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boundinparchment · 10 months

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Undertow

He stopped officiating weddings a long time ago. There was no time for such things as the Chief Justice of Fontaine. But your family insisted. As nobles are wont to do. Only the finest for their eldest daughter. Besides, you two were friends, after all. Neuvillette/Female Reader; in which the Chief Justice can no longer deny his heart on the day of your wedding. AO3 Story Link

A joyous day.

It should have been, at any rate.

At least for you.

As long as you were happy.

Or so Neuvillette told himself. Duty came first, after all. He had a whole nation to keep from setting itself aflame, be it from Focalors’ whims or the people’s fury. In serving everyone, he was, in fact, serving you.

And in turn, you, too, served the people. Few were so generous with their time and their skills, especially those in your social standing. Fewer still went on to study law, as you had; as heir, you needed to understand property laws and taxes and the words that bound your family to its estate and your place in parliament. Neuvillette would never let it be said that you did not know the meaning of long hours and hard work. Amid the vain and the greedy, you were pragmatic, and not without the wit to prove it.

That was what drew him to you. So many in your position used their wit as sharp daggers to stab others during conversation in a clever, charming way. You flipped the conversation back on perpetrators so often that he wondered why you never pursued certification exams.

“For one, it benefits my station far too much,” you said. “My ambitions are to be able to make life sustainable for all I’m meant to govern. Naive, perhaps. But I think those in my rank need to earn their keep, prove they’re worthy of their legacy. We owe it to the people of Fontaine.”

You were certainly not without a vision, even if you were Unblessed. It was better that way. You didn’t deserve the eyes of the island above on you anymore than they already were.

Neuvillete adjusted his cuffs as he glanced down at the book in his hands. A book you’d given him, annotated with your favorite passages and thoughts. He’d stayed up far too late trying to conceptualize anything other than his legal obligations for the ceremony.

The courtroom buzzed with anticipation. Focalors had rolled her eyes when she caught him getting ready but even she had made herself scarce for once after mumbling to just get it over with. Funny. And here he thought she might be present to laugh in his face and call him a fool.

A fool who took an hour to painstakingly braid his hair in a fashion that mimicked an Oceanid’s tail, as you had once shown him.

He stopped officiating weddings a long time ago. There was no time for such things as the Chief Justice of Fontaine.

But your family insisted. As nobles are wont to do.

Only the finest for their eldest daughter.

Besides, you two were friends, after all.

You would have settled for far less; or rather, you would have been happier with his presence in another capacity. He knew as much. His estate for the ceremony and party. A speech at dinner. A dance. Your smile had been so forced throughout the entire exchange about an officiant that Neuvillette was certain you might snap right then and there.

And yet you remained rooted. Dedicated.

If only the finest would do, why did they even consider the dolt standing before him to be eligible?

Hardly remarkable in accomplishments. The family coasted on interest earned through their holdings but were not without the occasional cousin who ended up with a debt record as long as one’s forearm. Neuvillette couldn’t even justify an excuse for a pedigree; bloodlines couldn’t, shouldn’t, be about trying to maintain whatever purity they claimed to hold.

No one could make that judgment.

Celestia might try, at any rate.

And the Chief Justice could hardly see your future husband comforting you should such a thing happen, let alone caring for the people. Neuvillette could only stare when the nobleman’s eyes caught his; your fiance looked away first and Neuvillette smiled briefly to himself. No. There would be no comfort in this relationship, no challenge, no ambition.

This man would snuff your flames with his own self-importance.

Neuvillette should have offered his hand instead when you’d told him. You seemed so resolute, so determined, to carry out your duty. And he was so patient that he might as well be a coward. Time would wait for him, not you. Instead, he’d pulled every string he could to find every shred of information for you, for your parents, approved the match with as much grace as a ruling.

Mulled over every file with a glass of brandy, trying to convince himself things would be fine.

Wouldn’t they?

Nearby, a musician began the song you had chosen to walk in with and the gallery rose in unison, like the sea, to watch.

The only thing you’d had control over was the dress, you’d admitted one night after dinner. Repurposed, you’d mentioned; all lace and fashionable lines, practical but elegant in its shape. He couldn’t pull his eyes away and he tried to remember to breathe as you made your way down the aisle. In all his years, he had seen many things, including the stunning shimmers of the previous Hydro Archon, but all of them paled to you.

Likewise, it seemed you couldn’t look anywhere else but straight ahead, Neuvillette realized: most looked towards their future spouse but your gaze was fixed on Neuvillette himself. His grip on the book tightened and he was thankful for the swell of the music to hide the squeak of leather.

You weren’t making the stabbing knife in his chest any easier.

The words came quicker than he liked as he began the usual spiel. Welcoming guests, reciting the names of the parties involved, and starting off with a brief speech on the strength of a union. He could read the passage from the book backwards if you asked him.

As a judge, he was meant to be the impartial interpreter of the law. There was no place for bias, for emotion.

His eyes would give him away to any discerning onlookers. Neuvillette was no stranger to rumors and gossip columns and no doubt someone could already see the questions he couldn’t keep from surfacing. It would be obvious, he realized. He kept looking at you and not the crowd, not the man with eager eyes who held your hand the same way one held a horse bridle: too tight.

Neuvillette cleared his throat and pushed away the anguish. It had no place here.

As the Chief Justice asked you to repeat after him, to recite the vows all Fontaine citizens gave on their wedding day, something inside him cracked. Couldn’t you see this would lead to nothing but misery? Weren’t you worthy of more? If you must marry for duty, then at least commit yourself to someone equally committed…

Your lips, painted to perfection (unnecessarily so, for you were already beautiful without such coloring), opened but silence followed. Neuvillette swallowed. Your eyes left his long enough to stare at the man holding your hand before you thrust your bouquet at him, gathered your skirt, and dashed back up the aisle.

Behind you, the courtroom ignited with all of the shock and drama as a high profile murder case as you threw the doors open and dashed into the lobby and eventually out of sight.

The only trace you’d been there at all was your veil as it floated to the floor silently, forgotten.

A joyous day.

It should have been, at any rate.

And yet you shouldn’t shake the knot in your stomach and the claw clenching around your heart. Sleep eluded you for the better part of the night and your maids tutted, pressing cold spoons to your eyes before you were allowed to eat. Food tasted no better than dirt over the last few months and all anyone saw was how careful you were watching your figure.

How you wished things were different. The ring on your finger felt heavy, clunky; a ball and chain around your ankle would have been easier to manage.

It hadn’t been so burdensome at first, of course. Things took time. Perhaps, eventually, you might enjoy your betrothed’s company for longer than a few hours. The potential was there.

But was it enough?

Your maids fixed your makeup, did your hair, swatted your hand away when you reached for just one sip of water.

They all gushed about your fiance, how handsome and charming he was, how well conversation seemed to flow. Every single one of them forgot that the conversations were nothing more than surface level discussions that made you want to gouge your eyes out with a spoon.

You’d almost begged Neuvillette to forge something, anything, that would make this arrangement null and void. Every meeting since the engagement had been heavily supervised under the guise of protecting the Chief Justice’s reputation and your honor, whatever that implied.

Expectation had been there for years, lingered like a ghost. Not from you but from everyone else who cast their eyes on your station. One rarely, if ever, captured the Chief Justice’s attention, after all. Your family had hoped, as others had, but you were content to simply converse over dinner, at parties, exchange books and philosophies and see the man’s smile reach his silvery eyes. He spoke of opera and art in a way so few of your contemporaries could. You tried to control the flutter of your heart when he locked eyes with you across the courthouse foyer after parliament adjourned and you swore you saw his eyes glow.

He was engaging, enthralling, and it was easy to see why the nation considered him such a celebrity.

But your friendship was more than the attention, than the allure of the Chief Justice and all that he encompassed. Some might not call his rulings fair but he saw all of the trappings that Fontaine itself was guilty of pressing onto all of its inhabitants. When you came up with ideas for proposals, it was him you went to for proper language and legal references, always attempting to stay within his schedule, of course. More often than not, he would continue to prompt you to think the proposal through, consider scale and the impact and the precedent.

Never once did he give you an opinion, naturally. Just a different perspective.

“You can be dazed tomorrow,” your mother said as she snapped her fingers in your face. “Your flowers just arrived and the photographer is insisting on family shots here, at the house.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you were dressed by deft hands. It had been something of a game with your maid to pass time when you felt like trying your dress on; little had you known how the practice would backfire.

Something tugged at your gut and you fought the urge to vomit at the thought of the hands (the wrong hands) that would undo the buttons.

No, you made your choice, you reminded yourself. The guilt would fade. The love would fade.

You were closer to thirty than you cared to admit. What your family took for a phase they realized would be a dangerous precedent for your siblings.

Everything you did was for the betterment of the people, you would argue.

What good was the betterment of the people when you were neglecting your duty to your family, was often the retort thrown back with as much acid as your grandmother’s strong tea.

Family.

Duty.

Honor.

All of it was bullshit if the common people were unhappy and left to fend off wolves from above and below.

You’d never subscribed to these notions and they were content to let it be until it was inconvenient. Rather than let you advise on financial planning, to grow an endowment that could take care of the yearly costs of the estate, you were to be cattle in exchange for financial and political support.

Or you would be cast aside, disowned and dishonored, your position taken from you as if it were a rug underfoot.

And so, you accepted all of it with a smile.

You endured.

Just as you endured the flash of the kamera, the fussing over your flowers and your veil during the carriage ride to the courthouse.

The press were eager, as they always were, for gossip and fashion and for a glimpse of the Chief Justice presiding over the ceremony. They weren’t here for you, not truly. Why, of all things, had your parents insisted he be the officiant?

Wasn’t it enough that you were giving up parts of your life, parts of your soul, for a person who would never appreciate them?

Your feet already ached from your heels. A wave of dizziness slapped you across the face as you entered the lobby and you pushed through it. Music began, the doors opened, and your body moved of its own accord, just as you had practiced the night before.

Neuvillette had declined the rehearsal dinner. The one time you were glad not to see him. If you had, you wouldn’t be here now, you were certain.

You gave a cursory glance to your fiance but your attention whipped back to Neuvillette almost instantly. He’d done his best but you could see the faded dark circles under his silver eyes. How late had he stayed up, you wondered. And how long had that braid taken him?

