#but the spirits can be as merciful as they are cruel

[sharpedgedfool]

I've ended up doing a full character sheet for each of the season's, I'll probably do the fairies grouped up together as they're not as detailed but this was fun!

Some more extensive lore under the cut!

So the seasons are all personified as these four spirits. They're not considered fae they're more like deities, the fae have their own courts separate but they pay respect to the seasons as they pass - Winter is the season with the least amount of fae present as most of the fairies are spring-born and die before winter and reincarnate every spring again, a select few fae stay alive through winter but their court is rather elusive. Winter is rarely seen in person, and so they are quite mysterious. Most of what people and fae alike know of Winter are only rumours passed around - they are often described to be cold, violent and deadly due to the amount of battles waged over wintertime.

Although Winter is necessary for the other seasons to thrive, they are often targeted by people attempting to kill Winter to save loved ones dying of the cold. They take no pleasure in it, but they've became accustomed to fighting those desperate enough to try, sometimes fighting armies off by themselves. Animal-patron-fae see the benefits of these battles first, the predator animals feed off the remains of the fallen and prey animals are less likely to be targeted in turn. Plant-patron-fae see more prey animals feeding off the berries in spring so they at least have a passive understanding of the events.

Those who know Winter, or know them by their name 'Black Ice', know they deeply care for animals, and do their best to not disturb those hiding away in hibernation and often enjoys the company of the more active animals. They often ride their Stag around in the snow, the two of them are almost inseparable. Wolves, crows and foxes tend to follow them around in case they slay someone and they can pick at the scraps, but they've secretly thrown snowballs around for them when they're playing. Winter fae like mistletoe or holly sometimes pay respect and offer gifts, but Winter doesn't partake in their festivities - they feel like they shouldn't celebrate when many are suffering in his presence.

Winter refuses to abandon their duty and takes pride in their role in the lifecycle, they know the importance of their season, but they are constantly in a state of grief witnessing more death than life. They know most of the people waging war against them aren't trying to take over the season's power (Summer is mostly targeted for this reason, as they're considered a 'good' season and people want their power and position) instead the attackers truly believe they're doing a good thing and are just foolish not malicious. Despite sympathising with them, Winter won't give them mercy or let their guard down, lest they do manage to kill them and throw off everything.

If they were to die, it is unlikely anyone would want to take up the mantle of winter due to it's hated reputation, but a cruel person could use winter to do untold damage and kill Autumn or Spring in the process - even Summer might falter if their heart were too cold to be burned. They knew the previous spirit of Winter when they were mortal. They had grown close, but she was fatally wounded in a battle against a grieving lover and she couldn't bring herself to strike back. The lover escaped unscathed, and Black Ice found her dying in the snow. In her final moments they promised to take her place and protect what she could not. They love the winter with all their heart, but they still struggle to see the beauty in the season, they still see her blood in the snow.

Winter is the eldest season of the current four, but holds great respect for all his three peers - he has never met Summer but trusts they are more than capable. He isn't talkative, and is quite clinical. They arrive and leave punctually and without much conversation with the other seasons, unlike the other three who often enjoy each others company for a few days before moving on.

[kentstoji]

ㅤㅤㅤ NECTAROUS

ㅤㅤㅤ pairing. mk men x gn reader.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤsetting. mortal kombat.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤtype. headcanons (a little suggestive).

ㅤㅤㅤkissing liu kang was a divine experience, akin to discovering a new world and venturing into it, relishing every romantic ecstasy. his arms were strong and warm, carrying a distinctive fire befitting his position attained after his triumph against kronika. being enveloped by him in a loving and almost possessive embrace was like diving into liquid lava, yet the flames were harmless. (the most they could do was leave purple and reddish marks along your beautiful neck, while liu kang's experienced and bold lips traced a path, and your face took on undesired shades of scarlet.) your lips part in fervent lamentation, breathless.

ㅤㅤㅤbi-han was, by nature, a conqueror and consequently, a born leader. a dominator in various aspects, and in the romantic realm, this particularity wouldn't easily alter. honoring the element he proudly manipulated, bi-han had frigid lips, like a morning after an intense snowstorm. his hands, firm and calloused by years of battles and victories, established a rule at the base of your neck, keeping you under the grandmaster's longing, shaping you to fulfill his needs and desires. it was a selfish dance in which you never had the chance to be victorious, but teasing him to the limit was as satisfying as winning a battle. he exploded, and you loved paying the price. (kissing him was like feeding a voracious, wild creature that had no basic knowledge of emotions. the beast, however, calmed when tasting the flavor of your lips, biting them until he felt the sweet taste of your life essence flowing crimson between his lips.)

ㅤㅤㅤjohnny cage was a provocateur, and you were his favorite victim. maintaining a playful spirit, Johnny's kisses were a wet mess, lips colliding eagerly, a overwhelming need. his hands fixed themselves on your waist, squeezing and pulling you closer as he yearned to merge into one body, immortalizing the passion and love between you. it was common to find a glistening line of saliva when you finally parted. you were breathless, your chest moving frantically in search of oxygen and... something more. johnny would notice this. (of course, he would notice. he always made a point to observe the reactions when you were together.)

ㅤㅤㅤ"can you handle more, sweetheart?" he questions, his pink, swollen lips curving into a wicked smile, full of cruel promises.

ㅤㅤㅤwithin and outside a relationship, you are shang tsung's test subject, the perfect specimen at the mercy of his dark ideals. breakable and submissive, like a pet, you've become his favorite pastime, the perfect challenge. unraveling the mysteries of your body is an art for him, a game where every touch and kiss are strategies to corrupt the remaining shreds of sanity within you. he appreciates knowledge, and your genuine reactions are accompanied by translucent pearls of warm tears. tears of ecstasy, he concludes with arrogance. shang tsung is a selfish partner; (his kisses are long and suffocating, embedding themselves in you like a parasite.) the scent of his perfume will linger, intoxicating and persistent.

ㅤㅤㅤhanzo is an uncontrollable romantic, and his soul is as warm as the affections he displays in the comfort of the space he now calls home in your relationship. kissing him is an open invitation to be consumed by hungry flames, much like his emotional yearning. his hands rest on your face, fingers gliding in a long, gentle caress, savoring every reaction you show: the flushed face and trembling hands are signals for him to continue. with your consent, he does. you are led to a dark precipice with kisses planted at the base of your neck, discreetly directed towards your chest. hanzo, experienced and considerably older, knows what he's doing, aware of the buttons to press to make you dance with madness.

ㅤㅤㅤ"breathe, my love," he says, noticing your open eyes, seeking more of his touches. "the night is still young, and we are just getting started."

[estellan0vella]

Every King Needs His Queen ❀ Sukuna (REQUESTED)

Masterlist

Shibuya has been transformed into a chaotic battlefield, where curses and sorcerers clash amidst crumbling buildings and terrified civilians.

Amidst this turmoil, Sukuna's malevolent laughter echoes through the streets as he fully takes over Yuji's body. The vessel’s power thrums with the intoxicating mix of youthful strength and cursed energy, and Sukuna relishes the sensation.

His eyes, now with those signature four pupils, scan the destruction around him with a predatory glint. The chaos, the screams, the destruction—all of it feels like home.

But something, or rather someone, is missing. A sense of familiarity tugs at the back of his mind, and a cruel smile curls on his lips.

"Soon," he murmurs, his voice a deep growl that resonates through the air.

As he strides through the wreckage, curses and sorcerers alike fall before him, either fleeing in terror or meeting swift, brutal ends. The ground trembles beneath his feet, not just from his power, but from the anticipation of a long-awaited reunion.

His mind drifts to her—his queen, the only one who has ever matched his malevolence and power. The queen of curses. His wife. He knows she is near. He can feel her presence, a familiar darkness that has always complemented his own.

She is here, amidst the chaos, drawn perhaps by the same forces that had lured him into this city-wide massacre.

Then, amidst the dust and the ruins, he sees her.

She stands tall, regal even in the midst of destruction, her eyes blazing with a mixture of power and fury. Her presence commands respect, a dark aura surrounding her that makes even the most twisted curses shrink away. She is as breathtaking as ever, a vision of lethal beauty.

"Ryo,"

"My queen," he replies, his tone dripping with a twisted affection. He strides toward her, every step purposeful, until they are mere inches apart.

For a moment, they simply stand there, the world around them fading into insignificance. The connection between them crackles in the air, a potent mixture of power and passion that has endured for centuries.

Then, without warning, Sukuna pulls her into a fierce, claiming kiss. It’s a clash of teeth and tongues, a battle of dominance that neither wants to lose. She responds in kind, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls him closer. The kiss is both violent and tender, a reunion of two kindred spirits.

Around them, the battle continues, but they are lost in each other, oblivious to everything but the sensation of being together again.

When they finally break apart, both are breathing heavily, eyes locked onto each other with a fiery intensity. Sukuna’s grin widens, his hand caressing her cheek with a surprisingly gentle touch.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, and there is an unspoken promise in his eyes—a promise of chaos, destruction, and an eternity spent together.

“And I, you,” she replies, her voice softer now, but no less fierce. Her hand moves to rest over his chest, where Yuji’s soul still struggles against the overwhelming force of Sukuna’s possession.

Sukuna’s gaze darkens as he senses the resistance. Yuji’s soul, though weakened, still fights, still clings to hope. It is an irritation, a distraction from the moment of their reunion. But she is here now, and together, there is nothing they cannot achieve.

“Shall we?” she asks, her voice a seductive whisper.

With a nod, Sukuna places his hand over hers, their combined cursed energy flaring with a deadly intent. She closes her eyes, focusing on the task at hand.

Yuji’s soul, already battered by Sukuna’s presence, begins to crumble under the combined assault. There is no mercy in their actions, only a ruthless efficiency borne of countless battles fought side by side.

Yuji’s soul screams in silent agony, a final, desperate cry that fades into nothingness. The vessel is now completely theirs, unchallenged and absolute.

“It’s done,” she says, her eyes opening to meet his once more. There is a sense of satisfaction in her gaze, a dark triumph that matches his own.

Sukuna’s grin is feral as he leans in to capture her lips in another searing kiss. This time, there is no urgency, only the promise of what’s to come. The city may burn, the world may crumble, but they are together again, and that is all that matters.

As they pull apart, she rests her head against his chest, listening to the steady, powerful beat of his heart. His arms wrap around her, a rare moment of tenderness amidst the chaos.

“Together, we will reign supreme,” Sukuna murmurs, his voice a dark promise.

“Always,” she replies, her voice filled with unwavering conviction.

They stand there, savoring their reunion amidst the destruction. The cacophony of battle seems distant, a mere background to their intimate moment. However, a familiar presence makes itself known, the air around them growing colder, charged with a different but equally potent energy.

Uraume steps out from the shadows, their loyal servant and confidant, a figure whose loyalty to Sukuna is as ancient as their bond. Uraume’s expression is a blend of reverence and relief, their eyes fixed on Sukuna with unwavering devotion.

“My Lord,” Uraume says, bowing deeply before turning their gaze to her. “My Lady.”

She smiles, a rare, genuine expression of warmth. “Uraume. It’s good to see you.”

Uraume straightens, their eyes flicking between the two. “I’ve awaited this moment for so long. The world will tremble before your combined might.”

Sukuna’s laughter rumbles through the air, a dark, mirthful sound. “Indeed, Uraume. The world has grown complacent in our absence. It’s time to remind them of true power.”

With a nod, Uraume steps closer, their presence adding another layer of strength to the trio. “What are your orders, my Lord?”

“For now, we enjoy this moment,” Sukuna replies, his arm tightening around his wife. “But soon, we will lay waste to those who dare oppose us. We will carve our legacy into the very bones of this world.”

His queen’s eyes gleam with anticipation. “Together, we will reshape this world in our image. Nothing and no one will stand in our way.”

Uraume nods, their expression resolute. “As you command.”

The three of them stand amidst the ruins, a formidable trinity of power and malevolence. Around them, the battle continues, but they are an island of calm amidst the storm. The reunion is not just a personal victory; it is the herald of a new era of terror and domination.

As the night deepens and the fires of Shibuya burn bright, Sukuna and his queen walk side by side, Uraume following closely behind. The city is their playground, the world their canvas. With every step, they leave behind a trail of devastation, a reminder of the unstoppable force they have become.

[seravphs]

drabbles:

✧ modern intimacy | 200 fluff

Gojo watches you get ready for your anniversary date.

✧ all roads lead home | 600 fluff

Gojo “my girl is mad at me I hope I die” Satoru, companion piece to modern intimacy

✧ all the rumors are true | 450 fluff

He’s an idol. You’re a hairstylist.

short/long fic:

✧ dinner plans | 1k fluff

Gojo's a brat.

✧ spoil | 1k fluff

Gojo Satoru likes his girls clingy. 

✧ sweetheart, psychopathic crush | 1.5k fluff and mild angst 

“What I want from the river is what I always want: / to be held by a stronger thing that, in the end, chooses mercy.” - Advantages of Being Evergreen by Oliver Baez Bendorf

✧ starboy | 1.6k fluff

Your job description entails taking care of one (1) astronaut on his way to Mars. It doesn’t say anything about falling in love with him. 

✧ arrive through obliteration | 3.5k smut

Gojo deserves a trophy for winning his fight against Sukuna. You’re happy to deliver.

✧ you get me closer to god | 3.7k fluff

Kneeling by your bed, rosary wrapped around your knuckles, lips pressed to the burnished rosewood, you pray. God, please send me another guardian angel. A blast of static from the TV behind you. The one you sent me- “Hey, how does the thing work?” Gojo says, accompanied by loud thumps. You cringe in silence. He’s strange.

