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imyourbratzdoll · 2 days

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𝒊 𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆…

part 4 of 🌧️welcome to hell🌧️

summary - you finally made your decision.

warning - angst, swearing, mentions of cheating, attempt at gaslighting, betrayal, disappointment.

the gif I use isn't mine, headers by me.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 5

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You had woken up the next day, and you just laid there. You couldn’t move, your entire being ached, you were exhausted both physically, emotionally, and mentally. You had never felt this exhausted in your whole life, you never felt this broken and stuck.

You knew you had to choose. The weight on your shoulders was bringing you down and you didn’t know if you could go on any longer without making a choice, a decision that could change your life forever.

You could either pretend and live on in an obvious one–sided marriage while your husband continues to sleep around with your EX–best friend and any other woman he has on the side OR you could confront him and leave, making him sign the divorce papers that you would have to get a lawyer for the moment you left. But it would mean you would have to start all over again.

You flip onto your back and stare up at the ceiling, the memories from last night flash through your mind again, your husband and ex–best friend fucking each other in the bathroom, them fucking while you “slept”. You don’t think you could do this again nor could you pretend that everything was okay. You could hear them from the lounge room, their voices the only thing filling the quiet home. They sounded happy as they bantered and teased each other.

You slowly slide to the edge of the bed and sit up. Your eyes connect in the mirror, and you finally look at yourself. You didn’t recognise the woman staring back at you, she seemed so lifeless, so broken. Where had the old you gone? Was she still there? You could see the sadness and rage swirling beneath your eyes, followed by bags and dried tears underneath.

You were so sick of crying. When did you become so weak over a man?

Everything seemed to click when those beautiful blue eyes appeared in your mind. You could finally feel yourself think more clearly, you finally knew your decision. You weren’t making your decision because of those eyes, but they seemed to help clarify what you wanted. You could feel your soul tugging as the unknown man appeared in your thoughts.

With one last look at yourself and a deep breath later, you turned. Ready.

And finally, you chose yourself.

“You got this.” You say and you will forever say it even with tears in your eyes. You move swiftly around the room, grabbing a suitcase from your cupboard and laying it down on the bed. You begin to pack, folding your clothes neatly before you place them in. You move onto shoes, accessories, makeup, perfume, and anything else that was yours. Once you zipped up your suitcase, you looked around the room. Your eyes caught in the mirror, and you finally felt freer.

You grabbed your suitcase and spare outfit and left the bedroom. Resting the suitcase against the front door, you head into the spare bathroom as your other had been tainted with your husband’s infidelity and your ex–best friend’s betrayal.

You had taken your time in the shower, washing the pain and sadness from your body. You even took your time making yourself look good, wanting him to regret his choices the moment you left him. With a final look in the mirror, you head out of the bathroom and into the lounge room. Your soon–to–be ex–husband and ex–best friend sitting too close for comfort, the sadness and anger that had been bubbling over had slowly disappeared as a blanket of numbness covered you. You could finally focus without your emotions getting in the way.

“Somehow, I expected that this would happen eventually.” Your voice fills the room and the two on the couch jump apart, eyes wide as their heads whip towards you. You stare blankly, your heart still hurts but it was good. It was reminding you of what they had done. It was true, the old you had expected this would happen, but you were so caught up in thinking he loved you that you were blinded by him and his lies. “Given your history, I should have known better.”

Johnny chuckles nervously, looking between you and Sarah. He wasn’t expecting this, but maybe he could lie and get out of it. Make you think it’s all in your head. “Babe, what are you talking about? I haven’t done anything!” He had to be careful, you hadn’t said what it was and if he wanted to lie, he couldn’t give anything away by saying the wrong thing.

“So, you didn’t cheat on me?” You decided to play dumb. You remembered who you were, and the game changed. You wouldn’t let anyone make you forget again.

Johnny scoffs. “Of course not, Babe! I love you! We’re just friends.” It was at that moment that he knew he fucked up.

“Just friends, huh?” You laugh. “Well, just friends don’t practically sit on top of each other especially when one is married, just friends don’t flirt with one another in a not so platonic way. Just friends don’t fuck each other in the bathroom while one friends wife is showering, just friends don’t slip out of bed when they think their wife is sleeping to fuck their friend in the other room. I’ve never had any friends like that, Johnny.” Your glare sharpens as you spit his name out with venom.

His mouth opens and closes, and Sarah’s eyes widen. “How did you find out?”

“You fucked her in OUR house! How do you think I found out?!” Your anger began to push against the numbness, wanting to be unleashed “I also remember everything. Every time you’d leave, look at another woman only for you and her to disappear a few minutes later, how you’d always be on your phone, OUR wedding.” You watched as they paled at the last part.

“Babe! It was never supposed to get this far! Trust me, I’m so sorry!” He gets up and moves closer to you. Hurt flashes through his eyes when you back away from him, the thought of him touching you again disgusted you.

“Get away from me! You’re not sorry, you’re just sorry you got caught! So don’t lie to me! I can’t believe I trusted you.” You could feel it, the blanket of numbness was slowly slipping away, and the tears returned, but they didn’t fall like before.

“Did you ever really love me...?” Your gaze shifted, your ex–best friend didn’t even look guilty, it was like a weight lifted off her shoulders. What did you ever do to her? “Do you love her?”

“Yes, I love you! I don’t love her, please believe me. It was just sex! She means nothing to me.” You could see the lie in his eyes, you wondered when he fell in love with her. You wondered if any of it was real. You wondered if his soul tugged the same way yours did when you bumped into that man, but if it did. Why didn’t he just leave? Why did they have to hurt you so bad? Why did they have to break you?

You shake your head. “I don’t believe you.” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “You made a promise. The same day you made that promise you had your dick in someone else. Tell me, was any part of this at least real?” You stared into his eyes, watching him think. You sighed, “Do you have any regrets doing this to me?” A part of you needed to know.

Instead of answering your question, he responded with. “Do we really have to end it all?” Your eyes ached from the weight of unshed tears. He was your home, did he not understand? But, you weren’t his and it was time for you to go.

With a heavy sigh, you ignore his question like he did yours and pull off your wedding and engagement ring. “I loved you in this lifetime… I won’t make that mistake in the next.” With shaky hands you push the rings into his chest, letting go of them as his hand comes up. Hoping to catch yours, but instead he only catches the rings. “Goodbye, Johnny. I guess our story ends here…” You walk out of the room and towards the door, grabbing your things. This was it…

Maybe she was his happy ending. Hopefully you could find yours.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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yevrosima-the-third · 2 years

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Hear me out: To a Stranger by Walt Whitman is a fitzloved poem.

Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me, I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone, I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

#he I was seeking #or she I was seeking #I am not to speak to you #I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone #I am to wait #I do not doubt I am to meet you again #the fool is both #‟it comes to me as of a dream‟#and he saw fitz in his dreams before they met!#a boy or a girl again the fool #‟I ate with you and slept with you‟#the fool taking care of Fitz when he gets to the mountain kingdom. the two of them on the journey.#the two of them sleeping together!#on the journey and on aslevjal and after the fool comes back to life and in kelsingra #and on the way to clerres they share a cabin but Idk if they sleep together?#‟your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only‟#the two of them sharing a body while fitz is reviving the fool and leaving little pieces of themselves in each other (which results in bee!#‟as we pass‟ - as they pass back into their own bodies #- that's fitz during the years they spend apart and the fool as well #just crying at this point #all their separations. but then they reunite!#‟I am to see to it that I do not lose you.‟ - yeah just crying #rote #fitzloved

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astraystayyh · 1 month

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Breathe

hyunjin x photographer!reader. friends to lovers with so so much tension and pining. hyunjin is too pretty (yet again). suggestive in the end and reader is wearing a dress. inspired by Bathtub hyunjin.

thank you hyunjin yet again for being my eternal muse and inspiring this brainrot. wrote this while listening to All mine by plaza so.. please enjoy <333 feedback is highly appreciated 🫶🏻

Is it possible to drown in the depths of your emotions, until breathing becomes a forgotten process, one that eludes each one of your senses?

Yes, you believe, if standing before a vision of ethereal beauty, as you are now, all encapsulated within Hwang Hyunjin’s being.

The camera slightly shakes in your grasp as you linger by the threshold of the bathroom, eyeing Hyunjin’s silhouette submerged in the waters. He’s sitting inside the bathtub, fingers running through his raven locks, awaiting your return.

He doesn’t seem to notice your presence, nor do you wish him to. Instead, you remain silent by the door, allowing yourself a few seconds to savor the intoxicating aura he exudes.

See, he isn’t doing anything particular, nor is he adorned in anything enticing— a simple white shirt and matching linen pants. And yet, his presence fills the air, compelling oxygen particles to flee from your being, leaving you transfixed, unable to do anything but gaze at him.

“I can feel you staring,” he remarks casually, his eyes still drawn before him as he leans back, tapping the edge of the tub with his ring-clad fingers.

Your heart pulses against your ribs, a dance that the organ knows intimately by now, one that Hyunjin alone can orchestrate. It isn’t the first time he’s had this effect on you, it is a familiar territory you first breached when Minho introduced you to him.

Hyunjin is a friend, but his hands find your waist more times than deemed platonic, and you like his touch much more than you’d like to admit.