He’d let you style it once, and only once, in the privacy of his library. Waterfalls of silken fabric couldn’t compare to the beautiful blue and white locks between your fingers. He’d been attentive when you showed him the technique, pausing his case review to do so, but…

An ache from your feet ran up to your heart and sat, heavy with longing; it hurt to breathe.

The music swelled to a close and your father kissed your cheek before he passed you along to your fiance. He smiled and you tried not to be disgusted at the sweaty hand that held yours. You held your flowers in your other hand tighter, glad that the florist had missed a thorn in trimming your flowers.

Before you could blink, Neuvillette was already speaking.

And although he was addressing everyone as he read the passage you read aloud to him on a particularly gloomy evening, his gaze never left yours. The man witnessed and knew of the cruelest things the nation allowed, worked under Honorable Focalors Herself, and yet the expression on his face (such as it was, for he was known for his unreadable countenance) was as if…

It was gone in all but a moment as he cleared his throat and prompted you to recite your vows.

It was the subtle raise of Neuvillette’s eyebrows, the way his eyes widened just enough for emphasis that did you in.

Doubt. Anguish.

Was this what you wanted?

You turned your head, every intention to get the words across your tongue and past your lips in mind, when your voice simply wouldn’t comply. All you could see was a life shackled, compromise after compromise and always made against your favor. Concessions that eventually wore down to wondering why you ever bothered.

Did you want to throttle yourself, your spirit, your drive, for potential that wasn’t even there? When the man you loved would be forever kept out of reach?

If not this, then what did you want?

The answer was literally staring you in the face.

You shoved your flowers into your betrothed’s hands and pulled away, not caring if your dress carried sweat stains as you gathered the skirts and ran as fast as your legs could carry you out the door. Commotion behind you roared to life as you haphazardly made your way through the lobby, down to the entrance, and then dashed to the side garden to avoid the headline-hungry press.

There were few options to hide, all of them easy enough to locate. Your family would drag you back if they found you. Assuming they weren’t bickering and that the wedding was even still on from your fiance’s point of view.

A single drop of rain plopped on your head, sudden and cold. Followed by another. And then there was no sun left in the sky as rain came down in sheets, heavy and frigid. Thunder rumbled through your entire being. You couldn’t stay here. Over the roar of the rain, you could hear your name. You wouldn’t heed.

You were tired of coming when called, of giving your loyalty and love to those who sought to keep you from your happiness. No better than a hunting dog.

Soaked, your hair and dress now destined for the Abyss, you slid off your heels and made your way towards the one place you might be able to wait out the rain in peace.

Over the chatter of the crowd, the rumble of thunder was unmistakable.

Of course it would rain. It wasn’t like he’d done a terrific job of hiding his own bias.

The speed at which you’d run back up the aisle was a feat, given the shoes you wore. No doubt those wouldn’t do you any good in this weather. You were probably cold, overwhelmed…

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and Neuvillette’s hand shot out. He grabbed the nobleman’s arm before he could move, already poised to go after you.

“Leave her be. These things happen. It is best for a neutral party to resolve these matters. Wedding planners, family, or friends are usually equipped for these situations,” the Chief Justice said matter of factly.

Fight back, you absolute–

Your betrothed’s arm relaxed in Neuvillette’s grip and it took everything in the Chief Justice not to summon his power and drown him there and then. If there was one person deserving of being reduced to their primal element…

Neuvillette’s voice cut above the crowd as he called for order, requesting that guests remain where they were and that, no doubt, everything would resume shortly. Your parents were already doing a poor attempt at damage control with your supposed-in-laws. Your siblings were casting looks at the door, half-debating if they should go after you; they weren’t like you, not as headstrong, not as independent, and one look from your matriarchal grandmother sent them further into their seats.

He intervened, diffusing arguments with ease, all the while wondering if you were okay. Your parents wanted to use city resources, send out police. For once, your fiance chimed in that such a thing might scare you and you needed help, not to be dragged back kicking and screaming.

“You should go, sir,” the young nobleman said quietly as the bickering picked up again. “You said it yourself: family or friends, and her family doesn’t seem keen to fight for her.”

The man’s smile was shaky but the Chief Justice appreciated the sentiment. At least he had a brain in there somewhere.

“Be sure to keep them from saying too much to the press. Should any ask, Her Honor is also behaving…in her usual fashion.”

Neuvillette was certain his absence wouldn’t go unnoticed and the fact that the press were still clamoring at the front stairs despite the downpour wouldn’t help matters. He paid them no mind as rain pelted him, drenching his robes and suit jacket underneath. The rain did nothing to affect his vision nor his drive to find you; he was unbothered by the chill but you…you always did love curling up right next to a fire and being bundled in winter.

There was one place you might go, he pondered, that few knew about and fewer had access to. Short of you running through the city in your dress (which would not be like you), you had little options to avoid the press but to stay near the courthouse.

He found you as he expected to, under a pavilion tucked away into a quiet garden on the property, wringing out your skirts and pacing, feet bare against the wet stone. You were never still when your mind was lightyears ahead of you, be it from following trains of thought or when you were attempting to force a filibuster. Your thoughts were likely half-way to Inazuma by now and just as tumultuous as the storms he heard so much about.

His breath caught when you jumped as you caught sight of him, eyes wide and anguish carved into your face. Neuvillette stepped under the cover of the pavilion, his robes and braid dripping unceremoniously and you immediately reached to wring his hair out gently, without so much as a second thought.

The Chief Justice took off his gloves as he let you finish before he took your hands in his. He could feel the bump on your finger where you held a pen, the tender spot where your flowers pricked you.

“I can’t do it, Neu,” you choked out, shaking your head. “I can’t do it.”

“You don’t have to if it’s going to make you unhappy, if you cannot see a future with the person standing at the altar.”

He worked in rulings, evidence, facts; managing Focalors emotional outbursts was a terrible part of his job description but they never teetered into this territory. He was used to fleeting whims and de-escalation.

This? This was a decision that would change the course of your life. Not immediately, of course. But the future was a terrifying, uncertain thing, and you had expectations to contend with.

Expectations that did not involve him.

The pall of fear lifted from your face slowly, the same way morning dew disappeared from the grass. Something else blossomed in its place, like a sweet flower pushing through the cracks in the cobblestone streets, resilient and resolute.

“The thing is, I can. Just not with the man I was about to marry.”

Shooting him would have been less painful. Such an admission should have, as with all things today, been enough to make a heart soar, even manage to turn bitter water into sweet ambrosia. Your lips parted again before he could speak.

“And I understand you feel differently; you’ve never given me reason to believe otherwise and I am not asking for more than what you have to give. I would never do that to you. If I marry the man in there,” you nodded your head in the direction of the courthouse, “it will always be a lie. Maybe I’ll grow to tolerate him but I will never love him. Not like I love you. As I do now, I will spend the rest of my life looking into his eyes, wishing he was you.”

Neuvillette’s hands dropped yours to cup your face of their own accord. Before he could process anything else, he’d tilted your head up and pressed his lips to yours as if he was a man deprived of air. You were warm, despite the weather, and he could make out the familiar scent of your perfume amid the fresh flowers in your hair. He felt you relax, curve yourself into him, hands finding purchase on the soaked lapels of his robes.

He broke away, his face hot as he admired your swollen lips. Mixed in with your slight daze was that inquisitive expression he would never tire of, one you often gave to silently encourage him to continue speaking.

“Then no more wishing, mon amour,” he whispered, brushing away the stray tears pooling at the corners of your eyes. “Marry me.”

“Don’t just—”

“I should not have let it get as far as it has. What good is duty if your heart is elsewhere?”

“And where will we go, my Chief Justice? The people of Fontaine and our Archon might enjoy this scandal a little too much…it would be quite a spectacle.”

“Qiaoying Village is nice this time of year. I have an acquaintance in Liyue I can persuade to be a witness. Beyond that…we’ll let the current decide.”

His words shook something in you as you reached up and tugged at his cravat to pull him into another kiss. Longer than the last, smooth and steady like a morning tide, passion dancing like an undertow.

#neuvillette #neuvillette/female reader #neuvillette/reader #chief justice neuvillette #genshin impact neuvillette #arranged marriage #angst with a happy ending #fluff #romance #love confessions

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tybalt-you-saucy-boi · 6 months

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Let's talk about what Winner's Theory means for the next season of Life SMP, and what we could see depending on who wins Secret Life.

Disclaimer: I know this is just a theory and they don't actually base the new games off of the winners of the previous season, but that's the fun of theorizing.

Etho - Underselling himself, no longer the best at PVP, but with a long legacy of obliterating all competition in death games. Loyal to a fault to his team, with no expectations from them in return. A bit similar to how Scott plays in terms of his alliances, but more likely to be hostile towards others outside of his group. We could see another season similar to Double Life, with game-mechanic incentive to keep your teammates safe at all cost.

Cleo - Similar to Etho, but with a lot more arson. She's also loyal to her team, but if anyone crosses her they will be her biggest target, regardless of a previous alliance. You cannot betray Cleo without life altering consequences. You get one chance and then it's over. I would expect something that will be ruthless and unforgiving if you make the wrong move. Something that feels like stepping on eggshells.

Sidenote: Cleo is the only member of the Divorce Quartet without a win so far, and it would really tickle me if this was her season.

Joel - He's a leader, but also distant from his pack. Only one in his alliance to live outside their walls. First one on yellow. Started a cult. He's with them but he's also with himself. His game is vengeance, for Lizzie, for Jimmy, for Mumbo. His season will be brutal. It will start out brutal and it will end brutally. Players will be picking themselves up from the floor the minute they spawn in. Imagine a season where everyone starts in the Nether. That's Joel's revenge.

Bigb - You thought Cleo was gaslight? This man can pack some fire in his words. And what a season for it! His alliance is pretty much doomed, trying to pull themselves out of the wreckage, but he's got plans that go beyond Skizz and Tango. Right from the get-go with his first task he's marked as the odd one out. He gives out lies like they're candy, and not just for his own preservation, but for FUN. His winner's season will be built on chaos, not knowing where you stand among everyone else, and rewarded for tricking and betraying others. This will be the return of the Boogeyman.