✧ graveyard shift | 4.5k fluff | (not really a) mafia au

When you took the job, you knew working the night shift at your local convenience store would be boring. That’s fine; you’re here to make enough to pay rent, not to smile for strangers who don’t care anyways.The appearance of a stranger who seems to have a lot to hide is tantalizing bait to your boredom, but you can’t give in. That is, if you have a choice at all.

✧ the commutative property of relationships | 4.5k smut

Gojo and you have little to nothing in common besides a friend group and a shared crush on Nanami Kento. However, as befitting the sorcerer to end all sorcerers, of course Gojo has one up on you - he’s actually made a move on Nanami. If he offers to give you a taste through him, who are you to turn down such a golden opportunity?

✧ star power | 6.8k fluff

Gojo loves the untouchable. You’re an off limits rockstar who thinks he’s an idiot. The only thing he can do is take that as a challenge, right?

universes: 

✧ cruel summer 

✧ teen dad gojo 

series:

✧ let your hand become a blade so I may take it | royal au | 1/7 chapters

Updated knight! gojo x princess! reader

✧ the hand which holds the knife | royal au | 2 chapters 

OLD DRAFT of knight! gojo x princess! reader

✧ spring in hell and everything’s blooming | 2/5 chapters | estimated 12k 

There is before-Getou and after-Getou. In both spaces, Gojo exists.

✧ beating hearts promised to bared teeth | 1/2 chapters | estimated 20k

When a kind stranger offers you his home because your gambling addict of a father can’t pay rent, you’re left in charge of a shrine - with a catch. Once you arrive at your new home, you learn a crucial fact that he conveniently left out. You’re the new god in charge, and his familiar, who now belongs to you, does not like you. What’s a new god to do, especially when she finds herself slowly falling for the fox spirit?

[tobiasdrake]

An under rated skill of goku's is his general awareness. Generally speaking, he's very good at noticing power. That's why when he lets his foes reach full power (like Frieza) he's the one who clowns them, unlike Vegeta who gets clowned whenever he does that.

With that in mind, it's very fitting that he knows Instant Transmission. It's a skill whose fundemental requirement is being able to sense the strength of others

It's worth noting that Vegeta and Goku's situations there are starkly different - though not as much as you might think.

Frieza up to that point has been so courteous as to provide a running tally of how much ki he's using at a given point.

Goku can make a confident assumption of what 100% Frieza will look like because he's already experienced 50% Frieza. Nonetheless, Goku's motives were the same as Vegeta's all the same.

Like Vegeta, Goku was drunk on Saiyan battle-lust when he decided to both a) let Frieza power up to 100% and b) remain on Namek while everyone else was being whisked off to the safety of Earth. Though Goku's battle-lust was also driven by a desire for revenge.

But, as Kaio points out, the battle-lust of the Super Saiyan's taken hold of Goku's senses. Given the choice between revenge and a fight, Goku's more interested in the latter.

By contrast, at the time Vegeta made this boneheaded decision:

Nobody had any idea what Perfect Cell would be like. Not even Cell.

Notably, both Goku and Vegeta at their respective times were also channeling the Super Saiyan, which - as Kaio noted above - includes among its effects heightened aggression and impaired decision-making.

After being told multiple times that the Super Saiyan is a hyper-aggressive ultra-warrior, Goku finally had the chance to experience it on Namek. His assessment was "Gohan needs to leave before this form makes me do things to him too."

In an ironic twist, we even see the arrogant cruelty of the Super Saiyan intermix with Goku's own pleasant demeanor in the form of the cruel mercy he offers Frieza.

Goku's never cared about shredding someone's pride before. He's in it for love of the game. He just wants a good fight.

But here, he's like, "I've broken your spirit, your body, and your will. Run off and cower under a rock and spend the rest of your life agonizing in terror about your pathetic inadequacies, you useless trash mongrel."

He doesn't even want Frieza to train up and come back to fight him again like Piccolo and Vegeta; He's legit telling Frieza to go wallow in defeat. And that's. Just. Not how Goku talks to people he's beaten. Super Saiyan Goku is a very sore winner.

Letting Vegeta become a Super Saiyan is like getting a squirrel high on speed. He was battle-hungry and aggressive enough already, but now he's battle-hungry and aggressive squared.

Goku, for his part, worked hard on controlling this enhanced aggression. When Gohan first became a Super Saiyan, Goku tried to coach him through managing it as well.

This was part of the purpose behind Goku and Gohan's mastery of the state during their RoSaT training. After giving up on the idea of breaking the Super Saiyan's limits, part of the purpose behind mastering the Super Saiyan itself was to eliminate the enhanced aggression.

Get rid of the ki bleeding, get rid of the psychological byproducts, and normalize it so that it's as natural as their base states. There's even a cool visual effect you can pick up with it.

When a character turns Super Saiyan, their eyes turn sharp and angular to indicate their enhanced ferocity.

It's a look characters get when they're mad or focused, but the Super Saiyan always looks like that. Even when contemplative or scared, a Super Saiyan looks pissed as hell.

But once Goku and Gohan master the state, they're able to have gentler, rounder eyes in this form even while they keep the angular Super Saiyan eyebrows.

This is a man who is no longer resisting a compulsion to start throwing hands at everyone in the immediate area. The Super Saiyan answers entirely to him now, with no drawbacks.

...but when Gohan's rage boosts mix with the ultra-fury of a limit-broken Super Saiyan to form Super Saiyan 2, all of that bad decision making comes sweeping in again. The aggression...

...and the cruelty.

So. Yeah. Super Saiyan is a hell of a drug.

So far as Goku and Vegeta go, however, there is one other interesting point of comparison to be made. Against Frieza and Cell, they made similar choices, but their circumstances are admittedly a little different. Though it's worth noting that there is one other data point of interest.

For that, we turn to Majin Buu. Here, Goku and Vegeta make similar choices to forego Kaioshin's quest to thwart Majin Buu, instead choosing to have their long-awaited rematch with one another. Vegeta starts it when he throws a fit during Gohan's fight with Dabra, condemning this whole thing as a waste of time.

Borrowing the same power from Uranai Baba that once let his Grandpa Gohan face him in the ring of martial arts and say goodbye, Goku has a 24-hour reprieve from death so that he and everyone who loves him can have their closure. Appropriately, he chose to spend it at the Tenkaichi Budokai - before all this Kaioshin nonsense happened.

For Vegeta, this meant an opportunity to face Goku in the Tenkaichi Budokai. To have one last chance to truly surpass his rival, rather than living with the uncertainty of never measuring up to a gravestone. And all of this nonsense is denying him that.

But it's not quite so innocent as "I want one last fight with my rival." Vegeta wants to win that fight. By his own later admission, the hissy fit he throws here is a ruse meant to attract Babidi's attention. He's seen firsthand that Babidi can bring out incredible power and cruelty from people, and wants Babidi to fix him.

Vegeta wanted this fight. And he wanted to win it. He wanted to be the version of himself that could win it. Nothing else mattered.

As for Goku? Well.

Goku wants this fight too. Kaioshin pleads with Goku, telling him that he'll have to go through him. Goku accepts those terms and intimidates Kaioshin into surrendering and letting the fight happen.

Goku, notably, does still care about thwarting Buu. He sends Gohan and Kaioshin off to deal with that while he faces off with Vegeta. Goku is a complicated man. He wants good things for people and to have thrilling battles, and when the fists begin flying, he's visibly having the time of his life.

He just. He thinks they can afford to get away with this. Neither Goku nor Vegeta takes the threat of Majin Buu seriously. This much was evident when they started playing Janken to decide who fights Babidi's minions in the first place.

As Vegeta explains once Buu does awaken and they do start to sense his ki:

Goku and Vegeta are powerful beyond even the reckoning of the highest gods at this point (pre-DBS). And so even when Kaioshin begs and pleads with them to take this seriously, that Majin Buu is truly dangerous, his words fall on deaf ears.

Goku takes it more seriously than Vegeta does. He starts this fight insisting that he's going to go Full Power against Vegeta from the get-go to try and end this as fast as possible.

But he still plays along. He's been playing along.

This is the tragedy of the early Buu arc. Neither of them really cared about thwarting Majin Buu. They just. Assumed they could handle it. Because they were so powerful that they made everyone Kaioshin was intimidated by look like jokes, and they expected no different of Buu.

Just like with Frieza. Just like with Cell. At least they're consistent.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hey! It's my birthday today and it's been really good but it's been kind of the first birthday I've ever properly celebrated with my chosen family and friends in a long time since a lot of trauma/ab*se, and I really hope it wouldn't be too much to ask (take as long as you need obvs) for some headcanons with a Tav that isn't going to celebrate on their birthday, but Astarion makes it special for them somehow and maybe they agree it's Tav's 'first' birthday 🥹🥹🥹👉👈

I love all your work and eagerly await your posts, they make my day 🥰🥰🥰

Hi! Hope you will like it! Now, Tiriel's birthday is also in autumn!

Birthday Gift

Summary: Tiriel has no idea when her real birthday is and she's never receieved birthday gifts. Astarion finds it outrageous.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, post-game, named Tav, established relationship.

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

TW: a mention of abuse

Tiriel looks around.

Autumn.

Leaves are turning red and yellow, the winds are cold and promise winter. 

It’s beautiful, though the barbarian feels uneasy – the childhood memories. Winters are merciless in such wild places as the Sunset Mountains. Hunger, sickness, death… Sometimes her stepfather, a cruel chieftain, would order to leave certain people outside (too old, too weak) – to let them die and not waste scarce food. 

He would often pull Tiriel outside when the autumn winds were particularly harsh and say: “Look at this, pixie girl, I can just order not to give you any food and you will die like a stray cat. But I am merciful – I told your mother I’d save your pathetic half-blood life!” With these words, he would let her go and Tiriel would run to hide somewhere dark and safe.

She was lucky there were no harsh winters during her childhood. She would be the first to be deprived of food and warmth.

Only half a human. The result of an affair between her mother and an unknown elf. She still wonders why she was spared in the first place. It would have been so easy to murder a newborn girl.

They didn’t.

They kept her.

Maybe it was a superstition that elven children would become evil spirits once they died, or fear that Tiriel’s elven relatives would return. 

Those are questions without answers, Tiriel knows that.

Maybe there was a moment when her mother loved her. Maybe there was a moment when Tiriel’s stepfather really did forgive his wife. 

Tiriel doesn’t have happy memories from her childhood. It’s all too dark and miserable.

And autumns like this remind her of it.

“Hello, darling,” Astarion grins, returning to the road from the woods. His shirt is stained and he licks his lips. 

“What was it?” she asks.

“A boar. Didn’t expect I’d jump on it from the tree.”

Tiriel smiles as she wipes his face from blood and brushes his messy curls. Astarion doesn’t see himself in a mirror and, of all forms of intimacy, he especially cherishes being taken care of. Brushing his hair, cleaning his face, making sure he looks beautiful.  

Two years. Two years of her own happy memories. Where she has a person to talk to, to hold, to love. Astarion is a troubled person, but Tiriel loves him at his worst and at his best.

Astarion rubs her ear, forcing her to giggle.

“Let’s go?” he suggests. “The weather is getting worse, I want to spend the next few days somewhere warm!”

“It’s five miles to Longsaddle if I’ve read the map properly.”

Astarion takes her hand, and Tiriel feels how warm it is thanks to the boar blood. 

“Then we will meet the sunrise in a comfortable bed!” Astarion chuckles. “And in each other’s arms.”

“I doubt they have good beds there, so far from Luskan and other big cities.”

“We have low standards, you and I. As long as there is a blanket and a bed, we are fine, Besides I love using your breasts as my pillow.”

Tiriel bursts into laughter and receives a peck on the cheek.

Unfortunately, it can’t stop bad memories.

… Her siblings asked her to help them with something on a cliff. She followed them, only to be violently beaten by her older brothers. Tiriel even thought for a moment they were going to rape her, but, instead, they pushed her down to certain death.

Tiriel woke up in dirt and blood, with her arm broken in half, shivering and coughing. 

And with a cave bear ready to murder her. 

That’s when Tiriel felt rage for the first time.

It filled her veins with fire. Tiriel barely remembers what happened that night but she knows she killed that bear– and was left with facial scars. Then she came back, limping and bleeding. She thinks she fought someone, maybe one of her brothers or the chieftain and then she ran.

She ran into the mountains woods – no armor, no weapon, only rags and bare feet. 

Then she collapsed on the ground, hurt and scared in the middle of the woods, forever lost.

Tiriel remembers that moment vividly. 

A young girl who had barely hit puberty (because half-elves grow slower) woke up all alone and cried like a child. Then she got up and walked, dying of cold and hunger. 

Two days later she was found by a group of adventurers who sort of adopted her as their party child. An old halfling washed Tiriel’s hair and healed her wounds. A water genasi cooked the girl food and offered the warmest blankets. 

And the tiefling paladin asked Tiriel what her name was.

“My sweet, I thought it was me who tends to wander into dark thoughts,” Astarion squeezes. “Remembering your misfortunate youth again?”

“Yes. Just – similar. To what it was back then. The same autumn when I ran from home. The same autumn when I got my name.”

Tiriel, the little girl told the party. My name is Tiriel.

Astarion does the same thing he always does when he wants to support Tiriel.

He gives her a hug.

“Hush, Tiriel,” he murmurs. “You will never be alone again.”

Triel relaxes. That is her Astarion – a simple hug, a kiss, an embrace, and her nightmares perish.

