinor smiled at him, tears in her eyes. 

“Yes, baby,” she coaxed, ignoring Fergus. “I’ve lived with her all this time. And she’s just like you all remember. Worse, even. She’s more bold and brash than ever, but she loves you all. We both do.” 

Hamish glanced at his father, who was glowering. “Don’t take another step.” 

It was Harris who moved then, coming up behind his brother and putting a hand on his shoulder. His mouth was set in a pale, straight line; his eyes gave nothing away. They never did. He looked so pale, skinnier than his brothers. Was he eating alright? Was he sick? Elinor wanted to gather all of them into her arms, even Hubert--who was still sneering, a mirror image of his father. 

Hamish looked back at Harris uncertainly, not sure if his brother was going to pull him back or urge him on. Elinor suspected that Harris wasn’t quite sure either. 

“We--should hear them out,” Harris finally said evenly. 

MERIDA: Yes, Merida had broken her family. But maybe she really could fix it.

Her heart stuttered twice as fast as she saw the opportunity rise from her words. The fear had faded from her brothers’ eyes. They were thinking twice– at least with Harris, this made sense. He was always one to think twice; his pranks benefited from that, always twice as clever and annoying as anything straightforward Hubert or silly Hamish could dream up. She needed him to use that brain now, to sway her brothers’ minds if not their hearts. She could take care of that last step. But just fill in the cracks– give them all something solid to stand on!

She saw it happening. And for all the years she’d spent in Swynlake, and the small steps she’d taken to become more of the community again… only now did she see her redemption, here, with her brothers. 

Even Hubert was hesitating now, his line of sight darting around frantically. She understood that confusion even better than Hamish’s longing for peace, Harris’s calm pragmatism. She could be the one to turn Hubert now too. 

“Hugh,” she addressed him. “C’mon. Just– an hour. An hour and then if ye want to kick me ass, ye can. Though I won’t make it easy on ye.” 

Hubert breathed a little harder. He looked at Harris–

Harris nodded.

Hubert started to lower this sword–

“NO!” Fergus roared and what happened next happened in a blur. Her father barrelled forward and he aimed his sword straight for Merida’s heart. 

The wolf inside her cried out and wanted to burst from her skin. But the magic drain had created a cavern inside of Merida it could not jump over. Merida’s eyes widened and she did something she never did–

She froze. 

ELINOR: There wasn’t a moment of thought. 

One moment, Elinor was smiling at her sons, who she hadn’t seen in a whole year, her heart lifting at the possibility of her family, her children, coming back to her--

The next: a large, black bear was roaring loud enough to shake the stones as scraps of fabric drifted down to the ground like petals. On its back haunches, the bear reached almost to the ceiling. The room they were in was small, with its hulking mass everyone scrambled backwards. The sword that had been coming for Merida diverted as the bear’s large paw knocked into the man’s shoulder, sending him sprawling to the side.

There was a shout and Hubert rushed forward. The bear fell down onto its front paws and it roared again, eyes flashing. Hubert stopped in his tracks. Even in the heat of the summer, the bear’s breath blew in a warm, white cloud, fogging Hubert’s sword. The bear’s ears twitched, staring at the boy, but not making any other move. There was a strange, familiar smell in this place. No enemies--

The bear’s hesitation gave Fergus just enough time to scramble to his feet.

“Oi! You demon! You beast! Leave my boy alone!” The man charged again, the sword slashing against the bear’s shoulder. 

She turned with a snarl and knocked the man across the face this time with a paw larger than his head. The man, stunned, stumbled backwards towards the low set window that was letting in a dusty grey stream of light. For a moment, it looked as if he was just going to brace himself against the glass but as his hand reached out to steady himself, the brittle, ancient glass gave way. Fergus lost his footing on the slippery, dry hay that littered the floor and before anyone could do anything about it--

He fell from the window, disappearing from sight. All that was left were the dust mites that danced in the air in the place disturbed. 

MERIDA: Thunder shook the castle.

Except that it wasn’t thunder– it was a beastly roar that bellowed from the chest of a hulking brown bear. Merida was on the floor. She’d stumbled back when Elinor transformed. Her eyes were blasted wide as she stared up at Elinor, stretched to her full height, all fangs and fur and claws. “Mam!” she cried out, but she could not stop what was coming next. For there was a storm in the castle, and it was Elinor’s fury. Nothing had ever been able to slow her mother down. 

And so Merida’s father charged. 

Elinor’s mother attacked.

Merida launched herself toward her brothers. She got her hands on Harris and Hamish, who had been next together and still were. She dragged them back, but she could not stop them from seeing Fergus plunge out the window.

“DA!” her brothers all screamed at once.It was too late though. There was only broken glass where he had stood, glinting like diamonds in the sun.  

The bear swung her head to look at her children, all crying and screaming. 

Merida had no reason to believe Elinor wouldn’t come after them next. Especially as Hubert scrambled ‘cross the floor for a sword. 

“NO!” she shouted at him. “RUN! RUN, NOW!” 

She shoved her brothers toward the door. They stumbled out. And Merida slammed the door behind ‘em, not sure how long that would hold Elinor’s fury.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Dragon On The Tower Roof.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.2k.

TW: Fantasy AU, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, Mentions of Injury to Reader, Implied (Consensual) Sex, Possessive Behavior, and Manipulation.

Malleus met you at the base of his tower.

With a single movement of his wings, he descended from his perch and landed in front of you – placing himself between you and the stone behemoth. Had you been a more imposing figure, a knight or a prince or the general of some distant army, he would’ve cut you down the moment you entered his valley, but your only armor was a thin rucksack tunic and your only weapon was a rusted sword – the tip of its chipped blade currently planted in the ground as you struggled to keep yourself on your feet. He could smell blood on you, although he couldn’t be sure if its source was the jagged, poorly bandaged wound on your calf or the dark stains painting your humble clothes. You were clearly not a knight, much less a prince, and if you were a general, your army had abandoned you long ago. Altogether, you were not the most intimidating nuisance he had ever had to dismiss. He might’ve been grateful, had you not been a nuisance at all.

In the past, his visage alone had been enough to make even the bravest adventure abandon their quest, but your weary eyes only glazed over his black-scaled wings, his spiraling horns, the slit pupils of his unnaturally green eyes. You acknowledged him with a slight nod, putting more of your weight on your makeshift aid. “I believe I’m here to slay you, dragon.”

His greeting, likewise, came in the form of a bowed head, a narrowed gaze. “And to rescue the prince, I assume.”

You shrugged, the gesture alone threatening to cost you your balance. “I’m sure they’d prefer if I didn’t. I think they’ve got someone else for that – a lord, or maybe a king. Someone more befitting than a filthy criminal, surely.”

At that, Malleus felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Novelty was rare, this far into his everlasting life, and he could not say he’d ever had a prisoner sent after his head. “What sort of crime gets you sent to the lair of a monster?”

You brightened at the question. “Thievery,” you answered, pride overshadowing your exhaustion. “I could either face you or let them cut off my hands and, well, I find those to be quite essential to my burgeoning career.”

This time, you earned an airy laugh, a reflexive flick of his tail. He took another moment to evaluate you before speaking. “You are tired, thief.”

It wasn’t a question, but you answered regardless. “It was a long journey. You aren’t an easy monster to reach.”

“And injured, presumably by the fangs of some great beast of legend.”

“Right again.” You paused, then added, “If there are any legends about wolves, I mean.”

“And hungry.” Your smile fell. When you failed to respond, he went on. “May I invite you to share a meal with me before our battle?”

He watched as you swallowed, as you straightened. Your sword was pulled from the ground and allowed to hang limply at your side as you stared up at him with such a hopeful expression – his heart, had it not been so terribly calloused, might’ve broken at the sight alone. “Well,” you started, your humor gone in exchange for pure, unabashed desperation. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a kindly offered invitation.”

With no further conversation, he stepped to the side, raising his staff to the tower. After only a moment, the endless cobblestone pulled away to reveal a simple, wooded door – already open and awaiting his entry. Smiling, he motioned for you to follow him, and without protest, you obeyed.

~

You ate, to put it politely, like a starving animal.

There’d been an attempt at decency when you first sat down at the opposing head of his banquet table, a gallant effort to make use of the flatware arranged into neat, never-ending lines on either side of your plate, but what little energy you had for such pleasantries was depleted quickly as your attention was dedicated entirely to the whims of your empty stomach. Countless other dishes decorated the table – ranging from fine delicacies fit for the pallets of kings to common staples even the lowest of peasantry would’ve been familiar with, but Malleus was content to nurse a goblet of dark, herbed wine as he watched you bask in the feast.

Only after you’d gotten your fill did you seem to remember that you had company, your expression taking on a sheepish note. “This is what they brought me to trial for. Trespassing, I mean,” you began, and Malleus hummed in acknowledgement. “It was a baron’s manor – not quite a castle, but close to it. I heard he had the most beautiful gardens on this continent, and at the time, it seemed unreasonable to have to wait for an invitation just to take a look.”

“I thought you were a thief?”

“You must have the wrong person. I’ve been many things, but never a thief.” You leaned back in your chair. “I’m afraid I’ve always been too tender-hearted for that kind of thing. I could never stand to insult my hosts.”

“Such a considerate guest I have,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I suppose I won’t have to worry about being robbed blind if I let you stay the night, then.”

You shook your head, feigning ego. “I would never, dear dragon. Your reclusive prince, on the other hand—”

Whatever you might’ve gone on to say was swiftly replaced with a sudden gasp as every torch within sight burst into a pillar of vicious emerald flame, casting the dining room in a blinding, sickly green before dying out just as abruptly as it’d erupted. Malleus let out an exasperated breath, bringing a hand to his temples. “My apologies. My patience has grown—” He cast a wayward glance toward the ash now seared into the stone walls, the ceiling. “—thin, over my time here.”

You allowed a beat to pass by in silence, then another. “Your prince,” you said, finally. “Is he important to you?”

“I can think of nothing I value more.” The answer came easily, even if the intensity of his sentiment surprised him. “An old friend asked me to ensure his safety. I’ve performed my role dutifully ever since.” The taste of blood rose into the back of his throat, but he drowned it out with another long sip from his goblet. “They used to send entire armies to reclaim him, then lone knights, then the occasional adventurer. You might be the first human to come seeking my head in two or three decades.”

Your smile took on a shy lilt, your eyes drifting to the table. “I wasn’t really supposed to come after you, either. Most people just take it as an exile, but they gave me a sword, and…” It was your turn to laugh, now, to be surprised with yourself. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought, even if I don’t get to rescue any princes, it could be nice to see how much of the fairy tale is true.”

“And you’re satisfied with what you’ve found?”

“Not entirely,” you admitted. “But I’m glad I met you, dear dragon.”

After some hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between you. You stiffened, your gaze flitting blatantly toward the sole exit, but you didn’t attempt to flee as he pulled the closest seat in front of you and fell into it. “May I see your leg?”

You were far more than reluctant, but complied. The material of your travel weary trousers was pulled above your knee, the strips of fabric you’d attempted to fashion into bandages cut away with his own pitch-black talons. The wound was worse than he’d assumed, more severe than he assumed. Ragged skin stretched from your knee to your ankle, harsh puncture marks littering what little flesh was still in-tact. The stress of your journey had prevented the brunt of the damage from healing, and even without the use of his advanced senses, he would’ve been able to feel the heat radiating off of your skin, the first signs of infection beginning to set in. You were lucky you’d made it to his tower before the fever spread. His territory was cruel to the most resilient of creatures, and you seemed far from resilient.

“I have a salve in my collection that should aid in your recovery. That, paired with a few days of bed rest, should have you on your feet again in a week’s time.” Not a lie, but not far from one, either. He’d mended worse with a snap of his fingers, but there was no reason you should have to be burdened with such knowledge. “If you can find it within yourself to share a roof with a monster and delay our duel yet again, I can provide room and board while you recover.”

Your laugh was bright and strained. “You’re terribly kind to someone who came here to take your life.”

“And you’re very trusting of a creature who could easily end yours.” He let his pointed claws scrape over your bare skin, prolonging his evaluation. “Think of it as a show of my gratitude. My time here is well-spent, but tends to pass slowly. Visitors, whether benevolent or malicious, help to color my days.”

“Then I will have to be the most colorful visitor you’ve ever had,” you chimed, your grin renewed with fresh vigor. Clearly, you were not the type of mortal who could go long without a task. “I’ll make you wait on me hand and foot and bend to my every whim, until the thought of encountering another human being makes you sick. When I’m done, there might even be a dragon in this tower worth slaying.”

His only response was a steady nod, a low hum. He stood and, in the same motion, hooked one arm under the bend of your knees and another around your waist, lifting you into the air before you had the chance to so much as think to pull away. Instinctually, you attempted to re-balance yourself against him, and Malleus couldn’t help himself – laughing as he pulled you to his chest. “If I am to dote on you to the point of sickness, then let me start now. You’re in no state to walk on your own.”

You opened your mouth as if to complain, but anything you might’ve said was deemed too unimportant to warrant the effort. Your smile softened, your eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder. You lingered there, quiet and content, as he carried you through the halls of what would come to be your home.

~

Your prescribed period of bed rest came and went. Your bruises healed, then your leg (although you still tended to limp during particularly heavy rainstorms), and your exhaustion was replaced by a buzzing sort of restlessness. He never asked you to leave, and after some time, you seemed to stop expecting him to. You spoke rarely of your past (aside from the ever-changing series of events that led you to his tower, of course) and never of your future. When Malleus was in one of his more indulgent moods, he allowed himself to believe that, when he did catch you looking in his direction with such a glimmering worry in your eyes, you weren’t afraid of him, but of the possibility that he might send you away.

Despite your claims of spoiled houseguests and encumbered hosts, he was only driven to near-madness once while sharing your company. It’d been shortly after you instated yourself as a resident of his tower, rather than a fleeting visitor, and took to exploring your new dwelling without reservation. It’d been his own fault, really. He’d forgotten to warn you away from the upper wing, to resketch the protective runes he’d long-since allowed to fade, but such rationality had escaped him as he stood in the doorway, his mind empty and his eyes trained on your kneeling figure. He watched, paralyzed, as you raised a hand, reaching towards the marble slab, and then he was behind you – the points of his talons grazing the skin of your throat before he managed to restrain himself, curling his fist around the collar of your shirt, instead. Without warning, he hauled you off your feet, ignoring the half-choked shriek you let out in response.

His eyes fell to Silver, searching for any signs of harm, of disruption. Of course, Silver was unchanged. His colorless hair remained fanned over his velvet-cushioned pillow, the silk sheets and hand-stitched quilts still folded neatly at the foot of his bed – waiting to be put to use when the weather turned in autumn. Malleus took a moment to observe the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle movement behind his closed eyes, before letting out a breath of relief and turning to you. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter this chamber.”

“Sorry, I— I was just looking around, and I saw the flowers on the door—” Silver’s own craftsmanship, preserved from the ravages of time by Malleus’ spell work. He’d painted them as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush, along with matching murals on his bedroom walls that hadn’t survived the passing ages. “—I got curious, that’s all. Is this the prince I was sent after?”

Malleus set his jaw, straightening his hunched posture. “…it is,” he answered, eventually. He let go of your collar and let you stumble onto your feet. “His name is Silver. I never knew him by any titles.”

Malleus’ gaze shifted to you, but your eyes remained fixed on Silver. “He’s beautiful.”

Despite himself, he felt the edge of his lips turn downward. He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recover from your daze, turning to face him with a hopeful smile. “Do you know when he’s going to wake up?”

Malleus felt a coil of heat form in the back of the throat. The taste of ash laid heavy over his tongue, but he swallowed back his guilt and forced himself to respond. “In another hundred years, perhaps,” he mused, his tone melodic and detached. “There’s no known cure for a curse like his.”

A phantom of disappointment flickered across your expression, but it was suppressed quickly. Rather, you turned your attention outward – to the heavy, woven curtains draped over each crystalline window. “Will you help me let in some light? I hate to insult your taste, but it’s terribly depressing in here, and—” You brightened, taking him by the sleeve and tugging gingerly. “We don’t want his highness to have any nightmares, do we?”

With some reluctance, Malleus nodded. “Light, but nothing else.” When you failed to acknowledge him, he caught you by the wrist, squeezing with just enough pressure for your smile to falter. “Light, but nothing else. Do you understand?”

Your eyes darted back to Silver, but only for a moment. He was thankful for that – for your restraint. A second longer, and his true nature might’ve overshadowed his better judgement. “Of course, dear dragon. Nothing else.”

He inhaled sharply, then let go of you altogether.

It was a choice that, in the approaching months, he would only come to regret.

~

“This is what they banished me for, you know.”

“This?”

“Yes, this exactly.” You propped your chin on his chest, positioning yourself to more easily card your fingers through his hair. He let his eyes fall shut, basking in the warmth of your affection, of your bare skin pressed into his. Your clothes laid discarded on the grass around you, one of his wings bent and raised to shield you from the harsh light of the setting sun. He would have to get you back to the tower, soon. He’d always been indifferent to the deadly chill of night, but you – in your precious, delicate mortality – were not so durable. “Actually, not quite – I don’t think I ever made it to this part. It was the first time I’d ever attended a royal ball, and I happened to dance with a young lady so breath-taking, I couldn’t help but drop to one knee and dedicate my heart to her the moment our hands touched.” You sighed, feigning remorse. “Little did I know that she was the princess that ball was being thrown for, and so moved by my passion, she refused to let me out of her embrace until I agreed to marry her. Of course, her father – the king, as the fathers of princesses tend to be – couldn’t have that. It’s a shame, really. We would’ve made a gorgeous couple.”

Malleus pursed his lips, fighting back a smile. “And what does that make me? The next scorned lover of a silver-tongued rouge?”

“Oh, no. If you asked me to marry you,” You propped yourself up, pressing a kiss into the curve of his jaw. “There’d be nothing in the world that could stop me, dear dragon.”

Your hand fell to his cheek, and wistfully, you lulled him into a kiss – shallow but lingering, punctuated with a playful nip at his bottom lip. You pulled back with a smile, another quick peck to his cheek. You moved to say something, but he interrupted you, as mournful as he was to cut off such a precious moment so callously. “I found your wildflowers.”

Immediately, your expression fell. “I made sure not to—”

“I know, beloved, I know.” You knew better than to lay a hand on Silver. Your small bouquet had been left on the corner of his bed, another additional chain of asters and lavender braided into one of the longer strands of his waist-length hair. As much as he wished he could say he was only concerned for Silver’s well-being, it wouldn’t have been the truth. Something else, something darker, had accompanied the discovery – something it would be better for you to stay ignorant of. “We’ve talked about this. Silver is vulnerable, in his current condition. Even the simplest luxury is an unspeakable risk.”

Your shoulders dropped, your body going slack against his. You bowed your head, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, and despite his frustration with you, he didn’t push you away. “I’m sorry. It just feels so cruel to let him suffer alone.”

“He’s never been alone.” His tone was more curt than he’d meant it to be. “He’s always had me.”

“I know, but—” He expected you to raise your hair, to flash him that brilliant grin. Instead, you only settled against him, speaking softly into the crook of his neck. “He just seems so sad.”

Malleus took a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.

Then, before he could let himself think better of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist. In one fluid motion, he turned you over – leaving you on your back, one of his knees planted on either side of your waist, your form tucked safely underneath his. His kiss was less gentle than your own – that deep, aching sort of hunger overwhelming his cautiousness as his tongue raked over yours, as he groaned unabashedly into your mouth. You returned his affection emphatically; your fingers soon knotted in his hair, your eager touch preventing so much as the thought of distance between your body and his. Because there never would be distance between you and him. Because there was no reason you should ever have to be taken away from him.

Hours later, when the last traces of light had faded and the stars were painted in swirling patterns across the sky, he would carry you back to his tower – unconscious and pliable in his arms. That would be the first night you spent in his bed, and as he laid there with you, he couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if you never left.

~

The runes carved into Silver’s door were redrawn, Malleus’ enchantments refreshed, and your bittersweet sympathy slowly rotted into a distinctly bland melancholy. You didn’t speak of him (Malleus could only wonder how you ever managed to speak of anyone when so many of his marks so often decorated your skin), but he noticed new scratches around the well-rusted lock on Silver’s door, caught you braiding chains of daisies and crowns of marigolds with no intended recipient in mind, and at night, you tended to slip out of his hold and wander. Sometimes, he waited for you, lying awake as you hunted for whatever solace there was to find in the empty halls of an ancient tower. Most nights, tonight, he chased after you.

He found you in a window near the tower’s highest room, laid across the wooden sill, your back propped against the empty frame. He didn’t ask to join you – wordlessly lowering himself to the floor at your feet. As if by reflex, your hand fell to his horns, your thumb tracing over a particular ridge near the base as you broke the quiet. “Have ever told you why I’m here, dear dragon?”

Countless times, but he still played along. “Who has my heart been stolen by today, beloved?”

“A murderer,” you said, hollowly. “And not a particularly clever one, at that.”

He waited for you to go on, to spin some elaborate tale of love and loss and betrayal and poor humor, but you only lapsed back into silence, your gaze turning back to the pitch-black valley. He watched your vacant expression for a moment, then another before letting his eyes fall shut and resting his cheek against your thigh.

~

Malleus had expected there to be more anger than this.