“I'm assessing my subject, you know?” A faint grin dances upon your lips as you approach the bathtub. Hyunjin is doing you a favor— you just booked your first photography gig, and your client only has one condition: to shoot it in a bathtub. You wanted to translate your vision to life beforehand, and Hyunjin volunteered to help you.

“And how do I look?” he inquires, his smile a sugary dream that coaxes forth his left dimple. You place your camera gently on the countertop, bending down to inspect him up close.

His eyelids glisten with the golden glitter you delicately applied earlier. His skin is dewy, glistening underneath the warm lightning, and his lips drip crimson, courtesy of the cherry chapstick you carefully tapped into place.

There is always a myriad of visions that come to your mind when you think of Hyunjin— a blazing fire where each flame surges higher towards the heavens, a burning dance of passion and confidence; or a delicate red rose standing resilient in an empty field, vulnerable yet unwavering in its strength.

And now, you see a siren, beckoning mortals with a voice of beauty, ensnaring them with its hypnotic allure, much like he captivates you in this moment.

“You look nice,” you settle on saying, and he playfully pouts, his thumb grazing against your wrist lightly, akin to the delicate flutter of a butterfly's wing. “That's it? You never compliment me properly.”

“Someone’s gotta keep your ego in check,” you shrug, grabbing a dozen of roses and scattering them all around his body. You nod, satisfied with the outcome, finally retrieving your camera.

“Let's start with a simple shot, look at the camera, as you would when seducing someone.”

Instead of looking at the lens, Hyunjin's gaze finds yours first. With a deliberate slowness, his eyes trace the contours of your form, sending delicious shivers down your spine. His pupils dilate, his gaze darkens, before he reluctantly tears his eyes away, finally shifting his focus to the camera.

it takes you a few beats longer to find your voice once again.

“Hold still, one… two… three,” you murmur, capturing a few shots, pausing for a few seconds to admire the warmth of the light bouncing off his honeyed skin. “Perfect.”

“Me or the picture?” he teases, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and you roll yours in response.

“The photographer.”

“You’re right, you're perfect,” he replies simply, and you're momentarily taken aback, your eyes widening slightly. He notices, a small smile playing on his lips as you grab his hand to adjust his pose.

“You aren't allowed to speak anymore,” you declare, guiding his index finger to his lips while his head rests on his other curled fist. He grins, before his expression morphs into a smoldering gaze, one that blankets your skin in hues of red from its sheer intensity.

“Look at me this time,” you instruct, and he nods obediently, directing his gaze towards you. Though your eyes remain fixed on the lens, you can sense the intensity of his gaze piercing through you—suddenly, the white dress you're wearing feels too sheer to contain the flames ignited by his stare.

“Mm,” you hum in approval as you look at the result. A sweet realization washes over you as you notice the subtle shift in his gaze— does he know his eyes unconsciously soften when they land on you?

With each click of the camera, your nerves dissipate, replaced by a growing confidence as each shot turns out exquisitely. They look worthy of gracing billboards worldwide, a privilege of working with a model as beautiful as him, one who portrays emotions as if they were crafted solely for him to feel.

“Good, let's try an overhead shot now,” you instruct, slinging the camera strap around your neck before climbing into the bathtub, legs on either side of his body. You’re hovering over him as he gazes up at you, his fluttering eyelashes echoing the erratic beat of your heart.

Your eyes briefly trace the contours of his now-translucent white shirt, a veil that delicately clings to his form, accentuating the sculpted lines of his physique—the arc of his v-line melding seamlessly into the fabric of his trousers. He possesses the body of a masterful dancer, a muse Michelangelo himself would have revered.

“Take off your shirt,” you suddenly request, and though your words are met with a quirked eyebrow, he obliges effortlessly. With a fluid motion, he peels the garment from his frame, sending it sailing across the bathroom's expanse.

“Good?” he questions but you remain silent because words have suddenly become beyond your grasp. Your client's request for a portrait suddenly feels inadequate and you almost itch to cancel it, because you know it won't exude the same beauty as Hyunjin’s. For each fiber of his being flusters you, makes you hyper aware of your every pulse point and how they all come together to chant Hyunjin’s name.

“Look up at me as you lean back,” you finally say, positioning the camera directly above his head. With each click, your heartbeat speeds up even more at the sight— collarbones and arms bathed in the play of light and shadow, his long, wet hair cascading over broad shoulders, and worse of all, a faint smirk that graces his placid face, as if he's aware of how breathtaking he looks in this moment.

“Should I do this?” he asks, picking up a rose and brushing its dewy petals against his lips. You swallow hard, nodding meekly before swiftly capturing a few more frames.

Emotions twist you into a peculiar being, yearning for your very soul to liquefy, transforming into the water droplets adorning the rose's petals, longing to caress Hyunjin’s lips too.

Hyunjin suddenly straightens his posture, hands coming to rest gently on your calves, fingers dancing along the hems of your dress with a delicate touch.

“How’d I do? Do I look good for you?” he asks and your knees weaken beneath you, his words rendering you a merciless leaf, swayed by the fiery winds he commands, with his words, with his touch, with his eyes, all solely on you.

“For me?” you echo, and he nods, his hand moving languidly up and down your leg, pausing delicately at your knee.

“Mm. You're the only one I want to impress.”

Your response escapes your being breathlessly. “And why is that?”

“Didn't you ask me not to speak?” he grins, running a hand through his hair. Swiftly, you place your camera on the counter before kneeling down, your thighs now brushing against his own.

“Speak,” you command, and in an instant, he seizes your waist, drawing your body close until you're straddling him, legs enveloping his middle.

“Say it again,” he whispers, and you thread your fingers through the strands of his hair, gently tugging at the edges until his head tilts back, exposing the expanse of his neck.

“I said…” you trail off, leaning in until your nose grazes the warmth of his skin.

Being this close to Hyunjin isn't unfamiliar to you; your interactions have always teetered on the brink of almost-kisses, your bodies drawn together like magnets, two halves of an orange yearning to reunite.

Yet, this moment feels different, much more fateful, as if the universe has granted you one final opportunity—to finally ignite in passion or perish into ash.

“Tell me. I want to know,” you urge, your voice a whisper against his skin, laden with unspoken desires.

“Because... I like you a lot. So much that you're the only one I think of all day. And I want you to like me too. I feel like I need it to breathe.”

His response catches you off guard with its vulnerability, the intimacy it drapes on this moment. The water envelops your intertwined bodies as your hands find solace atop his chest, his rapid heartbeat seeping into your palm.

“I always forget how to breathe around you,” you confess, a sheepish smile gracing your lips. The grin that blooms on his face is radiant, casting a glow on the room that cannot be replicated by artificial lighting.

“If you forget how to breathe, I'll give you all my oxygen,” he promises, his thumb tracing gently across your cheekbones. You see the sun in his smile, feel its warmth in his words that burn you. “I think it always belonged to you anyway,” he murmurs, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours. “I think... I wanna give you back what's yours. Would you let me, pretty?” he asks, his voice a tender plea.

And amidst all the planets you know and the countless universes that may exist, you cannot fathom a single one where your answer would be anything but yes.

“Please,” you whisper, and his lips crash against yours in a fervent dance.

Your lips part before swiftly meeting again, and you close your eyes, surrendering to a world where all your senses converge to breathe Hyunjin in—your hands exploring the contours of his chest, your mouth savoring the sweetness of his lips infused with your cherry chapstick, your nose inhaling his scent, a delicate blend of vanilla and tobacco pulling you into a dizzying dance, your ears catching the gentle rhythm of his breaths and the faint thud of his heartbeat, all resonating within you.

And you don't need your eyes to see Hyunjin; he's indelibly etched behind your eyelids from all the time you've spent admiring him before.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he draws back, “I should have kissed you much sooner.”

“Mm?” you grin, intertwining your hands behind his neck, “Was it that good?”

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

“Then show me,” you grin, a playful glint in your eyes.

His gaze sparkles with mischief, his lips curling into a self-assured smirk, his hands finding your waist once more. Breathing is not necessary if it gives you Hyunjin in the end.

“Oh, I will.”

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #hyunjin x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #hyunjin fluff #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz reactions #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin fanfic #(also just realized last time i posted was exactly one month ago for hyunjin’s birthday KADJJD this was fated.)