He pulls away and Tiriel catches his most adorable smile – he doesn’t pretend, doesn’t show off, doesn’t perform. That’s real him.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

She nods. They don’t have to ask permission to do things with each other. Kisses, hugs, grabbing hands, touching intimate parts – but they still do.

Tiriel asks if she can kiss Astarion.

Astarion states he wants to kiss her.

Simple as that.

Permission and declaration.

Astarion grazes her lips. He is in his predatory mood, when Tiriel just needs to accept whatever is going to be done to her. His strong hands grab her shoulders and tug at her.

Astarion finally breaks the kiss and stares at Tiriel for a few moments.

“I am not going anywhere,” Tiriel murmurs.

“I know, Tiriel. You are mine and I am yours,” Astarion presses his forehead to hers. 

They go down the hill and find themselves on a road that connects scarce towns and settlements far from the Swords Coast. The road is more or less walkable but it soon will be washed out due to rains. Tiriel notices Astarion’s visible disgust.

“Honestly darling, we should have stayed in Baldur’s Gate and lived a life of comfort!” he chuckles.

“You would die of boredom – besides I thought you’d had enough of that place.”

“True, but there are many other comfortable places! Tiriel, you deserve to wear a nice gown made of the best fabrics and sleep in a huge master’s bed where I will ravish you till you beg me to stop.”

Tiriel turns around to see her partner better. “And then I would die of boredom. Astarion look at us – I am a nomad and you were enslaved for so long you deserve to see the world.”

“It doesn’t mean I can’t whine and complain!”

“You can whine and complain all day long, Astarion. Why even bother to be in a relationship, if you can’t do this?”

They bicker and laugh for the next hour until they see a town ahead. Despite it being close to midnight, the town doesn’t sleep and is rather festive.

“What is going on here?” Tiriel asks a passerby as they enter the town. “Some local celebration?”

“It’s our duke’s first son’s birthday,” the woman shrugs. “Not like we care about the spoilt brat but you can’t say ‘no’ to a celebration right?”

The woman disappears in the crowd and Tiriel points at the stalls.

“Astarion, look! So many sweets! Oh, and there are fireworks!”

Astarion looks distant, as if something plagued his mind.

“Love, what is it?” She asks and feels a wave of anxiety. What if it’s too much? Feasts like this used to be his hunting grounds, what if he has a painful flashback?

Two years against two centuries is almost nothing.

“Tirie,l” he finally asks. “When is yours?”

“What?”

“Birthday. I know this is a huge deal for humans and the ones who grew up with them.”

“I don’t know.”

Astarion looks at her with shock.

“You… what?”

“I don’t know when mine is, I was never told. Neither a date nor a month.”

“Oh,” Astarion didn’t expect this answer. “Well, at least you know the year, right?”

“I don’t.”

Astarion raises his index finger as if wanting to point at something, but then he shakes his head in disbelief.

“We have been together for two years and you are telling me now that you don’t… how old you are?!”

Tiriel ponders a bit.

“Well, I know it was 1472 DR when I ran away, I was told by the party who adopted me… and I had had my first blood only two months before that. But I am a half-elf and it took me longer to grow up… So I think I was… fifteen? Maybe, sixteen… Or fourteen? Definitely not sixteen… Because my older brother was sixteen… Damn, I don't really know. Don’t bother.”

“Darling, I can’t not bother with the fact that I don’t know how old you are!”

“You say it as if I was one of those little girls who look older than they are and get their one-night stands in trouble!”

“It’s not that, Tiriel! It’s just… I don’t know… wrong!”

“It probably is.”

“It is wrong.”

“I cannot do anything about that.”

The wave of sadness drags her to the bottom of her dark thoughts.

Beatings.

Insults.

Hatred.

Pain.

All at once, since she was born.

Suddenly, she is a little girl again – a little girl thrown outside in the autumn rain, in the wind, wearing only a nightshirt. Tiriel thinks she hears her stepfather's laughter from behind a thick wooden door as a seven-year-old half-elf who cries and begs him to let her in.

Tiriel stops. Tears prickle her eyes. Her face burns, and an adult half-elven woman who fought gods and demons starts ugly crying like a child. 

She collapses on her knees not caring about the dirt, wailing and sniffing.

“Tiriel!” Astarion drops his sack and kneels beside her. “Did I do… Did I ask… Oh, hells.”

He puts his arms under her shoulders and presses her to himself, lulling and swaying side to side. He murmurs all the words of love and care he is capable of.

“Let’s take you somewhere warm,” he finally says, helping her to get up.

Despite the fest, they manage to find an inn with a free room, a cheap and simple one. Tiriel has to go inside first to invite Astarion, and then he takes everything in his hands again making sure the innkeeper brings warm blankets and prepares a bath. 

“Love,” he says. “Look at me.”

Tiriel tries not to think about how bad she looks right now with her puffy face and snot but obliges.

“That's much better, now let’s take you to the bath”

An hour later, Tiriel submerges herself into the hot water and expects Astarion to join her, but instead he goes straight to the exit.

“Astarion!” she calls him out.

“I will be back soon, just relax while I am away, all right?”

Tiriel hates being alone. Too many dark thoughts, besides, now she feels guilty. Astarion went through hell and she dares to complain?!

Her past isn’t that bad in comparison with his. She has no right to pity herself. 

Time passes slowly, and Tiriel feels restless. What if something happened? What if there was a vampire hunter? Or something else…

When she finally decides to get out of the bath, Tiriel hears familiar footsteps.

“Close your eyes, little love.”

Tiriel obeys and then feels something soft and plush in her arms.

“Open” Astarion places his chin on her shoulder.

A plushie-owlbear.

Soft and cute, it’s a toy appropriate for a little girl to cuddle with. 

A toy she never had.

“Well,” Astarion explains. “Since you don’t know when your birthday is, it can be… today. 17 of Uktar. Happy birthday, love,” he kisses her cheek. “And I suppose we should decide how old you are.”

“Thirty-eight,” Tiriel says, doing mental math. “Let it be thirty-eight”

“Happy thirty-eight birthday, my lovely, darling girl.”

Tiriel feels like crying again. It’s just a toy, a plushie, a thing for a baby. But she was never treated as a child, she was never given toys or dolls. And this gift… is the best she could have received.

“Do you like it?” he asks carefully.

“Yes… I do love it! Thank you! Did you steal it?”

“I won it from the toymaker. Played cards with her.”

Astarion sits on the edge of the bathtub and Tiriel wraps her hands around his waist tugging him into water. He lets out a laugh.

“Darling, you know how long it will take to fully dry?”

“Eternity! And we will spend this eternity in the inn warm and safe,” Tiriel says. “Astarion, please! I don’t want to go back on the road now, so many bad memories!”

He sits in front of her fully in the water. “Ok my sweet, what else do you want for your birthday? Maybe I could return the favor and let you ride me in some place from your traumatic memories? I’ve seen a rather terrible-looking dirt of mud.”

Tiriel thinks for a while and then says. “I don't mind riding you, but maybe in the bedroom?”

“Whatever you say, darling!”

**

It’s sunlight outside, and Astarion feels the tugging feeling in his undead chest. He misses sunlight, that's true. 

Tiriel is asleep in his arms. They actually didn’t make it to the bedroom and had the first round in the bathtub, and now Astarion needs to repair his shirt and find missing buttons from a doublet. 

It causes him anxiety, but he shrugs it away.

He can lose all the buttons and rip all his clothes, and the only reaction he will receive will be Tiriel’s jokes.

Tiriel hugs him from behind, placing her cheek on his mutilated back. The plushie is pressed between their bodies as his warrior-love has decided to sleep with it. 

He actually didn’t expect her to like the toy. Initially, he was panicking and looking for something appropriate for Tiriel. A ring? A bracelet? Maybe a weapon? Maybe just something sweet? 

Everything he was putting his eyes on was off. Jewelry Tiriel would never wear, a weapon she wouldn’t fight with. 

And then he saw the toys. An owlbear plushie for a woman who is always treated like a brave hero. Who didn’t have a proper childhood? 

The first birthday gift for someone who has never had a birthday.

And Tiriel loved it so much she pressed it to her chest the moment they stopped ‘celebrating’. She wanted to give it a proper name, and they spent at least a few minutes discussing their ideas before they settled on Big Eye.

“Tiriel,” Astarion mutters knowing she is asleep and won’t wake up. “I love you. You will never be alone, I promise. I will be with you unless you grow tired of me, and I am sure you won’t. Thank you for … finding me. Saving. Helping.”

Suddenly he feels her wet lips on his scars.

“I will never grow tired of you,” Tiriel promises.

--

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[a-knife-in-my-sandwich]

Orihime’s character in Bleach

I was rereading bleach and the brainworms have fully taken over

I can’t get over the way Kubo portrays Orihime. She’s fifteen and feels out of her league, preparing with her friends for a war she is not ready for. She hates violence so much it physically affects her attack power and people around her treat it like a weakness (except Rukia and Rangiku, bless their hearts). As if heading into war to protect the ones she loves, even though it goes against everything she stands for, isn’t one of the bravest freaking things to do.

And she’s so messy! She’s jealous of Rukia for being able to cheer up Ichigo but hates that feeling because she knows it’s unfair to her friends and she loves them both. She is scared for her friends and for her town and so she tries extra hard to help them all. She is determined and fiercely protective and she cries because she feels useless then feels selfish for crying. Like. That, right there, is a human girl. And her humanity gives the story an extra layer that most shonen simply don’t have.

Following that, I’m convinced that part of what makes Aizen so unsettling as a villain is because we get to see him from a human perspective. He is manipulative and cruel yes, but it’s his interactions with Orihime that make him truly terrifying (at least to me). It’s the comparison between the human and the monstrous, which Kubo also does with Ulquiorra and the two arrancar girls. Orihime doesn’t have an unbreakable shonen spirit. She can panic, she can break, she can beg for her friends to help her. She shows mercy to her enemies. All of these are things that the arrancar (and the shinigamis to an extent) consider weaknesses but they’re really not. They’re what makes her human and what makes the arrancar inhuman and just. I can’t get over this comparison. It goes so much deeper than the typical good vs bad storyline. Neither human and inhuman are necessarily evil or good they just are.

I probably didn’t phrase any of this the way I truly wanted to but ah well. Orihime is really one of the best characters, it’s a shame so many ppl write her off as stupid and useless

[1-800fandomqueen]

Murdered 1462

Vladislaus Dragulia x fem!reader

Part Two

WC : 3.7K

SW : No usage of "Y/N," physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and are up to interpretation. Mentions of witchcraft, verbal abuse, murder, canon-typical violence and story-line, pregnancy, death, etc.

If there are any more warnings to be added let me know!

This is a re-post, all of my old accounts were deleted.

“Born: 1422… Murdered: 1462.”

‘I was born into a noble family, my father was the duke of Hungary.’

Slipping into the more tame selection of your clothing, muting the sound of ruffling cloth as much as possible to not wake you lady-in-waiting, Agnes, who had fallen asleep whilst handling your linens. Once dressed, you throw a shawl over your head in any attempt to hide your identity. You’d been hated by the townspeople ever since you and your father had travelled here for business, the small-minded people of Transylvania already despised the idea of foreigners, but the idea of you and the rumor of the practice you brought along? Most claimed you to be a witch. But alas, even their hatred couldn’t extinguish your spirit.

Sneaking out had never been easier. 

You’d always been an adventurous person, something your father always chastised you for. He believed ladies should sit still, sit quietly, and sit pretty. He had an image to uphold, and he couldn’t have his only child galavanting around town, acting improper. He used to let you do as you please, but when the plague took your mother he became cold, harsh. 