You were in a similar position to one you’d taken the first time you stumbled into Silver’s chambers – kneeling beside his marble bed, your ever-weary eyes fixed on the unknowing object of your adoration. The only difference was that, today, Silver’s hand was raised to your lips, now slightly parted in shock. He didn’t have to guess at the source of your astonishment. In front of you, Silver was sitting up. His posture was unsteady, his eyes barely open, but the obvious was undeniable.

He was awake.

To think, there was something of merit to Lilia’s stories of true love after all.

Rather than anger, rage, pure and undiluted fury, an odd sort of calm settled over his blank mind as you snapped in his direction. Your astonishment turned to horror in an instant. “Malleus, I didn’t— I was only trying to—”

He put you out of your mercy quickly. He raised his staff and, propelled by some unseen force, you were torn away from Silver’s bedside and thrown against the nearest walls – the force of the collision far from fatal, but enough to leave you limp and unconscious. With your safety ensured, he stepped forward, approaching Silver. He was awake, but only just. So many decades of uninterrupted sleep would not be so willing to release him from their taloned clutches without a struggle, and there was a certain dream-like lull to the way his eyes skirted over the limited scenery before settling on Malleus, his features immediately softening in relief. “Malleus?”

“I’m here.” Malleus allowed himself a small smile before bringing the end of his staff to Silver’s forehead. “You can rest, brother.”

There was just enough time for the edges of Silver’s lips to turn downward before he collapsed back onto the marble slab. Malleus would arrange him later on. For now, his attention turned to you.

He gathered your crumpled form in his arms and carried you through the halls of his lonely tower, before stepping into the clear air and fresh heat of the valley. He laid you in the tall grass and, after taking a moment to appreciate your peaceful expression, brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek tenderly. The spell came to him instinctually, but he took his time, mourning the loss of your time together with each mumbled word. That was a silver-lining of immortality, though. Infinite time allowed for infinite repetition, and he couldn’t imagine giving up the opportunity to fall in love with you again.

When he was done, your eyes fluttered open, a smile quickly finding its way to your lips. “Hello, dragon.” You gazed darted to either side nervously, your mind struggling to catch up with your clever tongue. “I would love to introduce myself, but it’s the funniest thing – I can’t seem to remember what I’m doing here.”

He bit back a smile. You tried to force yourself into a more dignified position, but barely managed to get an arm underneath you before pausing, wincing, reaching for the back of your head and coming away with blood smeared across your fingertips. Malleus did what he could to hide his delight.

“You’re a thief. You injured yourself attempting to scale my tower. It was an impressive effort, but tragically unnecessary.”

This time, he couldn’t hide the wide, simpering grin that came to rest across his lips.

“I was always going to invite you inside.”

[vampsywrites]

II — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Sun&Moon couple, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped, Mentions of Jealousy&Possessiveness, Romantic tension, Neteyam wanting to impress his girl, Lo'ak having the time of his life teasing the shit out of Neteyam, Reader has that Tsahik rizz

Word Count: 2.8k | AO3 LINK

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

With the village of the Iuva'ri clan now their new home, the Sullys followed you past open fields, their eyes wandering in amazement at the sights.

Everywhere they looked, the hustle and bustle of daily life surrounded them. Hunters could be seen hauling large beasts into the village, farmers had their hands deep in the earth as they worked to ensure a bountiful harvest, and weavers, with their deft hands, skillfully crafted intricate patterns into fabric.

Though the environment was not too different from what they were used to in the forest, it was still a significant change from the wild, cluttered jungle they had known all their life.

While his family was busy taking all of the clan in, Neteyam was fully focused on you. He watched in fascination as the village parted when you walked past, people practically throwing themselves aside to clear your path. From elders to children, they bowed in reverence and greeted you with warmth and admiration, recognizing you as their Tsahìk.

Through the walk, Neteyam also couldn't help but notice how your presence captured the attention of the young men and women around. Warriors, weavers, hunters – they all seemed to be drawn to you, stopping in their tracks with blushing cheeks as they exchanged hushed words. Their lingering gazes and subtle glances, their eyes which seemed to follow you like a predator stalking its prey, didn't escape Neteyam's watchful eyes.

As he observed this intense attention you garnered, a pang of possessiveness surged through his gut, and his tail lashed out in irritation.

Neteyam felt torn, battling with the internal struggle of feeling irrationally possessive. Deep down, he knew he had no right to be jealous. After all, he had no claim over you, and he had yet to truly earn your trust and affection.

The announcement of your courtship clearly took the clan by surprise. While some genuinely celebrated your happiness, others found it difficult to hide their envy. Evident by the glares sent his way from those who might have hoped to be in his place.

This scrutiny only served to intensify his emotions.

"This will be your home now," you called out, your voice calm and welcoming, pulling him away from his thoughts. Neteyam watched as you guided them to a beautifully crafted hut elevated on bamboo wooden stilts. It stood gracefully above the ground, a testament to the skilled craftsmanship of your people. The roof was steeply pitched and thatched with nipa palm leaves, while the walls were intricately woven from bamboo slats.

Tuktirey gasped in amazement, her eyes wide with childish wonder as she marveled at the hut's elevated design. "It's so tall!" she exclaimed, clearly impressed by the unique structure.

You hummed, understanding their awe and sensing the underlying hesitation in some of them.

"You will grow to like it," you reassured with a small smile. "It may be different from what you're used to, but it will keep you safe and warm. Our people have lived in harmony with Eywa and these lands for generations."

Tuktirey beamed up at you. "I can't wait to explore and learn more about your ways," she cheers, enthusiasm evident.

“I am sure you will learn well, little one,” you hum, running a hand through her braided hair.

With ease, you then moved towards the stairs, climbing up with a sense of familiarity as you began to haul their belongings to their new home. The family followed behind you, still feeling a tad bit out of place.

After ensuring they were comfortable, you began to excuse yourself, knowing you needed to give them some privacy. As you walked past Neteyam, catching his gaze, you gently rest your hand upon his chest. After murmuring a quick goodbye, you withdrew your hand and swiftly left the hut. Neteyam’s mind ran haywire, the spot where your hand had been burned with a sudden fire, leaving a lingering sensation on his skin that he couldn't shake off.

Eywa. It had only been a day and already you had an effect on him.

With your departure, the family gathered together, finding a spot to discuss the events that had transpired earlier. Neytiri paced back and forth in the open hut, footsteps loud against the wooden flooring, her mind racing with a myriad of thoughts and emotions.

"Alright," Jake sighed, running a rugged hand down his face, breaking through the tension. "We have to unpack what just happened earlier."

Neytiri nodded, her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the situation. Her eyes turned to Neteyam, concern evident in her voice as she asked, "Ma'itan, are you sure of this?"

"Oh, he sure is," Lo'ak answered for his brother, sending a grin his way. "I mean—Did you hear him back there?"

"I will accept this proposal. Only if she will have me," he mocked, mimicking Neteyam's accent in a deep, gravely tone. Kiri couldn't help but hide her face with her hand, trying to stifle her laughter.

"Skxawng," Neteyam snarled playfully and gave Lo'ak a light smack in response, which only made his younger siblings laugh even more.

"Enough, you two," Neytiri's voice rang out, cutting through the air. She shook her head in exasperation, her beaded locks swaying and rattling with her movements. Turning her attention back to her eldest, her tone dropped a timbre as she murmured, "Neteyam, this is a big decision. Are you truly sure about this? You wish to mate with that woman?"

Neteyam's gaze shifted from his brother to his mother, lips drawing into a contemplative frown as the weight of it all settled heavily on his shoulders. The significance of such a union wasn't lost on him. The mating bond was not merely a union of bodies; it was the fusion of two souls, a sacred connection dictated by Eywa. He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to express his feelings.

"I am sure," he replied, his voice steady, despite the turmoil inside him. Neytiri studied his face for a moment, catching the hesitation laced in his expression.

"You do not have to do something your heart is against," his mother whispered, reaching forward, both of her hands finding his tense shoulders, rubbing deep circles into his muscle. Neteyam felt the warmth and reassurance in his mother's touch, and for a moment, he leaned into it, finding comfort in her presence.

"That’s the thing. My heart isn’t against it. I just… I felt something when I saw her." He then hesitated, struggling to unknot his mind and put his feelings into words. "Like-Like a heartbeat."

Kiri's eyes sparkled with wonder, a look of recognition flashing behind her eyes. Her tail swished with delight as she leaned forward eagerly, the shawl slipping off her shoulder in the haste of her movement. "You must have felt Eywa's connection with her. Was it like a calling? Could you feel a mighty heartbeat?"

Neteyam froze, his gaze turning to his younger sister.

"Yes. Exactly that, Kiri," he replied, his voice filled with a hint of disbelief. "It was like… she was calling out to me in some way, as if our souls were somehow intertwined."

Kiri's excitement grew, and she couldn't contain her joy. “Eywa has blessed you with a gift, brother. Rarely do mates feel such a deep soul connection on the first time they meet."

"Soul connection? That’s love at first sight, huh?" Jake interjected, his eyes glinting as he glanced at Neytiri with a knowing smile. "Sound familiar?"

Neytiri's stern façade softened as she smiled back, unable to hide her amusement. "Yes, it does," she admitted with a fondness in her voice. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of understanding and warmth as she looked at her eldest son. "Neteyam, ma’itan, if you truly feel this connection, then it may be a sign from Eywa herself. The steps you take next will be entirely up to you."

"It's just like those stories we've heard, bro. Soulmates and destined love,” Lo’ak chimed in. “You and her, together, guided by Eywa's hand," he smirked, clasping his hands together and making kissy faces. Neteyam huffed, shaking his head.

"Yeah. It might be like that," he admitted with a touch of bashfulness.

"But let's not get carried away with the dramatics,” Neteyam sighs, snapping himself back to reality. “I still want to get to know her first. I want to take it slow.”

“Slow, huh? Is that what you call asking her to mate with you on the spot?" Lo’ak laughed.

“Lo’ak!” Neytiri hissed, glaring at him disapprovingly.

"I did not ask her to mate with me on the spot!" Neteyam snaps through gritted teeth, his voice rising slightly in embarrassment.

Lo'ak's laughter boomed through the air, thoroughly relishing the sight of his older brother's flustered expression. It was a rare occasion for Neteyam to be caught off guard by his teasing, always having a smartass rebut at the tip of his tongue.

"Yeah? Well, it sure looked like it to me," he snickered, his tail swishing back and forth in interest. Neytiri intervened, smacking him upside on the head. Lo’ak winced in response, and nursed the spot where his mother had hit him.

"Ow, ow, I get it," he groaned, lying flat on the floor. "I'll stop."

"Alright. ‘Nough of that. Come on," Jake said, with a chuckle, huddling everyone close. Once they had formed a circle, he began to address them, his tone taking on a more serious note, "Listen, I really need you kids to be on your best behavior. And I mean it."

Jake shifts his gaze to his eldest son, “Neteyam becoming a candidate for future Olo'eyktan already stirred things up enough. And I don’t even need to tell you just how messy that’s going to be.”

Neteyam heaved out a tense sigh, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. “Sorry, sir.”

“We’re gonna get through this,” Jake continued, dismissing Neteyam’s apology, his voice carrying a tone of reassurance. “Together.”

Neytiri moved closer to her husband, gently placing her head over Jake's shoulder. “What does your father always say?” Neytiri murmured, her voice soft and soothing.

“Sullys stick together…”

“Little more feeling this time!"

“Sullys stick together!”

As the night falls and the stars twinkle in the dark sky, they finally retire to their new sleeping arrangements. Neteyam lays on his makeshift bed, a woven mat made out of palm and leaves, his mind abuzz with thoughts. He gazes out of the hut's opening, where he can catch a glimpse of you in the moonlight, going about your duties as Tsahìk, checking up on a few of the sick and injured in their huts.

Your silhouette against the moonlit backdrop mesmerizes him, and he finds himself drawn to your presence like a moth to a flame. As you notice his gaze, you offer him a reassuring nod before continuing your duties. His heart swells with warmth at the acknowledgment.

With the comfort of your presence lingering in his mind, Neteyam turns onto his back, feeling a sense of peace settle over him. The gentle rustle of palm leaves outside and the distant sounds of the forest lull him into a state of relaxation. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into a deep and restful sleep.

The next morning, the village awakens early. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange as the sun begins to rise over the mountains. Knocking gently at the side of their hut, you had called for them before the sun could even fully emerge, offering to show them more of the village and its surrounding wonders.

You lead them through the mountains, showing Kiri, Lo'ak, Tuk, and Neteyam the ways of life in this breathtaking terrain. The trees stand tall and proud, similar to those in the forest they once called home, but here they bear a different kind of energy, surrounded by majestic mountains which hold ancient tales of the ancestors before them. The group walks amidst the trees, their senses heightened by the subtle sounds of wildlife and the fresh scent of earth.

As you lead them further, you come across vast rice fields, a breathtaking sight of lush green beauty stretching as far as the eye can see. The fields seem to come alive with the morning sunlight. The stalks of rice sway gently in the breeze, creating a mesmerizing dance, captivating the forest Na’vi.

Amidst the exploration, Neteyam's keen eyes spot a group of mountain climbers in the distance, scaling a rocky hill.

"What are they doing?" he questions, his curiosity piqued.

"They're practicing for the coming-of-age ceremony," you say, your gaze following the climbers. Neteyam's curiosity turns into intrigue, and he listens intently as you begin to explain.

"It's an ascent to the clouded peak," you share, pointing to a towering mountain in the distance, its summit shrouded in mist. "At dawn, the candidates gather at the base. It is the tallest mountain in the region and they must set out on a journey to reach the summit."

Lo’ak whistles, grimacing while he sizes up the daunting landscape before him. "We have to climb that?" he asks incredulously.

“Only if you want to. Your Omatikayan ikinimaya should be enough for you to be recognized in the clan,” you assure him with a pat on his back.

Neteyam stays silent for the next few minutes, his faraway gaze directed towards the rocky mountain. Suddenly, he startles everyone by speaking up, the words slipping from his mouth causing your eyes to rip wide open.

"I want to partake in it," he says, his voice steady and resolute. The sudden declaration shakes everyone, and his siblings turn their attention fully to him, waiting to hear his reasoning.

You too gaze up at him in disbelief. "Are you certain?" you ask, wanting to ensure that he fully comprehends the challenges that lie ahead. “This is no simple feat—”

"I am strong," Neteyam interrupts, sounding a little harsher than he had intended, but it was important to him that you knew of his abilities. "I will be able to train for it well."

Your milky eyes drop to his battle-hardened body, sweeping over his broad shoulders and the ridges of his defined muscles, glistening softly in the sun’s glow. The scars etched on his skin tell tales of past battles and trials, a testament to his experience. Neteyam holds his ground, finding himself flexing subconsciously under your gaze.

"I know you are strong," you retort.

"Yes—"

"But the warriors of the forest are different from those of the mountains," you cut him off with a pointed stare. "It is not just about physical strength; you will have to learn how they train, their techniques, and their ways of life," you begin to move towards him, a challenging look in your eyes. "It is difficult to fill a cup that is already full."

Neteyam's jaw clenches, his gaze unwavering. "Then I will empty my cup. I will adapt," he asserts with passion. "I will prove myself not just to your people but to myself as well. If I am to be chief, I have to embrace your ways."

"Pretty sure you just want to impress her, bro," Lo’ak quips. Neteyam scowls at his remark and, in a swift motion, drives his elbow straight into his younger brother's side. At the impact, Lo’ak immediately folds, nursing his side as his face contorts in pain. “Fuck!”

Ignoring Lo’ak, Neteyam turns back to you, his expression steadfast and unwavering. In that moment, he feels an overwhelming longing to prove himself to you, to earn your admiration and love based on his own merits, not just because of any preconceived notions or expectations.

His determination shines like a beacon, and his sincerity tugs at your heartstrings. It's as if he's baring his soul before you, showing you the depths of his desire to be someone you can truly respect and admire.

With a hum, you settle back, your tail flickering behind you in intrigue. If the rumors carried by the wind from clan to clan about him were to be believed, then you should have known he would want to partake in the ceremony.

Such a bold spirit, evident in those golden eyes of his every time he spoke. The mountains around you seemed to echo with approval, as if Eywa herself was acknowledging his resolve.

"If you are that eager, then I will teach you," you say, the decision firm in your heart. It feels as if a weight is lifted off his shoulders at your acceptance of his offer. Neteyam hums, trying to maintain a stoic expression but the telltale flicks of his ears and tail betray his anticipation and eagerness.

"Do not be mistaken, though. I will not baby you," you add with a daring lilt in your voice. You begin to walk away, the swing of your hips matching the sway of your tail. "Let us hope you can keep up, mighty warrior."

That seemed to only fuel the fire within him further.

Neteyam’s chest rumbles in a deep laugh, a fanged grin stretching across his cheeks. "Yes, ma’am.”

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

see you in the next episode where the reader works her future husband's ass to the ground xoxo

TAGLIST: @rainbowsocks @milktealvrr @strawberri-blonde

[charmed-henry]

The Fall of Rome: A Battle of Beasts and Bows [Part Two: Into The Dark] || Henrose

Date: 2 July 2022 Featuring: @thehuntress-rose Warnings: Blood, slashing, violence, death of multiple minor characters (NPC)

Henry and Rose face off against the Princes of the Order, including some familiar faces.

HENRY

The group split, and Henry stuck with Rose.

He didn’t really know what he was doing here. He didn’t entirely know if he belonged here. He wanted to prove that he belonged here, of course– that he was atoning for his sins, that he was trying to right all the terrible, terrible wrongs he had wrought on the people around him. Eric. Ashleigh. And there would be more, if Henry didn’t take a stand.

Sticking with Rose gave him direction, at least. It reminded him why he was here. And so he didn’t stray far from her, creeping along the corridors to try and attack from behind.

A shout, somewhere around the bend. Henry froze, drawing his weapon. “Did you hear that?” he whispered. 

ROSE

Rose felt a familiar uneasiness in the darkened castle. The first and only time she’d been inside was a few weeks ago and it had been filled with life and people. Now it was a quiet, haunted place once again. The only comfort she had in this liminal space was Henry. She looked over to him in the silent waiting they did. He looked older. Maybe it was the moonlight on his features. Maybe it was the grief, or even the act of treason they were committing by being here. His eyes seemed darker, his face was too serious. Here in this ancient castle, where they might very well die, Rose could only really think about how she missed when he was happy. 

She heard the same noise he did and nodded in response, nocking an arrow. Guns were too loud for covert ops. She was proficient with swords and blades, but Rose was a dead shot. Rose was a trained marksman. This was a better time than any to use those skills, even if she had gotten rusty. She kept her bow down as she stepped forward almost to the landing. The blonde peered around the corner and saw Princes heading up the stairs, right where they were stationed. Her hand went out to press Henry against the wall, to cloak him in shadows. “I see three coming up the stairs,” she whispered as she, too, slunk into the darkness.

HENRY

Henry gulped. He had fought beside Rose before, of course. He remembered it well, that night on the boats. With Eric. And Gabriella, and the lake monster.

But this was different. These were the people Henry had grown up alongside, that he had once believed to be his brothers. But the betrayal of his family, when they had decided to flee, had proven to Henry that blood didn’t really matter the way he once believed it did. Rose wasn’t his blood, but here she was, the only person in the world Henry could be certain was his ally against all of this. And so while the thought of fighting alongside her made him nervous– what if something happened to her?-- he had to trust that the strength of their bond would be enough.

“On your guard,” Henry breathed, his sword at the ready. 

The man’s face came into sharp view as he approached, and Henry was momentarily frozen as he realized who it was. Augusta was supposed to marry him. In another world, he might have been Henry’s brother, not just in arms, but in name, too. 

“Charming,” the man snarled. “You always were such a little weasel. Coward.”

Henry gulped, every memory of the boys who used to taunt him at training running through his mind. They were never going to win, were they? With Henry on their side– Henry, who had never been quite strong or brave enough; Henry, who was too soft-hearted and daft; Henry, who simply didn’t fit in. Well, they didn’t stand a chance.

The taunting threw Henry off his balance, and the man managed to get a hit in, grazing Henry’s side with his sword as Henry jumped aside just in time. He let out a strangled yelp and attempted to counter, but the man laughed– and now there were more on the way.  

“You’re the coward,” Henry spat, thrusting his sword back at his opponent. 

ROSE 

Henry hesitated and the moment disarmed Rose. These were Princes of the Order. Henry, Tom, Phil, and John knew these men. They had grown up together, they were possibly even friends at one time. The Huntsclan taught her to not hesitate even when facing a friend, but it was easier said than done. Rose gritted her teeth when the enemy spoke to her friend. Her grip tightened on the bow, fingers pulling the taut string back slightly in agitation. 

Rose stood only a few feet away from the swords clashing. If she weren’t behind Henry, she’d be of more help. From her position, if she took the shot at this man… she could hit either of them. The huntress took a few calculated steps back, surveying her options. More men approached from the same direction the current adversary came from, reaching the top of the stairs now. An easy shot. 

With her breath, she pulled back the arrow and let it go. The metal tip whizzed past the melee and hit her target square in the shoulder with a sickening thunk. The prince let out a grunt then yelp as the force caused him to stumble. Then in rapid succession another arrow sinking into his chest sending him backwards over the banister. Another scream and a resounding thud. “So much for the silent part of the mission,” she muttered mostly to herself. Rose looked to Henry’s fight and back to the other approaching knights before backing up down the hall and nocking another arrow but keeping it low. This was bad… the more noise they made the more people would show up. Rose took a few steps back before walking right into a tight grasp. The girl gasped and lost her arrow to the floorboards as another prince, approaching from behind them, grabbed her arm. Her free hand dropped the bow and went to grab for her dagger. 