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wordsinhaled · 10 months

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thinking about what aziraphale thought “just like old times… but even nicer!” was going to be. like. what he was imagining. them being angels together, but - together this time. aziraphale remembering the first glimpse he got of crowley before his fall, brimming with joy, excitement, love for the stars and creation, and how resplendent that was. how aziraphale had new stars being born before his eyes but all he could sneak glances at was crowley’s radiant smile, his shining brown eyes.

like. i’m thinking about how he probably fell for crowley right then and there. and then that angel was just. gone from heaven. and maybe there were whispers about it among the rest. and maybe aziraphale wondered what had happened to him, remembered his guileless curiosity and his bright happiness and worried about him, because… how would he fare down there? wouldn’t he be lonely? and wasn’t it… unfair?

i’m thinking about “just like old times. but even nicer.” nicer because now they’re different, they’re more. they know each other, they love each other, they are… fundamentally inseparable. the idealism of that. the whitmanesque union of it - your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only.

and aziraphale has finally caught up to crowley’s speed - by his standards he’s hurtling toward crowley at a mad rush - keeps touching him and looking at him like he’s treasured and adored. like... he probably imagined watching crowley make a new universe, again. imagined them making heaven a place where they could exist together without fear or reproach. a place where justice was restored because aziraphale has always known crowley had been punished in a way he didn’t merit.

aziraphale probably thought their first kiss would taste of stardust, not the brackish tang of tears. he probably thought they’d get to keep their bookshop and their car and their little dates at the ritz but… now together. holding hands, fingers interlaced, ankles touching under the table, curling up against crowley’s side in the bentley on the drive home, kissing him as easy as breathing a million times a day and no one in heaven or hell or any other realm would or could say anything against it because this was theirs, their sacred right to love one another the way they were made to. their essences twining around one another in the aether. each marked by one another. two bits of divinity fused back together, the way they had always belonged.

aziraphale probably thought he’d get to see that kind of unguarded joy on crowley’s face again, soon. he was saying to crowley that he loves him, in his way. the ultimate act of love, by his estimation; having it within his power to bring his beloved partner back to the capacity for joy without cynicism, laughter without pain, goodness without shame, curiosity without punishment.

just like old times. but even nicer.

#I’M ILL #good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 spoilers #this is an aziraphale defense account nbd

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hyuckkaiji · 8 months

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only mine - sebastian sallow x f!reader

summary; " sebastian has been on the run for several years, hiding from the ministry of magic. his sole purpose is to find you again. he's obsessed and no one can stop him from having you again. no one. " he's finally found you, alone in the dark. pt.2: my love / pt.3: ominis , pt.3 sebastian

word count; 4.7k

warnings; 18+, explicit sexual content, dark themes, dubcon, porn with a plot, dark!sebastian, sub/dom dynamics, cheating/infidelity

note; this is based on dark!sebastian ai created by @seabass-swallows characters are obviously aged up, early 20s. Also this is my first time actually writing smut, so be kind

You were fifteen when you lost the love of your life. You were fifteen when he ran from the ministry. "A dark wizard, a fugitive, rewards for his capture" words you could never forget hearing. Words that were repeated in whispers by students, commands by aurors.

"You will tell us if you hear anything?"

"Of course, Sir." It was a lie. You would never give Sebastian up, even if you did know where he went. But you didn't. He was there one day and gone the next. No one knew where he'd disappeared to, not that the aurors believed you when you said as much. How could his lover not know where he went nor his best friend? They thought you and Ominis were lying.

They watched the both of you for months, the only two left that the Sallow boy trusted. His sister, Anne, had succumbed to her curse well before he ran. He had nothing and no one but two other fifteen year olds, two other children.

All of you only really had each other, but three had become two. And fifteen had become nineteen when Ominis took you to wife. You didn't love him, not like you loved Sebastian, but he was all you had. You had latched onto him for so many years, telling yourself you could love him. One day, possibly.

So you married him, always telling yourself the day would come. But nineteen turned to twenty, then twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three. And here you stood, loving him no more than you did at fifteen.

You watched as he sat anxiously, drumming his fingers against the hard wood surface of your dining table. The dark suit jacket discarded, his vest open, his shirt a few buttons loose as his other hand pulled free his tie.

"Do you find me incapable of defending myself?" You snapped at him. You were always snapping at him these days, his presence no longer a comfort but a nuisance. A cage you willingly walked into. A choice you wished you could take back.

"No," He sighed, standing as he pulled the vest and tie off, walking a few steps forward to hold your face in his warm grasp, "I just-"

"Worry." You push his hands away, turning your back to him . "Yes, I know. You worry. You've worried your whole life, and you'll never stop."

His arms wrapped around you from behind, his body strong and solid as he presses against yours. He brings his head down to rest at the crook of your neck, pressing soft chaste kisses. You lean back, resting your head against him. A comforting, relaxing gesture, not your comfort, but his.

"It's a dangerous world." He whispers the words into your skin. You give an involuntarily shudder in response. "It's just tea, Ominis. This is Feldcroft. Nothing is dangerous here."

He turns you to face him, his arms snaking around your waist. He looks down at you into your eyes, like he can see your soul, like he has a different kind of sight. You raise your arms to wrap around his neck, a move to ease him, to stop him from further examining. Lest he sees the lack of love, the falsity of your touches.

You press a kiss to his soft lips, "Just tea, husband, I'll be back before you know it." He nods, "Be safe, wife." A pause, "I love you."

You pull yourself free of his grasp, "I know Ominis, as do I." You grab your coat, hurrying out into the chill spring night before he could say anymore. You had never told him you loved him, never said the words outright. It would be a betrayal to Sebastian, to yourself, to Ominis.

You suppose he must know you don't love him, you hope he doesn't love you, hope he's lying every time the words pass his lips, you wish he'd stop saying them. You feel so guilty every time he does, guilty, as you only hum in response or reply with the words you conditioned yourself to say.

Your thoughts and actions shame you constantly. He deserves better. You know he does, but you just cannot bring yourself to be the woman he deserves. So round and round you go, playing this game of pretend where you both lie to yourselves, to each other, pretend to be the good auror and his loving wife.

You could no longer even love him as a friend. You haven't been able to for years. You lost that comfort the first time he bedded you, the first time you felt him inside you, filling you with painful, unfamiliar sensations.

You waited till he slept that night to sneak away, to sit in the living room of your new home and sob yourself to sleep. He heard you, though he never told you, he woke as soon as you left the bed, trailing behind you silently. He sat in the hallway listening to your soft sobs for hours, listening until you could cry no more tears. He went back to your bed and never said a word about it. He woke you the next morning with a plate of hot steaming breakfast.

It got better, as good as it could be. The routine you fell into, what was painful became pleasure, you stopped crying after every encounter, started sleeping beside him instead of the couch. Spent your mornings beside him, kissed him before he left for work. Welcomed him home with open arms in the evenings.

Until you couldn't take it anymore, until every false kiss chipped away at your soul. Until you screwed your eyes shut, picturing Sebastian's face every time Ominis was inside you. Until you spent every waking moment fantasizing about running away, praying one day Ominis just wouldn't come home. But he always did, and you kept welcoming him. What choice did you have? You have nowhere to go, no family, and Ominis didn't deserve to come home to an empty house.

You don't know how long you walked. You just walked until your thoughts silenced themselves. You had lied to Ominis as you so often did. Not leaving for tea with a friend but just leaving to be away from him and that god forsaken house. You walked until your face felt numb, and the moon hid away, leaving you in pure darkness. You should go home, Ominis is definitely worried.

But the thought of laying beside him again made you want to claw at your skin. Hands grabbed you, pushing you up against the nearest wall, their grip on your shoulders firm but not painful. They say a persons response to danger is fight of flight, but you just stand there frozen in fear. "Please don't hurt me." Your voice is barely above a whisper.

"Oh, how I've missed you. I would never hurt you." The voice coos at you, deep and husky. The hands sliding off your shoulders to trail down your arms. You recognized the voice, though the years had altered it, you could never forget it.

"Sebastian." You gasp

"Yes, my love." He pulls out his wand, casting a spell that only dimly illuminates the dark expanse around you.

He looks like a different man, a hardened criminal, but you can still see the traces of the boy you knew underneath. His baby fat has melted away, leaving only muscle in its wake. He had grown several more inches, towering over you now. A dark shadow of a beard begging to grow clings to his jaw, his hair is longer and shaggy. Most notably, a scar runs in intricate swirls from just below his left eye, across his cheek, and midway down his neck. Only dark magic could scar a person as such.

"Get off of me." You attempt to pull your arms from his grasp, but he holds tight. "Have you not missed me, y/n? There is no need to be so hostile." He leans in, his warm breath fanning your face, it smells of cinnamon toast, sweet, just like when you were children.

"Do not touch me." You are afraid, afraid of this stranger, this man before you is not your Sebastian.

"I have spent years waiting to touch you again. You're mine, mine to touch how and when I see fit. Do you truly expect me to let go?" His voice holds no malice. He speaks as if these are mere facts.

"I am a married woman. Get off of me." You continue to struggle, to no avail. Sebastian pauses, pulling away slightly but not releasing you.

"Married?" The word sounds venomous coming from him, "To whom?"

"Ominis." A look of pure disbelief washes over Sebastians face. "You..." His tone is accusatory. He takes a few steps away from you, letting his hands fall to his side, "You ... married ... Ominis."

You shrink back in fear. A soft, quiet anger far more terrifying than a fiery rage. "How could- why?" You can see the way his hands slightly tremble as they ball into fists.

You contemplate saying nothing. Imagining your response may only make this worse, but after a beat of silence, you decide to speak anyway. "He was all I had." You confess, still silence, so you continue.

"After you ran, after your actions came to light and aurors spent months at the school waiting for you. We became pariahs. Me more than Ominis. People whispered about me, about you, about me loving you, knowing what you did, lying about where you were."

"He stayed by my side through it all, the only one I had, have still. After we finished school we were wed. All these years, and he's the only one that shared my loss, understood it, understood me." A means to your end, your salvation. Ominis always puts you first. You don't think he'll ever stop.