Feeling the cold air hit your skin as you shimmy out the window and down the trellis until your shoes hit the ground with a small thud, making a small promise to yourself to be back before dawn. The entire grounds of the house were fenced in, with guards stationed at the main gate. You couldn’t exit out that way as they would stop you the second they saw you. But unbeknownst to them, you’d discovered a break in a part of the fence. Shimmying out the back, you begin the trek down the hill the house sits on to the village. 

~~~

‘It had been cold when I met him, when he saved me. If he hadn’t shown when he did, I fear I would have been no longer. ‘

“You can run but you can’t hide, witch!” You were growing tired, legs and feet burning with effort. When turning a corner in the marketplace you’d run into someone,  knocking the shawl off your head, revealing your identity. You’d garnered the attention of a group of particularly cruel drunkards, who began to hurl obscenities towards you. And before you could even blink, they began chasing you. You tried to throw them off, hoping all your time exploring would have given you enough of a terrain advantage. But the feeling of someone grabbing the back of your shawl and pulling you to the ground steals all your hope of getting away. 

Pain absorbs your back as you land hard and fast on the cold ground. The early morning dew seeps through your dress as the cold air fogs your breath as it leaves your lungs from the impact, the main perpetrator kneeling on your neck, cutting off your air supply. One of the other men wrapping your feet and hands with rope. Your ears rang as your head snapped back against a rock, vision going foggy. You couldn’t hear what the men were saying to you, only that they were taunting you. You were able to make out the blur of a mass of light coming towards you, and it was only when the heat brushed against your face could you tell it was fire. 

You tried to fight back, to struggle. But with the mans’ knee against your throat, the lack of oxygen was making you weak. As the black spots were so close to entirely filling your vision, the man suddenly lets off of you, and the heat of the fire goes away. You cough, rolling over onto your elbows and knees as you try to regain your breath. You can hear the men pleading to a deep voice for mercy, and then your vision returns in time to watch as they run away.

“Are you alright?” 

‘I didn’t even know his name, he wouldn’t give it to me. All I knew was that I was utterly captivated by him.’

The deep accented voice held your attention entirely, as the man attached to that voice crouched down next to you, a gentle hand placed on your back. “Madam? Are you alright?” Gasping out, feeling like your vocal chords are completely crushed, only able to choke out a small “yes.” The hand on the small of your back stays while one reaches to your left forearm, grabbing it to help you up. And when you stumble backwards, the firm body of the stranger is there to catch you. 

When you’ve regained your breath, and were able to stand on your own, you stepped away from the stranger. “Who are you?” gazing at the man before you and trying to map his features by only what you could see in the barely-there moonlight. You’ve decided by what little of him you could see, that he was still undoubtedly handsome. Slightly taller than you, possibly 6-foot, dark hair, and shockingly blue eyes. 

“Who I am is of no importance at the moment,” the deep voice jolting you out of your stupor, “But it is important to know why a group of beţivii (drunks) were attacking a young woman in the forest?” At the mention of your attack you feel the pain seep into your neck, adrenaline finally beginning to wear off. Letting out a cough as your hand comes to gently cup the base of your neck. “Well, Romanians tend to be quite wary of foreigners, and you’ve just bore witness to the fact that they don’t particularly like me.” your tone clipped, pulling a deep chuckle from the man. 

You feel blush overtake your visage as you realize how rude that sounded, embarrassment filling you at your rudeness to the man who saved you. “I’m sorry, I’m usually not this rude I swear, I’m still just a little frightened. Thank you, by the way, for coming to my aid. I’ll ask my father to make sure you’re rewarded for your valiant efforts.” The stranger ignores your apology and thanks, “Your father?” his head tilted to the side, pieces of hair falling across his face, “Yes my father, He’s the Duke of Hungary, we’re here on diplomatic business.” “Hmm, for what?” You falter and cover your mouth, giving the man an apologetic look. You’re relieved when he seems to pick up on what you’re implying, even though he gives you a dark, brief, look of knowing,  “I understand, trade secrets.” He says with a slight smile, holding out his arm. “Here, it’s almost dawn, let me accompany you back to wherever you’re staying.”

And with a small smile, you take his arm. 

‘I didn’t anticipate what would happen when I took his arm. That my world was about to turn, that taking his arm on that cold, damp, morning, signed my death.’ 

It was a lovely walk back, filled with small talk and pleasantries. When you approached the doors to the Governor’s house, you could hear the commotion before you saw it. When the stranger accompanying you opened the door, his right elbow still linked with your left, all the commotion suddenly came to a screeching halt. Several pairs of eyes turned to you, including those of Agnes, then the faces attached to all those eyes paled when they saw the man whose arm you still held. When your father called you towards him, a dark look in his eye, you felt the pit of your stomach drop. “Step away from him. “ Your father beckoned, he hadn’t looked this grim since the doctor in Hungary told him of your mothers fate. 

Swallowing in nervousness you look up to the man accompanying you only to find him already looking down at you, a rather downcast look in his eyes. Your father calls again, walking towards you. “Step away. Now.” You stare long and hard at the man by your side until he gently nudges you towards the others in the room. You failed to notice until you looked up that most of the guards in the room had their weapons aimed towards him. Stepping away from him you’re immediately met by your lady in waiting coming and sweeping you up the stairs. “Lock her in her room Agnes, until I call for her.” You throw one last glance towards the man to find him still staring at you. Turning the hall, Agnes gently pushes you into your room, and before she shuts the door behind you, the angry conversation from the foyer floods into the room. “What were you doing with my daughter, Impaler.”

‘I suppose it wasn’t a bad situation, after all I was quite taken with him, even if I didn’t know who he was at first. I didn’t fear him, even though everyone else did.’

It was what felt like hours before you heard a key being inserted in the lock of the door. Bounding up from the bed to be greeted by the sight of two guards when the door swung open. You weren’t able to utter a single word when you were grabbed by both arms and dragged away from your room, well actually the room belonged to your Stranger, in your time locked in you had discovered from Agnes that Vlad was the Military Governor of Romania, and that you and all the diplomats were currently residing in his house. 

Ironic how things work out. 

 When you asked where you were being taken you were met with utter silence, the guards only tightening their grip after you tried to pull away. Only feeling ease when the door to what you recognize to be the master study of the house was yanked open and you were promptly thrown in. 

Glancing up at the long table to see other diplomats lining the perimeter, your father and who you've come to know as Vlad the Impaler, gracing the far end of the table. “What’s going on?” questioned towards your father even though your eyes are locked with Vlads. Your father says nothing to you as he quietly sends off the others in the room, leaving only the three of you. You only move when he quirks a finger in a come-hither gesture, your eyes glued to your socked feet as you cross your hands in front of your legs. “You understand the reason for my business here,” your father says, “to create a treaty with him” word spoken with venom, “to prevent him from causing any more destruction and massacre off to the West” Saying nothing, only giving a slight nod, still looking down. “Well everything was lined up perfectly, but now, the Voivode (governor) has added a new term to the treaty. Your hand in marriage.”

Feeling your eyes bulge out of their sockets as your head flies up, immediately shouting out “What?” the glare your father sticks on you prevents you from saying anymore. “You heard me girl.” grabbing your arm as he drags you to the farthest corner of the room. “And as much as I hate to do this, you will marry him. You’re reaching your twentieth year and still haven’t married, and I will not jeopardize the well-state of Hungary just because you decide to be stupid and prance around in the town unsupervised.” Your jaw dropping in shock, eyes welling with tears. This man before you was not your father, in all fairness he hadn’t been much of a father after your mother died but his words still hurt nonetheless. 

“Your grace, I would like a moment alone with your daughter.” your father turns red-faced, the beginnings of a protest forming in his mind, “It wasn’t a suggestion.” One elegant finger pointing towards the door, “Leave. Now.” huffing, your father pushes past you and storms towards the door, the loud sound of it banging closed behind you causes you to jump, a small cry of fear leaving your lips. 

Now it was just you and him. With your head still down you didn’t notice his approach until perfectly polished shoes fell just within your line of sight. Your name being gently called as a rough hand softly finds itself upon the back of your elbow. “I hope you’ve learned by now that I mean you no harm.” His right hand coming to your chin and tipping your head up, Blue eyes coming into contact with yours once again. “I hope you know I do not wish to cause you distress with my proposal.” You nod profusely, muttering out a soft repeating of “I know.” The same hand on your chin moves up to wipe the tears you didn’t know had fallen. For a man who had killed thousands with those same hands, when he was near it was nothing but gentle touches. “Our marriage doesn’t have to be immediate, I’m not immune to the benefits of a little light courtship, however I am reaching an age no bachelor ever should.” Words spoken with a joking lilt, Vlad briefly hunching over. You can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his horrible interpretation of an old person. 

The two of you are launched into a comfortable silence, and you realize that with all that you’ve learned about this man in the past however many hours didn’t scare you as much as it probably should’ve. And with this newfound bravery and lack of fear, you confidently reach and grab the hand that’s resting on your cheek and with as much courage as you could muster, and you accept his proposal. 

‘Being with him wasn’t at all what I thought it would be. He was nothing but kind to me, nothing but gentle touches and words all throughout our marriage.’

With the treaty being settled and your newfound courtship with a certain military general, everyone left back to their home territories, including your father. Him practically trading you off to sell his own skin didn’t hurt as much as it used too. He left quickly and with promise that most of your possessions still in Hungary would be sent down to Romania. You kept Agnes with you, after all she’d been one of your closest confidants since your mother had died. When the spring of 1460 came along, it brought your twentieth birthday and marriage ceremony with it. 

It was a truly gorgeous ceremony. While not filled with pomp and circumstance, it was graceful, elegant. Your pursuer wasn’t exactly poorer, and you were able to have the most gorgeous gown you’d thought you’d ever seen. You had Agnes of all people walk you down the aisle, seeing as your father hadn’t thought to show even though invitations had been sent weeks in advance. You had been introduced to an estranged number of people at your wedding. Your husbands’ father, Valerious, who served a group of Holy Knights. He proved to be a rather cynical man, yet seemed to be nice once you’d gotten to know him. 

You couldn’t help but notice, however, a man who always hovered near the back. He was tall, dark hair, covered in black clothing, however you could never make out his face. You knew he was watching you, even when separated from Vlad you could feel the glare of someone constantly burning into the back of your neck. Everytime you garnered your husband's attention to question him about the man, he seemed to have disappeared, swallowed by the shadows he hid in. 

Marriage to one of the most dangerous men on this side of the Balkans wasn’t bad. He always treated you with a gentle hand, was never harsh, never cruel, and he never-ever raised his voice. When questioned on his docile behavior his reasoning behind it being that you were his wife, and you should never need to fear him. 

When you came to find out that he didn’t live in the palace-like house you were staying in when you first arrived in Romania you were slightly shocked. No, instead he lived in a citadel, a castle near the Arges River; Poenari. And what a beautiful place it was. You much preferred the secludism of this house than the one in the town. The view of the mountains and the fresh air they produced was always a reprieve. Your room was in the highest level of one of the castle spires, with a large window parallel to your bed, so you always woke to the stunning view of the sunrise. 

You were however surprisingly lonely most of the time. As it would turn out, being someone of extreme military prowess took a lot of your husband's time away from you. If it weren’t for Agnes and the few estranged workers who milled around the estate you fear you’d have gone mad. When he wasn’t busy trying to take over most of Europe, he was a very caring man. Giving you luxurious gifts, taking you on trips. His love took you into the deepest throes of passion, both physically and metaphorically. 

You truly couldn’t ask for a better husband.

‘It was raining that night, not quite cold enough for it to snow. I can’t remember that much, I just remember how scared I was.’

The rain crashed against your window, thunder and lightning taking the sky ever-so-often, Vlad wasn’t in bed even though it was quite late. He was having a very crucial meeting, about what you didn’t know, he’d only come to your room to tell you not to wait on him, to go on and sleep, and to bestow a small kiss to you and your rotund stomach. 

After almost two years of marriage, the summer of 1462 blessed you with news of a child. With Poenari being so far from any doctors, your dear Agnes stepped in as a midwife of sorts, making sure you were healthy; sleeping and eating well. She said that springtime would be when your child would finally make their appearance into the world, and you were eaten alive with both anticipation and excitement. 

But with your pregnancy came all sorts of changes. For example, it might have been the dead of winter, but you felt as if you were burning alive. Dressed in nothing but one of your husband's shirts and your undergarments you couldn’t find it in yourself to combat the heat. Grabbing the side of the mattress and your bedside-table, you heave yourself off the bed, reaching for your thin silk robe.

You failed to notice the dark figure in the corner of your room. 

Shuffling over to the other side of the room you go to feel around the box of matches off one of the bookshelves, to relight the lamp on your side-table. Once you find what you’re looking for, you turn on your heel right as lightning strikes and lights up the room. It was for only a moment, but that split-second of light was all you needed to see the man standing in the corner of the room closest to your door. You almost think it’s your husband playing a trick on you, but the rational part of your brain understands that Vlad would never do that to you, especially in your current condition. With the man so close to the door you surely can’t run, so you do the only other thing you could think of.

Scream and hope your husband or a guard hears you in time.

You didn’t even register how loud your scream was, your body going into fight or flight mode the second the man lunges forwards. You bolt as quickly as you could to your Husbands’ side of the bed to grab a dagger he keeps next to him off his side-table. You turn to stab your assailant as he reaches to grab you. He clutches your wrist faster than you could keep up with, pushing it back and trying to twist your own wrist towards you. Crying out as it reaches an angle it shouldn’t, you propel your knee forward into his groin which gives you enough time to run around the other side of the bed and towards the door, reveling in his groan of pain.