HENRY 

They were properly dueling now, slashing and parrying like they were back in training again. Except this wasn’t training. Henry’s opponent wanted to kill him. And Henry…

Well, he’d never had much stomach for human foes. Or any, really, since last year. Henry didn’t know what he was aiming to do, really. Mostly, he was playing defense. He needed to get away from this Prince— he could see, out of the corner of his eye, that Rose was in a tight spot— but he didn’t want to kill him, either.

Deep in thought, concentrating on the duel, Henry didn’t even notice another Prince coming up behind him and slashing at his shoulder. Henry cried out in pain as bright red blood bloomed over his white tee shirt. He stumbled, but the hit snapped him into focus. He whipped around and hit his attacker with the blunt end of his blade, knocking him to the ground. “Okay over there, Rose?” Henry called through gritted teeth as pain exploded in his shoulder. He just had to keep going. 

ROSE

“You left your back open, you stupid little gi–” his vituperative words caught in his throat as Rose stuck the blade wherever she could find. It just so happened that it was over her shoulder and into his neck. She kicked back with her elbow, forcing the assailant off her. His hands went to his bleeding jugular, grasping onto the lifeforce seeping out of him. The knight fell to his knees before her and she looked down on him for a moment.

“You left your throat open, dumbass,” Rose insulted back. Underestimating her was a fatal flaw, she was going to exploit it. 

Henry’s yelp called her back to where they were. He was fighting a losing battle, and more princes had to be on their way. Thinking tactically, Rose rushed to the side of the man she just downed, “I’ll be taking this.” The blonde slipped the golden hilted sword out of his side scabbard, shaking off his loose grip on her ankle as she strode away. Joining the fight in an overhead arc, Rose slashed the blade through the air missing completely. “I’m fine, are you?”

She noticed the blood blooming across his chest in her periphery. They couldn’t afford to share a worried glance in this battle. Their foe was better than the both of them. Rose could only hope they weren’t better than them combined.

HENRY

“Yes, I’m fine. Just a scratch,” Henry panted, which, improbably, made him think of Monty Python, which, idiotically, made him laugh to himself. Maybe it was the searing pain across his shoulder, making him delirious. 

But Henry couldn’t worry about that. He turned his back to Rose, so that they were backed up against one another now, each covering the other. It was strange how natural it felt– it was vampires all over again, it was sea monsters all over again, just one key difference: the monsters weren’t monsters. They were men. 

Men just like Henry.

If Henry were ever to forgive himself, the part of him that was monstrous needed to die. Swiftly and decisively, no more half-life wasting away. And so he pressed on, slashing and jabbing, ignoring thoughts of how those injuries were probably going to be fatal from all the blood that was leaking across the stone floors of the castle, until it was just himself and another boy, not much older than himself.

“Henry The Mad!” the boy, Andrew, Henry recognized him now, taunted as his sword clashed against Henry’s. Every time Henry made a move, Andrew seemed to mirror him, like he was Henry’s shadow. “What’s so funny? Are you going to keep laughing after you’re begging for my mercy, Henry The Mad?”

Henry didn’t say anything in response, just gritted his teeth and tried harder to find a chink in the boy’s armor, a weak spot. But they had been trained the same way, by the same masters. They knew all the same tricks. Henry was never going to win like this.

“Watch my back,” Henry muttered to Rose, and then spun around, attempting to pin Andrew against the wall. He was exposed now, if any more of his childhood “friends” showed up– but Andrew was trapped, and Henry was just going to have to hope that Rose would watch out for him. 

Andrew struggled, but he was backed up against the wall now, and for once, Henry had the advantage. With a slightly clumsy maneuver (made more clumsy by Henry’s injury) he managed to twist his opponent’s arm so that he dropped his weapon. And now was Henry’s chance. He pinned Andrew to the wall, sword raised against his throat.

“You won’t really do it,” Andrew taunted, sweat dripping down his forehead. 

“What makes you think I won’t?” Henry grunted in response.

“You’ve gone all soft-hearted.” He spat the last word. “Traitor.”

Henry gritted his teeth. “The best people I know… are soft-hearted,” he said through his teeth. “I wish I were like them. They’re better than me.”

“I’m better than you. At least I’m going to die for something that matters.”

Two other men were on the floor, groaning, fading. Henry pressed the blade closer to the boy’s throat, but he didn’t seem afraid. And Henry realized this was what Andrew wanted. What Henry would have wanted, once. What he had been trained his whole life for. There was nothing nobler than to die for your King, even if that King was dead now. And to be killed by a traitor…

Henry wasn’t going to give this Prince what he wanted. There were worse consequences to suffer than death, Henry knew this, because he was living them, and he thought everyone like him deserved that too.

He kneed Andrew in the stomach hard, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to double over. Andrew groaned loudly, and Henry took advantage of this brief moment of distraction to kick him again, hard against the wall, in the knees– it was a crude and artless tactic that Henry only knew because his parents had insisted on teaching the girls self-defense before they went off to uni in London, and Henry had wanted to tag along– but it was effective. One kneecap, then the other, shattered– and Andrew fell to the ground, wailing.

Still very much alive. But no longer a problem to Henry. 

Henry picked up the Prince’s sword, his hands shaking now, and stuck it in his own hilt, trying to ignore the groans of pain coming from the floor. He didn’t want the sword, but he didn’t want someone else picking it up, either. He fell back into rhythm alongside Rose, noticeably paler and shaken now.

ROSE

Rose didn’t like having her back to Henry. If this castle was the Underworld, she was Orpheus. Forbidden to gaze upon Eurydice amidst the horrors. Should she waver, even for a moment, the pair of them could be doomed. So, Rose trusted him blindly. She could hear the dry laugh, the animosity this Prince had. The harsh words from a once ally. Henry asked her to watch his back and that is exactly what she was going to do. Squashing the rising concern in her chest, the huntress focused on her own battle. 

The Prince she faced tried to push her backwards, inching forward with every change in footing. It was a pincer tactic, the Order surrounded the pair of traitors and pressed inwards. Unfortunately for them, the Huntsclan wasn’t so structured in its fighting. Rose parried and stood her ground, not letting him press forward. The blades clashing together was drawing closer to her form. He was a better swordsman, but Rose wasn’t afraid. She merely lowered her stolen sword and adjusted her footing. A flash of silver reflected across her placid face as the knight arced his sword down. Rose didn’t block him. The tip drew a dark red line across the back of her arm as she had changed her stance, purposefully leaving herself open for the attack. She merely hissed at the tear opening on her bicep and took the slash. With his momentum pointed downwards, the huntress dropped her sword and lifted her back foot. The boot swung up and delivered a roundhouse kick to her opponent’s temple. 

HENRY 

Caught up in his own fight, Henry didn’t see what was happening between Rose and her opponent until he heard the sound of her hiss in pain. Rose was tough, and she didn’t like to show when she was in pain, but after fighting alongside her so many times, Henry was attuned to her reactions to things. 

He whipped around and his stomach dropped at the sight of the blood. Henry had been slashed by another one of the Princes himself, as the throbbing in his shoulder continued to remind him, but that was all forgotten. This was different. This was Rose.

And this was not, surprisingly, any kind of protective instinct over Rose because she was a girl. Maybe two years ago, Henry would have reacted in that way. But Rose had proven that the Order’s conventions about who could be a fighter didn’t actually mean anything in practice. It had more to do with the scenes that Henry remembered from the last time he fought alongside Rose: Eric, bleeding out and falling swiftly through the water. Only getting away with his life because a mermaid took pity on him.

Well, this time, Henry wasn’t leaving it up to chance. He gave Rose the space to make her kick and then advanced, his decision not to kill forgotten, stabbing the sword at the Prince’s side. It was a cheap shot, one that would have been easily dodged in training, but he was distracted by the kick to his head.

“Henry?” the Prince looked at his former comrade in surprise, then coughed blood. Henry stumbled backward. He recognized this one, too. He was older than Henry, better at fighting, and he had never really been anything but kind. But the Order made monsters of everyone. 

Henry looked around, refusing to look him in the eye. “I think that’s all of them,” Henry said, his voice odd and far away. 

“Henry,” the Prince said again. Henry felt ill. He ignored him.

ROSE

Blood dribbled down her arm, curling around her elbow and into her clenched palm. The sticky feeling of it was all too familiar. At this point she had her fists up and ready if the Prince decided to get up, shaking hands be damned. But then Henry came to her aid. The girl watched it play out in seemingly slow motion. Had Henry always been so polished in his swordplay? She remembered the golf clubs on the rear deck nearly two years ago. She remembered thinking she was better than him until he got her talking. She remembered how much fun it used to be to just be with him. 

Now she stood, covered in blood, analyzing swordsmanship as her friend defended her. Henry stabbed the Prince. Rose repeated that in her head. Going into this, the thought of fighting people he knew almost made him sick. But in the spur of the moment, it seemed Henry had no regard for the life in front of him and for what? For Rose? 

“Henry?” Rose spoke in reply. It was her turn to be the concerned one. She didn’t want him to hurt, but this should. It’s supposed to hurt. The blonde raised her bloody hand to reach for his cheek, an unwelcome comfort. Though she froze, leaving it hanging between them for a moment. There was a slight tremor, one she would have been reprimanded for in New York. She didn’t know why she was shaking. Rose didn’t feel afraid, except that she was. Not for her own safety, but what this violence meant for her friend. She dropped her hand to her side and wiped it on her pants. 

Instead of another pitiful excuse for reassurance, Rose spoke clinically, “Yeah. We should probably try to meet up with another group, right?” 

HENRY

Henry looked at Rose, willing the rest of the scene to fade away. He didn’t want to think about it. Not now. He would have the rest of his life to think about this moment, his former brothers weak and bleeding on the floor of the castle, all because of him and Rose. But right now, if he thought too hard about it, he had a feeling he might collapse. He was already starting to feel dizzy.

The only thing that felt real was Rose. She said his name and Henry clung to that, stepping close to her. Rose, he started to say, though his lips just moved silently. She seemed almost to reach for him just then, and Henry almost reached for her too. Maybe he just wanted to hold onto someone in this moment– or maybe Rose wasn’t just anyone. Maybe she was the only one.

And then she put her hand down and she wasn’t just a girl anymore, she was a soldier again, and so was Henry. He snapped back into the role of the fighter he was supposed to be, pushing away any of those confusing thoughts. There was no time for that. The others might need backup. 

“Yes,” Henry said robotically, turning toward the hallway. “I’ve got your back.”

ROSE

Rose couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Maybe that’s what made this corridor seem so hollow. Not the four dead and dying. Not the way the moon trickled through the far window, barely lighting the space. Rose couldn’t tell what Henry was thinking and that felt foreign. Her eyes searched what she could see of his face in the darkness. Much like before the fight, he looked more serious than she’d ever seen him. Older. Forever changed. 

The huntress looked at the carnage around them, sweeping her fraying braid behind her shoulder again. For the price they paid, it didn’t seem like much. The Order was far from fallen. Rose’s heart fell to her feet when she thought about the price of morality. They were doing the right thing, and yet it would haunt them forever. She let Henry get a few steps away from her in her contemplation before catching up to him. And even though she didn’t know how to be there for him, she slipped her sticky hand in his as she fell into step with him. “And I’ve got yours.”

[nohoney]

dragon king bakugou who pillages a a nomadic tribe with his men. they cause chaos, taking what they deem valuable and leaving utter destruction until they’re satisfied with the damage. he happens to see the biggest tent that pitched up in the entire encampment and makes his way to it. maybe there’s gold in it, treasure, good wine or ale that will warm his blood, or weapons.

even better, there’s a woman in it.

you’re cowering in the corner when bakugou enters the tent, shouting a battle cry in his language. he slaughters the man that seems to be your husband if the matching circlets are anything to go by, deciding to ignore the fancy and luxurious looking chest and going straight to you. it’s too easy to lift you and put you over his shoulder, you yelping in surprise but seeming to have enough sense to not fight back. bakugou kicks at the head of your husband first before walking through his spilled blood.

he’s directing his men to loot whatever they can use as he approaches his dragon. the beast bows to him, a loyal creature that bakugou had raised since he himself was a child, waiting patiently as he climbs onto the saddle that’s mounted onto the dragon’s back.

“if you fall, i won’t bother to catch you so you better hang on.” bakugou speaks in the common language, one of four he knows and seeing if you understand. you nod your head and hang on tightly, practically holding him in a death grip.

he’s brought you back to his home, pushing you to a gaggle of maidens to get you cleaned up while he takes inventory of what was taken. he expects to hear some update about you; that you’re screaming or fighting back, maybe even crying.

he gets no news aside from the fact that you’re scrubbed clean, you’ve been dressed, and you’re put in his quarters.

it’s a few hours before he finally goes into the privacy in his room. you’re sat by the fireplace, a dragon egg sitting on a bed of warmed coal nearby that you seemed to be looking at before his presence snapped your attention to him. you’re being docile, bowing slightly when he approaches but it makes bakugou be on guard.

you could be one of those witches that plays soft but poisons him in his sleep.

in your lap, the circlet you were wearing before is held delicately in your hands along with some ripped up white cloth that he doesn’t recognize.

“my king,” you speak first, addressing him formally which makes bakugou wary of you, “thank you.”

one of his eyebrows quirks up in question, unsure what he was being thanked for.

“today was my wedding day… i was to be married to a man that was going to make me his fourth wife. i dreaded it for the last year, and i prayed everyday to the gods to intervene in my fate. but nothing happened and i—i was beginning to despair as they prepared me for the ceremony.” you speak softly, your hands delicately tracing the metal of the circlet before petting over the precious jewel at the center of the piece, “but the gods answered my prayers and you saved me!”

a wedding, that explains the amount of inordinate amount of treasure that had been collected.

bakugou is stunned, watching as you stand up to your feet, the circlet and the white cloth dropping to the floor. he realizes now that the cloth you had in your lap was in fact the dress you were wearing before; your wedding dress.

you had been dressed in a robe, colored a rustic orange but with gold details intricately sewn into the fabric. the robe bakugou’s mother had made for him when he had been crowned as the dragon king. you undo the belt of it and let it fall open, the heavy fabric falling off your body as you present yourself to him. the glow of the fire makes your body look heavenly and your eyes shine brightly with an adoration that bakugou had never seen before.

“i want to thank you. please let me thank you for saving me.”

you step to him slowly, kicking aside the circlet and stepping on your wedding dress, your hands delicately touching his shoulders as if testing to see if he would push you away. bakugou doesn’t, still observing you carefully as you invade his space.

“allow me to show you my gratefulness, my king.”

[rushtoprove]

the deepest melancholy

pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader rating: mature (18+) word count: 5.9k+ summary: you wished you were strong enough to fight against the life that had been planned for you, but instead you cower at the thought of marrying the dreaded kinslayer, and you were sure he wished to be marrying someone else too. but neither of you could escape this marriage. duty always prevails. chapter summary: the realm was left a mess after the war between the targaryen kin. aegon may have won but the city despises those who almost destroyed the realm. the greens have become the most feared family in the realm, and prince aemond the most frightening figure of them all. that is why the townsfolk weep as your carriage passes them. they pity the sweet girl who is to be sacrificed to the kinslayer and his family. warnings: smut. arranged marriage. uncomfortably smut. forced marriage. angst. it will get better. beauty and the beast au (?) authors note: I have a bad habit of disappearing to remain mysterious. I see my flaws. But truthfully... I never left.

masterlist

It had been six days since your arrival on this foreign shore, but you were still consumed with the sickness that comes with travelling upon the sea. Your stomach seemed to tighten with every bump or shift of the carriage, and every jolt had your dress being pulled tighter into your fists. The echoing voices and cries made it known that your arrival to the red keep had gained an audience, so you slowly pulled back the curtain of the carriage and peered out to see the villagers who you would soon preside over.

“They have experienced hell little one.” Your brother sighed pitifully as he leaned over your shoulder to view the commotion. The folk looked solemnly on the moving carriage, shaking their heads and bowing towards your hidden figure. Some wept pitifully for you leaving the bile in your stomach no choice but to race upwards, and when you made eye contact with an old nun crossing herself in a silent blessing, you hastily tugged the curtains back into place and push yourself into your seat.

“You would leave me here.” You chocked out in anguish. He simply laughed. All he ever did was laugh at you.

Your brother would not support you in your sorrows. He would not weep, nor would he pity you, because it was he who was forcing you into this torment. He was the one marrying you off to the second prince of the realm. He was the one orchestrating your misery. Your brother will simply dump you at the feet of the most hated family of the realm and walk away with more land and title.

“You can thank father for your predicament sister. It was that reckless old man who fought for the traitor Rhaenyra. It was he who lost our good will with the crown. It is I who is simply trying to win back our favour and our riches.”

“They will think me a traitor like they think our father was. He fought for her because he made an oath to support her claim. They will not differentiate who was under our banner on the battlefield. They will take out their anger on me. He will take out his anger on me.” The chills that tingled your spine when you thought of your future husband should be familiar by now, but it still frightens you.

“Father was blinded. Being obligated to risk all our fortune over a pathetic oath forced upon him by the late King Viserys. He worked beside Otto Hightower that whole time. He should know better than anyone the power that man held. He should have known the battle was won before Viserys was even dead.”

“Our father was a loyal subject to Queen Rhaenyra and he fought for her because he knew she would be an admirable ruler. She would have ruled as peacefully as her father. Now we are left with a drunken fool who has started a war with the stepstones once more and his brother who is using his new position as Commander of the City Watch to use cruelty and violence on the folk of Westeros for his on pleasure.” Your father’s death was still raw and the slight against his name lit a dangerous passion in you. It was horrifying listening to your brother talk about your poor dear father so carelessly, but he simply clicked his tongue in mock shame.

“Careful now or you may lose your tongue. Aegon is King, and your dear Lord Commander shall soon control you for the rest of your life. You shall have to worship the ground he walks upon if you wish to be a dutiful wife and not anger the King’s Mother. Although I do not think you are in too much danger of him touching you as I hear you are not his type dear. There are whispers he prefers to fuck witches and hags.” You shook with rage at his condescending tone.

“He burnt countless amounts off innocent farmers and villagers and left nothing but ashes wherever he went. You would give your sister to a man who murdered his own family… twice. He is Aemond the Kinslayer and you would…”

“You should be proud sister. I’ve matched you with a prince! A disfigured, cruel man who reduced half the realm to ashes, but a prince no less. Just ignore the bloodlust and violence and I’m sure it will not be so bad. All you need do is bare his heir and look pretty.” His childish snickers as he cut you off had you seeing red, but you understood you could do nothing but seethe silently. How could he be so proud to sell off his sister to the notorious brute that had burnt cities to the ground and slayed anyone who got in the way of his family as they usurped Rhaenyra’s throne. His bloodlust had even led to the murder of his own kin. How could such an animal be expected to make a suitable husband?

The sound of the city guards yelling for the gates to be opened, and the grinding and rattling that followed meant that you had finally arrived at the red keep, and that your life was over at the meek age of one and twenty. Your brother wasted no time jumping from the carriage the moment the door was swung open, but you stayed for just a second longer. Hovering the tips of your fingers over the stitching of your family's sigil that was engraved in the cushions around you, you let out an unsteady sigh. You thought of your father, of his kindness and his love. His bravery and his wit. He would have let you marry someone you were comfortable with; he would have wanted you to have a peaceful life. Your brother was to throw you into the dragon den.

“May I present my sister to your graces?! She’s a shy little thing forgive her!’ You brother boasted with a joyous laugh. His hand reached into the carriage and grabbed blindly for you, leaving you no choice but to straighten yourself, and swallow the melancholy that came with remembering your past. You did not take his hand, but instead stepped slowly from the carriage with a bowed head, allowing almost no vision of what was in front of you. You let yourself fall into a graceful curtsey and remained low. There was large audience lined around the courtyard of the Red Keep, leaving you nervously tremble.

“Your graces.” You whispered, slowly letting your eyes raise. There were many figures that had lined up to welcome you, but it was the four at the very front who demanded your attention. King Aegon sat in his wheelchair; half his face taken up by the burnt scarring the late Princess Rhaenys had left him upon her death, looking bored by the entire meeting. His wife, Princess Heleana stood beside him, but her gaze was towards the empty spot to the left of us, and her incoherent mumbling seemed to be ignored by everyone around her. Her mother, Alicent Hightower, had a hand on her daughter's elbow but you could not decide if it was to support her daughter or herself. She seemed overcome by exhaustion and the lines on her face seemed to age her more than she was. Her hair had begun greying and the unkept strands made you think she had run her hand through it vigorously.

“Welcome to our court. We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” The smile that the dowager queen forced gave you no source of comfort, but you took the welcome as permission to stand at your full posture, and you finally allowed yourself to gaze upon your future husband. You would be lying if you did not admit to letting your gaze be drawn straight to the ugly scarring that peaked out from beneath his leather eye patch. It seemed to match the tight leather attire that fitted his lean body. He was a true Targaryen prince, with his perfect white hair and bright purple eye, so you were not shocked by his beauty. After all, Targaryen's were closer to the Gods than men. His looming figure was so still you could mistake it for a statue but proving not to be only by the slightest bow of his head as he gazed at you. His blank expression gave you no hint of whether he was satisfied by you and the silence that followed his mother's greeting left much to be uncertain of.

“I am much appreciative to be welcomed so kindly.” You wish you had the prowess to stand tall, or the courage to say something spiteful about this dreaded situation you had found yourself in; but you were scared.