Gem - Big risks, big rewards, bigger fury. The newest member of the series and defying all odds to earn her place in victory, in her season players will face challenges they've never seen before, but will be stronger beyond measure if they come out alive on the other end. Regardless of which life you're on, you'll have just as much chance of winning right up to the end, but the victor must be prepared to risk it all for their spot of glory. This will not be a season to shrink back from and make logical plans before acting. One must have quick feet.

Impulse - Almost the opposite of Gem, Impulse has taken his time, patience is his virtue. He's been so close to winning, but he'll know when the time is right to strike. He'll do whatever it takes, but it will be intentional and planned. I anticipate his season will be one with rough terrain, similar to the big rift in the middle of the Double Life map dividing everyone across a chasm. Reaching other players will be treacherous by foot, but ripe for planning elaborate traps and schemes to secure the win. Most certainly players will need to work hard for it.

Scar - Lone wolves roam free! He's been forced to work for himself alone this season, and so far he's reaped plenty rewards! The next season will give players a motive to work alone, and they will have to build themselves up using their own ingenuity and wits. Making yourself look like an underdog will be vital, stealing will be even more necessary, and the world will be ripe for monopolies. It's a real war out there, and you can't trust anyone.

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asumofwords · 1 year

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: HELLO, wow. Thank you for all the love as per usual! It makes me giggle and kick my little feet reading your messages ! I know I probably sound like a broken record at this point but this is a DARK FIC, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE WARNINGS. Please do not expect fluff and romance...

Without further adieu, enjoy <3

51: The Return to Kings Landing

You had walked quickly up to Dragonmont, finding Vermithor before mounting him, brushing his bronze scales as you looked about the island, to commit it to your memory. Footsteps of another had interrupted your gazing, as Aemond rounded a cliff and came to stop, looking at you atop the Bronze Fury.

You could have sworn you saw your husband smirked, but paid no mind to it, commanding the large bronze dragon into the sky to fly back to what you used to call home. Not too long after, the sound of familiar grumble came from behind and your heart had skipped a beat, looking back to see Vhagar and your uncle seated atop.

This time she was not chasing you.

This time she flew with you.

The flight to Kings Landing was not too long of a journey, and you had allowed yourself to silently cry atop the dragon as Dragonstone became smaller, and smaller behind you. It was something you could do alone on your dragon, despite the burning presence of Aemond, who now flew ahead of you.

As King’s Landing came closer, the sun had begun to set, casting a rusty glow across the vast stone structures. Vermithor landed down near the entrance to the Dragon Pit, where Syndor had once waited for you. Letting you slide from his back, your fingers stroked the ropes Jacaerys had put on him before he took off to the skies again, leaving you at the mouth of the cave.

You let your feet carry you through the pit, walking into the Keep alone. Not waiting for Aemond, and wherever he was, to escort you inside.

If this was to be your home, then you would act like it.

Although, it was odd to be back in truth.

To be back in a place where you had not long ago escaped from. To be back where so much had happened. To willingly walk yourself right back into the vipers nest. To where so many horrors had been witnessed and committed in the name of the crown.

In the name of the Targaryen legacy.

And whilst you let yourself walk without purpose, you found your feet had led you somewhere you had always sought solace in times of need.

The Godswood stood tall, and exactly where it had before. Its dark ruby leaves moved gently in the breeze and night began to fall over the realm. Its bark was still rough to the touch as you let your fingers graze over it.

It was the one thing in the Keep that had remained the same.

The one thing that had stayed true.

As you rested your cut palm against the bark, you watched as a small part of coagulated blood pulled away from the skin, causing new blood to flow. The dark, red liquid dripped gently onto the bark of the tree, starkly standing out against the brown of the bark.

You looked at the face of the tree, staring at it as you dug your palm sharply into its surface, feeling the sharp edges of wood dig into the open cut of your hand.

It was grounding, that pain.

Made you focus on one thing, instead of the racing thoughts inside of your head.

Servants walked through the halls and corridors, and passed through the courtyard where you stood. None stopping to greet you, nor stopping to report you. It seemed that they were all aware of the reasoning to your presence, and to your return.

You closed your eyes, praying to the old Gods to hear you. To save you. To take mercy upon you. To forgive you of your sins. Of your wrongdoings.

To protect you from what was to come.

And as you prayed, you felt someones gaze upon you, skin prickling with unease. You ignored it and kept on, lips softly moving as you begged for mercy and forgiveness.

“The God’s won’t hear your prayers.” Came the soft voice of your husband.

You balled your hand by your side into a fist as you were pulled from your prayers, attempting to desperately start again.

Please Gods, let me survive thi-

“Come. I will show you to our chambers.”

Our chambers.

Our.

You let your hand slide from the bark of the tree, taking one last glance at the red leaves above you before you turned to face Aemond. He stood not too far way, in his riding leathers, hands held behind his back and posture stiff. His lips were pulled into a soft smile and it made you nervous.

Why was he smiling at you like that?

What was wrong with him?

You lifted an unsure foot over the roots, and began to walk down the grass towards him, watching as your husbands smile grew wider. The blood on his lips had mostly gone, from flaking away or perhaps the gentle lapping of his own tongue.

Though the blood on his forehead was untouched. It had dried a darker shade, almost a deep brown like the bark of the tree.

His posture was so similar to how he had been at Storm’s End. Leg lazily jutted out with his arms behind his back. That smile you realised, was most likely a smug one.

The cat who got the cream.

The man who finally got the wife he wanted.

“I wish to return to my old chambers.” You spoke, and you watched as Aemond’s head tilted to the side, as he lazily looked you up and down.

“No.” Was all he said before he turned, not waiting for you to follow him.

You stood unmoving as you watched him leave, feet carrying him swiftly across the grass to the cobblestones. You thought of not following him, and returning to your own chambers. But you did not know if it would be locked or guarded, nor did you know of how he would react.

Now was not the time to be a steadfast fool.

And so you let your feet carry you towards him, following the man like a dutiful wife, albeit ten to fifteen paces behind him. Watching his legs work, and his hands that were clutched tightly behind his back. Hands that were now permitted to touch you. Hands that would undoubtedly bring you pain and suffering.

One hand gripped the others wrist, the cut hand on display as dried blood had begun to settle on his palm and finger tips. You watched it flex and tighten, fingers digging into the cut at random as he continued onwards to his wing of the Red Keep.

You wondered if it would be his chambers, or new ones. If you were to return to the chambers you had been in, not so long ago, makeshift dagger in hand as you plunged it into the soft flesh of his shoulder. You wondered if he would disrobe himself before he took you. If you would get to see with your own eyes the damage you had done to him.

Not unlike how he would see the scars he had given to you upon your body. Almost too many to count during such a short period of time. He had truly put his mark on you in every way possible.

Your body.

Your heart.

Your mind.

Every piece of you now belonged to him.

The castle began to darken from the setting sun, and the torches along the corridor served to light the path ahead. Aemond did not pause, nor did he slow down as he approached his chambers.

The chambers you had been in before.

So there was no new chambers for you. Just the haunting memory of the old one. You wondered if it kept him awake at night? Or if he stayed there to serve as a reminder of what you had done to him.

As he approached, a knight pulled open the doors for him, nodding his head to you both. You watched as his silver hair disappeared into the chambers and you slowed your step. You could not make a run for it. You know you couldn’t, but your body wanted to.

Your mind wished for you to run, to escape the inevitable of what was to come.

You knew what was expected of you the moment you entered those chambers. Now that you were man and wife, it needed to be consummated. But this did not mean that despite knowing, that you would ever be ready for it.

You had always thought it would be different.

Perhaps loving and gentle, shared with someone you loved. Perhaps if Aemond hadn’t grown into the man he was now, you would have willingly given it to him. The thought made your heart rise into your throat as you palms began to feel cold and clammy.

Step after step, you slowly moved forward to seal your doom.

When you reached the knight at the door, he waited for you to enter, not looking at you, instead looking over your head as though you weren’t even there. Clearing your throat, you straightened your back and held your head high, before swiftly walking into the dark green chambers.

It was as you had remembered, though this time, brighter. The fire place raged with flames, and candles were lit upon every surface to light the room. Your eyes flitted to the side of the bed, and the passage in which you had snuck through to get him.

It was still there, and he had not blocked, nor barricaded it.

“You wouldn’t be able to leave that way, if that’s what you are thinking of.” His voice called across the room.

Aemond stood to the side, filling two cups full of spiced wine, not even looking at you. He must have sensed or known that your eyes would flit straight there. As his large hands grasped the wine, he made his way towards you, holding a cup out.

It was almost like an offering of peace.

A treaty.

You timidly grasped the wine from him, and he watched you with a hum, before he pulled his goblet up to his lips and sipped deeply, turning to go sit in an armchair by the fire. You stood where you were, in the middle of the room, near a large round table that was surrounded by six chairs. Books sat atop the table, and one in particular caught your eye.

Atop the table, in a pile, was your book.

Faded red cover, golden lettering and all.

How?

“Sit.” Your uncle beckonned, eye not having left the fireplace.

Slowly you walked towards him, before sitting in the chaise opposite, letting your eyes roam over his form.

Aemond sat lazily, and comfortably in his large green armchair. Hand holding the goblet as he sipped, whilst the other rested upon the arm of the chair. It reminded you of the first night he had snuck into your chambers.

“Drink.” He commanded, and you obeyed.

You would not argue with that.

You would surely need wine for what was to come.

Would it be painful? Would he enjoy hurting you? Would you bleed as you had been told you would?

You pulled the goblet up to your lips and emptied it, resting the cup in your lap as your fingers trailer over the rim, waiting for his next command to strip and lay on the bed for him.

To lay spread for him.

To be ready for his brutality.

But he didn’t.

And instead, your husband continued to sip the wine, not talking, nor moving, until his cup was empty too. Once his goblet was dry, and he had sat for many moments more, he turned his face to look at you.

The light from the fire cast a sharp shadow across his face, causing his already pointed features to look more defined. He was hauntingly beautiful you mused.

A shame.

And a waste.

“The King wishes for us to dine with him this evening. To celebrate our union.” Aemond told you, eye roaming to where your hands had stilled at the lip of the cup.

Aegon.

You were to dine with Aegon this evening.