As you work your way past the bed you feel the air around the back of your head shift and the next sound you hear is that of your window breaking. Ignoring the glass that flies all over the room, you crank open your bedroom door, screaming at the top of your lungs for help as you try to begin to make your way down the spiral staircase. It’s only when you hear voices shouting from below do you feel a hand wrap its way around the back of your neck, yanking you back up the stairs. You’re dragged through your room and brought to where your window once was, glass shards digging into your feet. Lightning strikes once more as you’re flipped around, back leaning out into the rainy abyss, and you’re able to get a better glimpse of your attacker.

It’s the man from your wedding. 

Right as you reach this epiphany the door to your room slams open, your husband entering. He calls your name, hand lifting in the air and weakly falling back. “Don’t do this Gabriel,” he pleads, “Please let go of my wife.” The mystery man, Gabriel, pushes you further, your back bending at an awkward angle out and into the chilling rain. “I’m sorry,” your assailant murmurs, “But you broke the oath.” 

And with that, he pushes you out the window. 

You can’t tell if that sound is you screaming or if it’s the wind rushing past your head. Your hair whips around your face as rain projectiles onto you like tiny bullets. The last thing you see is your Husband leaning out the window, gazing at you in defeated sorrow, and a gloved hand coming around, plunging a dagger into his chest. 

You’re not quite sure how you die. Whether your body slammed onto the hard ground hundreds of feet below your bedroom, or if you land in the Arges. All you remember is that brief bit of searing pain,

And then everything went dark. 

~

Originally posted December 2nd, 2021.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Red Breath

Summary: Azula has been hiding that she has tuberculosis. Her secret comes out during the last Agni Kai.

For @the-mariachi-96 based on this post.

There is red on her pillow.

There is red on the cloth in her pocket. 

She tries not to dwell too much upon it. 

Today is her special day.

The mirror has no mercy. 

No sympathy nor compassion. 

It is a cold thing, and—had it a voice—it would speak clinically. Forward. Direct. Brutal.

In its own way it does have a voice and it speaks through images it reveals and the inner monologue that it inspires from the looker. Sometimes it is pleasant, mostly it is mundane and indifferent. These days it has been cruel; it shows Azula that she has been deteriorating steadily and rapidly. 

That something that was already well out of her control has spiraled much further beyond it. Either her skin has grown sallow or the palace’s warm lighting is making her complexion look more sickly than it truly is. For certain she has grown thinner, her robes had always fit rather large on her frame for comfort’s sake. Now they are too baggy for comfort. Sleep and illness have put bags under her eyes too.

She touches her fingers to her cheek, the texture of her skin is not quite right, but that could be because she hasn’t been drinking enough. Her cheekbones are more prominent beneath her fingers.

She wants to blame Mai and TyLee.

If they hadn’t chosen Zuzu…

If they hadn’t left…

Since finding out, they have always kept her fed and comfortable. 

She grits her teeth. It is her own fault for letting them care for her instead of learning to care for herself by herself. 

Even if they were there to feed her, she probably wouldn’t want to eat anyhow. The sickness is getting worse and it is stealing her appetite, her comfort, her strength, her motivation, and, most pressingly, her future. 

Her well kept secret is finally unraveling and she is glad that father isn’t around to witness it, that nobody is around to see it, she had made certain of that. And she starts to wonder…

She is always wondering, speculating, or overthinking about something or another. 

This time she ponders exactly what is to blame for her fraying mind, the fog within it, and the things that it shows her—the things that aren’t truly there. 

Can tuberculosis cause paranoia and hallucinations or was it the loss of Mai and TyLee that has put her mind of kilter. If the former is to be blamed then it might be that she is reaching her last days. And, by the spirits, it seems to have come about so quickly. She knows that she doesn’t want to be alone when she takes her last red, labored breath. 

Her chest hurts.

Her lungs burn. 

She is afraid to die.

But she is afraid to breathe.

.oOo.

To some degree, she wonders what the purpose is. Of the crown. Of this new title. Of anything really. Azula will be dead soon and she knows it. So why then? Why bother letting them fix the crown into her hair? A sense of duty, she decides, and to make father proud right to the very end. Her nation depends on her, especially now, with the comet barreling towards the world. Her firebending is charged, she can feel it in her core, but she is no longer certain that she could withstand its power. 

The Fire Sages hover the crown just above their head, they are just about to decree that she is the new firelord. She closes her eyes and when she opens them, Zuko is in front of her with the waterbender at his side and the bison behind him. 

Surely she is delirious with fever. 

But no, the Fire Sages are exchanging looks. 

Her already burning chest, flares with hatred. Resentment for the person who had taken her mother from her and then her friends. For the person who now wants to steal her crown—the very last thing that she has.

She is in no condition for an Agni Kai, but she will fight all the same.

She will fight to keep what is hers, fight for her nation, and fight for her honor. She will fight for her vengeance. She will fight for her friends—surely Mai and TyLee will understand then, how much they mean to her. 

She rises to her feet, her head is already spinning. 

Dear Zuzu has already accepted her challenge. Her fate, whatever it may be, is sealed. 

She closes her eyes and hopes that her coughing will subside just long enough for her to win this fight. 

She takes a labored breath and she takes a stance. She feels that breath, scratchy and searing. Like sandpaper dragging all the way down her throat. She holds herself rigid and ready in spite of it. 

Zuko makes the first strike, a powerful blast of orange flames that heat her face from well across the arena. She returns with a burst of her own blue and equally as scorching, if not more so. It isn’t a fair match; not in numbers, not with her state of mind, not with her state of health. She supposes that she has made her share of sneaky, honorably questionable maneuvers. A war is a war and it will not stop because she is feeling ill. 

And so she throws blast after blast until the chills start to wrack her body. Even then, she pushes onwards. Even then she wields her fire as she always had. But the more the smoke fills her lungs, the more agitated they become. 

She can feel the fit coming on.

“What, no lightning today? Afraid I’ll redirect it?” 

It is bait and she should know better. 

But it is an excuse; an excuse to end this match once and for all, before tuberculosis ends it for her. 

Perhaps this will be the last thing that she does. She wonders if Mai and TyLee will miss her. Or if they will be relieved to know that she is gone. The lightning crackles on her fingers and the fever crackles in her body. 

Both will be released, only one will claim its target. 

She sends the lightning off as disease rushes forward. Her lightning falls short, it splits the ground with a rumbling crack. It launches Zuko violently towards the other end of their arena. And it launches her body into a violent fit. Her coughs come on with such merciless furocity that it leaves her stomach aching and her body hunched forward. 

She can feel the blood behind her teeth. If she parts her lips, it will drip onto the ground. Perhaps not a dramatic spatter, but two or three little droplets. 

She glances at her right hand.

It is bloodied. 

She glances at the battleground. 

At two alarmed faces. 

And then she sees nothing at all.

.oOo.

Azula’s vision is fuzzy. There are figures around her bedside and she can’t tell who is who. She thinks that they are probably doctors. The same ones who have been attending her since she’d come home. The ones that Lo and Li had found for her.

Her throat hurts and her head is woozy.

Sounds hurt.

Bright light hurts as it streams through the window. A glorious light spills over her face but she has not earned glory. 

The comet has passed and so to has her coughing fit. But the tingling in her throat remains as a souvenir of her suffering and her lungs don’t seem that keen on expanding fully. For it, when her lips part, her breath comes out in a labored hiss. 

“Aang should be here soon, he can help with that.” It takes Azula a moment to recognize that voice as the waterbender’s. But of course. She might not be here if not for waterbending. And for the life of her, Azula can’t understand why Katara would help her. Especially when Zuko had also been harmed. Perhaps he hadn’t taken a direct hit but the lightning had fallen at his feet and the shockwaves had thrown him a respectable distance. 

Katara likes him better anyhow.

Everyone does. 

“Mai and TyLee?” Azula mannages. 

“They’ll be here soon.”

But she can’t imagine that they will want to talk to her. They are probably coming for Zuzu, to check on and comfort him. 

“I’m cold.” She mentions. But she is also terribly hot, her face has a thin film of sweat. 

“You have a fever.” Katara replies. “But I think that you know that. How long?”

“How long, what?”

“How long have you known?” And then she elaborates. “That you were sick.”

“None of your…” she falters into a half cough. “Of…” another half cough. “your…”  And then there is the first full cough. Finally another fit comes on in full. Silent tears leak down her cheeks, more so the product of physical strain than any emotion.

Katara hands her a glass of water. “Drink that. After you swallow I’m going to bend that water and try to soothe the inside of your throat. It will probably feel weird, but it won’t hurt…”

It wouldn’t matter if it did, her throat is already sore.

“...And you won’t drown.”

Fleetingly it crosses her mind, that maybe she would be perfectly content drowning. She drinks the glass and Katara takes hold of the water. The sensation is terribly unpleasant, like nothing she has ever felt. Like nothing she ever wants to feel again. But then her burning throat cools and the sharpest of pangs taper off. 

Katara lowers her hands. “No more talking, okay? You’ll agitate your throat.” Katara says. “Just rest.” 

Azula nods. 

“Zuko is in the bed next to you. Both of his feet are bandaged and he’s got a concussion so he won’t be walking for a little while.” Katara informs. “Mai and TyLee and my friends are on their way. You can go to sleep, I’ll wake you up when they get here.”

But she won’t be able to sleep. Her head is too preoccupied with troubled thoughts; knowing that she had failed her people and her father, knowing that she has lost everything including Mai and TyLee, knowing that her carefully guarded secret is now in the hands of the enemy. The enemy that is fixing her blankets for her and putting a cool rag on her forehead. 

“Why?”  Her voice is so hoarse. Hoarse and whispery, nothing like the elegant silk it had been. 

“Because, you don’t deserve to die.” 

It is a simple and impersonal answer. But it is just as well.

“I think that things can be different.” Katara adds. “Now that the war is over.”

Different.

She doesn’t particularly like ‘different’.

She thinks that she might be afraid of ‘different’. 

Even if ‘different’ could be better for her. 

“Get some rest, okay. I’m going to keep waterbending and I’ll have Sokka reach out to this herbalist that we met in Taku; she’s very knowledgeable and she has this troublemaking cat.”

“Miyuki?” Azula grumbles. 

“You know Miyuki?”

Azula nods.

“Does that have anything to do with how Miyuki got in trouble with the Fire Nation?” 

Another nod.

“That’s a story that you’re going to have to tell.”

“You said no talking.” Azula dodges. 

“Later on.” Katara replies. “Right now, just get some rest. We’ll figure out how to treat your tuberculosis.” 

Azula nods once more. Perhaps she will get to live a full lifetime afterall. She just isn’t certain of what sort of life it will be. 

[inkdragon1900]

Kinda crazy that the process of Lyctorhood is so incredibly traumatizing and debilitating.

Ianthe can’t stop shaking and is crazier than usual post soul consumption. Desperately trying to bury Naberius’ soul.

Harrowhark can’t focus. screaming and crying at the fact Gideon sacrificed herself. She literally won’t absorb her soul to completion.

We know that for Augustine and Mercymorn the process was similar to Harrows with their respective cavaliers killing themselves to force Augustine and Mercy to complete the Lyctorhood process.

Apparently Anastasia’s and Samael’s was so fucking traumatic it’s literally talked about like it’s the number one Lyctor incident™️

Camilla’s and Palamedes subversion of Lyctorhood is also incredibly traumatic. Literally the death of both souls to become one.

So what I find so interesting about this is that we know John and Alecto’s Lyctorhood was off the scales traumatic. Alecto’s entire being gets nuked all the while John is pushed headfirst into an ocean he’s barely waded in. All of his friends have died in front of him. The people most guilty for killing the planet before he nuked the place are leaving. They are leaving everyone behind to die.

Reading it I 100% understood why Alecto chose John.

Sad. Insane. Vengeful, John.

Because somehow he did it all on his own.

The fact he stopped all of humanity’s hearts before they got brutally blown up. The fact the two who suffered the actual nuclear affects was John and Alecto is incredibly telling to me.

What also really struck me is that in this complete and utter disarray as John breaks everything around him. He absorbs as much of Alecto’s soul as he can and makes a body for her.

While I think it’s hilariously awful that he put the literal spirit of the earth in a body that looks exactly like Hollywood hair Barbie. But when I read it I was almost in awe about that vulnerable admittance of something he acknowledges as a screw up.

What really got me though was the reasoning in that moment was not cruel nor was there much reasoning at all in that moment.

John who has just lost all his friend. John who has failed. John who is destroying the block tower. John who is reduced to base instinct. John who wants vengeance. In a moment of pure insanity decides he can save the planet he loves. The planet he promised he’d save, the planet he has hurt. And literally tears open his own body, makes her a vessel out of blood, tears, and vomit. He makes her a body out of grief and trauma. A body perfect to carry his own eyes his own windows to his soul.

All he can cling to is a memory of playing with dolls. How he has a base want in his subconscious of wanting the earth to live. To have all the adventures.

John in a moment of insanity somehow manages perfect Lyctorhood.

We know the remaining soul of the earth could have become a resurrection beast. Hell John has already flooded the river with billions of souls but he saves and curses Alecto. In the exact same way she has cursed and saved him.

It kind of drives me crazy. When people think someone could have done better because the text has backed it up with multiple examples that their is nothing closer to perfect Lyctorhood then what John miraculously pulled off.

Alecto chose John because he is genuinely the only person that could pull it off.

But the problem of the story which is the problem of everything single character is that John is and always will be just a man sharing his soul with the literal earth.

John is fascinating because the asshole was actually somehow the best option.

[asha-mage]

I know I've gushed about it before, but genuinely, all of the effects this season and this last episode in particular have been knock down amazing.

From the way Ryma killed with the One Power- tearing apart the muscles of her enemies, scorching skin into blisters and boils- reflecting that blink and you'll miss it lore that outright killing with the One Power- not hurling fire or lighting but stopping a heart or boiling blood, is closely linked to Healing-

To the way Siuan summons up an invisible halo of daggers, ready to fling at the person who opens the door, a way to strike even in all her regalia, in a way that someone attacking her wont expect or be ready to counter in the heat of the moment, something we know again from the books she favors (her 'burst into flame' box trap)-