“Pretty little thing you are my dear future sister. So innocent and quiet. I don’t know if my dear brother shall know what to do with you.” The King mocked Aemond boldly leaving a few courtiers to snicker, and Aegon turned his gaze knowingly towards his younger brother, eager for a reaction, but Aemond Targaryen simply stared at you. Trying politely to avert your gaze, your eyes moved to stare at his feet, but something drew your attention back to him not one minute later. His gaze was still on you.

“My sister shall allow whatever Prince Aemond desires. She is the most dutiful thing. I’m sure she will make a devoted wife.” You tensed at your brother’s demeaning comments and felt a swell of rage as the young king whistled in delight.

“Perhaps I shall wed her than! Take two wives just as my namesake did. Or perhaps I shall get rid of… that.” All eyes but one was drawn to Queen Heleana, but she did not notice and instead continued whispering with a sad smile. You could not help your brows from furrowing in empathy for the broken princess. It was no secret to the realm what horrors the woman had been through. The anguish that would come with watching your oldest son slain before your very eyes. The disrespect her husband spewed made your skin crawl. Feeling choked up by the pity, you averted your gaze towards Aemond Targaryen.

His eye had not left you.

You both stood in silence for a beat before Aemond slowly took a step forward. The quiet chatter of the courtiers stopped instantly and suddenly the atmosphere was heightened with anticipation of what the prince was about to do. Your breath was caught and with each step he took forward, you heart hammered harder. The lurching your stomach felt in the carriage was nothing compared to this very moment. It was as if time stretched longer than you ever thought possible, leaving you to feel as if you had been stuck in that one spot for eternity, waiting for the strides of your future husband to reach you. His lean figure was straight, and his gaze remained intense, inspecting your reaction as he moved towards you. When he finally reached your frozen figure, he towered over you, looking down with an almost cruel amusement in his eye. He finally moved his gaze from your face to give you a once over, slowly letting it fall down your entire body, before crawling back up.

“Shall I show you around the keep my lady?” His hand slowly extended, and you felt yourself hypnotised, reaching for it without a thought.

“I would be thankful for the tour of your home my prince, but I would not want to keep you from your duties.” You breathed out. If you were of the right mind, you would curse yourself at how kindly you greeted him, but alas you were overwhelmed by how close he stood, and how godly he looked up closely. Without breaking eye contact, Prince Aemond raised your knuckles to his lips and lightly let them brush against your skin, leaving the feeling of fire to consume your body.

“It would be my pleasure,” His voice was low as he finished the sentence with your name, and you were hypnotized by the way it rolled of his lips. If he had any idea of the sudden intoxication that had overpowered you, he did not show any hint of it, and you were thankful he did not boast of it. You were already to humiliated to bare. You were never the type of foolish girl to be besotted with a man, let alone a monster like this, but Aemond Targaryen seemed to conquer your very being with his mere presence. You were smart enough to recognise this was going to cause nothing but trouble for you.

“I would not wish to burden you.” You whispered softly for only his ears but threaded your arm over his awaiting arm all the same. You fell in step with his powerful strides and did not spare your brother a second glance as you passed him by. The prince breezed through the crowd who had come to gawk at the poor young girl who was getting sacrificed to this vicious man, and you found yourself revelling in the way they quickly scurried to the side to let you pass. Your amusement was short lived due to a hand reaching out and clutching at your elbow, leaving you staggering away from your future husband and into the body of a nameless courtier.

“Bless you sweetheart. Bless your poor soul. Let the Gods protect you from him.” The crowd around you began feverously whispering to one another, shocked by the man’s audacity, but the room was quickly silenced as two knights hoisted the man back with a shout and dragged him so fast, he had no chance to gain any footing. His body was dragged away as he cried and kicked his feet like a little boy leaving you once again unable to breathe. It was as if you had iced water thrown over you. The spell was broken, and you suddenly remembered who you held onto so eagerly. You were overcome by the smell of smoke and rot, as if you had been transported to the fields that Aemond Targaryen had so happily burnt to ashes. You swear you could smell the burnt flesh of his ghosts in that very moment.

“Come now my lady. Let’s get you away from this noise.” Aemond stared at the man being heaved away, expressionless. It was as if he was used to the scene that unfolded and was almost bored by the antics of the courtiers. You tried not to let him see your trembling fingers as you laced your hand upon his elbow and looked down in shame.

“What shall happen to him?” You don’t know why you asked, because you know what happens to those who speak out against this Targaryen family. Aemond began his pace once more but this time you could tell he was surveying every movement around them, waiting for another attack.

“He will be executed. We do not allow disobedience in our court.” He said your name as he finished his sentence and gazed down at you.

You understood the warning.

+++

Your wedding was a solemn affair. You had imagined when the time came around, there would be laughter and dancing, flowers and wine thrown around. Colourful and delightful with a husband who would steal kisses at the wedding feast and spend the night spinning you in his arms. Your family surrounding you. Your father hiding his tears as he watched you give your hand to the man you loved.

It was nothing like that. The crowd was silent as you walked. Not one person in the room smiled. The crowd bowed their heads in respect or pity, you cared not to know, and you had no energy to try and feign delight at the altar. Your husband was no different. He stared ahead with a grimace, but continued preforming the duty that was marrying you. You tried not to look at him during the ceremony but failed only once. He looked disconcerted by the whole experience making your heart ache. You wondered if he wished he was marrying the witch your brother had so carelessly mentioned. Your cursed heart ached at the thought. Not from jealousy, but from the desire of wanting to marry someone who wanted you. You were being chained to this man forever, and he wished for you to be someone else. But you could not fault him in that. Gods knows you too wished to be marrying someone else.

The wedding feast felt more like the wake at a funeral. There was a band playing some music in the balcony above, but no one moved. You sat stiffly by your new husband as you both stared ahead, trying to ignore the soft murmurs of the crowded hall. His finger were clenched around his chair and he did not speak as numerous courtiers steeped forward to present you both with your wedding gifts. It was left up to you to utter your appreciation at the useless artifacts while they scurried away, fearful of angering the prince with their presence.

“Please smile Aemond. Or do something that is not sitting there and scowling.” You pretended to ignore it when your new mother-in-law hissed into her sons' ear, then tried not to cower when he moved his hand to rest on yours above the table. The whole crowd would have seen the way you both flinched at the contact.

“Smile sister. This is a joyous occasion.” Your brother muttered lowly beside your ear, sometime after Alicent had ordered the same thing. You felt Aemond’s hand clench around yours just slightly, and you knew that he had heard your brother. Slowly you inched closer to your husband and gave him a slight smile, but you were sure it came out as a grimace instead.

“How will the Kingsguard handle tonight without their leader?” Whether it was out of politeness or awkwardness, you do not know, but the conversation you tried to start was quickly shut down by the monotone voice of your husband. He did not react to your words and let his gaze remain on the crowd below.

“I will be joining the patrols once we are finished our duty tonight.” You slipped your hand from his and clenched your wedding dress tightly in discomfort. You felt his gaze turn to you leaving your skin burning under his gaze.

“I see.”

You turned away from him and did not look at him until an hour later when he stood from his seat. The music halted at once and the room was silenced. The guards around the room quickly stood tall as Aemond surveyed the audience.

“My wife and I have grown quite tired from the festivities. It is time we retire to our bedchamber. Please, continue enjoying the feast my mother has so careful crafted.” Your new ladies-in-waiting quickly moved to your side from all corners of the room while the wedding party moved to walk you both to your doom. You were allowed to step into the room without your husband so that your ladies could help you ready yourself. On the other side of the door, Aemond was doing the same. It seemed he was joining you in your quarters tonight, in your new bed. There would be no safe place for you to escape the man.

“Are you alright my lady?” One of your ladies whispered as she undid your tight corset. The silk ribbon was unravelled and with each breath you released the closer you were to crumbling to the floor. You had spent the last two weeks in a constant state of fear and melancholy, and it all seemed to be coming to ahead at the worst time possible.

“I am alright Alyssa. Just tired.” You ignored the look the three women around you gave one another and instead moved your gaze elsewhere and landed on the worst possible spot. You had left your bed a crumpled mess this morning, after a night of restlessly tossing and turning, but you could not tell that anymore. The sheets were perfectly straight and tightened in the corners, folded down with such precision it made you feel sick. Your mother had died in childbirth, and you had no sisters so your knowledge of what was about to happen was limited, but you knew to expect the pain and blood at the hands of your husband.

“I hope you are not truly tired Brother. Your night has only just begun.” King Aegon slurred voice was muffled by the door but still audible. If you were not already filled with dread then, you sure as hell were now.

“Aegon, please just leave your comments for one night.” Alicent’s tired voice sighed back. You could not help the tears that began falling as your ladies began the final touches, fluffing your hair and untying the sleep gown so that it would be easier to remove. Without so much a glance at those in the room, you clamoured into the bed and wept.

“My lady, you cannot let them see this. They will think you ungrateful. It would do Prince Aemond great dishonour.” The three girls rushed to their lady in crisis and were quick to brush your hair from your face and hold you in comfort. You hardly talked to these girls, as they were a gift from your new family, and you assumed them to be spies for your husband and his scheming mother. But in this moment, you could only think of the comfort of being held.

“I’m scared.” You whimpered as they tried to sooth you with their murmurs.

“It is a scary thing my lady, but do not fret. It is over quicker than you can imagine.” Caitlyn, a relative of the Tully’s assured you as she stroked your hair.

“Oh yes. Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” Margaret, a distant relative of the Stark’s agreed with the assurance. It did not help but you appreciated the before. You wished to be held longer, but a stiff knock to the door echoed around your room.

“Is the Lady prepared?” The girls were quick to pat away your tears, and with a quick curtsey they moved to open the door. You instead turned your face to the side and stared at the new moon that was almost in the centre of the window frame. You did not need to look to know who had knocked.

“Yes, my prince. She is awaiting you.” With a curtsey they rushed out the room, leaving a silence that was only disrupted by the slight crackle of the candles that lit your room. You had tried hard to replicate the warmth of your room back home, but it had never felt colder. Time seemed to once again slow, and it felt a lifetime before you heard the click of the door closing. It remained quiet, and you thought for a second that your husband had perhaps decided he could not bear this just as much as you. Perhaps he had stormed off to the city to lead his guards in slaughtering the criminals within the walls of this wretched place. Perhaps you could sleep peacefully tonight, safe from the beast for one more night. The candles going out one by one let you know that your dreams were crushed, and that you were not alone in the room. He was silent as he crossed the floor, putting out all sources of light until you were left in the darkness of the night. The darkened moon did nothing to help you see.

“Do you know what to expect?” His voice sliced through the silence, choking you. You squeezed your eyes closed and did a small nod.

“I know enough.” You whispered as the bed beside you dipped. He sat beside you for a moment, and even in the darkness you could feel his eye on you.

“I shall try not to hurt you, but it will be uncomfortable.” Your eyes remained tightly closed and your fingers began to tremble. You did not expect any truth in his words. This man was vicious, known for the way he revelled in pain and torture. Why would he treat the daughter of a traitor any different?

“I would be most grateful.” You choked out and quickly turned away as you felt more tears build up. Aemond’s breath caught and for a moment it felt as he if was grieved by your whimper, but with a soft grunt he still turned to you and mounted his body atop of yours. The close contact of his chest on your chest sucked the breath from your lungs and you reached for his arms to stop him from crushing you, but he never did. He seemingly balanced his weight perfectly atop of you and slowly allowed his hand to rest on your hip.

“Please breathe. I do not wish to watch you suffocate wife.” He whispered as his fingers moved delicately across your clothed stomach. The reminder had you sucking deep in through your nose and exhaling staggered though your lips. His hand continued to dance lightly over your clothed torso, and you could not help but squeak as his hand moved towards your breast. You had never even kissed a man, let alone have one like this. He could not choke back his soft chuckle at your innocence, as he firmly pushed his palm down.

“Oh.” You whimpered in confusion. He pushed his hips down against yours and let out an almost relieved sigh at the contact. He began a slow movement of his hips as one hand groped you and the other clung to your hip. Your body felt alight with fire, and you could do nothing more but clutch at your husbands' arms in confusion. His teeth moved to your ear and your body arched against his at the feeling of them grazing your neck. Your brain seemed to stop and the overwhelming feelings that were all happening at once was almost too much to bare.

“Breathe.” He ordered in a soft murmur as his lips pressed on the skin between your jaw and ear. You wanted to tell him the truth in that very moment. You were trying to breathe, but you are worried you have forgotten how.

“Sorry.” Was all you could muster. His hand moved from your breast to trailing back down your body and began bunching the bottom of your nightdress up. You could feel the lace of it brushing up your legs leaving bumps to litter your skin at the soft caress. Your body froze in fear at what was about to happen. Once the dress was secured above your waist, you gasped at Aemond’s hand moving to clutch at your thigh. You were shocked at the feeling of someone else’s skin gripping yours.

“Have you prepared yourself?” He breathed out as he pushed his hips forward. It seemed to brush something that left you once again arching into him, only this time you were much more desperate to keep that contact.

“My ladies prepared me.” You stuttered out in confusion. Had he not already asked that to your ladies? His amused sigh made you think you had misunderstood his question.

“I sure hope they haven’t prepared you the way I ask about.” He grunted. Getting up on to his knees, you found yourself shivering at the loss of his body heat. Your arms dropped from his arms leaving you lying breath him, trying hard to steady your panting breaths.

“I have been bathed and pampered to.” His soft hum filled the room as you explained your answer, then he began moving his hand towards the inside of your thighs.

“My Prince!” You cried out, pushing away his fingers as they moved towards his destination. Your cheeks reddened with a deep crimson that only you could be aware of in this dark room.

“Do you want this to hurt? I promised I would help, and this is the only way.” He peeled your hands away and continued as if he had not been interrupted. Your irregular breaths began heavily, and you wondered if the whole castle could hear the noise.

“Prince…” You gasped as you felt his finger run up your most sacred area. He let out an almost disappointed sigh, and you were overtaken by the shame. Was there something wrong? Your fears were cut short as you felt him begin dancing the tips of his fingers down, then once again back up.

“You are not ready yet. But I shall prepare you.” His voiced was that of duty, with no shift of tone or colour. You had no choice but to lie in utter confusion at what was happening. No one had warned you about this part of consummating a marriage. The feeling of his fingers felt foreign, but you found your muscles almost relaxing under the touch.

“Aemond…” You sighed out his name without a though of his titles or nobility and this small gesture seemed to be enough for your husband to begin applying more pressure.

“Relax under my touch. This will help.” His voice whispered into the darkness. When he moved his finger up to begin circling your bud you almost flew from the bed. He seemed to expect such a reaction from you as he had already pushed his free hand into your stomach to keep you unmoving. You whimpered out his name again as he began to pick up speed and you found yourself trying to push away from his touch, even though you weren’t sure you wanted it to end. It felt as if a soft tremor was building inside your stomach, and you soon found your body clenching out of its relaxed state.

“Please don’t.” You don’t know what you were saying this but the fear at the feeling building inside you had you beginning to panic beneath his touch.

“Shhh, trust me.” He whispered your name above you before slowly moving his fingers to push inside you. The foreign feeling was too much, and you quickly gripped onto the second prince and screwed your eyes shut. His thumb remained circling your bud as his finger began stroking your inner walls leaving you crying out in shock. Your body tensed with each stroke of his fingers, and you soon began whimpering incoherently. You felt that pressure suddenly overcome you and it was no longer a soft tremor, but an overwhelming sensation that only kept building. It began the panic in your mind, and you clung tighter onto Aemond.

“Please…” You chocked out in desperation, pushing your hips forward into his palm. He began quickening his pace and you could not help but throw your head back and moan.

“You’re doing so well, good girl.” You don’t know what happened at his words, but your body arched, and you cried out as the waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you crying out and clutching Aemond’s shoulders. The pressure suddenly broke and you felt your voice disappear and instead seemed to scream out silently. Your body trembled and clenched throughout this feeling and Aemond did not halt his movements once. It was only when your body seemed to jolt from his touch that he slowed his movements pulled his fingers from you, leaving a slick trail to follow his touch.

“I’m… my prince, forgive me.” You were horrified by the way your body reacted at his touch.

“You did everything I had hoped you would.” He murmured before moving to unlace his pants. Your mind was too busy spinning to register the gesture, so you just stared dumbly as his hand slid underneath them. You watched in silent curiosity as his hand seemingly began moving and Aemond’s eyes furrowed in frustration.

“Could you… touch my arms or something?” He grunted as his hand seemed to quicken its movements. Your mouth was gaping like a fish as you cautiously nodded. With the gentlest touch you began tracing his arm upwards, blushing like madwoman. His movements did not halt once as you nervously ran your fingers up to his shoulders. You thought of his hand gripping your thigh, and how pleasing the firm grip he used was, so you nervously tightened your grip. It seemed to work because Aemond began adjusting himself out of his trousers. He allowed himself to fall forward to his original position of lying atop your body making your body still in anticipation of what was to come.

“Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” Margaret’s words were a reminder for you, so you turned your gaze to the window and tried to count how many stars you could see. You managed to get to twelve before he pushed himself into you and stole your gaze back greedily.

“Agh Aemond.” You were choked by the feeling as Aemond’s irregular breaths consumed your hearing.

‘I know, just…” He did not finish as he sunk deeper, and you cried out at the sharp pain inside you. It was not unbearable, but there was a great discomfort. You found yourself burying your head into his shoulder as he slowly began a slow movement with his hips leaving you gulping out a groan of pain.

“Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” One star. Two stars. Three stars. Your bottom lip trembled as the pleasure of your night seemed to finish and instead you were left trying not to squirm away in pain. Aemond’s silver strands kept moving to block your vision, so you finally turned back. Your nosed grazed his and you saw his eye widen in the darkness before his entire body stilled. He groaned deeply as he pressed his hips further into you and you could feel him twitching against you.

“It is done.” He breathed out. His movement was quick as he pulled out and moved to sit on the side of the bed. You were shocked by his quick movements and watched in a frazzled state as he quickly began relacing his pants. Following his lead, you pulled your dress back down and moved to rest against the headboard of your grand bed.

“I must attend the city watch now. I shall visit your chambers again tomorrow night until we…” You could tell a distant though had cut him off, but you knew what he meant. Until a child was conceived you would have to suffer him in your bed most nights.

“Did I…. Did I do something wrong?” You pulled the sheets to your chin in confusion at how desperate the man was to leave your company. He stood up and began pulling on his jacket that he must have taken off when he entered your rooms.

“You did everything perfectly. It is done now.” He moved towards the door, leaving you alone and disorientated by him. He turned back to look at you and you wondered what you must have looked like to him. Blushing and breathless, your hair a mess and your chest heaving, you assumed you looked a fool to the prince.

“Good night ābrazȳrys.” He mumbled. Your breath caught at his Valyrian, and you felt your brows furrow as the door quickly opened then closed swiftly. He was gone but you could hear a small commotion on the other side of the door.

“Aemond…”

“It is done mother; I have done my duty. Now leave me in peace.”

[dailydosetoablessedlife]

Sunday May 1st 2022 💐 Read Hosea 2 💐 Gomer punished and restored 💐 Hosea 2: 17 - For I will take away the names of Baalim out of her mouth, and they shall no more be remembered by their name. 18 - And in that day will I make a covenant for them with the beasts of the field, and with the fowls of heaven, and with the creeping things of the ground: and I will break the bow and the sword and the battle out of the earth, and will make them to lie down safely. 19 - And I will betroth thee unto me for ever, yea, I will betroth thee unto me in righteousness, and in judgement, and in lovingkindness, and in mercies. 20 - I will even betroth thee unto me in faithfulness: and thou shalt know the LORD. 💜💜💜🔯🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾 . . . . . . . . . . #joelosteen #joelosteenpodcast #tdjakes #tdjakesministries #bible #bibleverse #biblejournaling #biblestudy #gospel #gospelmusic #jesus #church #baptistchurch #lakewoodchurch #morningprayer #dailybible #dailybibleverse  #dailybibleverses #bibleverse  #bibleverses #biblequotes #bibleverseoftheday #christianquotes #bibleversedaily #dailyscripture #dailybible #dailyverse #dailyverses #biblescriptures #biblegram

[targaryen-dynasty]

REWRITE THE STARS.

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader

Aemond arrives at your betrothed‘s funeral. And after being denied your hand in marriage once, he does not come to leave without you.

WARNINGS: angst? mentions of death, mentions of war, hinting at murder, kinda dark Aemond, female reader of House Baratheon (no mentions of appearance)

WORDS: 1.5 K

NOTES: Wow, feels weird posting something without smut lmfao. But… 👀 It‘s not mentioned, but someone particular and very jealous might have killed Lord Rosby, seeing that his House had deflected to the Greens at the very beginning of the war.

The body of your betrothed had not even been lowered into the ground by the time the enormous wings of Vhagar casted a dark shadow over the castle of Rosby. 

He had been drowning in his own blood after being struck in his throat by a crossbow from one of the so-called Black’s, or so you have been told, and while the image of it had been quite unsettling, the funeral itself was not too bad. 

Lord Rosby was many years older than you, and you had been betrothed not long before the war started. The Lord himself had asked for your hand in marriage, and with your father still having four more daughters to spare for any kind of political alliance, he had all too eagerly agreed. 

Much to the disliking of the prince, who dismounted his large beast at this very moment. 