Memories of your last meeting in the dungeon flashed through your mind. His hands on your throat, the feeling of his cock brushing roughly against your sex. Nausea began to roll through your body, and your heart ran a marathon within your chest.

“He will not touch you.”

Aemond’s voice pulled you from the dark memories of your mind. You blinked at him uncertain.

Aegon may not touch you, but Aemond surely would.

And you did not know who would be worse.

For all of Aegon’s devious desires, they were laid bare to the world. He did not hide himself nor his actions. Where as Aemond held his close to him. He did not let anyone know of the man he truly was, nor what he truly desired.

What was worse?

The knowing of such cruelty, or the unknown of what cruelty lies before you.

Aemond watched as you spiralled with your thoughts before he abruptly stood. He stalked towards you, looking down as you clutched harder at the cup in your lap. A large hand came towards you and you could not help but flinch at the movement.

If he noticed you jump, it did not stop him, as he plucked the goblet from your hand, moving to the side of the room, to place both of your empty cups back where the decanter was.

“I will have the maids come and dress you for the evening.”

Aemond swiftly walked across the room, opening the door before exiting, leaving you in the vast emptiness of the space of the chambers that you would now call yours.

Chambers that you would now live and breathe in for Gods knew how long. Chambers that you would eat, and sleep and bathe in. Chambers in which you would share a bed with your husband, and have him put his seed in you.

Chambers where you may begin to swell with a child.

It was all so much, that you found you could not even cry at the thought. You do not know how long you spent sitting where you sat, eyes still on the fire, that when the maids came to pull the heavy riding leathers from your body, and replace them with robes for dinner, you did not resist.

Nor did you resist when the familiar gaze of your now husband watched on as they stripped you. Nor did you resist when he crowded you so suddenly, hand on the small of your back, as he moved to lead you out of your chambers towards the dining room you had all dined in before.

It was not until you were halfway there did you come back to yourself.

It was not until your feet had begun to feel heavy, and the scarring on your side began to feel tight, did you realise you stood in the corridor, with Aemond standing beside you, eye half lidded as he looked at you.

It was not until then you realised you had stopped walking, and noticed your surroundings.

“Zaldristos.” Aemond uttered, as he looked down at you.

That was what broke the spell.

You swallowed thickly and looked down at yourself.

You wore a deep red dress, almost the colour of your combined blood. It was tight, but not too tight, the sleeves were soft, and upon each wrist were embroidered dragons.

One the left side, a black dragon, embroidered scales shimmering in the light of the torches.

One the right, a green dragon.

A dress you had not seen before.

As you looked at the gown, Aemond hummed, moving forward again, neither touching you nor waiting for you to follow. You were left to trail behind him towards the familiar wooden doors, with their soft rounded tops.

He waited at the entrance for you, as the two knights held each side, only when you stood beside him did the doors open, and the room was revealed to you.

It had changed.

There were no familiar curtains or tapestry on the walls. The table had been replaced and the chairs reupholstered. The room had no sigils of the House Targaryen, and instead were replaced with gaudy green tapestry, and symbols of the Seven Faith.

What was left of the small reminder of home was now gone.

Alicent had been busy.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen, and his Lady Wife, the Princess Y/n Velaryon.” Came the low timber of Ser Criston Cole.

Lady Wife.

His.

It felt so strange.

Your eyes settled to the table.

Aegon sat where your Grandsire once had.

It was wrong.

Unnatural.

To see the seat where Viserys had sat, and laughed, and smiled with vigour, to now be replaced with someone who sneered, and drank, and whored, was blasphemous.

The conquerors crown sat heavily atop his wavy hair, and deep green robes were upon his person. On his right sat his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, and his left, Ser Otto Hightower.

Further along the table sat Lord Larys Strong.

And as you looked at him, you could scarcely see any resemblance to his brother, Ser Harwin Strong. You wondered what he thought of Aemond slaying his entire House?

But he was most likely just as vicious, having become the Master of Whispers to the Queen, and now your uncle, the King. His face held an odd look to it. He had sad brown eyes, and was built thinly.

A lean man with no strength of his body, only his mind.

A dangerous man indeed.

You had heard and only witnessed once yourself that the man had a clubbed foot. Perhaps his family gave him grievances like yours had to Aemond.

Perhaps he was relived to be rid of them.

Lord Jasper Wilde, and a familiar blond head of Lord Tyland Lannister sat at the table, watching you silently as you walked up the few small stairs to the table.

You were in the presence of the Kings Small Council.

They had all been invited to witness the proof of your union, and proof of your despair.

“There they are!” Came the sickening boom of Aegon’s voice as he roughly pushed himself up to stand, palms opening out widely as he smiled smugly at you.

“The newly weds! Congratulations on your union brother,” Aegon kept his eyes on you as he spoke, “And welcome back to the Keep, Princess. You left without so much as a goodbye last time you were here.”

He was goading you.

As you reached the level ground, Aemond stepped forth and pulled a chair back for you, looking at you expectantly to sit in it. You hesitated, before coming forth and sitting in the chair as he pulled out his own and seated himself.

Alicent’s watchful gaze did not leave yours.

Her face was unreadable, but the same sour, downturned lips you had gotten used to as a child was ever present. You felt the gaze of everyone at the table upon you. You held your fingers in your lap, digging your nails into the cut of your palm, which was now bandaged from the maids.

You had not even felt them do it.

“Apologies that I could not make it to witness such a beautiful union. But now we can celebrate together.” The Usurper King continued, clapping his hands loudly together.

You did not take your eyes from Alicent, keeping your gaze locked on her as he spoke.

This is what you have done.

You started this.

Your only solace was knowing that you had taken one of her sons, the way she had taken Lucerys from you and your mother.

You heard the giggle of Aegon as his hands clapped together again in excitement.

“I don’t think I’ve heard my niece be so quiet before. Have you broken her already, Aemond?”

You grit your teeth, and pushed your finger deeper into your palm, feeling the bandages wet, and still, you kept your eye on the woman who started it all.

Aemond simply hummed, before acknowledging his mother who sat opposite him.

“Don't tell me she has snatched your voice too, brother? One minute in her cunt and already you’ve gone soft.” Aegon snickered.

“Aegon.” Came the warning voice of Otto Hightower.

The energy at the table was so tense, that even the guards and knights stationed about the room shifted uncomfortably on their feet.

“It is good to have you back in King's Landing,” Otto began, “I am sure that you and Aemond shall settle in together in no time.” He gave you a warm smile, and it made you more uncomfortable than Aegon’s comments.

Aegon let out a high pitched laugh though his nose, before clicking his fingers out beside his head. The noise and movement made you stiffen.

Alicent witnessed the reaction.

And soon the table was being filled with foods and more wine, your own goblet being filled, which you snatched from the table and emptied rapidly. Aegon watching, smile widening.

As the Usurper King sat back in his large chair and drank from his cup, he kept his eyes on you as he told you of plans for the treaty and how it would work. Insisting that the North would surely love to have your mother as their Queen, which the both of you knew; they wouldn’t.

In fact, it seemed that everyone at the table knew.

Just as you had expected.

When your plate was filled with foods, you found that you had no appetite for it, instead turning to your cup, which you drank from heavily, having it refilled by the cup bearers more than thrice.

And before long, conversation flittered around the table stiffly about the union, and expectation for children, much to Aegon’s delight, and your disgust. And so you let yourself retreat back into your mind, letting their words become a distant hum as you stared at Alicent, drinking from your cup.

The Dowager Queen did not sit still as you stared at her. Her eyes would meet yours and flit away to look at the three Lords at the table and her sons, before she would gaze back at you, finding that you had not moved her from your sights.

“Tell me brother, have you bed her yet?” Aegon’s voice pulled you from your numb haze.

No reply came.

“Do you remember how it is done? I’d be happy to show you.” He snickered, and the Lannister let out an uneasy laugh.

Alicent growled Aegon’s name again and Otto began to speak before Aegon interrupted him.

“We should hold a bedding ceremony, to ensure that the deed is done properly. I can talk you through it.”

You let your gaze leave Alicent for the first time, and turned your head to look at your husband beside you, who sat straight in his chair, hands bunched in balls by his side.

His jaw was tight and tensed, and his brow was furrowed.

“Come now brother, surely you have not forgotten what I showed you on your thirteenth name day.” Aegon laughed, pulling his goblet up to his lips.

You watched as Aemond’s mouth pulled into a sneer.

“The King is merely joking with you, My Prince. We are all in good spirits for this union.” Otto tried, and failed to cover for the King.

“You heard the old bat, we are all in good spirits! You are finally wed to the one woman who had given you any attention at all. Sure, she is a bastard-“

“Watch your tongue.” You sneered at the King, resolve disappearing.

“So she speaks!” Aegon declared proudly to the table, looking at the Lords as they all smiled unsurely, “Finally. There is my niece who I know and love. Though I fear if you are able to speak, perhaps my brother did not fuc-“

Aemond shot up from his seat at the table, fists tight on the wood near his plate as he stared down at his hands. You looked up at your husband who breathed deeply, knuckles white as he fisted them.

“Aem, brother.” Aegon mock cooed, “You know I am only teasing. Come,” He looked across the table, picking up his goblet, “Lets raise our cups to this fine union!”

The Lord’s and the Dowager Queen picked up their cups, holding them towards you both.

You kept your gaze on Aemond, whose head slowly turned to you to meet your eyes, his violet orb half lidded and scowl upon his lips. He looked full of rage, just barely controlled beneath the surface of his bristling posture.

Your hand came up on its own, to reach out to touch him, to calm him, but as soon as your hand moved, you found that Aemond looked down at in in disgust before he seated himself, no longer looking at you, instead stiffly grabbing his goblet before him.

You mirrored his action, trying to push down your budding fear and anxiety, now that Aegon and riled him up.

He had done it on purpose.

“To my brother, may she warm your heart and your cock, and may you make me a grand-uncle soon enough.” He smirked, before turning his gaze on you, “And to my wonderful niece, may you warm his bed, and birth his heirs, and feel the warmth of his love.”

“Hear, Hear!” Came the confident voice of Tyland Lannister, followed by everyone else, seemingly ignoring his crude remarks.

Or perhaps, they had gotten used to it by now.