To the way Lanfear pulls breath out of Liandrin's son with Air, a small act of mercy and yet cruel too, the way she does it slowly, air swirling in a way that Liandrin could cut if she really wanted to-

To that tiny thread of Spirit, linking the a'dam bracelet to the collar, from the base of the neck, right at the spinal cord, to the sul'dam's wrist-

To the way Rand is almost lost in the shine of his own strength, the glow of his own power because that's how much he can draw, how much he can pull on if truly is willing to seize it-

God it's all just. So good.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Darling Silent Bird

Rated M

unbeta-ed

TW: dark, non-con elements, captivity, forced mute reader,

a/n: listen i can explain (i wont) blame his outfit! this fic might have part two idk just needed to write this idea out lol

A tower, grand and tall, it pierced the heavens. Here the Emissary of God, the King who believed himself a Sun rains and rules with cruelty. His word is the word of God and as such is divine law.

But he is a man, flesh and sinful no matter how much he delivers penance upon himself.

His sin, his vice, his deliverance, his light and darkness: you. You who dare make his flesh ache, you who cursed the emissary with lustful thoughts, you who dare reject him when he called upon you. A simple human who should have been grateful to be called upon by the King in the High Tower, Lord of Babel! Instead, you ran. Fleeing with your lover to the neighboring extension of Babel, Zot.

From there, a new life was going to be made in the forest free from the eyes of the king. But… He found you.

“We have consummated our marriage! I am bound by my body and word to my beloved!” You had shouted the words as your partner and yourself were brought before the King, the room was so cold that day as if the warmth of the Sun dared not enter. With cuffs and chains of heavy iron, dirty from trying to outrun the guards and falling on the ground.

You will never understand how he felt threatened by the love between a farmer girl and a shepherd. How they wedded in a small church and swore to each other to never part.

Love is pure and celebrated, yet he will say it was a sinful union. Lies, spreading it like spilled ink, about the shepherd who was possessed by an unholy creature. How it seduced you and the great Lord of the High Tower saved you… Cleansed you of its taint.

It is not your place to understand madness.

His eyes are hot like the flames of judgment, his lips sneering at why you shout your love for a person who is not him. You cried, pleading with him to see the love shared between your partner and you, to ask the God of the heavens to show him the truth of these words.

Your partner had spoken up, named everything they loved about you, that they would prove before the Heavenly King of the love and bond they have with you.

“Oh?” A bored expression, “Then by all means show your love!” Snapping his fingers, the guard removed your lover’s cuffs. “Give them a sword.” Gesturing to the guard holding your partner down.

The confusion on both your faces was priceless—It seems, “If you so dearly love her,” He stood up slowly, “Kill my guards.”

A guard tosses a blade on the floor and your beloved with shaking hands picks up the sword, “My lord,” The sword is awkward in their hands, “Killing is a sin.” They are… They followed the laws, they are gentle-spirited, and they were not a fighter.

“Indeed it is, yet,” Standing with narrowed cold eyes, “If you do not kill, you will die.”

The guard drawing their swords, the sound of metal sliding out of the sheathes ringing in your ears.

You screamed for mercy that day, begged as they toyed with your beloved. Cutting, laughing— The King laughed as they made the death of the commoner cruel and slow. 

“Halt,” Your lover, your heart, laying on the ground in a pool of their own blood in what is supposed to be a sacred place. A place where the Emissary of God and His light shine with blinding radiance, how wrong is this scene that will haunt your dreams?

“Watch.” He whispers as you are pulled by your hair to expose your neck bare to the Sun King.

Silence.

In the darkness, a numbness settles around you. The moon is high above the cage. Hues of blue that is your illumination, you stare up before sitting up on the ruined bed stained and smelling of sex. You reach up as if you could capture your solo companion the King cannot take away from you, not until the sun steals its place.

At night, your heart escapes into the hands of the moon. A cold, distant, creature that hears your songs of morning. Witnessing your tears, your sorrowful dance with the chain rattling with your movements.

The Sun King has taken you as his own. He promises to marry you once preparations are made.

“If the tongue offends,” Grinning as he spoke, “Cut it out.”

You will never be able to speak during the day. In the light of His brilliance, you speak no evil! At night, you will sing only of His glory and gospel.

Laughable given the bastard--The murderer-- The king of ruin takes you at night whenever he feels his fleshly desires can no longer be prayed away.

Disgusting, you hate him! Hate him for being this fabricator of falsehoods and twisted needs!

You cry in your hands as his touch stains your skin, imprinted upon your body as he is viciously trying to erase the trace of your first from your body. He hates that, hates your first was not his. So he treats you like some whore! As if you were frivolous and should be shameful.

The sun, scorning and blinding, is your warden and enslaver. 

When the cage opens, you dare not move from your spot on the floor near the shadows on the other side of the large cage.

A new piece of furniture is added as a gift each year during the winter. A bed, a vase, flowers, and other materialist things the Sun King believes will please you. The gift he recently gave you is a dress. It drapes over you like the way the bedsheet did when he punished you by stripping you down to bear your shame.

You take all of his sins. All that is of the flesh is taken by you his vice and confessor.

The dress leaves nothing to the imagination and is white like the marble of the floors; reflects light well to the point of… He smiles as he makes you twirl in the dress, an angel. 

Years pass. Winters past. And soon your wedding is announced when he deems you are docile enough to be seen by others.

He lies claiming ‘God’ has gifted him you, that the moment his eyes saw you he and you were connected by the light of His blessing.

The wedding is grand—Grand and noisy. You feel sick the whole time. Being close to him is like enduring the fire at the stake, a slow and painful death.

Summer. Longer days and shorter nights. You once loved the season until you relied on the moon to be able to speak.

Summer is when the whispers of rebellion are no longer whispers, they are shouts and cries. Discontent, paranoia, and the Sun King, Lord of Babel is becoming more antsy.

You feel nothing. Within your cage, nothing outside of it matters. If the rebellion wins or loses, you doubt much will change. She told you so. In the brightest corners of the night, She whispers in your dreams. Your voice calling out to Her and She calling out to you with your voice.

She tells you to fear nothing, to turn away from the Sun, from the False God and his emissary. She will ascend when the time is right and you will be there to deliver a true revolution.

Patience. You obey, you dance and sing for the Sun King, but your eyes are on the moon above.

The cries become louder as Zot falls. Brought to ruins by a ‘Morningstar’, a demon they call him. Ruthless and clever, he has risen from the seven hells to destroy the High Towers of the heavenly God and swears that the Lord of Babel will fall.

Those who are oppressed cheer for him though they dare not voice it within the radiance and wrath of the Sun King.

“None will harm you, my love.” Does he even know what love is? He claims to love you yet love would not make a cruel creature like him. You allow him to make his promises, his lips on your forehead and cheeks, his hands shake… He is losing his confidence as the army is just outside the walls, and his people turn against him.

“Nothing will harm you.” He sleeps on your lap, he knows you have no will to fight or kill him, he broke you long ago when he killed your lover. 

Most are happy with the fall of the king. The rebellion caused the kingdom of Babel to crumble and give way to chaos in the land.

The king is overthrown, the oppressed become the oppressors, and new lies are made into law. 

He is the Lord of the Morningstar and none will raise a tower to God for the Morningstar is the new God of the land.

In crimson, he paints the kingdom. Blood is his paint.

In ebony, the shadows hide the betrayals. Those close to the Sun King helped in his fall, the eclipse of the sun to darken the land.

And in ivory, he dresses you as his consort. The most treasured of the Sun King, a mortal who sings and dances at his beck and call.

The guards show you to the new King, a Lord of Slaughter and Rebellion. You are shown to him even though those guards were sworn to protect you. Maybe they see you as an oppressor rather than a victim like they are. Guess being called the ‘Sun Queen’ makes you seem just as guilty.

Blind to your pain, they simply wish to toss you away or have you switch from one captor to another.

You were the favorite and you are just an object… A pet.

A bird in a golden cage, marble and stained glass room with the centerpiece of your cage surrounded by various flowers and birds singing a tune. You are displayed like a prize and the invader is more than happy to claim.

“Do you speak?”

You turn away from the man in crimson with a black crown-style mask. He eyes the graceful movements of your body as you sit on the bed in the center of your cage. The sound of keys jingling, metal gears clicking, and creaking of the cage door.

You soundlessly sigh as you bow your head.

“A mute bird,” The clicking of his heels nearly makes you jump up and run away… But you know he wants that. Monsters like him love the thrill of the hunt. “But a pretty bird,” He stands beside you at the foot of the bed. “Nonetheless.” The back of his hand, the metal claws of a beast from some fairytale, slides down caressing the bare back left open by your dress. You hold back a shiver and a cringe as he tugs at the chain connected to the golden collar around your neck.

Chains and cuffs on your wrists and ankles are all connected by different points of the cage. Long enough to give you room but a reminder of your place.

You will never be free. This was a promise he made long ago the moment your lover and voice were stolen from you.

The new king pulled the chain behind your neck and caused you to fall backward, your reaction he sought to feed on but you gave none.

He scowls as you turn your head away staring at the open caged door as his hand switches to the silk of your dress. You know what he wants, the king wanted and took from you many times, and your body goes lax-- Doll-like to allow whatever happens to happen.

[neonovember]

Redwood Oak’s

Mafia!au x Steve Rogers

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 

summary: your escape to Brooklyn was harboured by secrets and a harrowed past, left abused and betrayed, you accepted your destiny of being swallowed by the crowd. Until the King of New York showed up in front of you and wanted a piece of you for himself.

divider by @firefly-graphics​ !

Taglist 🏷️ (send an ask to be part of my taglist for this series!)

@tinkerbelle67 @patzammit @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory@nomadstucky @nessie2183 @shamelessfangirl-3 @namelesssav @marvel-phoenix @euphoric-goddess @roseeatta @abschaffer2 @louderfortheback @stupendouslovegardener @wandamaximoff-simp @thedonswife13 @hpsimpspot @samsgirl93​ @cynic-spirit

Steve's words echo loudly in your skull like a ball being knocked around your head, turning your brain to mush. The warmth of Steve's breath that had gripped you like a vice had dissipated the second the both of you had entered the expansive room of Steve's Office.

You don't see it, but Steve clenches his jaw in tight restraint to stop himself from putting a hole in Rumlow’s head and instead envelopes himself into the stone-faced demeanor he had learnt to form the moment he stepped up to the throne destined for him.

But god, did that horrified look on yourself tear Steve from the inside out. What had he done to you? It screamed betrayal in Steve's mind, that you not only had been hurt but by one of his own men. The man who had sworn to protect you had lied. And for Steve, his word was as good as its weight in fucking gold.

Steve had to play it level headed, the heavy weight of his father's presence was always near, but it seemed to cloud his vision at this moment,

“Don’t do nuthin stupid, think, just stop for a second and think”

Steve didn't want to think, he wanted to delve deep into the darkened desire within him that preened at the idea of Rumlows blood dripping between his clenched fists. Steve’s desire for violence shocked him a little, he could feel his fist shaking under his grip, like they had a mind of their own.

Steve wasn't a violent man, he was sensible, it didn’t matter if the entire city of New York believed he was cruel, because he knew every action had a means, it wasn't just to spill blood and crack skin. Steve’s entire enterprise was never built on appearances, despite the world it lives in, nothing Steve did didn't have an objective reason. He thought that would be a light of mercy before the spray of blood would coat his button-up.

But now, there didn't seem to be any reason to wait and sit, in the end, it all seemed sensible. Any threat of danger to your life needed to be eliminated, and returned with such a display of cruelty that no one would try it again. There was a gnawing feeling, however, at the recesses and edges of Steve's mind, the kind that screamed at him to see what was truly happening.

“Look”, and Steve learnt to listen.

There was something more to Rumlow than just scaring you, something more sinister, it echoed deep within Steve and the reminder of the cruel world beneath the gravel ground was as clear as ever. Steve had to find out because now he felt that your safety was his responsibility, an obligation he felt every bone within him scream to fulfil.

“Bucky” Steve calls the brown-haired man dressed down in a black suit, the outline of a holster poking through the waist of his jacket.

Bucky murmurs something into Sam's ear, before making his way towards Steve, his gaze shifting between you and the tall blonde standing a few spaces behind you.

“Need something from me, Steve?” Bucky says, making an effort to keep his gaze towards Steve, despite Steve's gaze being situated on you.

“Take our friend here to get something to eat, and then use one of my cars to get her home”. Steve murmurs, almost discreetly so only the three of you can hear.

You noticeably fidget at the mention of going home, it wasn't that you didn't want to, you did, by all accounts, but you didn't know what you would open the door to when you did end up back at the decrepit apartment complex you loved. Your apartment wasn't necessarily known for being the most well-secured, but you figured your neighbours would at least tell you if someone had broken in and trashed the place.

Steve moves towards Bucky, turning his body to face away from your wandering gaze

“Take one of my unmarked cars, it seems we’ve got a fuckin rat in our very own house” Steve whispered into Bucky’s ear, causing Bucky to turn his head to face Steve. A look passes between the both of them, their eyes conversing in a way words never could, in a way that told you they had been brothers long before this entire world fell upon their shoulders.

“Well go on then” Steve’s deep voice whispers into your ear, you can taste the heat of his hand pressing onto your waist, as you feel the outline of his revolver press into the small of your back.

“Don’t think I won’t hurt my men to protect you, I’ll kill him if I have to” Steve murmurs, he doesn’t have to say his name, but your mind has been repeating it enough to know who he's talking about, and your heart skips a beat in surprise, air catches your lungs and you have to swallow back the strange feeling brewing in your stomach before following Bucky’s pointed gaze out the office doors, several dozen eyes watching your every step.

The squeak of Bucky’s dress shoes and the click of your pump loafers follow each other down the carpet and painting-lined hallways. You sneak glances through half-open doors and you're met with similar pictures, women and men dressed in black and white staff uniform cleaning and dusting away priceless antiques, ruffling pillows and beds that were never going to be slept in, and folding the endless crisp white shirts Steve wore.

You pass a hallway that looks different to the rest, darker somehow like it was sacred. You don't see any of the endless staff coming out of any of the rooms too, and the millions of questions it springs forth have your eyes squinting to see past the 2 main opening doors.