He had convinced your father to support Aegon in the war of succession by promising to marry one of his daughters. You had been standing next to your father while your sisters stood lined up for Aemond to choose, and even after stating more than once that you hadn’t been free to marry anymore, the besotted prince had just reluctantly agreed to take the hand of your older sister Floris in marriage. 

Marrying a young prince of a House as noble as House Targaryen seemed far more appealing than marrying an old lord of House Rosby, and for the short time Aemond had stayed in the Round Hall of Storm’s End, it seemed you two had shared the same resentment towards the man sitting on the throne right next to you.

The envy you felt towards your sister had been eating you alive, so much that you had requested for your belongings to be moved to the castle of Rosby just so you didn’t have to endure seeing her face any longer. That your betrothed was not even there at that time just made it better.  

Now your father – and possibly you as well – had to experience the consequences of his pride and stubbornness first hand, it seemed. 

Upon spotting the large dragon in the far distance, a few members of House Rosby had taken their leave to go into hiding, but you and your father stood strong, despite the risk of being bathed in Vhagar’s flames sooner than later. 

For your father, it might have been the belief in his allegiance to the King, but for you, it was your House’s words, ours is the fury – and your fury was solely aimed at the man responsible for your misery. 

The rustling and shuffling behind you indicated that the few people, that had remained at the funeral side, bowed to the approaching prince, their mumbled courtesies not prompting you to turn around. 

“Lord Borros,” his voice was cold and calculated, dragging a shiver down your spine. “I assume you know what I came here for.”

Your father sighed, barely audible to anyone other than you, but even then you refused to acknowledge what was happening behind your back. It was not your place to speak, as you knew you had little say in the matter. 

The steps of Aemond coming closer could be heard, his presence suffocating. "‘Tis clear that she is not to wed Lord Rosby anymore. He was slain in battle, and his death has rendered the marriage pact void,” he stated the obvious, not mincing any words. “I desire to take her hand in marriage now.”

“Lord Rosby is but a day cold in the ground. It is hardly fitting of us to discuss marriage before he is even laid to rest,” your father scoffed, the sharp edge to his voice causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand. “Besides, I have already given you the hand of one of my other daughters, Prince Aemond. Your House might do as it sees fit, but mine will not, and one wife is more than enough.”

At his bold statement, your body went rigid, more so as you merely heard Aemond humming in return. 

After that, a short silence descended upon the courtyard.

“Do not allow your foolish pride to cloud your judgment, Lord Borros.” You raised a brow at that, curious to find out what direction this encounter was meant to take. “You will not gain anything by denying it.”

Not watching the moment the knights lowered your betrothed’s body into his final resting place, you turned around. Your eyes drifted from the ground up to the prince standing not too far away, his lips curled, and a steely stare solely focused on your father. 

“Your other daughter is of no interest to me.” His face was unmoving, and his voice as sharp as a steel dagger. “I have made clear what I wanted when I first set foot in your halls, and now, I have come to take it.”

When Aemond turned his focus on you, you could feel his penetrating gaze weight over you, the intensity of his good eye being enough to make you shiver. Yet, there was something about him that lured you in, a pull that was impossible to resist. With the way his lips pulled into a smug smirk, you knew he had noticed the turmoil raging within you.

Aemond jutted his chin forward, addressing your father while looking at you. “I will take her with me with or without your blessing.” The cold determination with which he spoke had your blood running cold. “You may not have the power to deny me the chance to wed her, Lord Borros, but ‘tis your choice whether you allow it to happen in your halls.”

Gathering your thoughts, you raised a hand to stop your father from speaking even before he had opened his mouth, yet you averted your gaze down to the ground, not able to meet either of their gazes. “The war has already been harsh for the Stormlands and the entire Realm, father. I have seen men return, bearing corpses of husbands and sons,” you said, keeping your focus on the ground beneath your feet with your voice unusually stern. “If this is the only way to bring peace to our people, then so be it.” 

You glanced at your father, and the scowl on his face was almost enough to make you retreat. 

Ours is the fury, you remembered. 

“The Lord Paramour of the Stormlands does not bend to the whims of some Targaryen–” 

“Enough, father,” you interrupted him, your voice stern once more. “The Stormlands have been bleed dry, peace is what matters. If my hand is what Prince Aemond desires, he shall have it.”

Your father grunted in disbelief, not expecting you to speak against him and surrender so easily. 

Aemond’s eye drank you in once more, and the smug smirk his lips had held before had returned, adorning his chiseled features. “Very well,” the Prince Regent declared, moving toward you with a hand outstretched. He intended for you to place yours in it, which you did after a second of hesitating. 

Before he led you towards the beast waiting outside the castle’s walls, Aemond turned to look at your father one last time, the smugness fully taking over his stance and demeanor. “I suggest you start preparing for the wedding, my lord, that is, if you wish to retain the title you currently hold.”

The threat hung in the air, gagging you and making it impossible for you to breathe. You did not meet your father‘s eyes, for you were certain the disappointment flashing in them would burden you even more. 

Silence surrounded you two on the walk towards his dragon, safe for the ‘you chose wisely,’ he had mumbled as you passed through the castle’s gates. These three words had your eyes widening, regarding the prince carefully. 

There was a strange lightness in your stomach as you approached the looming presence of the prince‘s beast, happy and afraid for what was to come at the same time. Were you meant to follow the same tragic path other women that had married a Targaryen prince had taken? Or would your future look different? 

An unfamiliar heat emanated from the dragon the closer you got, pulling you out of your thoughts. There was little time for you to adjust to its presence before your now betrothed urged you to climb the ropes leading towards the saddle on its back. 

“I will be right behind you,“ he said, a poor attempt to calm your fluttering nerves. 

With a bow of your head, you hesitantly reached for the thick ropes and started climbing the beast, the act itself proving to be a great challenge.

Aemond strapped you to the saddle, sitting behind you to keep you steady and supported while the dragon moved to ascend into the sky for your flight to King's Landing.

And with one look over your shoulder, you saw the castle of Rosby and its village disappear in the far distance. 

You had yet to find out if you had made the right decision or not. 

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Dorm leaders(plus jamil) with a fem hunter of Artemis reader, basically reader had however many years ago prior to ending up in twisted wonderland had sworn herself to Artemis and became a hunter of Artemis, Reader is good at hunting, archery, fighting etc, she's also immortal and can only die in battle and oh yeah Reader had sworn to never make romantic relations with men as Artemis is goddess of virginity and had sworn off men herself and has all her hunters do the same since 'men are just distractions'.

If you're not currently taking requests you can just ignore this

Artemis Hunter Fem Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

In Greek mythology the goddess Artemis stood for the pure maiden, the respectful hunt with archery, and childbirth. Back in your world, you are the closest thing to a child for the goddess. A nymph devotee blessed with her power and foresight. Where you are now is considered the belly of the beast surrounded by men who want nothing more than to have you. So the battle for your chastity and independence vs their determination and power begins:

Idia Shroud

“Ah!”

“This is not a time to be crying Idia, you’re the one who challenged me!”

“To a battle match IN GAME! I can’t compete with you on a physical level!”

“Too bad!”

It’s truly a match of brawns and brains according to Idia

Him with his constantly evolving technology to chase away contenders 

And you with your physical aptitude to avoid and cleverness falter any obstacle he throws in your way

He falls in love through his screen

Witnessing your sweetness through Ortho 

And your heroics through cameras he’s placed around

Is it so bad he wants to drag the hero to the underworld

He can’t decide if he wants to drag you to depravity or to fuel your image of a hero

So he settles to one day trap you

Maybe then he’ll decide

Jamil Viper

“I’ve been warned about snakes such as you!”

“And what was said?”

“That you’re not nearly as much fun to hunt!”

He often finds himself feeling the need to antagonize you

To engage in a ‘hunt’ with you

It’s not a physical one 

More so mental

It’s an unspoken game between you two 

And he’s not willing to back down

But neither are you

He absolutely adores playing basketball with you

Seeing the sweet create a shiny sheen over your body

It makes him excited 

You’ll weirdly feel sympathy for him

Something about being bound against his will 

Cruelly reminds of the poor animals poached 

He comes to realize this 

And he plans to use this to win

Rook Hunt

“You’re skill is far better than mine.”

“Don’t fret I’ve been blessed by Artemis. I may not have magic but I do have my bow.”

“That you do...”

“So…would you like a head start?”

Of course there's only two things can happen when two hunters meet

hunt the same prey

Or Hunt one another

Since Artemis prides herself on hunting within reason and not persecuting the weak

You decide to do the latter 

After all from the beginning he’s decided to hunt for the one thing Artemis absolutely asks that you protect

So it’s only natural that there will be sparks whenever you to decide to release your arrows

While in archery you might outclass him 

it’s easy to forget

He’s familiar with the terrain, with the presence of magic

He’s got just enough to properly consider a threat 

But he’s so determined and so sneaky its a wonder if you’ll realize it in time 

He hopes not 

But at the same time he knows the hunt is about to conclude when the doe knows to run

So on second thought he hopes you do

[dungeonpuppykai]

|| Triumph Of The Beast ||

Description: Captain Syverson learnt that the only way to have her was to ask her hand in marriage. So he did just that. And she was all his now, both to hold and to possess.

Pairing: Soft-Dark!Captain Syverson | Sheikha!Reader.

Disclaimer: I (sadly) do not own Captain Syverson. This is a mature story with dark undertones so kindly browse at your own discretion. Please note that this piece is only a work of fiction that in no way aims to reinforce or propose any stereotypes to any ethnicity or race. Minors do not interact. 

Warning(s): Soft-Dark!Syverson, he is lowkey messed up, smut with plot (I am sorry), possessive behavior, his obsession with her chastity, naive!reader, size kink, biting (it's Henry and his canines ffs), boob play, manhandling, power imbalance, arranged marriage, fingering, handjob, dirty talk, m!dom, f!sub, he's a man, misogyny, age gap (reader is 20's, Sy is early 40's fight me), he's lowkey intimidating, slight spanking, allusion to bondage, manipulation, slow burn-ish, maybe more dialogue than necessary, p-in-v penetration, corruption kink, no use of 'Y/n'. 

Note: Her father is not the mean Sheikh from the movie lmfao. Reader doesn't even have to be Iraqi, just Eastern that you can TOTALLY imagine yourself as because it's a frickin' story for God's sake! Ps, This blocked me so hard mid-write I nearly abandoned it lmfao, I need a break! 

.

Captain Syverson had always thought the notion of the first touch buzz to be foolish. To quote him in his own words, the electric touch that people claimed their beloved aroused within them was nothing more than a steaming pile of horseshit. 

Until now. 

As his thick and coarse battle hardened hands cupped the side of the tender face of his dear wife, the Captain's thumb darted out to quickly glide across the perfect arch of her cheekbone before it moved down to the bow of her lips, his body combusting into a thousand flames of raw desire. 

Her skin was so tender he feared it may come off if he pressed on it too hard. The structure of her body that adorned her traditional wedding attire seemed so fragile in this moment next to him and in his big old bed that the thought of ever manhandling a thing as delicate as her terrified him. The contrast of her usually confident and intelligent countenance was striking in quality to the humility with which she now offered her submission to him. 

His suspicions against his body and strength increased by the passing minute; he felt petrified to even breathe too easily near her. The fear that it may damage her in some way haunted him and filled his lungs with dread. It was not that she was the most petite thing that he had ever seen or she held resemblance to an adolescent in terms of size or any of that weird shit, no. 

It was instead the way in which her head bowed in just the perfect way so it indicated respect and submission; not so high that it would seem that she was trying to deny him his station but not so low that it became off-putting. It was an acknowledgement to his power in their dynamic; an agreement of a lifetime. 

The man could swear he was going crazy. 

There was simply no way he was going to make it through the night with his sanity intact. 

It was just the effect she had on him. 

If there was anyone to blame it was her. 

Because even though he wanted to hide this girl so safely in his arms for the rest of his days that not even a harsh breeze would be allowed to touch her, the erratic way in which his boiling blood sizzled its way through his veins, The Captain wanted nothing more than to just turn her around, press her breathtaking face into the mattress and take her over and over until she was swell with his litter. 

Or press his bigger body against hers and take her deep and raw until her mind gave up on consciousness  

Perhaps place her between his own legs and feel her mouth around him until his seed spilled from her nose. 

Maybe make her mount him and slap her ass that he just knew would be perfect over and over to keep her going even when she didn't want to. 

The possibilities were endless from where Syverson was standing. 

And he was determined to try his hand at all of them, and more. 

His eyebrows furrowed just a little when she awkwardly pecked his lips for the fifth time in a straight row and refused to give him more, cringing away when he attempted to deepen the kiss. The girl that giggled and covered her mouth on which her red lipstick had already smudged was a dead leaf echo of the confident and liberal sheikha -prized daughter of the sheikh supreme- that critically watched the foreign Captain everytime he was around with her bright and vigilant brown eyes so full of scrutiny that it made him, a grown man, blush. It wasn't his fault, really. Her eyes had the most attractive gleam of intelligence to them and the black khol that lined them only accentuated their beauty more. 

She had always been so elegant Syverson knew he was a goner the first time his eyes had been granted the pleasure of looking at her. Sat aside her father basking in her confidence, silk scarf draped around her head and body in the most perfect way, a form he could only describe as agreeable always clad in decent clothes, fingers adorning rings with colorful stones and modesty dripping off of every single mannerism of hers. 

How could a man not look twice?

And then not consider looking away utterly blasphemous on account of being unappreciative of such godly beauty?

"I- I do not know how to…" Her accent turned his gears just right. "K- Kiss, Captain" oh. 

Of course. 

Blood rushed to his cock that hadn't throbbed like this in a long time. That was, if it ever had. 

And then his sweet, chaste wife just had to call him Captain.

Fuck. 

He was going to tear her apart. 

And she had no idea.

The obedient daughter, who was never afraid to voice her thoughts and outsmart every man who dared stand against her with inadequate knowledge of the debate at hand, had happily bowed down to her father's wish that she marry the charming and noble Captain -to them a warrior who was not afraid to fight for his country; a man truly admirable- after said Captain had asked for her hand in marriage when he had realized that that was the only way to have her. 

Mind, body, soul… heart. 

Sure, it had taken Syverson and his rather daft attempts at impressing her some quick-witted answers and astute responses by a rather critical her to realize it.

But she was his bride now.

And that was all that mattered. 

"Well, ain't that just dandy?" Syverson realizes just how heavy his breathing really is when his words come out gravelly and almost forced. She is unable to hold his eyes for very long so she stares at his chest instead, a most remarkable coy smile across her lips. The fact that she looks every other man with a taught unaffected sternness but has blushed everytime their eyes have met after the wedding just drives him all the more insane. 

Her dark eyebrows furrow as she lightly tilts her head to the side. He has noticed that she has some trouble understanding his dialect. So he caresses her cheek again, this time in a reassuring manner;

"I know you'll figure it out soon. You're a clever lil' thing, ain'tcha?" She looks up just long enough to nod with a meeting of their eyes. 

"Yes, Captain" god, even her way of speaking has softened.

The knowledge that he was the only man in this whole wide world whom she treated like this made him want to worship her with his love and devotion in every way possible. 

Because The Captain was naturally a very possessive man who did not appreciate ran through goods.  

"Alright now, just trust your husband and sit back like a good lil' bride, alright?" It was taking him all of his focus to not just push her back and have his depraved ways with her all night long.

"Y- Yes, Captain." 

"Atta girl," before he leaned back in and brushed his lips against hers just long enough to whisper, "now hush and don'tcha try to keep them pretty lips shut on me" he felt her going breathless against him when his mouth fit against the slot of her parted one perfectly; as though it had been created just for him. 

She did her best to keep up with as much obedience as her modesty would allow her to muster but the sensation of his mouth against hers, the scratch of his coarse beard across her delicate skin, the wetness of his tongue that took its time swiping against her bottom lip and the way that he didn't have to break the kiss to know that she had extended her had in his direction to take a hold of him to deal with the intensity of it all, the sheer desperation with which he reached out his fingers and clutched hers in an affectionate way that also had a territorial tinge to it was all too much for her to handle.

An unfamiliar thrill that she had been a stranger to until this moment began to patter through her bloodstream. Her heart pounded, her sweat glands soaked, her face burnt and her stomach fluttered. 

"Captain" was all she was allowed to whisper in the two second interval the man allowed them to recover their breathing. 

"Well, I'll be damned, darlin'" Syverson husked through rushed kisses as he hurriedly helped her lay down with her attire still intact, both too desperate to strip her and wanting to take her as she was, for tonight she looked the most stunning he had ever seen her. "You're so dang pretty I can't even fathom stayin' off ya now that you're mine" a hush of cold breath rushed past her flush lips as her thick eyebrows drooped upwards in reaction to him dipping his face in the curve of her neck.

"I am all yours to do with whatever you please, my C- Captain" her soft hands flew to grab at his shirt as the foreign sensation of a man's body against her skin sent an electric bolt down her spine. 

His body was heavy above hers as he groaned at her response and grinded his bulge against her covered sex, peppering kisses all over her skin. "God damn, baby. Your mama sure raised you up right, didn't she?" A loud squeak resonated in the air when the new husband simply could not hold back his passion anymore and bit down on the inviting flesh of her shoulder, letting out a stomach churning moan at her taste and squeezing her sides as the smell of her fragrance oils hit his nose. 

"Fuck, baby" it took him all of his willpower and the promise that he could go back for more only easier to part from her. "I can't–" sitting up to kneel over her, Syverson pulled his shirt over his head before tossing it somewhere in the room. "I can't hold back no more" as he leaned back down and placed one hand beside her head to keep himself from suffocating her, the way she looked up at him with wonder, timidity, need, sent a pang of pain to his cock. "Talk to me, darlin'" he gathered her wrists in one hand before placing them above her head, now reaching for the clothed bump on her chest. "You feelin' anything?" A soundless breath left her and she shuddered in such a way that her boobs trembled feverishly. 

"S- Strange… a- and… oh my God!" She had to shut her eyes and turn her head to the side when he suddenly manhandled one of her breasts out of the deep neckline of her wedding night dress. Her hands rushed to cover her chest by instinct but her husband's authoritative swat was much quicker and stronger. 

Syverson chuckled at the defensive gasp she let out, a crazed darkness floating in his eyes as he pinnned her feverish hands out of his way, coarse palm now feeling up her other breast that was freed as he spoke. "Ain't no God 'round these parts tonight, baby. Just me…" His lips enveloped hers in a right and hungry kiss. "'N you" the way she nervously gulped when he pulled back to stare into her eyes only added to the fire in his body. "Say, baby" he trailed gentle kisses down her chin, along her throat and then down to the fluffy cushions of soft flesh dotted with flush, erect nipples in the middle. A surprised cry jutted out of her mouth and her fingernails tried to claw at his hand that confined them above her when he pressed one wet kiss on each nub. "Ain't this just somethin' else?" 

The girl had no idea what possessed her to say what she did, but her hips moved faster than her brain could catch on and her lips worked before reticence could hinder her communication. "I- It is, Captain. T- Thank you" of course she had felt arousal before. Of course she had been wet before. Some of those times she had a certain handsome American Captain to thank for, not that she would ever willingly admit it. But she had never known how to relieve herself of it other than a cold shower. 

Her mother had warned her that not every feeling that transpires in one in times of idleness should be chased and she had listened.

But this was not solitary boredom, this was not a devilish lure, her mother wasn't here and it was her wedding night with a man she was slowly becoming sure she would be able to call her dear husband one day. 

If her husband was kind enough to be considerate about what made her feel what she could only identify as exciting, she deemed it a stupidity to refuse the treatment. 

"Aw, baby" Syverson's hands only part from her breasts so his mouth can greedily latch onto them, his bearded lips pressing all over them before his hand nearly snatches her skirts out of his way since the layers seem to be never ending. "To think that I ain't even begun with ya and you're already thankin' me like a sweet little lady" now his mouth traveled to her stomach and the only word he had for its appearance was perfect. A shudder set in her shoulders when his beard scratched her navel before his teeth softly nibbled away on her skin. 

"W- Would you like me to get up and t- take my clothes off, dear?" God damn.

He really had hit the fucking jackpot. 

"Hold on now, darlin'" he husked as his fingers caressed her nubs, his hot mouth littering its kisses over her skin further down south. "I wanna take you like this first" the readied rise in the middle of her shoulder blades smoothed out and she settled back into the mattress again wordlessly. "Well now, are you gonna be good and keep them arms up high like a good lil' thing or am I gonna have to tie 'em up?" A drawn out moan sounded from deep within her throat when his chin deliberately brushed against her clothed sex, coarse fingers twirling her nipple between them.

Syverson felt an unconscious clench in the muscles of her thighs upon his words finally registering in her clouded mind. "N- No, I- I'll be good, husband. I promise." 

"Atta girl" he praised in a satisfied tone before letting go of her wrists. 

It was after that that his hands roamed free and wild all over her form. The Captain kissed, sucked, nibbled, pinched, groped, licked and bit all to his desire, the growing moans of his bride only encouraging him further. 

"God damn, if these ain't the sweetest damn legs I've ever seen" Syverson licked away the thread of spit that previously connected his mouth to her now bruised hiphone that he had successfully marked as his territory. The fact that no man had ever seen them and the plan that he made to never let anyone do so either was making his ears hot. His sides were becoming sore with need like he was the virgin. 