He was their King, whether they liked it or not.

Neither you nor Aemond spoke, but drank deeply from your cups, before placing them down.

A beat passed before Aemond spoke.

“Excuse us,” His voice cut across the table, stilling the King in his excitement, “I wish to spend time with my wife.”

Your husband stood from his seat, moving to stand beside yours waiting. He did not hold out his hand, nor offer to assist you in any way, simply stood and expected you to follow as he bid the table a good night, bowing stiffly to his brother, anger rolling from him in waves.

Standing you stared once more at Alicent, before turning on your heel to follow Aemond out of the dining hall, and back to your shared chambers. You did not spare a glance to Aegon, nor the other Lord’s, nor did you spare a glance at your husbands face.

You let Aemond lead you to the chambers, his strides quick and purposeful, until finally you reached the room, and you were inside, and the door behind you was shut softly with a thud by the knights.

And then you were alone, with your husband Aemond, on the night of your wedding.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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heartmii · 3 months

Text

TOA 01

✮⋆apollo x male!reader

!warnings!: angst, mentions of blood, anything else anyone sees and is uncomfortable with please let me know!

✮⋆˙ woo chapter two!! I'm excited to release this but also super nervous because I added a twist that I'm not sure everyone will love but I mean, it's a story about mythical beings so I decided to just have fun with it!

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“What did you do?” Anger seethed through the ex-god, his shaky breath competed with the rapid thump of his heart against his chest. Apollo’s eyes snapped to the now smug smiling emperor, the fury in his chest growing.

“Oh? Are you not happy with what you see?” Caligula asked, voice laced with fake concern. He clicked his tongue, his eyes surveying his servants in dissatisfaction. “The gods,” he sighed, shaking his head. “So hard to please. You surprise them with the dead love of their life, and still, it’s not enough for them to say thank you. Such egos, it’s a shame, really.”

Apollo swallowed, an attempt at soothing the dryness that was now overtaking his throat. “That’s not possible. It’s an illusion. It has to be…” he faltered, his body deflating as he dropped onto the ground.

Apollo was a god turned mortal. He was from the mythical world and saw many things, things that one alone could not comprehend, things that don’t make sense, that shouldn’t be able to happen because it went beyond the natural order of the mortal and mythical world. Yet, somehow, you being brought back from the dead was not an acceptance that came easily to him.

It’d been years, years, since your death, but you lived. Alive in Apollo’s mind. There was not a day, not a century, not even a millennium, that Apollo did not think of you and the bittersweet memories you two shared. Your grace and your beauty, along with the essence of your soul, were immortalized for eternity in his heart, where he could forever nourish your memory and honor your legacy.

Please… Who was he kidding? Honoring your legacy? Him? Apollo had done nothing but trash on everything you stood behind! If anything, he went against what you fought so desperately for. There was blood on his hands. The blood of many innocent lives he so easily discarded with no regard for their being. The option of others having a choice was previously nonexistent in the ex-god’s mind. He’d force many people to do his bidding and castigate them if they rejected.

Including those he loved after your time.

His heart clenched as Daphne’s horrified face filled his mind. Her expression contrasting his hopeful one as he chased her through the forest surrounding mount Olympus. It was Eros who, so full of spite, caused her to hate the mere thought of Apollo’s face. So much so that she begged her father, Peneus, desperate for help. He’d heard her prayers and granted her salvation.

But even after the last branch formed from Daphne’s outstretched arm and she had fully become a prospering laurel tree, Apollo did not allow her to rest peacefully. He had plucked the leaves from her branches and formed what was now known to be one of his most notable symbols. The laurel reef.

Daphne didn’t love Apollo. No, she despised him so much that she believed death was better than remaining on earth with him, but even that he had stolen from her.

Just like you, Daphne was immortalized in the memories and stories of people but met the tragic fate of being forever tied to the very god that she had died escaping, tainting her name with his own and taking away her right to a peaceful death. Apollo may not have been the one that forced her to take her last breath, but it was he who pushed her to such a state of helplessness that she felt there was no other option.

Perhaps that was why the thought of you being alive was so agonizing to him, because then you would learn about the monster he had become and how all of those promises he made to you under the moonlight had become nothing but empty words he spewed under the drunken spell of love.

How could he look you in your eyes now? Eyes that always glimmered with determination as you spouted your ideals and all the great you planned to do in the world…how could he look at those same eyes and say that he failed to do what you had dreamed, what you both dreamed. Even if that dream died for Apollo a long time ago.

Caligula considered Apollo for a moment before grabbing your arm and moving you back into his line of sight. He turned back to the ex god, his smile now wicked and sadistic, vastly enjoying the conflicting grief in his eyes.

“You haven’t taken a proper look at him. As he was once your lover, there’s no doubt in my mind you’ve memorized his body. You should have no trouble deducing if he’s a fake or not.”

How odd was it that Apollo, who had been literally fighting for his life these past few months and wanted nothing more but to evade conflict, wished he was dodging swinging swords, and running from giant monsters that chased him and his friends instead of being here, simply standing and being forced to stare at the person most precious to him.

Yet, he had succumbed to the small part of him that was a tad curious if it truly was you.

His breath staggered, and he stood on wobbly legs, anxiously meeting your stare, only to regret it immediately.

There they were, those eyes. Hypnotic as they had willed Apollo into your grasp, and enchanted him with an infatuation that ran deep in his blood. The same hunger swirled within them in a way that could only be described as honest passion. The intensity made Apollo’s heart skip a beat, and he trembled under your gaze.

It was said that one’s eyes were the window into their soul, a quote which honestly was quite dated and overused, but as you searched deep within Apollo, he felt his own soul stir in response. His body had recognized its missing piece and, like a magnet, it fought to connect again.

Your souls were bound to each other. The fates decreed that the moment you two met. There was no way Apollo wouldn’t have known if you were a fake.

In case he was completely wrong and in over his head, he took action to make sure he was absolute in his observation. It hurt to tear his sight away from your face, but he allowed himself to survey the rest of you, as Caligula suggested.

His eyes roamed your body with a frown.

How strange. You appeared to be… out of this world.

Your aura, although it had always been charming, was different in a way Apollo could not put his finger on. Something about you filled him with an irresistible sensation he had never felt with you before.

Could it be Lester’s human hormones could not handle the gorgeous sight of his past lover and therefore appeared to be more appetizing than usual?

No, that couldn’t be it. Yes, mortals could definitely be extremely tempting creatures, but they didn’t hold the same weight and power as they did with gods. Many felt enchanted just by the mere sight of one. It was not a simple task to break away from their inviting aura and fight the urge to give in to their desires.

Your aura was similar; An inviting force emitting from you. But how? You weren’t a god… were you?

Apollo gagged internally at the thought, his insides twisting at the possibility of you being a deity.

Being mortal was the very essence of your existence. It was nauseating how you nurtured the role like it was your life’s purpose, facing no fear towards things such as death or illness, claiming that these tragedies were simply just a part of being human and running from it would do nothing but force you to live in a world of clouds where you’d constantly be lost amongst the fog.

Becoming a deity would’ve made your death a vain sacrifice for what you believed and enduring an eternity of grief would’ve been for nothing. Days of forcing the sun to shine upon the earth when Apollo himself was lost in the overwhelming darkness of his heart as his guiding light, his sun, was gone. Constantly, he searched for another you because the void left in him hurt too much, but of course, none had come as close to his heart as you did because in the end, all he wanted was you and he caged his heart behind iron bars out of fear of experiencing grief on that level ever again.

There was only one who had been close to unlocking his heart again after you. His dear Hyacinthus. Oh, how the boy had reminded Apollo of you in so, so, many ways. The both of you were graceful, heads held high as you smiled at all that you loved. Adored by many as anyone who came to meet you was always enthralled by your allure and hearts of gold. But alas, love was never in Apollo’s favor, and his precious Hyacinthus met a tragic fate when he was murdered by the conniving and envious wind god, Zephyrus.

It was almost comical how similar your deaths were. A sadistic joke played on Apollo. All hope he ever had for another love as great as you and Hyacinthus went out the window and following that was a now numb and manipulative god who allowed himself to know his lovers but never allowed them to know him.

All of that guilt he felt for abusing his authority and refusing to see his lover’s as equals, all the shame for not living up to par with what you wanted, would’ve been for nothing. Along with the stab of knowing that you didn’t choose HIM over your ideals when he would’ve burned the world for you, was all too much. No, you couldn’t be a deity because then Apollo would never forgive you.

He could not bear these thoughts and, for once, Apollo was glad when Caligula spoke to him as he had distracted him from the fogginess building up in his eyes.

Caligula waved his hand in the ex-god’s face, surveying him. “I’ll take the dumb look on your already idiotic face as confirmation that you’ve recognized that this is the real deal.” He turned to you, “I know how, uh… different…Apollo must look to you. Surely, it must be traumatic to come back from the dead and your once powerful and radiant lover is now pathetic, weak, and ugly. Do you believe this to be the god you once loved?”

Apollo huffed, once because he could not deny that Lester’s face was, in fact, idiotic and again because of Caligula’s question. Your eyes were good, but they weren’t that good. Unfortunately, you hadn’t been blessed with seeing beyond the mist, a trait that could’ve saved your life.

“You ask him a question he cannot answer. He would not recognize me in such a body—“

“Yes.” You cut him off and stepped closer. Apollo sucked in his bottom lip as your hands had come up to run your fingers through his hair. Oh, how he missed your touch. The way you handled him like he was a piece of glass. Then you spoke again, your voice being in that delicious and melodic tone that made heat travel up Apollo’s neck to the tips of his ears. Damn this body.

“Although in a different body, your scent remains the same… how bizarre. Might it be your soul I smell?” You muttered, your fingers dragging down Apollo’s cheek.

Apollo shuttered at your touch, the coolness of your finger soothing his warm face. But as much as he wanted to allow you to continue your exploration of his body, he could not shake off what you had said. “My scent—- What does that mean? — How is your nose even that good?—“

“Bravo! It appears love truly conquers all!” Caligula clapped, pulling you away from Apollo and making the ex-god frown. Something wasn’t right about you, besides being a walking corpse. Death was not his domain, but as far as Apollo was aware, coming back from the dead did not include the nose of a hellhound.