Bucky turns a corner quickly, and without realising you bump into his back, the rock-hard muscle acting like a brick to cushion your fall. You can’t help but let out a loud yelp, before Bucky turns and catches you from falling flat on your face.

You look up at him clearly flustered, and Bucky gazes down at you in interest, he begins to murmur something but thinks better of it, and slowly lets go of his grip on your waist.

Coughing, he straightens his suit, before motioning forward

“We’re here”

“Hmh? Where is here-” You say

“Oh”

You look towards the expansive dining room, fitted with leather couches surrounding a cast stone fireplace connected to a brick stone kitchen, an iridescent chandelier hangs from the tall ceilings, looking as if diamonds were dripping from above, and the halo of a sparkle glints over the both of you and you can't help but gaze in awe.

“Gorgeous isn't it?” Bucky says, and you glance at him watching the way the chandelier cuts the sunlight so it breaks across the dining room.

It was beautiful, despite being in a room that was in a house of violence, it was the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

“Bucky? I thought you already emptied out my kitchen” Calls a voice from the kitchen

Bucky turns towards the voice, a smile for the first time appears on his face and he walks up with you trailing behind.

“You’re still here? I thought Steve gave you the rest of the week off?” Bucky says, and as you walk past the expansive dining room you see a woman dressed in a dirty apron, wiping down a pristine marble countertop that Bucky leans on.

Pots and pans hang from high above the centre block, glinting in a perfect steel arrangement, long panned windows filter light in from the manicured lawns and an array of shelves and creme cabinets line the kitchen. A double burner oven is situated against a grey stone wall, and low-hanging lantern lights are hung from above. David would have loved cooking in this kitchen, that is all you can fathom as you gaze across the opulent space.

You are too fazed to take notice of the conversation happening beside you, until the kind woman looks towards you, cocking her head, her hazel eyes gaze you up and down, taking notice of your strange attire.

“And who is this?”

“One of Steve’s friends came here to get her something to eat but if you're leaving, just know your kitchen is in great hands” Bucky smirks towards the woman, who shakes her head reverently.

“Oh absolutely not, he burnt soup once, goddamn soup!” The woman scolds, a frightened expression taking over her face as she widens her eyes at you.

You can't help but let out a giggle, she was nice, this woman, dark auburn hair braided into a fishtail cascades down her back, her cheeks full as her big brown eyes smile at you.

“Hey!, it was one of those artisan ones alright, screw me for trying to follow a recipe online” Bucky replies, rolling his eyes at the woman as he tries to argue his side to you

“It’s soup Bucky, you put it in a pot and let it heat up” You reply, shaking your head, the woman looks up at you swiftly, a look comes over her face and she nods.

“By your clothing, I can see you are a curator of the kitchen as well?” The woman replies

You look up at her surprised, “Oh no, I’m,-I’m just a waitress”

“Well does the waitress have a name?” She replies

You hadn't had to introduce yourself for much of your life, your name and entire identity stolen and curated by your husband until he was the one introducing you, and now, the sound of your voice feels foreign on your tongue.

“A pretty name for a pretty lady, my name’s Katerina, but just because you're a friend of a friend you can call me Kat. So what would ya like darling?” She says

“Oh, no” You take notice of the recently wiped down and cleaned tabletops

“It’s alright, you've already cleaned up everything and I'm not that hungry, besides Bucky promised to show me around the Manor '' You reply, wiping a hand down to iron out the wrinkles in your work shirt.

“I did?” Bucky replies, and you turn your head, pleading with him to go along with it

“Oh yeah, um, I’ve got to get my Vitamin D you know” Bucky coughs, wincing as he digs his hands into his dress pants.

Kat looks between the both of you, a knowing smile on her face as she nods,

“Oh, I know you'll be here a while.'' She replies, before you both bid your goodbyes and head out through the French doors and onto the stone steps of the entryway of the Manor.

“You really made me lie in front of Kat? What do you think this is? You know I don’t answer to you, and Steve told me to make sure you eat something, especially since last night-” Bucky scolds, before cutting himself off at the mention of your embarrassing

“You know about last night?” You mumble, the burn of embarrassment crawls up your chest as Bucky shifts his gaze to you in guilt

“Parts alright? It was late at night when Steve found you at that bar and it was getting..I just knew I had never seen Steve so, so..” Bucky trails over, shifting his gaze from your eyes.

“So what?” You reply, Bucky was about to tell you something about Steve, specifically last night and every inch of you wanted to know what it was.

“Forget about it” Bucky replies, and you shake your head defiantly.

“No, no I won’t, ever since that day Steve walked into my diner, I’ve been doing this blindfolded dance, spinning around the truth but never being told anything” You reply, challenging Bucky.

Bucky pulls his tongue from his cheek, eyes trailing the manicured garden of the front lawn before looking down at you.

“He was silent. He didn’t say anything the entire ride back, just motionless. And I know Steve has that stone face going on, but honestly? It was like he was thinking, plotting something in that mind of his, and he didn't stop until you were taken to your room and tucked in, hell he didn't stop until we both walked into those office doors”.

You look down at your hands, twirling the old copper band around your index. Thinking? Thinking? You didn't have a clue how to read Steve, let alone know what he could be thinking of all things.

“What does that even mean?” You reply

“It means Steve is deeper in this than he thinks he is,” Bucky replies.

You catch your tongue before you reply with what automatically pops into your head,

If Steve was in this knee-deep, you were entirely swallowed.

Your eyes catch a light shining from the corner of your peripheral vision, over the wall overgrown with ivy.

“I wasn’t lying before,” You say

“Hmph?” Bucky asks, clocking his eyebrow

“Take me there” You reply, pointing towards the wall towards the back of the Manor.

“You mean the abandoned garden?” Bucky scoffs, shaking his head

“If it’s abandoned then no one will know we’re there, right?” You argue

Bucky narrows his eyes, but reluctantly agrees, walking down the steps in long strides as you run after him to catch up.

You both walk along the expansive gravel driveway, the piercing gaze of Steve from the office window above follows the both of you as you venture through the spiny trail that leads to the garden hidden beyond the large hanging evergreen trees that grew along all over the grounds.

Almost losing your balance once or twice, you finally make it through the overgrown foliage, following the stone trail that soon crumbled into the dark dirt floor. Bucky steps over a broken step, before unlatching some kind of bolt and shoving a rotten gate open, breaking the vines that had once grown on the wood.

You walk through the opened gate, Bucky following close behind, and the shrubbery opens up to a clearing. Large evergreen trees like the ones near the Manor surround the open land, however, a different kind of tree stands sky high, and you can’t stop yourself from walking up to one, and feeling the maroon bark rough against your fingers.

You close your eyes and it comes to you,

Redwood oaks.

Times when you would think hard enough, the silhouette of skyscraping trunks, and deep green leaves would cloud your vision, and when you lean your head forward you can almost smell your past. It is beautiful and strange and it hurts just as much. You can’t find yourself anymore, you've resigned yourself to that, but these thousand-year-old trees make you feel more connected than ever.

You want to climb into it and let it consume you. Sleep until you woke up and you knew who you were. It’s strange, the tree reminds you of Steve somehow, like you've been here with him before and it's hitting you like deja vu.

Something has gifted between the both of you, between you and Bucky too, you noticed it today when he spoke to you rather than through you. He didn't have that unsure expression anymore like he didn't fully trust you, and you don't know whether it was because of Steve or because of last night.

The clearing is almost a hill, and you can see fields of honey-coloured wheat and grass cascade into hills as you look beyond the tall trees. You can make out the backbones of where some sort of wooden shelter or structure once stood, now all that was left was a pile of rotting wood and leaves.

“Why is this place abandoned,” You say, it was gorgeous and let in the sun in just the right way for it to be reflected from the trees and shower the clearing with a honey glow, but it was hidden. And all hidden things were hidden for a reason.

“Don't know, it's been in Steve's family for generations, rented out to a couple people and then sold to a family in the mafia. Until Steve bought it back, it seems like this used to be where some sort of sheltered seating area once stood” Bucky replies, digging his shoe into the dirt.

“Yeah well it seems like someone’s put it to good use” You reply, noticing a small hardwood sculpting table fitted next to a workbench, a small but well-built wooden gazebo shelters the workspace, and you want to step forward but something tells you that place is sacred.

A sound comes out of Bucky and when you turn your head, he looks towards the gazebo like he knows who it belongs to. It hits you that he probably does, being the eyes that see all in the place anyway.

“This place yours or something?” You reply, and Bucky looks towards you in surprise like he forget you were there.

“Hmp? No, not me necessarily, but I think I know who” Bucky murmurs, his eyes trailing back to Manor fixating on Steve's office and you have to swallow the laugh that erupts at the assumption.

“Steve? If Steve was to have a hideout behind his Manor it would be for a guillotine, not an easel” You reply.  

You look towards the Manor and even though your vision only catches the pitched roof peeking through the dark pine trees you don’t doubt by the feeling crawling up your arm that Steve is watching you too.

“Steve, he's done something but, he's- he's a good man” Bucky replies, turning a rock onto its smooth side between his hands

“Oh yeah? Just like my husband is? I’m starting to figure out good men don’t need to say they're good men” You retort

Bucky shakes his head, turning the rock between his hands before tossing it into the shrubbery.

“You’re husband, he's done things you can't even imagine, he is the farthest from Steve, he's the farthest that Steve could ever be” Bucky replies with a heated tone.

For some reason that statement sent a burn down your stomach, in some sick way, you felt it was your responsibility to protect your husband's honour and name in front of Bucky, but it disappears when you realise you're the one who had run across the country to escape the very man Bucky loathes.

“I know the things he's done alright? I’m not that oblivious”

“I’m sure you aren't, Steve wouldn't go through all this trouble for someone who isn't..smart. But what you know about your husband is only what he's allowed you to see, in this life, there's so much that goes between looks and eyes,”

“Steve, it's this life that's changed him, changed all of us, swallowed him up until we couldn't even recognise each other. God I wish you could have seen him before, he was so carefree, ran like the wind couldn't even catch him. Your husband, evil like that is born in you, encoded into your DNA until you know nothing else" Bucky replies

“How do you expect me to believe that about him if you leave me in the dark all this time? You say Steve is a good man, well then tell me how” You reply

Bucky grinds his teeth, his jaw working as he weighs the metaphorical pros and cons of letting you in, and telling you things you he doesn't doubt Steve hasn’t. It was strange, Bucky felt it was wrong for you to be in this agreement with Steve so blindly, Steve had told him he wanted to protect you, but how can he say that when you don't even know what he's protecting you from?

With a gruff sigh, Bucky turns his neck to face you, delving into one of the main, if not the entire reason Steve is the way he is, and of course it had to be connected to you.

“About a decade or so ago, Steve was in love with a woman, she was everything to him, his breath, his bones, his love, she owned it all. Now it was about the time when Steve was ordained to take over from his father, it was a tradition since the Rogers planted their foot in the underworld, and it was once Steve's father did not take it lightly. Taking over meant your entire life would be dedicated to this throne, you would live, breathe and eat business, and for Steve, what he lived for was her.” Bucky shifts so that his gaze moves from the Manor. And like he's ashamed to be telling you this, to let the stark demeanour of Steve crack.

Bucky chuckles in the sort of way that wasn’t out of humour, your eyes strain as you peer at him, watching him scratch his jaw and tussle his brown locs free from their curls.

“Steve’s father could sense his weakness before it even started, I guess he thought Steve would realise what was at stake, the responsibilities that he had to honour as part of this family. That week before his coronation, Steve refused his father in front of an entire dining room of men. He refused to let go of her in exchange for his marriage to the throne. Told all of them that he was going to marry her and run off. And I still don't know if it was a show of discipline or plain evil, but Steve never got that chance” Bucky says.

“What do you mean?” You reply, your confused expression turning grim as you notice the bleak look on Bucky's face.

“She was- she was murdered that very next morning” Bucky replies, his eyes returning to you, as you whip your head back to stare at him in horror.

“Your husband, was paid by Steve’s father to murder his fiance” Bucky replies after a beat, your breath leaves your chest as you stare at him in disbelief, hands grasping the edges of your apron as you wait for the punchline, and Bucky stares at you in anguish as you realise there isn't.

You don't know what sounds leave your mouth, just the look of Bucky’s face tears you away from his gaze and the tears glide down your neck. You don’t bother to wipe them, you don't doubt there is more anguish to come, more revelations that will have your head spinning, more secrets that were kept from you.

“Hey, hey, look at me” Bucky replies

“I can’t, I didn’t tell you this for nothing alright? I can’t have you leaving here teary-eyed, you told me you were strong yeah? So be strong. Your husband is a murdering psychopath, he has been since he was a teenager, this mercenary job was done to get his foot in this business, and now you're all muddled up in it too. And Steve, he doesn’t want what happened to her to happen to you” Bucky replies, squeezing your arm to shake you back to the present.

“But why? Why would Steve’s father do that?” You reply

Bucky stares off into the curving hills of wheat and grass, shaking his head before replying

“It was Steve’s obligation, it had been since he was conceived, Steve's father thought he gave him a life free of responsibilities while growing up in that town, he didn't think that recklessness would follow him to Brooklyn”.

“Town? What town” You ask, and this time Bucky avoids your gaze, whispering incoherent obscenities under his breath

“That is something only Steve can tell you, me and Steve grew up together in Brooklyn during our teenage years. That place was something from before even that, before even me”. Bucky replies

You nod as you stare at the river that swirled across the Manor grounds, the shock of your husband's role in Steve’s becoming the invisible stone-faced don he was now didn't fully hit you yet. It was like you were numb, forced to put on a brave face in front of Bucky, who had trusted you enough to tell you about Steve.

Steve.

The man who you had believed conned his way into your life, and tricked you into a deal you didn't agree to now seemed different to you, you can’t fathom how a man like that, a man so instilled in the traditions of this world once defied it. Steve had once been so in love he was ready to disown his father's own expectations of him, and yet in the end it had gotten her killed, and it had left him seated on the very throne he despised.