"And this– fuck, c'mere" he couldn't hold it back anymore. The Captain had always been an ass man and the fact that he was yet to see his wife's backside was making him mad now. Her yelp morphed into a confused giggle when he bundled her ankles in one of his rough hands, having already rid her of her panties, and easily raised both her legs up until her lower half dangling by his hold on her. "Hmmm, I just knew you had a perfect lil' rump stashed in there" his free hand felt her soft cheeks up before he traced his index finger down her crack, cursing at the way they clenched in defense. Then his depravity got the best of him and he wound his hand back and gave a handful of strong blows to her poor behind that started blushing in an instant. 

"Oh– ouch!" Her next nervous giggle made him raise an eyebrow as he divided an ankle between each hand and parted her legs to look down at her. 

"Think this is funny, do you?" The girl quickly stopped herself nervously. "You know who that's for?" He didn't even mind the giggles, if anything they were rather endearing to him. But the timidity in her eyes was way too sweet for him to pass up. She shook her head no. "Bad little girls who make fun of their fellas, that's who." It was the cock hardening way in which her bottom lip wobbled sensitively that dried his throat. 

A young woman once so strong, all commanding and authorative now exposed in such a submissive manner and completely at his mercy. 

"S- Sorry, dear" he hummed, reaching for the mound between her legs to roughly feel her pussy up in blunt gropes. 

"You can consider those as payback for all them times you thought you could get slick with me in front of my boys just 'cause you were the Sheikh's daughter" her eyes widened and she blushed harder than before. 

"I- I–"

"Yes, you" though Syverson's words were crisp, his kiss on her nether lips was tender and perhaps that was the sole reason why she didn't tear up from being reprimanded when she was so vulnerable and hypersensitive like this. "Thought I'd just forget all that brattin' of yours?" 

She had to hurriedly sit up for that one and reach for his hands affectionately. "Oh, no" the pure care in her eyes made his melting heart feel as though it had risen into the sky. "It was only that you were not my husband back then, dear," she tried to make him understand, aware that there were cultural differences that needed overcoming, "mother said good girls owe it to their husbands to treat every other man with a serious attitude and indifference!" 

She was breaking his fucking heart. 

It was officially official. 

Abel Ford Syverson was in love. 

Soul crushing, earth shattering, sky tearing love. 

With a woman who was not only intelligent and gorgeous way past his league but one that respected herself with an unwavering devotion towards her spouse. 

"Well, I'll be damned!" He exclaimed with faux surprise that she did not catch up on, much to his expectation. "So that's what it was all about?" Of course he knew. 

He just liked her to say it.

It boosted his depraved ego just right. 

She apologetically nodded with sincerity. "I swear, my heart." The translation of the endearment caused for his blood to pump through his ears only harder. 

Syverson gave her a small smile before sighing a little. "Well, you see, darlin', it did still hurt my feelings a tad" her eyebrows furrowed in regret so he added just to rub it in that much more; "got me a bit of pride to keep up, y'know?" 

Now she pouted. "I am sorry, love…" Before a bulb went off in her head and she jumped a little to express her excitement, the action causing her naked boobs to jiggle. "Is there a way I can make it up to you?" There. 

"Why, of course!" Fuck, he sounded more eager than a middle schooler. "You gonna have to show that you can make a good little wife" her cheeks flushed as she bit her bottom lip in embarrassment. He continued, aware she was as clueless as a virgin.

Because she was one. 

Syverson loved the thought.

He wished there was a way to preserve it -her- all as it was.  

"Anything you want, my dear" she replied sincerely as she earnestly pressed his hand that she held to her chest. 

The man swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat as his eyes flickered down to where their fingers were intertwined; the valley of her perfect breasts. 

"Good girl" his voice came out much deeper than usual. "Go on 'n' take it out, then" the bride's eyebrows raised to express her confusion as she tilted her head to the side. 

His dick whimpered and spilled a thick drop.

"U- Um…"

Syverson was getting impatient. "That means my pants, darlin'." He chuckled to lighten the effect of the edge that his tone had held. "I mean, can't exactly make love to ya with 'em on, now can I?" Something pulled taught in her chest and she went to avoid his eyes out of embarrassment. 

"Oh… yes" she was breathless as she reached for his fly, face angled downwards. 

"Yeah…?" He drew it out on purpose teasingly, dipping his own head earthwards to try and meet her gaze cockily. "Yeah, yeah?" The man kept going unrelentlessly until she had no choice but to respond. 

"Y- Yes…" Her nervous fingers slipped over the button of his pants many times but she managed to free him at last. 

"Go on ahead now, sugar" he coaxed sweetly, tone in stark contrast to his intentions. "Take it out and let them pretty lil' hands get a feel" her legs instinctively tried to close due to the shame she felt but her husband's huge body hindered her attempt to somehow cover herself. "Well?"

Her eyes darted up to him from where her fingers gingerly rested against the waistband of his boxers and Syverson suspected that she was about to decline because of the way her mouth moved to let out some phantom words. But when he raised a questioning eyebrow in response, she seemed as though it had reminded her of her place against him and she quickly dipped her digits inside the undergarment to reach for his thumping cock. 

The first feel of her fingertips connecting with his hard skin was… indescribable. It was as though time ceased, stilling everything else with it and he was enveloped into a cocoon of pure sensation. She was everywhere and inside. Her heat filled him to the brim. Each brush of her delicate skin against his rougher one felt like the stroke of the flesh of an outworldly nymph. Shivers of ecstacy cascaded down his lower back and he was floating already. 

The girl nearly jumped out of her skin at the unfamiliar feeling, the moan that he let out along a whispered praise pulling her back in the moment and away from her recoil. The bride's mind reminded her of her duty to her husband and she used her other hand to hold his clothes away so she could uncover his impaler. 

"Just like that, darlin'. Just like that" one of his hands went to tangle in her hair. "Go on and rub it for me, baby. You're doin' real good" his free hand reached for her own sex that had secreted its natural moisture in reaction to the sensations she was being subjected to. He groaned at the feeling of her warm pussy and squished his finger through her plump nether lips. "Tell me what you see" her own body was getting feverish by the second, hips and cunt trying to shrink in on themselves due to how violating his sense tingling touch was.

"I- It's…" She raked her mind for an appropriate answer. But it was all too much for her to handle; the pressure to impress her new husband, touching him the way he wanted properly, obeying him, submitting to his handling and then dealing with his intense gaze. "V- Very pretty, husband. Thank you" so she played it the safest she knew. 

And the girl could swear she felt him twitch in her palm at that, a pang of pain rising in her wrist as she awkwardly pumped him in a vertical manner. 

"Pretty, huh?" A cunning grin spread across his handsome features as he slipped one finger deep within her folds and being the retired playboy that he was, the Captain easily found her pure entrance. "'N' what about the size?" He could not help but moan at the feeling of her balmy walls clinging to his finger. "Ever seen anythin' like it?" Her thighs quivered as his thumb glided over her folds. 

"N- No, husband" she answered timidly, afraid to bruise his pride with an inappropriate or unsatisfactory answer that may pose a threat to her chasteness.

"That's right" now he began to speed up his intrusion of her insides. "'Cause you're all mine, ain'tcha?"  She quickly nodded, letting out a whine as her eyebrows furrowed at the ache his twisting of one of her nipples caused. "Now tell me," he leaned forward to reach for one of her nubs with his teeth, "did ya ever think you'd land yourself a fella with a cock this big?" He spoke through a mouthful before sinking down on her tender boobs, the tips of his sharp canines digging into the soft cushions of her flesh. 

"N- No…" The girl was gasping as she struggled to keep up with his leaking and twitching cock. "T- Thank you, dear!" She added for good measure despite how overwhelmed she was becoming. 

"Tell me, baby" the man loved how his naive wife's features scrunched in discomfort but she still sped up her fist that was wrapped around his cock because he prompted her to, hoisting himself further up next to capture her lips against his. "Do you think yourself lucky that you get to have this here cock all to yourself for the rest of your days?" He could not help but fuck into her hand at the sight of the spit string dangling by a corner of her bottom lip as it connected to the wad of spit that she had just released on his cock after being ordered to do so. He felt her cringe at the feeling of her fingers touching her own saliva as she spread it over his cock. But her resolve to obey him did not falter even once regardless of how shy or uneasy she felt.

And that was how Syverson knew he had found himself his perfect little homemaker.

"I- I do, husband" her voice nearly broke. "Thank you so much" the fact that all of this was visibly strange and even uncomfortable to her because she was not familiar with any of this… 

The Captain could swear that alone was enough to finish him off.

She was his sacred lamb; a temple undefiled. 

Nobody's leftovers; whole in every sense for the beast to take. 

What could he say? Colonel Syverson's prized son always won, no matter what. 

There was a brighter way of looking at his promiscuous dating history that was in stark contrast to his wife's nonexistent one; it could easily be considered as his physical sacrifice in order to realize and reach his full potential as a man for his future lady's well being as well as pleasure. 

A lady that he had found at last. 

"Say it" his command was heavy and the rough skin of his finger was like gravel against the buttery tissue of her slick walls. "Say that you're the luckiest lil' bride for landin' yourself the best damn dick you could have ever hoped for" she began to subconsciously move her thumb out of sync with the rest of her digits to swipe it over his tip each time her hand rose to his apex and he couldn't believe just how close he was already. 

The Captain was usually a man of stamina and endurance.

But then again it was impossible for the beast to resist his tempting lamb for very long, wasn't it?

"I- I am the luckiest…" She licked her parched lips needily. "L- Little bride for l- landing myself the best d- dick…" Embarrassment burnt her cheeks but pleasing him was more important a priority to her. "T- That I could've ever hoped for…"

He deeply moaned in satisfaction. "My good girl" a quick peck was given to the tip of her nose. "Now tell me, baby. How ya feelin'?" As if on cue, she clenched around his finger with a moan.  

Fuck, Syverson had never really preferred a clueless woman until now.

He could literally demand whatever he wanted from her and she would believe him out of her naivety. 

His perfect pretzel Princess that he could twist into whatever shape that he pleased. 

Or make her do as he desired, for that matter. 

With no one, not even his wife herself, to question him or his ways.

He loved the thought. 

"... S- Strange… P- Pain… but– hnnn!" Her back arched as she suddenly writhed, nearly going white at the feeling of getting her special spot getting tickled for the first time. It was an ability her husband took a lot of pride in; the  renown that he had held in college for being able to find gspots with his fingers alone. 

"Feels real good too, don't it?" The Captain snickered heavily as he began to rock his hips into her hand, feeling himself nearing the brink. 

"Mmh!" She did her best to respond despite the sensory overload, groaning softly when he forces her band of muscles to expand further by adding another finger to her pussy and repeatedly jabbing her sensitive nerves with their blunt tips, the sound of his skin fucking in and out of her liquids getting louder by the minute. "W- Weird… but…" A drop of sweat trickled down the side of her face as she gasped, eyes widening when her spine jolted at a particular wave of pleasure. "M- More, please." 

In the blink of an eye, Syverson had pushed her on her back before crawling up her body like a predator. Before her body could process his fingers leaving her into an orgasm denial, his eager cock was pushing into her. The pained moan that escaped her as her body twisted under his was muffled by his mouth clamping over hers. The Captain grunted as his cock struggled to push its way inside her virgin entrance despite the preparation that he had done. The girl's bottom lip pulled away from the rest of her mouth due to the way he bit down on it to withstand the overwhelming pleasure that sparked everywhere within him.  

"Your wish is my command, my darlin' sheikha." 

Syverson found himself praying for the first time to any god, deity or entity that may be listening; to freeze time right here in this very moment and never set it free again.

For he could stay like this for eternities and beyond; buried inside his dear wife and protectively enveloped in her loving arms that had never held another like she did him and never would whilst she moaned below him in a pained ecstasy, clenching and nearly knocking out as she experienced her first ever orgasm.

.

Reblogs and feedback are much appreciated <3

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Her

a/n just broadening my cheese thoughts. I freaking got hit by the love for my first mate. Had to revisit this red haired god.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"My answer won't change", Eris spoke firmly. They had been at it for hours. The alliance with the night court was important, yes. But that didn't mean that Eris was thrilled to attend the meetings. "Eris, this is crucial", Rhys almost pleaded. It was nearly funny. How desperate the high lord was. How he had rushed to Autumn just to see him. "You said that already", Eris breathed, reaching to pour himself another glass of whiskey. "Yet I don't think you understand", the lord of the night court growled.

"Oh, I do", and Eris did. But this was a matter he was not willing to discuss. Her. They needed her. Her. They didn't even address her by her name. She was just her. And that in itself annoyed him. Eris had silently dared them to call out her name. To let it swirl off their tongues, but it never did. "You know I would not ask if this wasn't important", Rhys tried once again. Eris met his gaze before saying slowly, "No". "Drop it, Rhys. He's a selfish ass only looking for...", Azriel started to say, but Eris's hands came in contact with a table he was sitting behind. "Do you know what you're asking for, you bastard?", the fireling pointed a warning finger at the shadow singer.

Rhys was about to speak again. But without any announcement, the double doors opened. In strolled her. The room died down. The silence was so loud that it was almost unbearable. Dressed in the most beautiful deep green gown that left very little to the imagination. The material itself was almost desperate to cling to her porcelain-like skin. Lips painted deep plum red, dark features. Beatty, who no doubt could cause wars, made men drop to their knees. Give up their most valuable possessions. Just so they could pray at her feet.

And yet her gaze was on Eris. Overlooking everyone else's presence, no one else at this moment deserved her attention. Yet she knew that everyone was looking at her. The way her hips swayed as she walked. Her breasts shifted as she pulled her hair to one side. Whatever they talked about was long forgotten. "My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail now, didn't it?", she beamed at Eris sheepishly. Eris gripped his glass tightly, nearly smashing it. He was dissatisfied with her actions. She knew it. He was mad. And it was true; she could feel it, and smell it. Everyone now had their eyes on her.

"You suffocate me, woman", the fireling snarled through gritted teeth. She only smirked, pulling his glass from his hands and brushing the corner of the glass with her lips—that same corner that Eris's lips touched not long ago—as she muttered, "You ignite me, husband". No more words were shared after that. They were fighting a silent battle with their eyes for a while before she turned to the other three males in the room.

"Now, before this place goes up in flames", she purred, looking directly at the Illyrians. Rhys bowed his head, sinking. She watched him. "Sweet, but it won't make a difference", she said, motioning for him to stand up. Rhys met her eyes, and she knew. She knew that he, too, understood. Knew that Eris and her were a match like no other. She was a true goddess of death, while Eris summoned fire. They could build and ignite hell together. Set the world up in flames and keep it blazing for centuries if they only desired.

Hence, this union was a secret. Kept from prying eyes and ears. It was a cry for war if the word spread. Beron was the one who managed to steal her from the underworld. One who bound her and his son forever. She was nothing but a feral beast the first time Eris saw her. She nearly suffocated him while a priestess wed them. But then his pain met hers, and what bloomed from this union was not something a world so small could handle. Could understand.

If others knew of their marriage, no one knew what they were doing behind closed doors. They couldn't even come close to grasping the strength of the bond that now mated them together. They knew nothing about their first night as a married couple. Of how frightened she had been back then by the demands that Beron made. Eris had grasped her wrist, poking her finger with his fang to draw a tiny bit of blood before he let the blood fall onto the sheets, so the maides could gossip about it in the morning. They knew nothing of the nights she spent playing the piano in Eris's office while he worked or simply sat there admiring her. They knew nothing about the hunting trips they took that had nothing to do with hunting. How they would bring the whole forest to fall silent before it burst to life as both of their cries filled the air.

She stepped closer. It was thrilling to see things no one else could. To be able to grasp things others couldn't touch. She pulled at one of the Illyrian's souls, bringing it out of his body as it seized. The thrill of touching something that wasn't yet meant to die was exceptional. "You're playing", Eris's voice cut through her desire. "Oh, I would never", She turned to her husband, letting herself giggle. Eris shook his head but did nothing to stop her. He just swirled his whiskey in his glass. "Cruel, cruel creature, let go of him", he said, and she huffed, "No fun". The Illyrian inhaled sharply, his hand on his chest, as his big eyes watched her. Yet all she did was smile.

"I can bring that soul to you", she said bluntly, turning away from them. He stepped to stand next to Eris, his hand coming to lay for her naked back. "I...", Rhys stuttered, clearly taken back by her words. He tried to come up with something to say but failed miserably. "Surprised that I know why you're here?", she teased, "Nature requires balance. Two nights from now, we shall come to the ever-white lake. I'll summon his soul", she said so naturally that it seemed as if all of this wasn't surreal.

"Y/N, this means so much", Rhys said, bowing his head again. "Leave", Eris growled, "If I see you before that time, your dogs will be dragging you out of the lake", Eris barked. She pinched her husband's side gently. The two winged males stepped forward angrily, but Rhys quickly placed his hands on their chests. She nodded her head at the Lord of the Night Court. He returned her gesture before winnowing out of the fireling's office.

"I don't like this...", Eris muttered when it was just the two of them in the room. He pushed his armchair back slightly, guiding her to sit on his lap, his arms snaking around her middle. "You don't like many things, dear", she breathed, her fingers moving to brush through his red hair. "You putting yourself in danger is at the top of the list", he stated firmly, reaching for his glass once more. He was always like this. His desire to protect her was something he hadn't yet conquered.

"You don't own me", she purred, pressing her finger against his chest. He nodded, "I do not, but you are the love of my life, and I would rather watch the world crumble than let you hurt", his words were powerful. Ones that other lovers spoke sparingly. But Eris. Eris was not like other lovers. And she knew that his love ran deep for her. And what he said was true. Because nothing could keep them apart. Eris would not allow it. She would not allow it.

"It's just one soul", her voice was much softer now as she spoke. "One too many", Eris muttered, swallowing the sharp liquor. A tight frown on his face. She touched his sulking features. "Don't do this", she whispered. Eris said nothing. He interviewed their fingers together. Bringing their hands, which were marked by twin tattoos, closer to his chest, he kissed the top of her palm. "I would not survive if...", Eris breathed out, brows knitting together. She cupped his face and said, "Good for you, my husband, that I have no intention of dying". Her eyes met his, and Eris could feel all the love she poured into his heart.

[analog-kidd]

If Fire Emblem Had Tumblr Part 2

(part 1)

🪙annablr-staff ☑️

Introducing New Features!

Keep reading

🔪v-a-n-t-a-g-e Follow

WTF ARE THESE NEW FEATURES????

ARE YOU TRYING TO SCAM US????

😈fallenwyvern Follow

this is annablr ofc theyre gonna try and scam us

#smh new users bitching abt annablr are so annoying #yeah no shit its a scam

(946,199 notes)

💜mlm-sewer-assassin Follow

Gods why are the men from Tellius so hot!?!

Like look

ugggggggggghhhhhhhlsslcdk;nakc king cainegusdisisudapdaso sooo hottttt 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

🦁the-real-king-of-beasts☑️ Follow

I'll take that as a complement haha

💜mlm-sewer-assassin Follow

(110,119 notes)

🐴cantocantocantocanter Follow

*Edit* I know on other continents archers can promote to other things but I was thinking about Ylisse, Elyos, and Magvel when making this poll

💘no-i-wont-shut-up Follow

in valentia and fodlan snipers promote into bow knights 😎

🏰armored-general Follow

CAN MOUNTED UNITS SHUT UP ABOUT BEING "THE BEST CLASS"!!!!

NO YOUR NOT!!!!

🪶lighterthanafeather Follow

Youre just jealous that we have a bigger movement range

🏰armored-general Follow

NO IM NOT!

and whats that mov gonna do when you get one rounded by a lvl 6 fighter cause your winged donkey falls apart by a light breeze

🪶lighterthanafeather Follow

Sorry! Can't hear you with that 4 mov!

#armors stop being slow challenge (impossible)

(1,109 notes)

🔫tastemyfeglock Follow

Ugh,, can breidablik STOp summoning fredrick???

I already summoned like 7 of him today!!!

🪨pickagodandprey Follow

what??????? who's breidablik??? why am I being summoned??? I am right here next to my lord in his castle, I'm confused???????

🔫tastemyfeglock Follow

GO AWAY!!! YOURE USELESS!!!!!!!!!!!!

🪨pickagodandprey Follow

Excuse me?? I don't even know you!

🪚sidecharater121 Follow

Hey look! A Fredrick that hasn't been summoned yet

(553 notes)

⚜️youngknightnight Follow

Sorry guys for being inactive for so long,,

I was having family issues,,

basically I'm a sword knight about to promote and I wanna be able to use bow upon promotion but my fucking parents keep insisting on axes but I don't wanna use axes!

They keep saying that "axes are sooooo much better than bows" "we encounter so many lance users, why don't you want that advantage?" or "bows only works at two range, why do you want to be defenseless at one range?" bro stfu let me live! I just wanna use bows OKAY?!

Sorry everyone its just been a lot.

#elitists dni #or I will cut you

(39 notes)

🌠thracianstar Follow

found this weird looking lance an enemy dropped while on my trip in Fodlan.

Gonna try an use it in the next battle!

🎏h-o-l-l-o-w-v-e-s-s-a-l Follow

uhhhh op? I don't recommend using that lance unless you have a crest but your post implies you're not from Fodlan soo uh

don't fucking use it if you wanna live

🐟fishphish Follow

op? op are you there? OP??

🦴️armorcrusher Follow

OP?!?!? OP!!!!!!!!!????? ANSWER US OP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(437 notes)

🥩singingnmeat Follow

this is the best thing in the world on divine dragon

❤️️crimsonrider Follow

#this is something my wyvern would say if he could talk #anyways #back to hating on my brother

(391 notes)

💚blueplusyellowunit Follow

I found this blueish-white wyvern near Crimea but it wouldn't let me ride it!