“What did you do to him?” He asked Caligula, pinning his arms to his side as they had once again trembled.

Caligula stared at Apollo questioningly. “What did I do?” He laughed. “You are funny, dear. This fiasco was not my idea. All I want from you is to squeeze out the final essence of godhood that’s left in that lanky vessel. If you were smart, you would’ve directed your attention to the only witch in the room.”

Apollo’s eyes swiftly met Medea’s sadistic ones. She had silently been watching the previous conversation from the side. Gods, he was so caught up in the sight of you he had forgotten all about the Wicked Witch of the East.

“How rude of you to put me on the spot. I haven’t prepared my speech.” Medea purrs and approaches, circling around you before landing her hands on your shoulders. “On the contrary, love does not, in fact, conquer all.” She said, referring to Caligula’s earlier comment.

“Instead, it leads people to their doom. It makes them think with their hearts and not their heads. The most powerful beings,” Apollo cursed himself for flinching after she had eyed him with a knowing look. “Have been brought down onto their knees in the name of love. As you all know, I, myself, have been a victim of this. After Jason betrayed me.”

“I don’t understand.” Apollo interjected. “I had nothing to do with Jason’s betrayal against you.”

“Oh, I am aware. But that is not why I brought him up.”

“You see, my heart had never bled as much as it did when I was in love. I yearned to serve Jason. To become half of his soul as his life, his goals, had become my own. I was high on that feeling. A feeling you must know well, yes?” The smile on her face was one Apollo did indeed recognize.

A smile that did not reach one’s eyes, that was all for show to hide your true misery. He hated sympathizing with the witch, but he knew exactly what she meant.

It seemed his face wasn’t so good at hiding his feelings either, as Madea had nodded to herself in what seemed to be satisfaction. “I needed something against you, Apollo. But what was something that would hold such great power over an ex-Olympian God? It couldn't be physical, no, that would be too merciful. I needed something, or someone, that could cause such turmoil within you that the thought of even fighting against it would cause you great sorrow.”

“Well, isn’t that thoughtful? Putting in all that effort into destroying little ol’me.”

She sneered, her eyes narrowing. “I studied you. Studied how I could control you, and imagine my surprise when I found out about an unclaimed lover of yours.” Her hands go to you, caressing your arms and making Apollo livid. “It seems not everything made it into the history books.”

Grime stained Apollo’s face, becoming one with the hot tears sliding down his cheeks. His hands ached as he pulled apart dirt from the ground with none other than his fingers. He could’ve called someone and ordered them to do the laboring task on their own. But he refused. He had to do this alone. He had to bury you himself.

No one should be able to see you, to touch you, to be around you. Not anymore. You were too sacred, too precious for this cursed world. But Apollo was selfish. He took you away from the earth, took you away from the rest of your family, just to have you rest under his domain.

The god’s choked cries turned into loud sobs as his fingers dug deeper into the sacred dirt of Delos, shimmering gold tainting the soil. He welcomed the blood seeping from his hand; the pain was deserved. It was nothing compared to what you must’ve felt when his father had struck you down, but he needed to feel something. Anything that would compensate for the agony you went through before drawing your final breath.

Delos, where he and Artemis were born. The land that had once been his aunt, Asteria, who had transformed herself into a floating island to get away from the advances of Zeus. Where she provided sanctuary for his mother as she ran from the wrath of Hera on earth. This is where Apollo would bury you, a place that would now provide you sanctuary as it did for his family. A place where you could rest unbothered by the world.

The hole was deep enough now, and Apollo had pulled himself out of it. A coffin waited for him and he involuntarily walked towards it, dragging his hand against it. The coffin had been turned from a simple block of stone to a grand piece of imagery. All along its sides had Apollo carved into it, creating depictions of milestones in your relationship. The first time you met, along with the time he revealed to you he was a god followed by the countless times he’d let you play on his lyre and of course, the first ‘I love you.’ Amongst many more.

He was gentle with the coffin when he picked it up, moving slowly when he brought it over to the open ground. Apollo bit his lip, holding back his weeping so that he could focus on lowering you into the hole.

It was done. You were really gone, and Apollo would never be yours again.

“What are you doing here?” Apollo asked, his voice hoarse and his eyes bleak. He was sitting on the ground, painting a gravestone.

Grass crunched behind him as someone approached. “You’re burying him here?”

Apollo’s wrist kept moving, his brush creating faces on the gravestone. Still, he answered, “Cut the crap, Artemis.”

Artemis crossed her arms, frowning at her brother’s words. “I was born here too, Apollo. I have just as much right to be here as you do.”

“You knew, didn’t you?” Apollo snapped, the brush falling from his fingers.

“Knew what?” Artemis asked.

“Don’t lie to me Artemis.” Apollo stood, finally facing his twin. “You knew father would kill him!”

Artemis flinched as she caught wind of Apollo’s face, the puffiness under his eyes red and throbbing. Yet she recovered quickly, shaking Apollo’s arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

He placed his hands back onto her, gripping her in more of a desperate plea than before. “Please, sister, tell me the truth. Did you know that father would kill him?”

. “I…” she started, her chest growing heavy as she felt Apollo’s fingers shake against her. Swallowing carefully, she moved her eyes to your grave. “Yes, I knew… we all did.”

Apollo’s grip on her tightened, his eyes becoming glassy at the revelation. “Why didn’t you tell me? Were you sworn to secrecy? Is that why you didn’t tell me? Father is frightening. I understand if he forced you to swear on the River Styx—”

“He didn’t force me to do anything.”

“What…?”

“Oath did not bind me to not say anything to you. I simply chose not to.” Artemis stated, throwing Apollo off of her once again. Her head held high as she watched for his reaction.

Apollo stared at her, his eyes widening in disbelief. He shook his head. “You knew how much I loved him, you knew father was going to kill him and you didn’t tell me! I don’t understand, Artemis. You are my sister, my twin, my blood. How… how could you?”

“That is exactly why! Apollo, you are my other half. We are two sides of the same coin. We might be related to the others, but their bond is not like ours. That boy was leading you to your demise. I have nothing against him, but you are who I care about most. I didn’t want to see him dead, but I didn’t want to see my brother subjected to an eternal punishment, either.” Artemis finished, her own resolve fading as she too shook at the thought of Apollo being hurt.

Apollo’s jaw clenched. “Well, sister,” he started, malice seeping into his voice, “It seems you’ve failed anyway because a life without him is the worst punishment I could ever endure.”

“Demigods!” Medea yelled out, bringing awareness to Meg and Jason’s presence in the room. They couldn’t speak anyway, not while they were stuck in the wind tornadoes Medea had stuck them in. “This is important. Pay attention.”

“Delphi was a known city-state of ancient Greece. A city state where you, Apollo, were the patron god of. But the Delphi that lives in myths, the one that we know, is not the Delphi that has always been.”

Through the corner of his eye, Apollo watched as both Meg and Jason’s expressions formed into one of confusion.

“Once upon a time ago, Apollo betrayed Zeus. However, that’s not a surprise, that is a story that still lives. What didn’t make it, though, was the entire punishment your father had you experience. The gods said you were forced to build the gates of Troy alongside Poseidon. But what they failed to mention was the part where Zeus took everything from you. Your lover and your city. Isn’t that right?”

Apollo opened his mouth to speak, eager to defend his story. He knew where this was going and dread filled his stomach.

Medea spoke before he could. “Oh, but that’s not even the best part! The original Delphi had its own royal family, a family that your boy-toy had been born to.” She comes to your side, raising your hand up. “Here stands the last prince of Delphi before its initial destruction. After a few years, Apollo rebuilt Delphi and got rid of all the evidence of its history. But thanks to my digging, I could uncover all of this.”

Behind him, the Pandai were ready to lunge forward and capture Apollo as he had taken on a defensive stance against Medea. “Who told you this? The only person who knew about where I buried him was my sister.”

Medea scoffed. “Oh, please, if you want to hide the body of your dead lover, do it somewhere that’s not your famous birthplace that everyone knows about. It was the first place I checked.”

Apollo’s eyes ripped away from hers as blood rushed to his head. She was right, and he was an idiot to think that if someone wanted to find your body, they wouldn’t look on Delos. In his defense, it had been four thousand years since your death.

Medea smirked at the red dusting Apollo’s cheeks.

“Everything fell into place for me after that. You preserved his body well, I expected dust only to find that his body was enchanted to stay in good shape. It was perfect for my plan. I needed to bring him back from the dead without actually bringing him back, as I did not want to deal with Hades. He needed to be undead. I looked for spells beyond Ancient Greece and came upon the perfect solution within the dark arts—

“I’ve had enough of your talking,” Apollo sneered, glaring at the witch. “What have you turned him into?”

“Patience.” She hissed, “I sacrificed my rarest properties along with human blood to create an elixir that would wake up this sleeping beauty. It took days to restore him to full health. But finally, when he did wake, he was radiant. No longer was he a meek mortal. His senses had heightened as he was now strong and blessed with speed, his ears picked up on sounds from miles away, and a nose made for hunting. There’s more, I'm sure of it, but he is still fresh and needs time to develop. So what did I turn him into, you ask?”

Medea sent Apollo one last wicked smile before dropping information that made the ex-god wish he was dead.

“I have turned the long-lost Prince of Delphi into a vampire.”

#pjo x reader #pjo x male reader #trials of apollo x reader #apollo x male reader #apollo x reader #trials of apollo #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus

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aphroditelovesu · 9 months

Note

hi again i was wondering if you can do a yandere love letter hades to pregnant reader please.

My Sweetheart,

It is with a heart sunk in the deepest shadows that I write this letter. With each passing day, I feel my love for you grow even stronger, like the roots of the Underworld that reach deeper and deeper into the earth.

The news that you're pregnant brought mixed emotions to me. On the one hand, the idea of bringing a child to our dark realm fills me with pride, as if we are finally building a legacy to last for eternity. On the other hand, the fear of losing her, that something might threaten our family, consumes me with a ferocity that I can only compare to hellfire.

But I will take care of you and our baby. I swear by the River Styx to protect you and our child with every dark force the Underworld has to offer. No god or mortal will dare to intrude on our love and our family. Those who try will feel the my fury like never before.