“We should probably head back, lord knows what Steve would say if he knew you were still here” Bucky replies, pulling out a cigarette from his suit breast pocket, and flicking open a metallic silver lighter encrusted with the Rogers family heirloom.

The amber light that ignites the bud elicits a strange feeling that litters goosebumps across your body, it reminds you of a burning photograph, left to ashes and soot. You can smell the stench of it too, and Bucky watches you carefully as he clasps the lighter back into his pocket, nodding to the trail you had just come from.

Your mind is too preoccupied to remember walking back to the Manor, or even sliding into the car door Bucky had opened for you. Your mind circled back and forth between the answers Bucky had muttered under the sweet wisp of the morning breeze and the millions of questions that were met with the same silence and face of neutrality that Steve wore.

There was so much that you didn’t know, it hadn't hit you before, but it was so frighteningly obvious now. You were still the same foolishly naive girl that you had been 10 years ago, except this time, if Bucky had been right, you weren't being robbed of your entire autonomy.

You couldn't deny that since you had arrived in Brooklyn, you felt a strange pull that led you to Steve, you felt it the first time he walked into the diner, and although it was crowded by fear then, you can feel it in all its entirety now. For some strange reason, you hoped what Rumlow had said was just another thread of lies he had made you unravel, you hoped to god for Steve’s sake that all it was, was a childish attempt at getting out of babysitting.

You had steered your mind clear from falling down the rabbit hole of what else it could be, and the sinking feeling that begins to unfurl in your stomach now has you pinching yourself awake,  and forcing yourself to stare through the tinted car windows. You watch the blur of the pine trees crowding the curving roads and Bucky’s incessant tapping of the steering wheel over-stimulate your senses, resting your head on the window.

Perhaps Steve knew a thing or two about betrayal, and from the same man that had made you run halfway across the country.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Why do you think Claudia never haunts Armand in the books? Is it just because she's a manifestation of Anne's parental guilt and loss & Armand didn't have that relationship with Claudia at all? Do you think if the show does ghost Claudia she'll just stick to messing with Louis and Lestat? Or do you think she'll fuck with other characters connected to Louis, Lestat, like Armand, Sam, Daniel, Lestat's other fledglings?

Oh, good question.

I ... do not know.

I mean... Armand does see ghosts. Spirits. He and a few others can see them, even when they haven't manifested as they have in the last books.

For example:

I fixed my eyes on the tenacious little spirit. "Why do you linger here?" I asked it desperately in a whisper. "Why can I see you?" It moved its little mouth as if it meant to speak, but it only shook its head ever so slightly, piteously eloquent of its confusion. The steps came on. And once again I struggled to catch the scent. But there was nothing, not even the dusty reek of a vampire's robes, only this, the approach of this shuffling sound. And finally there came to the bars the tall shadowy figure of a haggard woman. I knew that she was dead. I knew. I knew she was as dead as the little one who hovered by the wall. "Speak to me, please, oh, please, I beg you, I pray you, speak to me! "I cried out. But neither phantom could look away from the other. The child with a quick soft tread hurried into the woman's arms, and she, turning, with her babe restored, began to fade even as her feet once again made the dry scraping sound on the hard mud floor which had first announced her.

"Look at me!" I begged in a low voice. "Just one glance." She paused. There was almost nothing left of her. But she turned her head and the dim light of her eye fixed on me. Then soundlessly, totally, she vanished. I lay back, and flung out my arm in careless despair and felt the child's corpse, still faintly warm beside me. I did not always see their ghosts. I did not seek to master the means of doing so. They were no friends to me-it was a new curse-these spirits that would now and then collect about the scene of my bloody destruction. I saw no hope in their faces when they did pass through those moments of my wretchedness when the blood was warmest in me. No bright light of hope surrounded them. Was it starvation that had brought about this power? I told no one about them. In that damned cell, that cursed place where my soul was broken week after week without so much as the comfort of an enclosing coffin, I feared them and then grew to hate them. Only the great future would reveal to me that other vampires, in the main, never see them. Was it a mercy? I didn't know. But I get ahead of myself.

I think... Armand killed Claudia because he could not love her.

But in his own mind, in his thinking... he was, at least in the book(!), not trying to be deliberately cruel to her. (Which is not to say that he didn't want to try that experiment, he very much did.)

I mean, he did chop off her head and sewed it onto another's body, and then put her into the sun when it failed.

But, in his way of thinking... he tried to give her what she needed. I think, should the show reveal that Armand did this pre trial as well, tried to give Claudia a new brain (there were hints enough), then this also was in an attempt to solve the dilemma he saw her in.

And... in a (very) strange way? I think Claudia understood that.

I think Claudia knew that the ones responsible for her life - and death - were her parents.

And so she allowed herself to be conjured by/haunted them.

It is never finally said if it was Claudia's spirit btw. In the books I mean. There's always a little element of doubt. I am not sure if the show will follow that, but in any case... I think they'll stay with her mostly haunting Lestat and Louis, and/or being representations of their guilt.

[lillyofthevalley66]

Lunar Thoughts

The moonlight shines through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating his face. A white, nearly heavenly glow blanketing his sharp features.

You knew what each of those features felt like. His nose on the skin of your neck, grazing ever so slightly. Soft enough for goosebumps to raise across it. Even something as simple as that got your heart beating quick in your chest.

His lips pressing kisses into that same skin. Sucking on the area, sure to leave hickeys in the morning. But you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s right here in front of you. Not when he’s whispering sweet nothings sandwiched between dirty phrases that brings heat to your cheeks and the tips of your ears. His shallow breaths ghosting across the slender bend of your neck.

You can recall so vividly his knuckles, violets blooming across them from a day of fighting. Criminals of course, but not just them. Ghosts as well. Of the past, of the future too. No matter how many psychos in masks that look ripped from a Spirit Halloween get taken down it’s never enough for him. He could take down every rich, corrupt, elitist asshole in the city and it would never fulfill all the way.

Because there will always be more. More evil, more hatred, more crime and cruelty. He carries all of that on his shoulders. He is Atlas, carrying the weight of the world. You know all of this only in captured glances. Ones you hold close to your heart, so tightly that you fear you may break under the worries.

The rare occasions when even the strongest of facades flickers. When he lets his guard down, lets his eyes brim with the tears of a life no one should have to live. But he does. For his city. For his people.

Maybe it’s the mugger he couldn’t manage to catch, just a second too late. The blood that he drowns in. The victims left in their wake, cold on the unforgiving streets of the city that he knows all too well. That chews up the innocent, grinding their goodness away before spitting them back out as some shell of a person.

“It’s my fault” he whispers like an unforgivable secret.

As if you’d ever look at him with the disgust he expects, what he thinks he deserves. His callused hands shake as he grips yours lightly. Strong instruments of justice, now weak, at your mercy.

Almost as if he’s hesitant, afraid you’ll flinch away once you see the rabid teeth of the mutt he feels he is. The pure rage underlining every single punch, every kick. Anger, for the suffering of the people sure. But for his suffering as well.

The cruel nature of the world that took what he needed most away from him. Something that for once he can’t fix with a simple uppercut.

“Don’t say that…” you mutter back, the hue of your eyes meeting his crystalline blue.

“It’s true though.”

His voice is quivering. Tones going up and down, like a pendulum swinging back and forth. His eyes shift to the floor, ashamed to look at you. Not what most would expect from the symbol of hope, of the downtrodden. A man who just hours ago was at the forefront of the city’s defense against the waves of corrupt corporate elites and the havoc that insues for the sake of their own gain. But you know better. Your lips purse slightly.

“Listen to me”.

His gaze shoots back to you, the same one that manages to leave you breathless every time. Whether crinkled and upturned in smile, or weary with bags of a deep midnight purple. Even after all this time it manages to make your heart swell.

“You can’t protect everyone. There are millions of people in this city baby. Millions. The fact that you’re even going out there, risking your life for the sake of others is amazing.”

He stares at you for a split second.

“What’s the point if I can’t even save one person.”

He blinks, droplets welling in his eyes.

“Their blood is on my hands. I can feel it, the way all of it clings to me.”

He lets out a shaky exhale, closing his eyes for a second before reopening.

“I-I can’t…I can’t protect them. Why? Why am I not good enough to protect them? Not even with all this training? What the fuck was it all for then?”

His voice is louder now, almost daring you to disagree with it. With what he knows is the undeniable truth.

“You’ve saved so many people. Countless men, women, children, all of them. You can’t judge yourself off the bad when the good you do is so…so amazing.”

He chuckles dryly, sardonically even.

“You don’t know all of the people I’ve failed. All of the families I’ve let down. The mothers that I know are kept up at night, sobbing at the thought of their children dead in some alleyway. Hell, they’re sometimes too mutilated to even be given a proper funeral. For the families to give a proper goodbye.

His jaw clenches, molars gritting against each other.

“You could never understand it. What I really am. I’m some shell of a man, covering the gaping holes in my body with Kevlar and gauze. You wouldn’t love me if you could fully see.”

“You’re more than that.”

His eyes narrow at you.

“If not that then what am I?”

You look at him, mustering up the most genuine, serious look you can manage.

“You’re kind, you’re smart, like ridiculously so. You’re selfless, and most importantly you’re empathetic. With every thing you do you mind the needs of others. And to me that’s something that should be commended. You don’t have to be perfect. Hell, you don’t even need to be the hero. You just need to be you. That’s enough. That’s all you can do. Just keep trying as hard as you can. And I think if they knew what you were thinking, the people of the city would agree.”

His mouth is agape slightly, eyes wide as the full moon behind you both.

“You really think that?” He asks, as if the breath had been knocked out of his chest.

Like you’d just sucker punched him. You only grin softly.

“Yeah, I do. You are the most amazing guy I’ve ever met. And I can say that with confidence.”

A slight smile graces his features. It reminds you of how good one of those looks on him. You haven’t seen a smile on him in a good bit. It’s nice.

“Damn your making me sound pretty good.”

That evokes a low chuckle from you.

“You deserve it.”

Suddenly he steps towards you, strong arms pulling you into a tight hug. Somehow it feels even more intimate, more special than any kiss, or anything else. His body is warm, like a pile of pure sunlight, even despite the cool rush of air from the A.C unit.

“Thank you” he mumbles into the shell of your ear, rocking you back in forth slightly.

As if you’re his raft at sea, his lifeline. “Anytime” you retort.

You snap out from the memories of the previous hours, eyes raking across your lover’s sleeping form. You can’t predict the future. Can’t promise that you’ll get to live a long life together. That he won’t fall into pieces again. But what you can swear is that your waiting arms will be there to put him back together.

To mend the broken parts. To let him have at least one shoulder he can lean on. After all, what’s the sun without its moon?

[leviathanspain]

Hello! If it’s not too much to ask Can I request Aemond x fem Lannister reader please like his family is not approved of their relationship but he still wants to marry her . Have a good day :)

you’re the only thing worth taking

aemond targaryen x lannister!reader

synopsis: aemond had to have you

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the minute he set his eye upon her golden face, he knew he had to have her. a lannister sent as a contender for his brother’s hand, aemond didn’t expect himself to fall in love with her. but the gods took a mercy on him, for his mother had rejected her, and aemond knew his chances had just gotten better.

she was sitting across from the one eyed prince. pushing her food around her plate nervously, she was under the scrutiny of alicent hightower. “she’s a lannister. lions who thirst for power, what’s to say she won’t subdue our aegon’s rule?” alicent tried to make it seem like she were whispering, but she could be heard across the table and down to y/n’s ears.

she swallowed thickly and stood up suddenly, “lions don’t fall for dragons in disguise.” she sneered at alicent and aegon, who having just talked with him once, y/n knew he was evil.

y/n picked her skirts up and sauntered out of the room without hearing another word of alicents deception. she was embarrassed, utterly embarrassed and over something she had no decision in?

y/n couldn’t help the tears that threatened to fall as she walked down the hall. footsteps were heard behind her but she continued, not caring for the embarrassment of her sniffles, she had enough for the day to kill anyones spirit.

suddenly she felt a hand on the small of her back. she stopped walking and turned around, seeing aemond looking down at her. “y/n. i-“ aemond couldn’t find the words as he noticed her tears, and the anger set upon him.

how could someone be so cruel to such a beautiful creature? aemond could break under the ache of it, and he held her, wiping her tears away with his hand.

it had been some time now since she and aemond had an established relationship. she met aemond in the dark of the night where he read her stories of the targaryen history, or just vented about his princely duties.

she had extended her stay at kings landing, welcomed by the king as her father was a dear friend, and for some court exposure.

but as much as y/n knew she had failed her house by not securing a marriage to the kings firstborn son, y/n knew she wasn’t just settling for the second.

she kissed aemond passionately as his hands drove into her golden hair. he was devoted to her, he wanted to marry her, have children with her, be one with her.

“i wish to marry y/n lannister.” his voice echoed as he announced to his mother and father, his siblings sitting next to alicent.

“what?” alicents voice echoed, and her confusion clouded her as she shook her head, “no. no, no.”

aemond looked at her and frowned, “i wasn’t really asking. i was letting you know.”

alicent stood up and walked towards her son, “no, aemond. she’s doing exactly what i said she’d do! she couldn’t have aegon so she settled on you, tell him viserys!” she turned to her husband who was looking intently at aemond. he recognized the look in his eye. he had seen it once on himself, when he was with aemma, the look was of pure love. whoever this lannister girl was, she was the love of aemond’s life.

viserys waved a hand, “let him marry her. i give them my blessing.” he looked at his son, whom he was never really close to but aemond had never caused him such a headache as aegon, so he wanted him to be happy.

alicent was enraged, and she looked at aemond, “leave us.” she turned to aegon and halaena, “all of you. now.”

aemond met with you later that night, and as he made love to you, he kissed you, “i promise, you’ll be my bride, my targaryen queen.” he whispered.