"This isn't real." Sebastian is muttering to himself, shaking his head, looking to the ground instead of you. You should run. It might be your only chance, but your legs refuse to obey you, staying glued to the spot, pressed against the old stone wall. "You said you loved me!"

"I did!" You raise your voice in response, hurt, anger, betrayal, old long buried emotions bubbling back to the surface. "I did love you, I wanted to be your wife, I wanted to spend forever with you. But you ran, you left me all alone, Sebastian." Tears are streaming down your face, "I would have gone to the ends of the earth for you but you left me."

You close your eyes, taking a shuddering breath. Ominis, you need to get back to your husband. Ominis, you repeat his name like a prayer, willing him to appear, to save you, to take you home. Ominis, your poor sweet husband. But he doesn't appear. You have no savior. Only the fugitive standing before you.

"Tell me something." His voice is soft, like he's speaking to a frightened animal. "Have you had his children?"

"No, of course not." The words leave your mouth without a thought to how they might sound, what they might imply. Sebastian only sighs in relief.

"I don't understand," He brings his hand up to caress your cheek, brushing away the tear streaks with the pad of his thumb. "How could you have moved on. What... what we had ... it was special." You look up into his eyes, and for a moment, a split second, he was your sebastian. Your sweet, sad Sebastian.

"Tell me you don't love him," he whispers, only inches from your face now, "Tell me y/n. You cannot possibly love him like you love me."

"I do, Sebastian. I love him. He's my husband."

"He's nothing." Sebastian is gripping your face in one rough hand, so hard you worry it might bruise. He's gone. This is not a man you know, this is a stranger. A stranger that frightens you, a stranger that's hurting you. "You belong to me. Our connection is special."

"Please stop." Your tears beg to fall once more.

"Tell me you still love me."

"I love Ominis." A lie, though in this moment you wish it were true. You wish you had stayed home, crawled into bed with him. Felt his cool fingers brush along your skin, felt his warm mouth press kisses into your most sensitive parts. Let him find his release with your body, use you until you fell asleep in the safety of his arms.

"You still love me, I know it." He lips brush the shell of your ear as he speaks. You shut your eyes again, trying to picture your home, safe. But the smell of Sebastian settles on your senses, he smells the same as he did so long ago. "I do not love you." Is that a lie, you aren't certain. "You... you are terrifying me." That at least was true.

His hand finally leaves your face, coming to rest at your elbow as his thumb rubs soothing circles, "Oh but you do. You can't escape me."

"Kiss me my love, like you did all those years ago. All I ask is one, grant it and I'll allow you to run back to your husband."

You look at him, searching his gaze with your own. "Promise?" Your voice trembles , Sebastian nods in response.

You take a steadying breath, pressing both hands against his chest. You push him back both of you moving a few steps, just enough for you to stop feeling trapped, just enough to feel the cool night breeze.

You look up at him as he brings his hands to rest at your waist. This is your sebastian, your sebastian, you tell yourself this over and over trying to banish your fear. You raise to the tips of your toes, bringing your hands up to wound themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck.

You ghost your lips over his, feeling as his breath hitches, allowing him to pull you into his chest before your lips meet. It's soft, a kiss of longing, a kiss of lost children. Then it's deepening, passionate and he pulls away before you're ready. He pulls away and you chase after him, one hand at the crook of his neck and the other buried in his hair. You pull his lower lip between your teeth, dragging his mouth back to yours. Only pulling away when you need to breathe.

You let you head fall against his chest, let yourself breathe in his scent as he runs soft fingers through your hair, both of you breathing heavily. Only a second passes before you regain your senses, before you remember the husband waiting for you. You pull back quickly, "I-" guilt and shame course through you.

Ominis deserves better, a better woman, a woman that loves him. It's been eight years, eight years since sebastian left you, eight years you have used Ominis as a means to your ends. And never have you felt such desire for him as you feel now in this dark alley with a man you no longer know.

"This is wrong." Your words are barely audible, when you get no response you take the opportunity to run or try to run. Because Sebastian has his arms around your waist, catching you before you could even make it five feet.

"Why are you here?" You cry. But he only holds you in place as you kick, claw, and try to bite your way out of his grasp, to no avail. "You said I could go back to my husband, you said one kiss."

Sebastian chuckles darkly, "I lied." Then he's dragging you away, three feet, four, six, ten. It's dark, and you can't see, but quickly, he's shoving you through a door. You land on your hands and knees as he releases you. You scramble away, still on the floor just trying to put distance between you and him. Sebastian only laughs, walking over to the fading fire place, he tosses in a log before taking a seat on the sofa.

He splays out, legs falling open, one bent for him to rest a hand on and the other straight ahead , his left arm thrown over the top of the sofa. His black button down shirt is loose at the top, opening just enough to expose a glimpse of his collar bones. His dark trousers strained at his thighs, where his right hand thrummed mindlessly.

You eye him wearily, waiting for his next move. "Are you my pet now, love? On the floor, at my feet?" You say nothing. He only bothers to glance at you, so sure you won't try and run again. Or maybe just that he knows he can catch you if you do. "Are you waiting for my instructions, pet?"

"Come sit with me." He continues to watch the crackling fire and you continue to stare at him. "You once called this place your second home. Do you hate it now?" You didn't look, didn't notice but now you do. You take in the room around you, the home he dragged you into. His home, Anne's home ... Solomon's home.

Sebastian huffs, loosing patience with you. "Join me, y/n. I will not ask again." He leans forward his elbows at his knees as he watches you. "I do not care if you must crawl over here, do it or I will drag you here myself."

Ominis, Ominis, Ominis you wish he could sense you call out for him. That he would save you from this madness as he did so many years ago. But this house has sat abandoned for eight years, Ominis hasn't step foot in here for eight years.

So you take your only option, standing slowly dusting yourself off in the process, trying to muster some false dignity. You walk over sitting as close to the edge as you can manage, attempting to put as much space between you as possible. But Sebastian is much larger than you remember and seated in the middle you could sit no where without feeling his leg press against yours.

"I've know since the moment I first laid eyes on you, we were destined to be together." You watch him but his gaze reminds fixed on the fire, now back in his comfortable position.

"I belong with Ominis." Sebastian gives an exasperated sigh, tossing his head back to rest on the sofa, though he's tilted just enough to meet your stare. "I know you want me, just as I want you. You may fool yourself into thinking you're happy with Ominis, but I know."

You aren't happy with Ominis though, you know that. You know you've never been happy with Ominis. That's why you left tonight, isn't it. Your thoughts are a jumbled mess, incomprehensible.

Sebastian grabs you, pulling you into his lap with ease. You don't fight back this time, why have you been fighting this, trying so hard to get back to Ominis. Isn't this exactly what you've been dreaming of for years, fantasizing about every day. Sebastian let's out a satisfied hum as you settle into his lap, one hand resting on your knees the other holding your hips in place.

"I told you, I could feel it. The love you still bare me." His lips are at you neck pressing open mouth kisses to the exposed skin. "I know how badly you craved me, my love. I craved you just the same." He pulls your coat off. "How I missed you."

You're like a statue, not fighting but giving in just yet. Sebastian continues his assault none the less. Nimble finger undoing your blouse as his teeth nip at any exposed skin he can find. You don't attempt to stop him as he tears chemise straight down the middle, leaving you exposed to him.

His gasp is soft, his tone loving, "You're more beautiful than I could have ever imagined." He's tearing the ripped material free from your body. Moving out from beneath, he sits you on the sofa and kneels before you. "I hate that he had you first, touched you, tasted what's mine."

He ghosts his fingers over chest, his thumb coming to brush over a pert nipple. You shudder, "I am not yours, I-I..." You catch his hand in yours, pulling it away from your breasts, holding the one in both of yours.

"You're not Ominis'." No, he's right. You stare at his hand, your thumb stroking over his knuckles. "Tell me you don't want this, want me." He's not asking, he already knows your anwser.

He pushes your skirt up so it rests just below your hips, pulling you in with a rough hand at the nape of your neck and the other gripping you waist. His lips are against yours, angling you to deepen the kiss. You open your mouth slightly, allowing him to intertwine his tounge with yours. The soft moan that emits from you is involuntarily, a sound that only urges Sebastian on.

He pulls you into a standing position, his mouth never leaving yours. You let your hand travel the expanse of his clothed back, contured with muscles he didn't have before. "Take this off." He hooks a finger in the waistband of your skirt, letting it snap back against your skin.

He takes a seat, watching you with hungry eyes as you follow his command. You stand before him, exposed as you have only ever been exposed to Ominis. "So fucking beautiful." His words are nearly a growl.

"Tell me where you belong?" You pause at his words, there is no going back now. "With you. I...I always belonged with you." He hums, satisfied with your anwser, "Be a good girl and kneel."

Your knees hit the rug beneath you with a soft thud, you steady yourself with a hand on Sebastians knee. Your heart hammering away in your chest with anticipation of his next command.

"Tell me you still love me." His voice is low and husky.

"I still love you, I never stopped." A shameful confession for a married woman, but you didn't feel that. All you could think about was how hot your skin felt, flushed and begging to be touch.

He leans in, letting his breath fan your face. He's looking at you like a beast ready to devour its prey. "I told you, you belong to me. No man will ever compare."

"I belong to you." You whisper back, you mean it. You've been his since the moment you met. And all you want in this moment is him, every part, to show him how much you missed him.