I know my devotion to you is intense, sometimes even frightening. But it's because my love for you is eternal, like the darkness of the Underworld we rule. I'm willing to sacrifice everything to keep you safe and ensure our family thrives in the depths of darkness.

II love you and I love this little being growing in your womb. I can't wait to hold our child in my arms. Thank you for giving me so much happiness.

With everlasting love,

Hades.

#yandere love letter #love letter #yandere greek mythology #yandere greek gods #greek mythology #yandere hades #yandere hades x reader #yandere hades love letter #hades x reader

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the-light-finds-its-way · 4 days

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Imagine that when a Guardian is risen for the first time, the only scar they bear is if they were killed by some unnatural force. If they're shot, they are left with a bullet wound. If they're stabbed, they're left with a stab wound.

One Human, he is risen by his Ghost as a Titan. Armor is fabricated onto his body, so he doesn't see what he looks like beneath. No less, the man fights his way through as per his Ghost's instructions, and makes his way to the Tower.

It's there that Shaxx brings him to the armory, and gives him some better armor to wear.

As the new Titan takes off what he wears, his bare torso shows.

Lord Shaxx nods, pointing to the man's chest. "Those are brave scars you bear, new Light. Wear them with pride and honor."

The Titan looks down at his chest. Beneath the breastbone, one long thin scar stretches from beneath his left arm to beneath his right, as though open once to cut away something within. He doesn't know what this scar is from, only that he apparently died getting it.

No less, the Titan armors up, and then spends the day training, practicing with his newfound Titan powers. He's a brute, with immense fury and strength, as any Titan would be. When done for the day, he goes to a small food stand in the Tower to grab a bite to eat. There are open terminals, which he makes his way toward, then begins searching.

"Lower breastbone scar" is what he searches for.

The results show up in mass quantities. All of them are about transgender FTM top surgery, and general gender affirming care.

The man next searches "transgender FTM". Once more the results give copious amounts of information. He sees that transgender is defined as somebody who was born differently than they feel their true gender is. They can choose to transition however they wish, or not at all.

Looking at his chest, knowing the scar is beneath his armor, the man's heart sinks, beats slowing near to a halt. He grips the terminal as his mind swarms with thoughts, and tears fill his eyes.

He never got to live as himself. He went for top surgery to fix a body that was his and make it liveable. And he never made it for whatever reason. He died during surgery. And he never got to live his life as himself.

The man breaks down sobbing, unable to handle this realization.

Why? Why couldn't he have lived his life as himself? Why did he have to die? Why—

The man types into the terminal what Guardians are. He sees they are people who once lived as mortals, but have died and been chosen by a Ghost to be risen, and live once more as defenders of the universe. These Guardians are wiped clean of their memories entirely. They remember basic functions, like breathing, eating, sleeping, speaking, and so on. But the reason why they maintain no memories is unknown. However, Guardians themselves say it's for one reason, and one reason only.

Guardians make their own destiny.

The man looks at himself. He looks at the terminal and his search on transness. Many trans people speak online about their anguish, rage, and sorrow, directed at themselves for being born "wrong", and that this anguish follows them forever until death. They cannot be free of it so easily.

But the man remembers none of this. He doesn't remember any self-hate, any self deprecation. He is, to himself, a man. Just a man without memories of pain and sorrow. Though he now feels this anger because he could not live his life as himself before, he thinks.

He is free of pain and self loathing. He is free of his past. He does not remember his life before being risen as his male self. He has no regrets or anger toward his past, only such feelings directed at the universe. But he thinks for a moment, about Guardians and destiny, that he is free of his past to create a new legacy of his own. And it's there he realizes it all.

He died during surgery, and was risen to live free as himself. Free of pain. Free of sorrow. Free of everything bad. He is free to live. Just live. Nothing holding him back. He is free.

The man's tears stop, and he looks at himself again. Finally, he smiles, his arms reaching around him as he holds his own body gently. With love.

He may not know who he was, but he doesn't want to. Deadnames stay dead. Dead selves stay dead. And in their place, he lives. A man. Through and through, not a doubt in his mind. And he will create a new destiny for himself as such.

#destiny #guardians #titans #trans #transgender #trans ftm

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crisiscutie · 4 months

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Dissidia Safer Sephiroth Musings

Once he ascended to godhood, Sephiroth became dedicated to spreading despair and ensuring his own paradise alongside his darling.

Content Warning: Mommy Kink, Slight NSFW.

༻❁༺ After becoming one with his darling, he knew all of her feelings and thoughts, as she did his. Yet, for a peculiar reason, there was still some individuality left over.

༻❁༺ This Sephiroth is undoubtedly the most relaxed compared to his counterparts. He accomplished his goals and enjoyed a state of complete harmony with his mother-darling. Considering everything they had endured to get to that point, their paradise was a well-deserved reward.

༻❁༺ Taking after his darling in her past life, he developed a penchant for humming. He'd hum his favorite melody for the darling as they snuggled in their paradise world.

༻❁༺ His darling was a sleepyhead, as her body needed constant nourishment. This was just one of the few consequences from the merging of her and JENOVA, and then her merge with Sephiroth himself. The burden of physical ailments fell on her, so he made it his mission and purpose to ensure her welfare.

༻❁༺ His calming humming became a powerful tool for inducing her sleepiness, especially when she was resistant to rest.

༻❁༺ He would drain the life force of the worlds they conquered and convert it into crystals for her consumption.

༻❁༺ His fury has no limits when anything even slightly inconveniences her or interrupts her naps. But the most unforgivable act is to separate them. They will claw through ANYTHING to reunite and be in each other's embrace again.

༻❁༺ They are each other's strength, but also each other's greatest vulnerability.

༻❁༺ They had a habit of finishing each other's sentences, which always unsettled their enemies.

༻❁༺ Sometimes, they would engage in trivial yet playful debates in their mind just to tease each other. Like when she pouted because she didn't want to let go of his arm when they had to fight their enemies. His solution? Tell her she's more than welcome to cling to his arm while they fought. How would it work? ....He'd make do with it.

༻❁༺ Whenever birthing their monstrous spawn became difficult for her, he embraced her and his wings enveloped her. Then he would softly whisper words of love to soothe her pain.

༻❁༺ When he gained the ability to traverse between different universes, the first thing he did was to adopt the younger version of his darling, giving the lonely girl the parental love she always craved.

༻❁༺ The young girl's fearful response to the despair he inflicted upon her tormentors and the world that had brought her so much pain perplexed him, though.

༻❁༺ He was patient and calculating, slowly coaxing the girl out of her scared shell by giving her everything else she wanted. She wants friends? He uses the spawn born from his darling to play the role of her friends by utilizing their mimicry ability. Whatever she wanted, he will get it for her. He'd burn worlds just to keep her warm.

༻❁༺ Before long, she assimilated into their way of life, accepting Sephiroth and his darling as her parents.

༻❁༺ Sephiroth's unstoppable dynasty left a legacy of destruction and despair across countless worlds. And only more will fall.

These two are definitely the most lovey-dovey out of the Sephy/Darling pairings I've done so far. Sheesh, you'd be tempted to tell them to get a room, xD

Dark Horse for how Sephy feels about Darling and E.T for how Darling feels about Sephy.

#sephiroth #ff7 sephiroth #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #sephiroth x reader #final fantasy x reader #yandere sephiroth #crisis cutie #one winged masquerade AU #tw: birth #tw: mommy kink #tw: yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #final fantasy dissidia #final fantasy vii

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forcesung · 1 year

Text

“Neutralize.” Luke frowned. He circled Kyp, trying to put him in the middle of their three-way exchange, but Cilghal paced him so that Luke remained in the center. “Meaning ‘kill.’”

Kyp nodded, not repentant. “This isn’t a mission of assassination, Luke. But if the capture isn’t clean, if the choice is to run away and leave him in charge of the Alliance or finish him then and there…”

—Legacy of the Force: Fury, Aaron Allston

#Kyp Durron #Luke Skywalker #cilghal #excerpt #Aaron Allston #legacy of the force fury #Legacy of the Force

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zapreportsblog · 10 months

Text

↱ ties that bind ↰

➘ summary : shoto discovers that his father has set him up into a arranged quirk marriage

➘ shoto todoroki x reader

Shoto Todoroki sat in his room, his thoughts as tumultuous as the storm outside. Rain hammered against the windowpanes, echoing the turmoil that raged within him. He had always known his father, Endeavor, was controlling and manipulative, but he had never imagined the extent to which his father would go to shape his life.

A letter lay before him, the contents of which had shaken him to his core. It had arrived earlier that day, delivered by a stern-faced messenger. As he unfolded the letter, the words within seemed like a cruel joke, a twisted scheme he could scarcely believe.

"Dear Shoto,

By now, you are aware of the extent of my expectations. It is with the utmost intention that I reveal a reality that will forge our legacy further. You are bound by a Quirk Marriage to (Y/N), a young woman with exceptional capabilities.

This union is not merely personal but strategic. (Y/N)'s quirk, one of reality warping, is an asset that aligns perfectly with our ambitions. I expect you to fulfill your duty as my heir and cooperate fully in the forging of this bond.

Endeavor."

Shoto's hands trembled as he reread the words, his chest tightening with anger and disbelief. He had heard whispers of forced marriages among powerful families, but he had never imagined he would be ensnared in one himself.

His father's quest for dominance was evident in this calculated move. To think that his father would so callously dictate his life, even down to his relationships, filled Shoto with an indignant rage he had never felt before.

Yet, despite his fury, a surge of curiosity tugged at his thoughts. Who was (Y/N)? What kind of person could his father manipulate into such a situation? Were they a willing participant, or were they as much a victim of Endeavor's machinations as he was?

As the rain continued to lash against the window, Shoto's mind raced with questions, uncertainties, and a burning desire to unearth the truth. The reality of his situation was laid bare before him, and he knew that whatever lay ahead, he would face it with a determination to forge his own path, free from the shackles of his father's control.

Determined to uncover more about the person who had been drawn into this unwanted union, Shoto grabbed his coat and headed out into the rain-drenched streets. He needed answers, and he wasn't going to wait any longer to find them.

As he arrived at the address provided in the letter, his heart pounded with a mixture of apprehension and resolve. The building before him was modest, its appearance contrasting sharply with the grandeur he was accustomed to. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door, waiting for a response.