It started to thrash around, I had to stop when it started breathing fire

ik you just can't tame a wild wyvern without a lot of time, but the wyvern looked so pretty😭😭😭😭

💭dragon-ggilf Follow

WAIT WAS THAT YOU WHO TRIED TO RIDE ME?!?!?

YOU ALMOST RIPPED OUT ONE OF MY HORNS WHILE TRYING MOUNT ME!!!!

ASSHOLE!!!!

💚blueplusyellowunit Follow

OH SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOURE NOT A WYVERN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry

(2,330 notes)

😉sranks Follow

I tried to use his lance but my rank was D

😉sranks Follow

easy website

(24,998 notes)

🏋️‍♂️chop-official Follow

gonna use the devil axe,

wish me luck!

🏋️‍♂️chop-official Follow

I'm liking my odds!!

🏋️‍♂️chop-official Follow

cleic

(492 notes)

👺foxythings Follow

Swords are the worst weapon type in my kitsune opinion

🗡theawesomemerc Follow

kys

#you dont even use weapons wtf #how tf should you know

(97 notes)

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑶𝒏𝒆.

⤷ gender neutral, Valyrian blood (dragon rider), and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: I was inspired by @reiignonme, and I just HAD to do this. I'm so excited to write it. Also, I do know that dragons are aggressive creatures, but to their bonded rider, they're different.

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍:

・The God of Dragons, is what his title should have been

・But to you, he wasn't the intimidating beast that everyone saw him as.

・To you he was a work of art, a creation so wonderous that your breath hitched whenever you saw him.

・You show your love to him by laying beside him, treating him with respect and dignity.

・You hate leaving him on his own, but you allow him his independence.

・Never in a million years would you put him in the Dragonpit, chained and waiting for you.

・And in turn, he shows you his love by fiercely protecting you. He will fly you anywhere, and calls whenever he's beckoned.

・Only obedient to you, he doesn't listen to anyone else but you. However, it's almost as if he's level-headed and can be reasoned with.

・The other dragons fall in line and let him lead - which means you're the leader as well.

・His roar is earth-shakingly loud. And it can be heard from miles away.

・All of your subjects bow to you, knowing your power.

・Because we know, that a dragonrider has the same traits as their dragon.

𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐗𝐄𝐒:

・Is quite the adventurous dragon; she isn't one to be paraded around like Silverwing or Dreamfyre. She rather dislikes large crowds, preferring mountainsides and flying over oceans. She doesn't like small spaces either.

・Bonding with Meraxes was like bonding with a Border Collie - always has energy and curiosity

・But unlike Quicksilver, Meraxes is less energetic in a comic sense. She's more mature; more battle-worn.

・Will protect you unrelentingly.

・Hates sudden loud noises

・But loves hearing how much you love her and how much of a good job she's done

・Her teeth are smaller than the other dragons, but more pointed/sharp and there's more of them

・Her roar is also more high pitch and of a scream

・Meraxes' scales are pearlescent and seem to move in the sunlight

・Not many people know that, because she doesn't like being approached by others.

・That's why she isn't kept in the dragonpit.

・But she isn't as aggressive as Vermithor or the Cannibal

・You can tell that she wants a mate though, and often tries to woo Balerion - but he wants none of it.

𝐕𝐇𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐑:

・She shows her love by waiting for you to sit on her saddle before taking off.

・You have to shout out the command to fly and then, she takes off.

・You have a very special bond with Vhagar, which clicked into place because you would spend more time looking after her than making her fly.

・For example, talking to her, brushing/washing her, stroking her face.

・For those who don't think dragons understand - you're wrong because they really do. That's why some riders have a bigger bond than others.

・Some just see their dragon as an animal, as a beast. But those that see them as apart of them, that's when the true bond clicks into place.

・And you knew that being pampered is everyone's dream - or just being doted upon. So, because you put in the hours for her, she does the same for you.

・She obeys your commands without question, because she trusts you.

・But she doesn't like anyone else touching her, in fact there's a few trainers with burnt hands because of Vhagar.

・She loves laying in the sun, and will fly you to a beach to lay in the sand. Often you're chastised by your family for bringing sand into the castle.

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑:

・LOVES TO FLY

・She's the type of dragon to be like, "let's go faster! let's go faaaaasteeeer!"

・Isn't as aggressive as others, but would rather be away from people if able.

・Hates being paraded around

・But will do it if persuaded with food and belly rubs (although most dragons don't like to expose their stomachs as it is one of their most vulnerable body parts)

・When you introduce her to a friend or acquaintance, she does a big roar and then huffs a laugh at the person's scared response

・One of the more docile dragons like Silverwing

・Has similar colouring to Meraxes, but unlike her, Quicksilver is smaller but nimbler.

・One of the fastest

・Can beat anyone in a race

・And she LOVES to race

・Has to be ridden everyday otherwise she goes hyperactive and will lash out at the trainers

・Once when you were bedridden for a week, she flicked a whole group of trainers with her tail and then let out the biggest flame she had ever expelled.

・Tail flick = I'm irritated, Roar = I'm hungry or is trying to scare someone for a laugh, Fire = she is actually angry, Baring her teeth = scared

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐁𝐀𝐋:

・No one is allowed to approach him, hell no one is allowed to look at him.

・He's an incredibly aggressive and temperamental dragon. One that hates everyone but you.

・Completely black, he's known for eating other dragons - which makes him an outsider. No dragon, no matter how mighty, doesn't feel safe around him

・Even Balerion keeps his distance

・You weren't sure whether to keep his name or not, since you did have an emotional connection with him.

・But you guessed that he like being intimidating

・You have to feed him yourself or he will go hunting for dragons or sheep. Hasn't actually eaten a person, but has killed many.

・As he's your bonded dragon, people are a lot more intimidated by you. Since dragons and riders have somewhat similar traits.

・Although he does like showing you his den. He looks at you like, 'it's nice, isn't it. Did you see the bones I placed at the front? Yeah...it's to scare people off...'

・You see him differently than others see him. You aren't afraid of him. It's how you were able to bond with him in the first place.

・There was something in his eye that you thought was vulnerability, rather than hostility.

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑:

・His favourite form of physical touch is being scratched, like, really really scratched.

・Vermithor's back leg will wobble in absolute delight

・Especially when you get to those places where he cannot reach himself

・Doesn't like anyone but you doing it (or anyone but you being in the room when you do it)

・He's a very private & grumpy boi. Doesn't like being woken too early either. And likes to have an afternoon nap.

・And an angry/aggressive one too. He doesn't like being woken up early, and once you had to dodge out of his firing line. When he realised it was you, he made a really long upset face (that only you and his only other rider, Jaehaerys has seen)

・But he's incredibly loyal, and would die for you.

・What's important to you, is important to him (unless it's before 8am)

・Can sense when you're overwhelmed and will let out a huge roar so no one comes near

・Likes when you fall asleep with him. He may like his solitude, but he doesn't mind company (it depends on the company)

・Actually likes doing royal processions because he gets to show off how big and scary he is. He knows it's too remind the people of whose in charge.

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆:

・The least aggressive out of all the dragons (but that doesn't make her a formidable foe.)

・It's almost as if Silverwing understands that dragons keep people in line, but an approachable dragon keeps the respect and admiration of the people

・If she's patient and sociable with others, then you know damn well she has all the love, patience and affection for you.

・She shows her affection by nuzzling into your open palm, her eyes closed and you swear her lips are in the shape of a smile

・Wherever you are - standing alone, or in a crowd etc., she has her body wrapped around you; shielding you.

・And when you're alone together, she'll lay down and let you rest with her, and/or on her. Then, she'll fully wrap around you to help you warm up.

・She absolutely loves spending time with you. Funnily enough, she's a very outgoing dragon.

・She won't let you come into any harm though. Either because she herself has placated the people who could hurt you (the common people) by interacting with them calmly and gently.

・And if anyone tries to hurt you, she's the first to react. Although her temperament seems calm, she is highly protective of you and will burn someone to ash if they try to hurt you.

・When you're in King's Landing and the King demands that Silverwing be put in the Dragonpits, you sneak down to sleep with her. You have a very tight bond.

・Otherwise, she takes you somewhere else to sleep; amongst the grass, so you can fall asleep underneath the stars.

[hcdragonwrites]

Tangled Love

(A @semisolidmind Drabble)

Ok! I ran this by Semi before I posted just because I know absolutely nothing about LMK (except the animation can be so pretty!) just so I could get their characters down. I hope you all like it !

She just wanted to escape- both from this place and from her own mind tonight.

The ghosts of memories were walking and she had no distractions to chase them away.

Peaches walked the cool cavern halls of Water- Curtain Cave, her feet echoing in the depths. The sandals she wore and the ornamental clothing she had been thrown into made her scalp prickle and her skin itch. It was too much- but the attendants wouldn’t hear a thing about it.

She had to look the part of Queen.

Peaches, in the absence of the Lord of the mountain and his right hand and sword, was the remaining voice of authority.

To a point.

Finishing with courtly duties and listening in on behalf of her husbands wasn't a huge chore. The two of them rarely left at the same time however. If one was called away the other would remain. Or Peaches herself would be brought along.

This time however she hadn’t been.

It was the first time in ten years.

She had just this night- just this moment of reprieve and she would make the most of it. Or so she thought. Instead, she was fighting something that reared its head and struck her nerves like a asp.

However she wasn’t alone quite yet. As she rounded the corner and came to golden lacquered doors of her bedchamber - their bedchamber- she paused.

“Will that be all my queen?” One of the attending retinue of her guard asked. It was a guard her husbands insisted upon whenever both were away from home- a set of seven of the most battle scarred simians Peaches had ever seen.

They were tasked and sworn with following her everywhere - to the dining hall, to the throne room. If she wished to go and sit among the apple trees and listen to the wind play over the mountain grasses her guard would double in size. Peaches tried to not cause the denizens of Flower fruit mountain any more problems or stressors by going outside when both the King and his Brother in arms were away on a war path.

Her husbands.

It’s what they titled themselves now, after a decade of the terrible start they had on their relationship with her. When she had met the two, they had been just tiny monkeys. A sly looking ginger and gold monkey who had loved to cling to her arms and a dark black furred monkey that brought her fruits and almonds from the wild.

My sweet boys.

They had been her monkeys back then- the little prankster angels she had thought were just simple beasts, trying to survive out in the world.

She had been wrong.

The decision to upend her life, she guessed, had been floated around for months between the two disguised demons as they ate her fruit and enjoyed her touches. It was a mutual one that both had decided was the best option for her.

She took a steadying breath, coming back to the present. Peaches wanted a chance to be alone. Something so rare she craved it like a man in a desert craved water.

“Yes, general. I think I’ll retire early for the day.” She smiled at the monkey who dipped his body into a bow. The gleam of his armor set the flickers of a memory brewing. Fire in the trees, the smell of iron on the wind and a figure among the debris. She shook her head to dislodge it. The rest of them weren’t awful to her. Her husbands weren’t awful to her. They had just ….

Taken away her decisions.

“Very well Queen.” Peaches flinched, unable to quite stomach the title and what that truly meant. If I am queen then why am I without choices? “If you need us call us.”

She turned the handle in the door and slipped in side with as much grace as she could muster.

Peaches closed the ornamental doors to the bedroom, resting her head against the door. Steady. Deep breaths. In through her nose out through her mouth.

The illusion of a paradise that Wukong had built and Macaque helped facilitate always lost its color and believability when they were away. They couldn’t feed her the sugared lies and candied perceptions to tamp back the memories of that night.

It had been just another night on the small farm - a June night of heat and singing cicadas- of windows wide open and Peaches trying to escape that heat. There wasn’t much she could do to escape it. The moisture clung to her and made her bedding stick and clog her nose. So on these nights she stayed up, usually with a candle or the moon to illuminate her night, and read.

The knock on the door was not something typical.

The memory was rising and she couldn’t hold it back. I have to ride it out. Survive it.

Like she had survived that night. Getting visitors in the dead of the night had been unconventional- and she remembered the feeling of being perturbed. Don’t answer it, she told the memory. But this was the past and ghosts of the past didn’t change their course.

She had closed her book, had stepped down the hall to the door and had opened it.

I should have called through- told him to stay away! I should have never left my bed or my book.

It was a drunk man. A fellow farm hand called in for one of the families to help bring in a harvest that had proved too bountiful for the immediate family to handle. Peaches could see the man before her eyes, smell the reek of him.

A drunk.

“Well ain’t it the village spinster! Whaaa da pretty thing you are!” He was a cloud of bitter rice wine, of too much sake on his breath. The intensity of it had a physical effect on her memory and in the present, Peaches wrinkled her nose.

“You should go home Sir.” She had told him- tried to close the door.

His foot moved faster and his hands had caught the door.

A wild set of emotions swept through her. She had to sit her body down, thankful she had been able to get away from the other monkeys before the memory seized her like a vice. They would have been in a panic over her and she couldn’t let their little hearts worry so. There was nothing they could do to stop the remembering.

It was his fault this all happened. It was His. He didn’t have to be drunk and show up at my home- he didn’t have to shove his way into my house and try and grab me.

But he was just a single man. Did his actions warrant the destruction that happened next ?

“Get out!” Her memory self cried. The wooden table she danced behind as the drunk stumbled and moved towards her, was her only shield.

“The Boys Said you prefer the company of wild animals …” his speech was hard to hear. The wine had made him bold, stupid, and aroused it seemed. “I thought I would give you mtaste of what a real man was, since the villagers are al’ ‘fraid of your Witchery with monkeys.”

She had run- she had thrown her things at him. It was probably the commotion of her breaking a pitcher over his head that had alerted her monkeys. The loud clatter of the pottery across the floor had sounded so sharp and final. It had only made the man more determined.

The drunk when he did get his hands on her was furious. He swung a fist and sent stars into her eyes. Peaches had clung like a wildcat to her conscious, kicking out with legs and swinging with fists. Her nose was full of the sour smell of him- had felt his hands and fought them. A kick to his groin had sent him wheezing. Another fist to her head had Peaches crying. She had stared that drunk in his mean little eyes as he whispered the terrible things he wanted to do to her.

She had been staring in those eyes when he died.

He never got to touch more than her arms that night.

Peaches heard something step through the door that had been left open to the night. She had heard the creak of her house as something walked within it. And the sound of something- like a water skin being popped and a splash of warm liquid against her belly had shocked her.

The Drunks eyes went wide with confusion, rolling horselike in his head. His bruising grip on her wrist had let go. In the present, She rubbed those wrists, the phantom pains hard.

“..mah… belly.” The drunk had mumbled then belched a bucket of blood onto the floor. Peaches could see something protruding from his middle- something long and thin like a stick. Or a staff.

Clawed hands pulled the head back and twisted with a fury. The sound of bones breaking was loud, as if a fire was consuming dry wood. The drunk crumbled in those hands like a puppet cut free of its strings.

A new stranger stood in her home, his frame large and broad and most assuredly not human. He tossed the body like someone would toss a rag across the floor. The glowing eyes in the sudden dark were all she could see. Her mind, even in its heightened adrenaline drenched state, recognized the face pattern, saw a familiarity in the fur. There was, in fact, still a little flower tucked against this demonic creatures ear. The same flower she had interwoven in her forest friend's fur that afternoon.

“Your… your my…”

Nerves and the come down from the adrenaline high we’re making speech hard. The monkey demon before her, who’s eyes seemed to spit fire, softened. Just a bit.

“You are my Peaches.” Wukong said, touching her hair, her face, her hands. Taking stock. Then he had taken those limp hands and threaded them through his fur, trying to get them to grip. It would help his own rage and calm her fear. It was thick in the air, ruining the natural sweet smell she had. That and the slab of flesh on the floors own fetid death scent.

Wukong was not the best at this - this comfort thing. But he would rise to the occasion. He would try for her.

Fury and rage made his tail lash and the fur along his neck to stand on end.

At first she had just been a simple human that would leave little offerings to him and his brother in arms. An oddity here in the shadow of his mountain. Most humans around here feared the monkeys and kept away from all of them, having a legend that if one was harmed a great calamity would befall them.

Wukong didn’t mind being that calamity. These were his people, his subjects. So hearing the chatter from some of his kind that a women had begun to leave out gifts had of course spiked the Kings curiosity. The humans beneath Flower Fruit Mountain were his lesser subjects. So he had come down from the mountain, disguising himself as a smaller and more approachable sized monkey, to see the fuss his subjects had started gossiping about at groomings. Only to see his brother, Macaque, already being petted and tended and kissed on each of his six ears.

Of course first impressions had been terrible and Wukong, used to getting the first pick of everything, had come screeching into the clearing and demanding his own pets. It had set off a very small and very mock little battle between the two brothers in arms. One that had Peaches separating them and scolding them as she patched up the little scratches they had taken from eachother. They could have each resisted her pull but both decided that play acting a fight, even if it had started as a bit of one, was the best way to get attention divided between the both of them.

Wukong hadn’t expected to become infatuated. Her name didn’t matter to him- he had rebranded her almost the instant she came to him and offered a smile and held out a handful of sugar and dates. Peaches. After the Kings own favorite fruit, the sweetest thing the mountain produced.

His Peaches.

Of course also Macaques. He shared everything with his brother, the dark furred and six eared demon who had faced battles and won wars besides Wukong. While Wukong had been more leery, Peaches won him over faster than Flower Wine loosened his rigid posture. They had both fallen for this mortal women. And, in the traditional way she belonged to them. She just didn’t know it yet. They had touched and groomed and cuddled and tangled limbs and tails. They were practically married without the marriage bit.

Wukong rubbed small circles into Peaches back, trying to keep himself from bearing his teeth in rage.

I should have taken her home the moment she kissed me.

They had been kisses of the kind one gives to a friend or pet. It had left the warlord craving more burning with more.

Of wanting to feel her give him more than just a chaste kiss on the side of his face.

She wouldn’t have been hurt if he had just taken her home.

Wukong and Macaque had taken to one or both spending the night in Peaches trees, to keep an eye on her. Wukongs obsession had grown into a fascination and warm buttery love. A love that was becoming a wild inferno as he fought to stay still and not leap upon the corpse he had made and turn it into nothing but bits of flesh and gore the crows could carry away.

His Peaches fingers finally grasped his fur and shook. It brought Wukong back from his montage of rage to the present. If only Mac was here — but he wasn’t. He was back at home on Flower Fruit mountain , giving his brother the night to enjoy and keep lookout at Peaches den.

“That’s my girl.” The demon tried to soothe. He really wished he could set Peaches down and finish off what he had started. This place had been bad. This village terrible. He hated every thing and one here that had dared to let a drunken fool up to his Peaches doorstep and allowed this to happen. In reality Wukong was mad it had been Mac’s own sense of importance on taking it slow and letting a little thing like a life outside of Flower Fruit Mountain stop him from from revealing who he was and taking her home.

I am done trying to woo her over slowly. They could have lost her this night if Wukong hadn’t been in earshot, hadn’t heard the crash of something breaking. His clawed hands wrapped around her back and beneath her legs. Before he could realize it, Wukong had her up and in his arms, already stepping on and across the corpse and out into the June air. Mine.

“Let’s get you home, lovely.” Wukongs voice was thick with emotion. Relief to finally, finally, finally have an excuse to take his wife home, to see her sleep in a real bed and eat real food made his heart swell. No more pretending. No more longing. It was happening now. Simmering beneath that emotion was the sweet bubble, the red misting rage, of violence. Once he got her home, got her safe, got her tangled within some of his and Macaques blankets to where the sour smell of fear would be lost within the scent of them- he could come back. He would come back.

He would destroy the village for being the obstacle it was in his conquest for this mortal girls heart. It was in itself, a relief to know he was justified in its destruction.

Look what this place did to bruise my sweet fruit.

Peaches was shaking. Clinging to him. I would have her cling to me always. He pressed his nose into her neck, breathing in as he walked off. She smelled so good. He rubbed his face to hers, affectionately smothering her fear scent. Wukong felt a smile curl his face. Finally. We can go home and put the charade to bed. Finally you are mine.

Peaches' memory of that night was mostly of clinging to Wukong as they flew through the air, of his voice a rumble of soft words and comforts. He was holding her close, pressing her in. Smothering her in a sense. But she needed it. She clung to it in a way to stop herself from being sick from fright. It was strange but familiar to hold this fur, to cling. Then she briefly remembered another voice, another set of hands. When she looked up and saw that her sweet dark monkey was also here, had also been a demon in disguise, something broke in her. Maybe hysteria. Maybe disbelief. Or maybe she knew, somewhere in her mind, that no matter what she said now wouldn’t save the people- the innocents- in her village.

Peaches had been transferred into the dark arms and THATS where she finally began to cry. The shock was fading and leaving behind ragged holes of emotion.

“Safe, you're safe now.” She was reassured. Hands had lifted her chin, her sweet little monkey- now a demonic one- was gently beginning to sponge away the blood from the cuts on her face. Her cheek swelled, her eye with it.

“Please don’t kill them.” She begged. “He already took care of the one who hurt me don’t kill my village.”

“Hush love…”

“Please!”

Silence. Something cold pressed to her face- a bit of snow from far up the mountain wrapped in cloth. Macaques ears twitched like flower petals in the night air.

“It’s already done. The village is already gone.”

The memory rode itself out in the present and faded slowly.