"Prove it..." he says quietly, his gaze dark, "I expect you to treat me like a God. I am your God." He chuckles softly, "Aren't I, pet." He brushes his thumb over your cheek, a falsely sweet gesture. When you don't respond quickly his hand drops to your breast, harshly twisting an erect nipple. "I said, aren't I, pet."

"Yes, yes." You yelp, "You're my God." You should be ashamed, kneeling before him, groveling like this. But it's so different from what you're used to Ominis touches are soft, gentle, with your pleasure at the forefront of his mind. This, Sebastian, makes fire burn inside you, sending waves of shock to your core.

"Show me how much you worship me." He releases his rough hold on you, leaning back expectantly. You crawl your way onto his lap, breathe hitching as your exposed core makes contact with his clothed bulge.

He watches you with half lidded eyes, you make quick work of unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, even popping a few of them in your haste, causing Sebastian to let out a breathy chuckle. You feel like a woman gone mad, more beast then witch. Your body aching to be touched, bitten, marked, filled by him. You need it like you've never known need before.

He shrugs the loose shirt the rest of the way off, displaying this pale freckled chest. If there is a heaven, this is it. From his skin flushed a pale pink to the trail of soft hair leading down into his trousers.

You kiss every part of him you can reach, sucking angry red splotches into his skin, teeth sinking in at some parts like he's the last meal you'll ever eat. His chest is falling and rising in rapid breaths as he fights to maintain his composure.

"You're so wet. I can feel it soaking through. Is that all for me, pet?" His voice is low and rough, the words forcing their way pasted gritted teeth. You said nothing, only rocked your hips against his, your mouth still marking his abused skin. The moan he let's out is sinful.

"I can't." You don't have time to wonder what he means before he's flipped you onto your back. "Sebastian, my love." He's between your legs, already licking a strip up your aching core. He hums his approval, "Even sweeter than I imagined."

You buck your hips, chasing after his mouth. "Tell me what you want, pet?"

"You" is the only word you can muster.

"Big girl words. Details. Did you fantasize about me when you fucked our friend, fucked your husband?"

You whine, feeling pathetic, fully at his mercy. "Every night I was in his bed, I pictured you. Your mouth Sebastian, your hands, your cock inside me. It's the only way I can finish." You're panting, he so close to where you want him, where you need him, his breath alone sends waves of pleasure that leave you shivering.

Then he's delving in like a man starved, lapping at your core like it's his last meal. Pleasure racks your body with intensity you've never experienced, you can do nothing but cry out and tangle your fingers in his mess of brown curls.

You see white before you feel it, the coil snapping deep in you. Your body tensing as he draws out your orgasm with a skilled tongue before you drop, heavy and unable to move. But he isn't finished, he's waited far to long for him to be done now. His pants are on the floor, discarded with a kick. His cock springs free, lightly slapping against his stomach. Angry red tip already leaking.

You can only look at him, too weak to move Yourself. So he moves you around himself, picking you up like a loose limbed doll, his to do with as he pleases. Laying you gently on the rug, legs hiked up around his waist. He leans in pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before finally sliding into your wet, willing hole.

The sound he let's out is animalistic, almost a snarl. "Fuck y/n. I dreamed of this. You," his hips are snapping against yours in a rough motion, "you were made for me. Taking me so well, pet."

He finds his rhythm with a bruising grip on your hips holding you in the air, a string of curses and incoherent pleas tumble out of your mouth. "Fuck fuck fuck, seb, my, please, fuck seb."

"My pretty girl."

He wraps an arm around your back to keep you in place, bringing his other hand to rub quick circles into your swollen clit. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, body tensing as another orgasm tears its way through you.

Sebastians hips stutter as you clench around him, shooting hot thick spurts into you. "I'm gonna put a baby in you, love." He's rolling his hips against yours, drawing out both your pleasure. When he finally stops you both collapse, too tired, too drained to do anything but lay in his arms and listen to his heart beat.

"I should have taken you with me. I promise I'll never leave you again." You should have told him no, you still have a husband to go back to but you only hummed. Letting yourself fall into a fitful sleep with the sound of Sebastian's heart beat and his fingers running through your hair.

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asumofwords · 10 months

Text

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. Angst, grief, sorrow, fighting.

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 angels, here is the next chapter hehe, bit of a sad one but what do we expect from SF&A at this point? Lmaooo. I've almost completely finished writing the whole series, so updates may become more regular as I pump it all out for you. What a journey this has been! Enjoy <3

Chapter 92: Burn Together

To say that things went back to normal would be a farce.

It was all a farce.

The fake smiles. The small nods. The words of affirmation and condemnation. The false sense of security and even falser acts of content. It was all wrong. It was all changed. And it was all too much.

You spend much of your days in the Garden, sat where you were usually seated, staring out at the water as you tried to uphold some sense of strength. Tried to show some vision of superiority and that the loss of the child was divine intervention. As though the anger and hurt had gone, as though the sadness and regret had left, because you knew it was for the better, or perhaps the Gods had told you so.

Words came to you rarely as you began to shrink into yourself again, but with each shrinking moment came the bursting strikes of life. Not happiness or joy, not frustration or longing, pure and uncontested rage.

Rage that it happened.

Rage that he had done nothing.

Rage at your stupidity.

Rage at your desire for more.

Aemond did not try to pry words from you, nor did he even try to touch you. He simply let you exist around him, giving you the space to come to him when needed. Late at night, in the darkness of the chambers you would roll to face him, and the most bitter of sobs would leave your lips.

At first Aemond had been uncertain, and stayed still amongst the sheets, unsure of whether or not to hold you or offer you support. But when you had rolled and pressed yourself into his side, his arms had curled around you in a way that felt natural, as though your body was made to fit between his in such a way, and let you cry against his chest.

Your clothes, your maids noticed, had begun to wear large on you, finding that you had no want to eat nor any appetite to do so. Even with the gentle encouragement of them both, you still did not find the heart to do it, looking at the bowl of star fruit in front of you, stomach full of lead.

But Aemond allowed you to do it.

He allowed you to grieve, but at some point, everyone has their limit, and it seemed that tonight was the night for his.

“You need to eat, Y/n. You need move past this grief. Do not let it consume you.” He implored, grasping at your cheeks.

You pulled away from him, looking up at him with a shaky lip, “Nothing you do will ever make this okay! Nothing you say will take away what you have already done, or what you are to do.”

“What are you talking about?” He questioned, deep lines in his brow.

“This! Us!” You broke, “All of it. It seems as though the Gods have destined us with nothing but pain and agony, and how much more must I bear? My heart cannot take it, Aemond.” A tear slid down your cheek, “I am tired, but more than this I am so alone. So very much alone even with you standing in front of me. Even as I can reach out and touch you with mine own hands. Even as you promise me sweet nothings, I know that it will never be enough to satiate the hungers of the punishments I will soon be lashed with.”

Aemond shook his head, stepping forward towards you again, “Do you think I am going to hurt you? I’m not going to punish you for losing the child. It was not your fault.”

A sob fell from your lips, “Then why do I feel one coming? Why do I always feel as though I am one hair away from your cruelty? We take one step forward together and five steps back. I have given you everything, and yet what do you give me? Nothing. You did nothing. You stood there and watched as I was brought before Aegon. What if it had been me? I thought it was going to be me! And you stood there like a craven and just watched.”

His violet eye blinked at you, the sapphire beside it, still.

You sucked in a breath again, “You watched as your precious wife, the mother to your child, was brought to the throne by force. You watched as Aegon threatened to take my tongue. And what did you do, Aem? You stood there and did fucking nothing!” Anger rose within you, bubbling viciously beneath your skin, “You stood there like a craven as your brother accused me of treason! Your wife! Your supposed love! Your one childhood companion who did nothing but defend you, no matter the odds or punishment! It has always been me. I have been the only one to ever love you. The only one to ever care. The only one to ever defend you. How many times did I do that for you? From the training yard, to the dragon pit, to the Sept. And when the time came for you to defend my honour, you were that same, scared little boy who would hide in the tunnels after his brother would tease him.” Heat rose on your cheeks as you looked at your uncle, his face stern and his eye narrowed.

"You expected me to do what?" Aemond snapped, "What did you expect me to do in that moment? I was not even told you were being brought to the chambers. I could not have possibly done anything that would not have made it worse. If Aegon had seen me react, he would have delighted in the sight and been moved to do more."

You scoffed, “I am burdened with being wed to a coward who hides behind the illusion of duty. A man who cannot even stand up to his drunken, pathetic, whoring brother.” You forced out a humourless laugh, watching as Aemond became irritated, “My husband who rides the largest dragon in the world, my husband who is a skilled warrior; sits and waits to be told what to do like a dog. Doing everyone else’s bidding.” You stepped closer to him, eyeing him down, “If I had not seen your cock, I would have suspected you were a eunuch.”

“My duty is to my brother, to my mother. To my blood.” He sneered.

“And what of my blood, Aemond? What of our union? What of the prophesies from the Gods? Did they not command you to act as you watched me be dragged by men into the throne room? That babe may have been the Prince that was Promised, and now it is gone. Because of you.”

Aemond huffed, “I could do naught! He is my brother. He is the King.”