The door creaked open, revealing a young woman with (h/c) hair and eyes that shimmered with surprise. Her features held an air of innocence, but there was a depth to her gaze that caught Shoto off guard.

"Hello? Can I help you?" she asked, her voice soft and cautious.

Shoto cleared his throat, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within him. "Are you (Y/N)?"

She nodded, her curiosity evident. "Yes, I am. Do we... know each other?"

Shoto hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "My name is Shoto Todoroki. I received a letter... from my father."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened in recognition, and her expression shifted from curiosity to understanding. "Ah, I see. So you're... the one."

Shoto raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "The one?"

She stepped aside, inviting him into her humble living space. "Please, come in. We have a lot to talk about."

As Shoto entered, he took in his surroundings—a small, cozy apartment with touches of personalization that reflected (Y/N)'s taste. They settled in the living room, and (Y/N) began to speak, her voice steady but tinged with a mixture of sadness and determination.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (L/N), that's me," she began, "and yes, I am part of this quirk marriage, just like you. My quirk is reality warping, a power that I never asked for. Your father approached me with an offer—a partnership that, in his words, would benefit both of us and align with his ambitions."

Shoto's jaw tightened, his anger flaring anew as he listened to her recount the situation. "So, you're here against your will as well."

(Y/N) nodded, her gaze meeting his with a mix of resignation and defiance. "Yes. And I've spent my days wrestling with the reality that my life has been manipulated for someone else's gain. I didn't choose this path, just like you didn't."

Shoto's heart clenched at the weight of her words. Here before him was a young woman who had been entangled in the same web of control, a victim of Endeavor's ambitions just as he was. And yet, in her eyes, he saw a determination to break free, to reclaim her agency.

As their conversation continued, Shoto found himself drawn to (Y/N)'s strength and vulnerability, her willingness to share her story despite the pain it held. In that moment, they were two individuals bound by circumstances beyond their control, but they were also two individuals who had the potential to reshape their destinies.

As the rain continued to fall outside, (Y/N) and Shoto forged an unexpected connection—a connection that would lead them down a path of defiance, self-discovery, and, ultimately, the chance to break free from the chains of their forced union.

Over the next few weeks, Shoto and (Y/N) continued to meet in secret, their shared experiences creating a bond that neither of them had anticipated. The more they spoke, the clearer it became that they were kindred spirits, united by their determination to reclaim control over their lives.

As they wandered through the city one day, raindrops clinging to their umbrellas, (Y/N) shared her dreams and aspirations, painting a picture of a life she had envisioned for herself before her quirk marriage. Shoto listened intently, his heart softening as he saw the fire in her eyes, the same fire that burned within him.

"(Y/N)," Shoto began, his voice hesitant yet resolute, "I don't want to be a pawn in my father's game any longer. And I'm guessing you don't either."

(Y/N) nodded, her gaze unwavering. "You're right. We didn't choose this, but we can choose what comes next."

Shoto's lips curled into a determined smile. "I've been thinking. If we can't change the past, maybe we can change the future. We can find a way to break free from this quirk marriage, from our fathers' control."

(Y/N)'s eyes lit up, hope kindling within her. "You mean... defy them?"

Shoto nodded, his resolve unwavering. "Exactly. We can forge our own paths, on our terms. We have quirk powers that are uniquely ours, and we can use them to shape our destinies."

As they spoke, their determination grew, fueled by a shared purpose and a desire for agency. They hatched a plan, a risky one that involved revealing the truth behind their quirk marriage to the world, exposing the manipulative actions of their fathers. It was a move that carried immense risks but offered the promise of liberation.

Days turned into weeks as Shoto and (Y/N) meticulously planned their next steps, all the while nurturing their growing connection. Their discussions ranged from serious strategy to lighthearted banter, their shared moments a balance of support and camaraderie.

The day of their revelation arrived—a press conference that would shatter the façade created by their fathers and set them on a course towards self-determination. With the world watching, Shoto and (Y/N) stood side by side, their hands entwined, a visual representation of unity against the chains of manipulation.

"(Y/N), are you ready?" Shoto asked, his voice steady but his heart racing.

(Y/N) smiled, her grip on his hand firm. "Ready as I'll ever be. Together, we'll show them that we won't be defined by their plans."

As they stepped onto the stage, the cameras flashing around them, the weight of their actions hung in the air. They spoke with unwavering conviction, exposing the truth behind their quirk marriage, the lengths to which their fathers had gone to control their lives.

The press conference marked the beginning of a new chapter for Shoto and (Y/N), one defined by their own choices and aspirations. Their revelation sent shockwaves through society, challenging the norms and expectations that had once held them captive.

As the rain continued to fall, the two of them stood united, facing a future of uncertainty but also hope. And in that moment, amid the storm, they were not just two individuals, but a force that defied manipulation and embraced the power of their own wills.

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samsseptember · 10 months

Text

Samtember 2023 Calendar, Rules, and Guidelines!

Hi, Sam Wilson Nation! It's that time of year again when we all get together to celebrate our beloved Sam Wilson's birth month. That's right, it's ✰samtember2023✰ !!! 🎉

As per usual, the event will be running from Friday, September 1st to Saturday, September 30th and there will be prompts set for each day:

Fluff/Family Week (and Two Days):

September 1 - Free Space

September 2 - First Flight | Riley

September 3 - Delacroix | Louisana

September 4 - Siblings | Uncle Sam

September 5 - Fishing | Camping

September 6 - Day Off | Vacation

September 7 - Memories | The Future

September 8 - Figaro | Sick Day

September 9 - Carnival | King of Mardi Gras

Captain America Week:

September 10 - Cap Quartet 2.0 | Mission Fic

September 11 - Workout | Team Training

September 12 - Shield | Legacy

September 13 - Interview | Rumor

September 14 - Magic | Multiverse

September 15 - Undercover | Amnesia

September 16 - Night Out | Madripoor

AU Week:

September 17 - Wings | Angel

September 18 - Western AU | Cowboy

September 19 - Celebrity AU | Royalty AU

September 20 - Bird Telepathy | Redwing

September 21 - Zombie AU | Apocalypse AU

September 22 - Hurt/Comfort | Disaster Fic

September 23 - Birthday 🎂🧁

Canon Week:

September 24 - In the Air Force | Time in D.C.

September 25 - Part-Time Avenger | On the Run

September 26 - Working for Fury | Wakanda

September 27 - Post-Blip | TFATWS

September 28 - Post-TFATWS | Meanwhile, On the Boat

September 29 - Uniform | Cap Suit

September 30 - Sam Wilson

We have opened a collection on AO3 that can be found here, or by typing samtember2023 in the add to collections option.

You can also tag any works you post with #samtember2023 or tag this blog @samsseptember - works will be reblogged every day throughout the month.

Can’t wait to see what everyone comes up with!

What works count for this fan event?

Any of the following count:

fanfic

podfic

fanart

gifsets

photosets / moodboards

graphics

Haikus

videos / edits

playlists

Whichever way you want to celebrate Sam Wilson, it’s up to you!

The rest of the FAQ and rules are under the cut.

FAQ

What is this?

It’s a Sam Wilson fan event.

Is there any pressure?

No pressure at all. Fill one prompt. Fill all the prompts on for the month. Do however many you please.

Can I fill more than one prompt with one piece of art/one fic?

Yes! You can fill one prompt with one piece of art or fic. You can try to fill all 30 prompts at once with one piece of art or fic. If you can fill every single prompt from every single day in one fill, that’d be wild but it’s okay by the rules. You can do any number in between.

Are there any prizes for making anything for this event?

Just the satisfaction that you made something cool.

Should the work I make be Sam Wilson-centric?

Yes. You can make a gen work or a piece with any ship with Sam Wilson in it, but the main focus should be Sam Wilson.

How long will this event run?

It will run from September 1st to September 30th.

I heard there are badges I can use for each fill?

There will be! They will come out daily.

Do I have to post my fic for the prompt on the day of the prompt?

You can if you'd like, but it's okay if you post a piece on a day other than the day of the prompt.

RULES AND GUIDELINES

What are the guidelines for the event?

I will be borrowing some of this from the MYSU Valentine’s Day Bingo 2022 Guidelines, since they were fantastic.

For Everyone:

1. Remember to tag @samsseptember in the post as well as #samtember2023.

2. Please also tag the prompt you’re using (for instance, if the square is “Redwing”, use “#redwing” as one of your tags when posting about it on Tumblr).

3. If you’re uploading to AO3, please:

a ) Say somewhere which prompt you’re filling.

b ) Add it to The Samtember Collection (under Samtember2023).

For Artists:

1. Create at least one piece of new art that can’t have been posted anywhere else before this.

2. All visual art forms are welcome:

a ) Gifsets or photosets, at least 3 gifs or photos.

b ) Aesthetic boards or moodboards, at least 4 images each.

c ) Drawing/painting, that is not a sketch.

d) Fan video.

e) Graphics edit.

For Authors:

1. At least 500 words.

2. Posted on Tumblr or AO3.

3. Can be part of a series, but should work as a standalone.

For Podficcers:

1. The podfic should at least be 10 minutes long.

2. It should be posted on either Tumblr or AO3.

3. The podfic can be of a fic made for the event, a fic not made for the event while still adhering to the prompt, or a notfic.

Things to be mindful of when creating:

For Sam

Avoid framing Sam only as a caretaker or emotional support for Bucky. Be mindful of Sam acting angry or aggressive in an out-of-character way and falling into the angry/sassy Black man trope (check out the MCU source material to help with character traits).

Avoid decentering Sam as a main character and refrain from focusing entirely on Bucky.

In art: avoid whitewashing Sam’s skin and research drawing Black characters.

General disclaimer: Race affects every aspect of his life, including interacting with police/government and the white structures of the world when it comes to performing his duties as Cap and simply being a Black man that lives in the U.S.

Specific Tags:

Avoid tags in AO3 like “Sam Wilson is a Gift” and “Sam Wilson is a Saint”.

Have fun and we look forward to your Samtember 2023 works!

#samtember2023 #sam wilson #sam wilson event #fan event #marvel #captain america #tfatws #captain america 4 #the falcon and the winter soldier

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