Guilt washed over her and she cried all for a new reason. She had been the catalyst for Sun Wukongs fury. She had been the decider to his want of destruction. Peaches may not have killed them, may have had a decade to realize that what had happened wasn’t her fault, but Wukong had done it in her name. He had erased that village and all its people like a cartographer reshapes a map. To all the rest of the world, their had never been a village in the shadow of Flower fruit mountain. Not a foundation, not a brick, not even a spare hair, was left of humanity there. Instead it had been cleared as if a fire had swept through. Peaches had seen it on one occasion when Wukong had been persuaded to show her. She had needed closure. Needed the peace.

Once she had healed she had been told her village was gone. She had been given a sweet lie- that Wukong had gone back and the villagers related to the drunk had been ransacking her house to see where she kept the money or any spare wine.

When Wukong had shown up demanding they answer to the crime committed in her home, they had attacked. Wukong had enacted a king's justice as was his right. He had told the remaining villagers to leave- to never set foot upon his domain again for the lawlessness that had been enacted upon their neighbor.

It had taken two years for her to be able to relax whenever he came in smelling of fire and iron. It had taken a few years more for her to remember what Macaque had said when he had pressed snow to her face.

They were the same little monkeys they had been before. But now they had less innocence when they pressed into her face for kisses, when they asked to tangle and cuddle limbs. They insisted she stay in the bedchamber and not move to her own separate room.

It had taken getting used to movement beside her as a hand tugged her hair, or a tale twined her waist. Or a leg curled with hers or hands holding her face. Sometimes in the dark Mac would press his head to her back, using her as a pillow. Wukong would yank her in when he thought her too sleepy to remember and whisper all the things he loved about her.

It would have been sweet. It was touching in a way. If not for the way they revealed themselves. If not for that memory and what she knew now had come after.

It had not taken too long after that for her to start realizing that, though Wukong had saved her, neither of them had any regret of what happened. Neither of them was going to let her go.

When she asked about it or started talking of missing her home- the simple living, the ability to really on herself and choose for herself- Wukong would laugh and launch into one of his tales. He would brush her hair with his claws, run his face against hers and try and deflect her attention to new things.

Macaque, if Wukong was absent, would let her talk. Usually it happened when he asked her to brush his fur or he in turn asked to brush her hair. Peaches thought, just a bit, that the reason Mac was better at listening was for all the ears he had. Each time however, when she got to the part about how this had been her fault, he would stop mid way through a braid or pin and pull her in. Macaque would kiss the tears from her eyes, would press himself close to her chest.

“It was Never your fault Peaches.”

“I remember. I remember he went back- you said he—“

“Hush love you’ll grow hysterical. What Wukong did was justified- he defended you.”

“He killed.”

“I have killed.” He kissed her temple, gentle in his reprimands. He wouldn’t try and brush her words beneath a rug like Wukong. Instead he gave her a smile as wide as the crescent moon. “Let’s finish your hair and get you dressed. We can go see the baby’s, I know how you love the baby’s.” Baby monkeys were her weakness. They had been what led to her loving Mac before she had known he was a demonic warlord.

Peaches rubbed at her eyes and stood, the sorrow in her heart heavy still but the tears at least had stopped. Now she was just tired. Tired and cold and wanting to escape the feeling of it all. So she shed her courtly attire. All the clips and jewels and baubles and bits felt heavy. She placed them within the box at her armoire, then loosened her hair from its bindings. Jade pins, pearl necklaces, golden bracelets with bells of silver (Wukong loved this the best of all) all glimmered back in the firelight.

A pretty price.

She snapped the box closed.

On nights like this, she wanted to wear nothing but her smock, her simple clothing, and bury herself as far as she could go into the bed she shared with her husbands.

It was more of a pit set into the ground, circular in nature. Silken pillows, red sheets and a hoard of anything plush and furred had been thrown into the pit. It was also a snug place to bury herself within and one of the few things she didn’t feel resentment too right away. When the outside felt too bright and she couldn’t go about the mountain to her usual quiet places, she would retire here. To burrow, to bury, to hide.

Peach fell back into the pit of blankets and pillows and pulled herself beneath a fur of some striped monster Macaque had skinned and gifted to her. Tonight the bitter truth was hard to swallow and did circles in her head.

You did this. You caused this. You killed them. This is your fault.

She closed her eyes and hoped … hoped for what might be the worst thing yet. Her husband's return.

A time later she stirred. Something was in her room- was walking to the bed. Peaches felt a flutter of fear before hands reached into her hiding place and simply slid her out.

“Hello darling.” The silken voice belonged to none other than Macaque. His clawed hands entwined around her waist, his teeth nipping at her ear. “You are up late.”

“Does that mean it will be a late morning?” Wukongs voice came from the other side of the room. Peaches could see the ginger monkey removing armor from his shoulders and stretching. As the darker brother kept making a snack of her shoulder, Peaches noticed that the shine of Wukongs paldrom was dimmed. Something black coated the golden imprint of sunbursts across its armored surface. “I love late mornings! Means more time together.”

Blood?

“Peaches?” She turned her head, trying to see Mac. He had left off nipping her skin. A hand came away from her wrist and tipped her chin, forcing her to stare directly into his violet eyes. “What has upset you?”

Everything. Myself. Wukong. You. It was that simple question that set her sorrow to flowing again. She was confused, upset, and she wanted comfort. The only ones who could give her comfort were the very ones who caused her distress.

A vicious cycle.

The pillows behind her sagged. Wukongs hands were more aggressive in their touches, turning her about to stare into her face. He noted the tears, the bruising beneath her eyes. His lip curled in anger.

“Has someone upset you?” Wukong asked. He seemed ready to stand again, to grab his armor and step out into the night. “I will drag them here to give an apology. You name them and I will fetch them.”

Peaches shook her head.

“Just ….” You killing the villagers, Macaque telling me plainly that it was for the best, and my own head making me relive that night of events. Over and over and over.

“…. Myself.”

His face softened as he chirped a reassurance, pressing his nose to hers. Macaque peppered her in gentle and butterfly soft kisses to the back of her neck. The three fell back into the nest, limbs entwined and hands holding. Macaque had Peaches face buried in his chest as she sobbed silently. He cooed. He whispered how everything would be right as rain in the morning. His hands ran through her hair and messaged her scalp. Wukong held his Peaches, pressing her back to his chest in a solid wall against the world outside. He lavished her in praises and compliments, sometimes getting carried away and talking about himself until his brother would remind him with a flick to his forehead that it was their Peaches he should be reassuring.

And through it all, through this twisted and tangled weave of limbs and fur and warmth and sorrow, Peaches felt love. It grew in this dark place still, wanting to thrive. But how could it?

Still she fell asleep, lashes sparkled with tears and her heart lighter. One could only be sad so long in the wake of such waves of attention. Wukongs and Macaques love was the only solution to this ailment they had inflicted upon her, and she, the addict, swallowing the medicine that would give her release.

[candycandy00]

hello! i just came by one of your post, and checked your profile for more. could you do a rape scenario for sukuna? it can be short, or long, anyway you prefer, no pressure <3

Smut. 18+. Rape/Noncon! This is a very brutal little fanfic! Do not read if things like this bother you! Contains blood/torture/humiliation/double penetration. All the bad things! This turned out way longer than I planned but I got kinda into it lol. Goes harder than I intended too but let’s face it: being raped by Sukuna would be a very hard experience.

You were a powerful sorceress. That’s what everyone had told you since you were a young girl. Your power dwarfed that of every other person in your large village, and so you were treated as special, almost like a deity. You had your own group of guards, whom you cherished as dear friends, and you adored the villagers who showered you with gifts. 

So when the monster Ryomen Sukuna attacked your village, you didn’t even hesitate to step in and try your best to protect it. You were a bit naive, having been sheltered by the villagers, but you were not stupid. You had heard rumors about Sukuna, and so you were aware that you probably didn’t stand a chance against him. Still, if you could only keep him distracted long enough for some of the villagers to flee into the mountains, it would be worth trying to fight him. 

He was most likely after the cache of cursed weapons and items stored there, and would probably have little interest in chasing down the people scurrying like rats. You would offer the treasures to him, but he was already in the village, already slaughtering everyone who stepped into his path. He would listen to no offers, no negotiations. So you dismissed your guards, who only left when you commanded them to guard the children as they were evacuated, and then hurried to the village square to confront Sukuna.

When you saw him, your heart nearly stopped. He was far more terrifying than you had ever imagined. It wasn’t just the four arms and four eyes, the massive height, the muscular figure. It was the aura he emitted, the crushing pressure of his very presence. Every inch of your body was screaming for you to run, or to immediately drop into a bow and beg for your life. This man was a cruel and brutal beast. He would tear you apart if you displeased him in the slightest of ways. That’s what you felt when you looked at him. 

Even so, there was something awe-inspiring about him. You understood instantly how he had brought so many villages to heel and why people were drawn to him. There was a savage beauty to him that made your heart pound furiously. 

But despite all of this, you still had to fight him. Every second you could buy was another second for the villagers to escape. 

“If it’s the cursed tools you want, you can have them,” you shouted to him from several feet away.  “Spare the rest of the villagers, and you can take them all with no resistance!”

He looked at you then, his red eyes all four sweeping over you. “What resistance?” he asked with a laugh, sending invisible blades slicing through a woman who was running by you. Her blood splattered across your robe. 

As you suspected, trying to talk to him was pointless. Battle was the only language he understood at that moment. 

So you attacked him. The fight was brief, lasting less than half an hour and consisting mainly of you evading his slashes while failing to get a solid hit on him. You got the impression he could have ended the fight instantly but had chosen to toy with you first. In the end, his slashes ripped through you, shredding your robes as well as your flesh, leaving you a bloody mess on the ground. 

As your life faded, you saw him walking toward you, and to your great surprise, he used his Reverse Cursed Technique to heal you! Not enough to restore you completely, but enough to pull you out of the dying state. You were still covered in slash wounds, but they were closing up and no longer pouring blood. You struggled to get to your feet, realizing with embarrassment that your clothing had been completely destroyed, leaving you naked and totally vulnerable before this monster. You wrapped your wounded arms around yourself and looked at him questioningly, wondering why he spared you.  

You got your answer soon enough. 

He’d dragged you into the shrine, sat down on the raised dais, and pulled your bare, cut up body into his lap. You were too terrified, and too weak, to struggle. You’d used up all your cursed energy in your vain attempt to stall him, and you’d lost a lot of blood. It was still dripping down your body in small, slow trickles.  

When he reached down with one of his four hands and pulled his own robe open, you nearly screamed. Revealed to you were two gigantic cocks, one above the other. Both were standing tall and hard. Apparently the battle, brief and one-sided as it was, had aroused him. Or maybe it had been the sight of your naked, bloody flesh. Regardless, you understood what was happening, and your only comfort was that more of the villagers would have a chance to escape while Sukuna was violating you. 

Just then you heard a commotion at the shrine’s entrance, and the worst possible sight greeted you when you looked up. Your guards, the handsome and kind hearted young men who were charged with protecting you, had rushed in. The look of horror on their faces probably mirrored your own. You could only imagine what they were thinking, finding you in this state. 

They ran forward, intending to help you, but the first one was sliced to ribbons before he got even a foot closer. The rest of them paused, but clearly were prepared to run at Sukuna again, but Sukuna’s smooth voice stopped them. 

“Take another step, and I’ll slice her up the same way.”

They all froze, their infuriated eyes watching Sukuna’s hands jerk your arms behind your back while the other two moved over your body. 

“Kneel,” he told them, and they quickly dropped to their knees. Sukuna grinned. “All of you watch.”

You turned your face to look at him. “Please, no! Just let them go! I won’t struggle!”

His haunting red eyes met yours as a wicked smile spread over his face. “I want you to struggle,” he said, and his two free hands yanked your legs apart, exposing you to your guards. 

To a man, they all looked away, but then you felt a painful slash across your shoulder. Blood spurted as you cried out, and the guards looked back up. Sukuna didn’t even have to speak the threat for your guards to understand. 

Sukuna shifted his hands so that only one of them was holding your wrists behind your back. Only one was needed. Two of them were still holding your thighs wide apart, and the last one moved down between your legs, his fingers gliding across your slit. One finger slipped between the delicate flesh and found your most sensitive spot, stroking it with agonizing gentleness. You didn’t want to feel pleasure in this situation, from an evil, sadistic man who’d murdered many of your friends, and right in front of your poor guards who were forced to watch. But Sukuna’s fingers moved masterfully, rubbing in exactly the right way to send jolts of pleasure through your entire body. 

You quivered in his lap, trying to pull your hands free, trying to close your shaking legs, but it was no use. Your struggling and fighting only seemed to excite him. 

He pressed his mouth against your ear, and said in a low, sultry voice, “For a nobody in a backwater village like this, you’re pretty strong. But that’s alright. I enjoy breaking the strong ones.”

Suddenly you felt something wet and soft moving over your clit. You looked down in alarm to find a mouth in his palm, the lips open and a long tongue protruding from it, lapping at your spread open pussy. You cried out in surprise, and then in horror when you realized the pleasure was becoming too much for you. Sukuna was going to make you cum right here in front of your guards. 

You struggled again, jerking against his grip, but it only made him laugh loudly. 

“You should be thanking me,” he said. “If I don’t get you properly slicked up, my cocks are going to rip you apart.”

You whimpered in response, tears filling your eyes. You knew what was coming, but having him verbally confirm it broke your spirit. 

You’d been avoiding the eyes of your guards. You couldn’t bear to meet their gazes. But there was one you’d been particularly close to, and you couldn’t help seeking his face for some small bit of comfort. But when you looked at him, you found his face flushed pink as he watched you writhe about in Sukuna’s grasp. 

Sukuna chuckled in your ear. “Your guards are starting to enjoy the show.” The words cut you deeper than any of Sukuna’s slashes had. These men were your friends! Some were like brothers to you! 

Suddenly Sukuna’s hand-tongue plunged inside you while his fingers pinched your clit. You moaned despite yourself, your back arching against your will. You’d never felt anything like this, and with tears of shame and pain running down your face, you came on Sukuna’s hand. 

When it was finally over, and you were a trembling mess in Sukuna’s lap, you hung your head low and sobbed. You were so ashamed of yourself for feeling pleasure, for having an orgasm from the touch of this brutal conqueror. But your torment was only beginning. 

You felt Sukuna lift your whole body up, then position the tip of his absurdly huge upper cock at your entrance. Then without hesitation, he pulled you down, roughly and quickly, impaling you. 

A scream erupted from your mouth as you felt yourself stretching past your limits, your skin slightly tearing, warm blood trickling down your thighs. Sukuna was merciless, immediately beginning to move you up and down his length with two of his powerful hands, as if you were a toy to him. You cried, you struggled, but it only made his movements faster, harsher. He was enjoying your pain, laughing at your humiliation. 

Eventually, after an unknown amount of time passed during which you almost blacked out twice, you heard his voice again. “My lower cock is feeling neglected.”

You were half conscious, but you snapped to awareness when you felt his other tip pressing into you. His fingers had slid in beside his upper cock, and were stretching you even further open, to make room. You looked back at him in disbelief. “Y-you can’t! That would kill me!”

Again he put his warm mouth close to your ear as he said, “From the moment you attacked me, you’ve been living on borrowed time. At least use your pitiful death to please me.”

You glanced out at your guards, your addled mind somehow hoping they could save you. But they were all frozen, the ones that had looked slightly aroused earlier now looked horrified as they realized what Sukuna was doing. A few of them had tears in their eyes. 

“Please send them away,” you begged. “Don’t make them watch me die.”

“But that’s the best part!” he said, the grin on his face looking slightly unhinged. 

And then, the second cock shoved its way in. You gasped first, then screamed as he sheathed it completely inside you, ripping you open in the process. As he began moving you up and down, drilling into you, the pain was blinding, maddening. You wondered if this was what giving birth felt like. 

Two of his hands were on your waist, lifting you up and down, one was still holding your wrists behind you. The fourth hand touched your face, turning it to the side so that he could look at you, so he could watch the agony in your eyes. For a moment, he wore no expression at all. And then he dipped his head closer to yours and kissed your mouth. It was a bizarrely sensual kiss, a kiss for lovers. Gentle, slow, intimate. It confused you more than anything. 

He released your wrists, but you were too weak to do anything useful with them, so they dropped limply to your sides. The hand he’d been using to restrain you slid down, and again a mouth appeared in his palm, the tongue softly circling your clit. 

You wanted to scream again, to beg him to stop. Don’t make me feel pleasure while you’re killing me! you thought. But your tortured body sought out any relief it could find, any sensation that didn’t hurt. And Sukuna’s tongues, one in your mouth and one gliding wetly over your clit, did not hurt. In fact they were the only things that didn’t. 

So your body responded. Even as his twin cocks tore through you, even as you could hear blood dripping onto the floor, you moaned into Sukuna’s mouth. Reflexively, without your permission, one of your hands moved up to touch his face as he kissed you, sliding back and into his hair. You felt him smile against your mouth, his eyes shimmering with delight. 

You didn’t want this. You could think of very few things you could want less than being violently raped by Sukuna in front of your helpless guards. But the human body does all sorts of strange things to cope, to survive. So you came, moaning and crying at the same time, your body twitching in his hands, your guards looking on in horror. 

Eventually, Sukuna’s cocks shot out massive loads of cum, first the upper one and then the lower one, completely filling you. Afterwards, he pushed you off his lap, and you landed unceremoniously in a heap on the floor, blood and cum pouring out of you. 

You were certain you were dying, and within seconds you passed out right there on the floor of the shrine. 

When you awoke, Sukuna had taken all the cursed tools your village had been guarding and left. You heard from one of your guards, who refused to look you in the eye, that Sukuna had healed you almost completely before leaving. You had no idea why. 

You also found out the majority of the villagers had made it safely into the mountains, and were now being escorted back by the guards. So even though you had gone through hell and back, you would still do it again. Your suffering saved a lot of lives, and you could live with that. 

Sometimes you wondered why Sukuna spared you, and even went so far as to heal you. Maybe it was just a whim. Or maybe he thought he might return someday to terrorize you again. Either way, you had survived. Your village had survived. 

[holylulusworld]

Broken Rose (Prologue)

Summary: He may have stolen your kingdom and freedom – but he’ll never own your heart. Right?

Pairing: Alpha!Geralt of Rivia x Queen(Omega)!Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, mentions of death/fighting/blood, mentions of forced/arranged marriage trope, friends to enemies to ???, a/b/o, magic

Broken Rose masterlist

A broken rose. That’s what he called you the day he forced you to share his life and bed. Right after he defeated your brave knights, the undefeatable master of darkness, the monster with yellow eyes claimed you as his bride and mate.

Cries. The smell of blood, death, and despair still lingered in the back of your mind when he claimed not only your kingdom but your body too.

The lost battle still tasted bittersweet on your tongue when he stole the first kiss and promised to make you his obedient queen.

He believed that you’ll bow your head and fulfill his every wish.

What he didn’t get was that roses have thorns, and they can cut deep into the flesh of someone who tries to pick them…

“Watch the left flank!” You yelled at your knights while holding your ground. A queen fighting alongside her knights and commoners to defend their homelands from the enemy.

“He’s merciless,” Adekin, one of your most trusted knights said. “We should retreat, my queen. You cannot die out here among us. Go back to the castle.”

“If I die, I’ll do it next to you and my knights,” you threw yourself into another fight, slicing the enemies invading your homeland open with the sword your father gifted to you. “This is my kingdom and my people. I will not back down!”

“He’s the black magician, the Witcher enchanting even beasts,” he cut the next enemy's head off. “We cannot withstand much longer, my queen. Please head back to the castle.”

“No!” You refused to fall back and run away like a coward. If your life ended tonight, it would end on your conditions. “This is my fight as much as yours. It’s my birthright to defend this country and feed the earth with my blood.”

“My queen,” Adekin protected you with his shield and struck another enemy down. “It’s an honor to fight alongside you. It will be an ever greater honor to die for you.”

“No one will die tonight,” you rammed your dagger into an attacker’s side. “He will not win.” You gritted your teeth. “This is our kingdom. The Witcher cannot have it.”

“Y/N, queen of Rosethra,” the ground shook when his voice cut through the night. The monsters attacking you stopped in their tracks, and your knights dropped their swords to the ground. “I came here to ask for your hand.”

“Go back to where you came from,” even now, he couldn’t enchant you with his magic. “Here is nothing for you, Geralt of Rivia. I will never bow for you. Kill me now if you are man enough.”

His laughter made you even angrier. You gripped your sword tighter and prepared for the final battle. “My sweet rose,” he stepped out of the darkness, smirking darkly because you were the last one standing.

Your knights fell to their knees, defeated by an invisible power holding them down.

“What are you doing to them?” You screamed as Adekin looked back at you with black eyes. “No…stop this!”

“Queen of Rosethra, I came here to unite our kingdoms,” he stepped toward you, his hands raised in surrender, but not defeated at all. “Give yourself to me, and your people will live. Your knights will live. No one must die tonight if you agree to become mine.”

You looked at Adekin, your fallen knight. He didn’t deserve to turn into one of the monsters following Geralt. You knew his magic could enslave your beloved people, and couldn't let them suffer because of your dignity and pride.

You gritted your teeth but kneeled in front of him.

For now, the battle was lost. So, you chose to save your people and give up on your freedom. You placed your sword in front of you and tilted your head in submission.

“If you shelter their lives and don’t turn them into monsters,” you glared up at Geralt, the man who used to be your confidant and friend, “I’m yours...” 

Part 2

Tags in reblog.