“And I am your wife! And the blood of the dragon between us runs thicker than the water of the womb you have shared. Like a scared little boy. Never have I seen you so pathetic. You left me for dead.”

Aemond scowled, “I would never do that to you.”

“And yet, you did. You left me at the hands of your brother. And you watched. You have only lost one eye, yet you are so blinded by your duty to them. I feel as though I have died already. I died the moment I watched you do nothing, as those men touched me, as the pain creeped into my womb. I died the moment I realised I meant nothing to you, and that you would let my fate fall into Aegon’s hands. Is this a cruel joke from the Stranger? Is my true reality too grievous for my soul to take? Am I destined for all eternity to love a man who does not love me back?”

“I do love you.” Aemond insisted, frustration in his tone.

“Then why do you let them hurt me?!” You cried, “Why do you hurt me? The Gods play tricks on my mind and my body, and punish me for your actions. She was your whore. Your bastard. And yet I was punished for it. Not you. Me.”

“I lost the child too, do you not think that it pains me so?”

“I know it does not! You did not feel it as I felt. You did not feel the life leave my body, or the pain that came after. You did not feel it pass through me.” You sniffed, another tear falling.

Aemond’s lip twitched as he looked down at you, voice dangerously low, “I thought I lost you both.”

“And that is where the sickness and depravity of the Gods come to fruition. It is a never ending cycle of hurt and be hurt. I do not know what they have planned for me, but I fear it, Aemond. I fear the path they have paved for me. That child was from them, I know it. I felt it in my bones. And yet we lost it. Will they punish me now for being so careless? Will they punish us both for not ensuring its birth? I cannot continue to wreak the consequences of the men around me. I will break. I will break like poor Helaena did. But even to that, there is nothing I can do because I fell in love with a man who’s actions wound me most terribly. There is this small, foolish piece of me still holding onto hope that the Aemond I grew up with would still care for me as he did.”

“I do. I love you deeply. I would do anything for you, surely you know this.” Aemond began, stepping forward to hold your face tightly in his large palms, thumbs brushing the tears that fell from your cheeks.

“It is okay,” You heaved a breath, “Please just tell me if it is a farce.” You grabbed his wrists almost desperately, “If you only say it so for the treaty. I will understand, I will even make my peace with it.” You said desperately, “But please, I cannot survive my heart being torn apart by you any longer. I cannot do it, Aemond. I won’t. I will throw myself from Maegor’s Holdfast, I promise you this. I will set you free from these marriage bonds if you so wish, and my spirit from this earthly plane.”

Aemond stepped towards you, grabbing your shoulder and neck, fingers framing your chin, “Avy jorrāelan.” I love you, “Eman va moriot jorrāelatan ao. Kesan va moriot jorrāelagon ao. Se qēlossās kostagon ropagon hen se jēdar, se nyke iēdrosa jorrāelagon ao.” I have always loved you. I will always love you. The stars could fall from the sky, and I would still love you.

Aemond’s eye narrowed as he spoke, brow furrowed in a way that creased the scar at his brow, “Eman jorrāelatan ao pār nyke ēlī ilagontan laesi va ao. Se kesan jorrāelagon ao ēva ñuha mōrī jelevre.” I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you. And I will love you until my last breath.

A loud sob left your lips as your heart clenched in your chest at his words.

"Hen se gūrēñare yard, naejot se havor tistālion, ēza va moriot issare ao.” From the training yard, to the kitchen, it has always been you.

“Aemond.” You hands tightened around his wrists in a way that would have been painful as you clutched him for dear life.

The Prince pulled you forward towards him, clutching you against his chest as he let you cry, wrapping his large arms around you, blanketing you in a feeling of safety that only he could bring to you.

You cried into him, feeling the last of your resolve fall away, and the rawness of your grief exposed to the chambers. He held you to him tightly, afraid to let go, your hands tightly wrapped in the front of his tunic.

When Aemond finally pulled back, he brought his lips to yours. It wasn’t burning with passion or desire, it wasn’t laced with regret and grief, instead, his lips moved against yours like a gentle whisper of assurance, a smaller whisper of truth, and the almost invisible whisper of a promise, all of which was overpowered by one thing, and one thing only.

Love.

Your uncle pulled away, looking down at you with nothing but adoration as he spoke again,“Lanta rōvēgrie zaldrīzes perzyssy, hēnkirī hae mēre. Spool hen kasta, spool hen zōbrie. Iā rōvēgrie ropagon naejot letagon lanta hubon. Vējes naejot zālagon hēnkirī.”

Two great dragon flames, together as one. Spool of green, spool of black. A great fall to tie two threads. Fated to burn together.

Tears continued to fall, but not because of grief. Not because of the sorrow that swallowed you into its dark pit, its wispy tendrils pulling you beneath its icy surface. Not because of the regret that you had, or guilt that you felt for the Maester.

You cried because you knew it was the truth.

You knew it to be.

It had to be.

All of this could not be for naught.

“Avy jorrāelan.” I love you, He whispered again.

You gave him a sad smile in return, “And I love you, but I don’t think I will survive this.”

“I will not let them hurt you.”

You looked at Aemond carefully, watching as the words left his mouth, at the way his eye held conviction, at the way his mouth held an almost Godly truth.

The way he said it to be true.

As though speaking would make it so.

“You already have.”

Aemond dipped his head towards you again and kissed you, pulling you against his body once more as you wrapped your arms around him, sighing into the kiss, feeling relief in his touch, safety in his arms, warmth in his reach.

Slowly Aemond moved you backwards towards the bed.

Your heart did not race nor skip, your breath did not hitch, and you went with him willingly, hands reaching the bottom of his tunic to begin unclasping the latches that held it together.

When the last clasp was undone, your hands skated beneath gently, softly, slowly, and moved up his torso, feeling the hard lines of his body, and the warmth of his skin, and the subtle breaths that he took as you made your way to his shoulders, hands moving beneath to slide it off his his body. It fell to the floor, the next his under tunic, and before long, your hands reached forward to unlace his breeches.

Aemond spun you softly, pushing your hair away from your neck and forward over your shoulder, kissing the bare skin as he unlaced and the back of your gown, the heavy material sagging on your body until it slid to the floor beneath you.

Breeches and chemises were lost, boots and stockings tossed, until finally the two of you laid atop the green sheets of your bed, his callused hands skating over your skin in reverence, with undying patience and care.

First he took you with his mouth, bringing you to your peak with the help of his long fingers, stretching you open for him and whispering words of praise against your slick skin. When you peaked with a cry, he kissed his way up your body, through the valley of your breasts until he hovered above you, seeking permission to move as he lined himself with your core.

You tilted your head upwards, chasing his lips as he slid inside of you slowly, the both of you moaning into each others mouths. Pleasure coursed through you with every thrust, heat blooming in your core as he made love to you for the first time.

It was not possessive or rough, violent or haste, it was slow, and sensual, hands mapping out bodies, savouring the flickering sparks that spouted beneath your skin. The small sighs that he made, the moans as he dipped his head into your neck.

All of it devastatingly pure.

The tears came without you even noticing them there, Aemond finding them upon your cheeks with a moment of concern. He brushed the tears away from your cheeks as he stilled, the length of him throbbing inside of you, desperate to keep moving.

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head vehemently, “I wish we hadn’t wasted so much time apart.” You whispered, hips moving up to meet his, encouraging him to move again, “I wish the war had not happened.” Aemond slid through your folds as you babbled beneath him, “I wish that we had not done the things we had done.”

Aemond bent his neck to kiss you again, tongue chasing yours before he pulled away, the breath having been stolen from your lungs.

“We cannot go back, we can only move forward.”

You nodded, weakness and sorrow buried down beneath you as you looked at him with determination.

“Burn together.”

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

Tag List:

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starkraivennemad · 10 months

Text

Mycroft Alexander David Holmes stood near the Pilgrim Path admiring the view. It is late in the day, and he knew there would be no one else coming this way for some time because of the tides.

That part he flirted with, but still timed well.

The distant storm most certainly was not planned, but he will not frown upon unexpected help from Universe. It is rarely that lazy after all.

Nothing in his line of vision gives hint of the turmoil within himself or the man he holds on the Pilgrim’s Way.

Now would be a good time.

“Zealots talk of dying for their country, but never a word of the lives they take for their country. Is this just?” coughs the man beside him.

“I am not a believer, let alone a zealot.” Mycroft corrects, “I am only what you once were – a patriot. Finding a new deity was your right. Becoming an enemy of England was flirting with death. Betraying us was signing your death warrant. You are a traitor.”

“Patriot/Traitor” The traitor gives his opinion of the word with the vile phlegm spewed to the ground. “It depends on which side one views of the coin.”

“Sun Tzu states ‘Anger may in time change to gladness… But a kingdom that has once been destroyed can never come again into being.’ He also states, ‘The greatest victory is that which requires no battle’.” Mycroft’s eyes narrow, carefully watching the ominous skies. “Your actions nearly caused a war. My actions here avoided it. I would say my view is just enough.”

“So, your country will label you a hero, but mine will make me a martyr.”

“The place you now call your country will think you a deserter. We have seen to that. The dismantling of your reign of terror against us has already started – after all, the breadcrumbs I left are what brought you here.” Mycroft half shrugs. “As for me? Only the five people who sent me to get you will know. The rest of my countrymen will remain ignorant and at peace, blissfully unaware of what transpired here.”

“Those five people have been trying to get me for years. Only you found me. You are impressive.”

“I know. I am better.”

“At what?” the traitor snorts, but it costs him as winces in increasing agony.

Mycroft does not even think to hesitate in his answer. “Everything.”

“And modest.” The traitor coughs a very wet cough and spits again. Mycroft is not surprised by the blood in the spittle.

Now would be a good time.

“I simply know who I am. Modesty has naught to do with it, nor changes the fact of it.”

“Enjoy your peace for now you bastard. There will be others.” The traitor says with conviction.

“I will.” Mycroft replies with equal conviction. “And I will make it my job to stop those others before it comes to necessary actions as this.”

Mycroft had been looking at the expanse in front of him over the traitor’s shoulder on purpose, avoiding what was happening. Now he looked directly at the man himself as he gurgles, beyond caring of the bloody spittle staining his chin.

The traitor, a former member of Ultra, was once known as Eric Kimberly Gladwell, the name he called himself now soon to be rendered irrelevant.

Now would be a good time.

He waits until he’s sure the traitor’s hazel irises that had stared at him no longer saw anything.

Only then did Mycroft remove the blade from the man’s lung.

The traitor did not expect the attack from the young agent who broke the man’s femur immobilizing him. Mycroft then stabbed him with the blade between the ribs and held it plunged.

The poisoned blade – the blade that would have been used on Mycroft – was the traitor’s trademark in the kills for his adopted country. The traitor might have survived the physical stabbing, but there was no recovery from the poison.

Assured the traitor is dead, Mycroft does what is necessary. He knows the high tide will claim the body, but he was not taking chances. He grabs a piece of driftwood and shoves it into the wound even deeper than his original stabbing. Even if it is found, no one will bother to look past the obvious presented. The traitor will be some unfortunate soul who did not heed the many warnings for the tides and was swept away.

----------

His uncle Rudy looks at him carefully when he returns to headquarters. He knows his uncle has deduced him and knows what he has done…

Mycroft paraphrases the end of a famous quote by Aeschylus “And home I come, to claim your welcome, but not as ashes in an urn.”

In several months his uncle will inform him of the bloated decayed body that washed ashore near Lindisfarne. A large broken piece of driftwood between its ribs. Too much of the sea battered remains were destroyed to make identification possible.

His uncle raises a brow and responds with his own paraphrasing of the beginning of the Aeschylus quote and gives his nephew a curt nod of acceptance. “We sent forth a man to battle, but no such man returned.”

Mycroft silently agrees as he takes a seat. The man before his uncle was not the same man Ultra had sent out on assignment.

The traitor was not Agent Mycroft Holmes’ first kill; but it was his first murder. He is nineteen.

----------

Ten Years Later

Mycroft returns to the island to mark the occasion.

No longer a field agent, but a member of Ultra itself.

Ten years after that Mycroft returns again.

A member of Ultra and starting tomorrow morning he will be the head of it. He has a new three-piece suit for the occasion.

It’s about time. Read on AO3

@flashfictionfridayofficial

#bbc sherlock #mycroft holmes #mystradedialogueprompt #flash fiction friday #fanart #my artwork

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hushpuppy5-blog · 1 year

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Periods? A Bloody Waste of Time 🩸

I'm entirely convinced at this point that anything that they tell us (women) is normal is actually bad for us. While pregnancy from male insemination can be avoided, periods are a different matter. I am certain that they are not meant to be painful at all, nor are we meant to bleed so heavily. If a period is (as some claim) truly the removal of toxins and other fluids, are we not going to analyze what the heck is intoxicating us to begin with?

dailymotion

I saw this documentary a while ago called "Red Moon: Menstruation, Culture, and the Politics of Gender" were several women were discussing the stigmatization of periods. I don't remember which part it was exactly, but they were mentioning how painful periods were an energy thing. For some women, especially those who have suffered from abuse in their past, something may energetically be going on with each monthly release. I think it even goes beyond that.

This world's version of normal seems to be in praise of degeneracy at every corner of life. Pregnancy is normal, yet many women die from it or leave with life long scars (physically and emotionally). Intercourse (which seems to skirt itself alongside pure violence) is normal, yet many women leave with disease or some form of mental disorder. Periods are normal, but many women suffer monthly from it to the point where they can become immobile for a day or two. It seems that just as man has intoxicated nature, he has intoxicated the women as well. Expertly so. Now women have convinced themselves and others that pain and suffering is normal. I found this document online discussing some doctors who observed the difference between the western women and who they called "primitive" women. The western women were described as having highly acidic bodies, whilst the other group of women had alkaline bodies.

During the study, the women who consumed more animal products were more susceptible to bleeding heavier and for a longer period during their menstrual. With the alkaline women who consumed more plant based foods, the menstruation almost ceased to exist.

Modern doctors will claim that the absence of a period is signs of a terrible condition. They'll even suggest that an eating disorder it at play. It's interesting they'll say that losing your periods is unnatural, but popping a pill full of foreign chemicals to "regulate" it is totally not cause for future concerns. Speaking of eating disorders—from a western perspective—arguably many people already have eating disorders. We eat until our bellies our stretched beyond normal, and we consume foods that are lifeless and will end up rotting in our stomachs. I do believe that an aspect of periods is normal, given their spiritual nature. In ancient times, they hinted at a connection between the cycles of the moon. This was when women could be most in tune with their bodies and souls, perhaps harnessing spirtual powers that may have been dulled any other time. Now, women are lying in bed curdling in pain during that time of the month. Not much can be done productively. Of course, not all women have this problem, but plenty do.

This is just some speculation though. For me personally, omitting meat and other animal products from my diet has changed the way I think. I'm only four months in though, and my decision to do this was spontaneous and came about due to some health concerns for mine. I have had asthma and eczema for most of my life. These are two inflammatory conditions that have left me breathless and peeling off my own skin to a gross degree. Since reducing my consumption of eggs and milk and taking out meat completely, I've been breathing better and I've had little to no rashes. As a shift to something completely plant based, I'm curious as to how it will further effect me physically alongside my future menstrual cycles as well. Again, this is just the case for myself and could effect others differently. I just know that society doesn't care for case by case conditions and wants EVERYBODY to do the exact same thing healthwise, regardless of how it effect them personally. They've been choosing death for us for centuries. Now, when some of us choose life, they want to call it dangerous pseudoscience. Spare me. Women need to get to know their own bodies on a personal level. Many modern doctors aren't healers. They're band-aid solutions. This includes female doctors, since they are getting paid too. We need to be in charge of our own health and start educating ourselves.

Periods were once considered the first curse on women. Perhaps they still are. They certainly aren't desired. This isn't to take the Christian perspective of "woman bad", but there are hidden truths within these ancient books that must be analyzed. In the case of Eve, she suffered two curses from God in Genesis 3:16:

"I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labor you will give birth to children."

And

"Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you."

There's no explicit mention of periods here, but pregnancy and periods go hand in hand on the pain spectrum it seems. The second quote is also intriguing. This desire for her husband is linked to pain as well as "inequality". I believe that her desire for Adam makes them far more equal than we realize. She suffers with him in his degeneracy now, although on a different level. It's also notable that her suffering is more severe and constant. Would she have this pain if she loved "God" more than Adam? Or if she loved herself more than Adam?

There are so many questions, many left unanswered. Regardless, there can be a more optimistic lens to this. Like many curses, perhaps this one can be broken.

#periods #curses #hilton hotema #food #vegetarian #meat #living foods #moon cycle #alkalineliving #health #spirituality #death #Eve #blood

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stuffymcstuffsworld · 4 months

Text

Burned into my soul

Garp can't help but stare at the burning island. An island where so many lives were taken today. So many innocents lost. He looks down at the crying child in his arms.

~ I look into your eyes, and I think back to the son of mine. You're as old as he was when I left for war.~

Ace, Portgas D. Ace. Only a newborn baby. And on his first hour of life, an entire island was destroyed. All for the sake of a dead man's sins.

It shouldn't be this way. The sins of a father should not be thrown onto a child. Especially if that man in question had been executed for his crimes.

He was only a baby... the world was too cruel. His son had been this age, innocent and sweet. But little Ace, well according to justice, he wasn't innocent, and he should be disposed of immediately.

~Will these actions haunt my days? Every man I've slayed is the proce I pay endless pain?~

He couldn't spare Roger from death. Nor could he save Rouge from burning. He couldn't assist the thousands that were now dead from the genocide that had occurred.

He clutched the tiny newborns body as tight as he could without hurting him. He had made a promise to both of those two at this point. And he intended to keep it.

~Close your eyes and spare yourself the view. How could I hurt you?~

Ace would live. Garp would make sure that the little boy on his arms would become a man. His heart ached. There wasn't much else he could offer this child who had suffered so greatly.

To make up for everything lost today, Ace needed to live. He needed to be strong and healthy. Till he could become his own man one day.

~I'm just a man who's trying to go home. Even after all the years away from what I've known.~

Where to take the boy, though? It should be somewhere far from here. Somewhere safe. A place where Garp had some control.

Home... it had been a long time since Monkey D. Garp had returned to his island. There weren't many reasons to go back anymore. Not since his stupid son had left to start some ridiculous rebellion.

Ace would be safe there. It was far from the grand line. And the East Blue was the safest region to live in. Yes, he would take the child there.

~I'm just a man who's fighting for his life. Deep down I would trade the world to see my son and wife. I'm just a man.~

But who would take care of the tiny brat? He wasn't exactly able to drop everything. It had to be someone he trusted. Someone who wouldn't dare to harm the boy.

It was times like this that he wished his precious wife were alive. Oh, how she'd be sure to give him hell over it. Scolding him for messing his relationship with their only child. And bringing a newborn to her without a stitch of clothes.

But maybe... her sister could do it, couldn't she? After all, she owed him many a favor for not arresting her under his wife's request. Yes, Curly Dadan would do.

~But when does a comet become a meteor, and does a candle become a blaze. When does a man become a monster?~

This day would haunt him for a lifetime. A day where he failed as a marine and a man. All in the name of justice.

~When does a ripple become a title wave, and does the reason become the blame? When does a man become a monster?~

Justice? No... this wasn't what he'd call justice. It was twisted. Something needed to change. And he needed to be the one to help make that change.

~Forgive me~

He needed to help train the younger generation. He needed to guide them so that they wouldn't make the same mistakes. So that they could be true justice.

~But when does a comet become a meteor, and does a candle become a blaze? When does a man become a monster?~

Ace has cried himself to sleep in his arms at this point. That's a good thing. He'll need the rest for the long journey ahead.

~Forgive me~

He can't help the tears that fall as he morns the lives lost. The dreams that will never be forfilled. Leaving only a graveyard in it's wake.

~When does a ripple become a tidal wave, and does the reason become the blame? When does a man become a monster?~

As his ship sails into the distance, watching as the island slowly disappears into the sea. A place that is no more. One that shall be forgotten amoung history. But remain forever in his soul.

~Forgive me.~

The island called Baterilla.

~I'm just a man.~

#one piece #monkey d garp #portgas d ace #curly dadan #songfic #epic the musical

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ehmaree · 6 months

Text

SHORT STORY!

I wrote a short story! I decided I'd share it here because why not. There's not really any TWs I could think of for this one (which is surprising, as my stories tend to involve a lot of death).

It's about a dragon who works as a guard at the dungeons and their sister who decided to become one as well just to spend more time with them

It's set in EODW, which is a large worldbuilding project of mine

The Night My Sister Became a Masked Guard

It was the evening when I left my home on that day, the sunset visible quite clearly from where I stood. The date was 1637/16/21¹, and it was the first day in the week where I had to work my shift as a Masked Guard. Yawning, I began heading towards the dungeons, ready for another night of work. I got into my uniform, making sure everything fit and that nobody tampered with it while I was off-duty. Of course, I expected another standard day—watching over prisoners, punishing prisoners, escorting visitors, and simply following orders. Needless to say, the night didn’t go quite as expected.

As I came down to my post, there was a bit of a surprise waiting for me. My sister, Kéa’nía², was there, in a Masked Guard uniform, just like the one I have, but smaller and better suited to her body shape. She wasn’t very hard to recognize. Our uniforms are supposed to obscure our identities, but they barely hide anything at all, especially for hybrids like us, and we’ve known eachother since we were hatchlings, making it easy to recognize her at first glance.

This came as a surprise to me, as my sister never told me she was training to be a Masked Guard, nor has she ever expressed any interest in the job, though I never explicitly asked her about it. I looked at her, turning my head to show confusion, asking, “What are you doing here? You never told me you were becoming a Masked Guard.”

“Oh! Hi Théa’ng²!” she exclaimed with the enthusiasm she always had. It was rather characteristic of her to do things like this, but then was certainly not the time to be addressing me by name. Or to be shouting enthusiastically, for that matter.

I responded with, “Please don’t use my name while in uniform. We’re supposed to conceal our identities. That’s kind of the entire point of the uniform.” I sat down, asking her again, as she still hadn’t given me a straight answer, “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry about that, I forgot to tell you. They said that I was to be under your training! I mean, I had to ask multiple times for you to be the one to train me, but they let me do it!” she responds, starting to shift her tail around.

I let out a sigh, nodding. Of course she would’ve done something like this, trying to spend as much time as possible with me. Certainly not the healthiest thing to do, going as far as trying to do the same job as me—a very dangerous job, too, being a Masked Guard—but it’s certainly understandable, as all we really have is eachother now. I’ve only become more distant to everyone else after Mother tried to kill us, but everyone responds to these sorts of things differently.

I said back to her, “Well, I guess that means you’re now my responsibility. Welcome to your first night on the job. Just don’t expect me to treat you any differently than if I had anyone else I was supposed to be training.”

“Understood, Th–” She paused, likely due to the uncertainty of what she was to call me. “Sorry, I know I’m not supposed to use your real name here.”

“Call me Eleven-Fifteen³ if you need to refer to me. That’s the number I have on my uniform, embedded onto the side underneath my wing.” I stood up, motioning for the new recruit to follow me. “Come on, I have to start showing you around.”

She nodded enthusiastically, following right behind me. “So, Th– I mean, Eleven-Fifteen. What are we going to do today, exactly?” she asked me, turning her head with curiosity.

I responded, “A tour. And after that, I’m going to see what the assignments of the night are.”

I led my sister around the dungeons, showing her around as she continued to bug me with questions. The dungeon was quite large and took over an hour to get the full tour. I led her through the halls filled with cells, the torture chambers, the Masked Guards’ quarters, the training grounds, and the entrance hall, making sure to explain each one in detail.

After the tour, I got the rest of my assignments for the night, my shift being as usual from that point forward, except for the fact that I was training my sister the whole time. She did rather well for her first night, all things considered, but it was certainly a hassle trying to work around her.

She continued to be under my watch for the next few months, following me everywhere I went. Sometimes I needed an assistant, as in the case of capturing dragons, and she was the assistant in those cases. Eventually, she did graduate and become an independent Masked Guard, and did surprisingly well doing so.

I still look back on this night sometimes, thinking about how my sister died while on duty as a Masked Guard. I don’t actually feel much about it, since I don’t ever really feel much at all, especially in the case of looking back into the past. Yet this night is still an important memory to me, and it reminds me of the times I spent with my sister.

Extra notes:

¹ The date format is yyyy/mm/dd, and there 17 months in a year, with 24 or 25 days in a month

² EODW uses its own language, and many names reflect as such

³ A base-17 numbering system is used here. 202 is the number in base-10

#short story #writing #dragon #dragons #worldbuilding #first person pov

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netherzon · 9 months

Text

A snippet from that arbitration fic I started almost a year ago

Year: ~1872

Characters: Prussia, Germany, England

Warnings: fighting, politics

----------

England looked over at him, seeing him really for the first time.

Surprisingly, he started to laugh.

Ludwig felt an immediate flush of embarrassment, wonder what twig or leaf or worse must have gotten stuck in his hair somehow. Gilbert looked furious.

"Hey! Who do you think you're laughing at?"

England's laughter sounded close to hysterics. "Nothing, its nothing," he said, turning back to Gilbert," it's just, its a hilarious joke don't you think? Are you sure you really want to introduce him to Alfred?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gilbert looked angry and confused now.

"Don't play dumb with me. Your new little brother is young, blond, blue eyed," England swept an arm out in Ludwig's direction, and Ludwig got the distinct feeling he wasn't who England was talking about, "taller than you, too. You ought to be careful the Yank's republicanism* doesn't rub off on him. What would become of your newly unified family then?"

His smugness was barely concealed by the faux concern. Ludwig could feel the tension growing around them like gravity getting stronger.

"What is a 'yank'?" He attempted to interject as a distraction. He was unsuccessful.

Gilbert smiled at England, still one step below him in front of their palace, and said, "Your concern warms my heart, Arthur, but I'm not worried about that." He leaned in closer, conspiratorial, "The difference is my little brother actually likes me."

"Oh, you little--" England gritted out as he lunged to wrap his hands around Gilbert's throat. Ludwig quickly moved between them. He noticed the other stranger had wrapped his arms around England and was tugging him back.

"Tut tut, Arthur, not very gentlemanly to attack your host," Gilbert called out mockingly.

Ludwig turned to reproach his brother, "For once, Gilbert, would you please try not to escalate things?"

The effect was immediate, but for reasons he did not understand, Gilbert's face twisted with hurt.

England was still huffing angrily, but he wasn't fighting the man holding him. The man and Ludwig made eye contact, silently agreeing that the fight was over.

"England," Ludwig said, drawing his attention again. Ludwig wanted so badly to seem like the confident statesman he imagined he could be. The one that Gilbert imagined he could be, but the full force of this man's eyes on him caused him to freeze. His whole body felt heavy. The air felt like he was trying to breathe through syrup. It was only a moment, but Ludwig's first introduction to what it meant to be a truly global empire left an impression.

Even here, in your courtyard, on your land, your power is pitiful compared to mine.

England said nothing. Ludwig worked to get his voice back before he could.

"I wish to apologize, on behalf of my brother and the German Empire," Ludwig said in English, in what he hoped was a confident voice.

Make eye contact, speak clearly, stand up straight

England remained silent, but his face displayed his surprise without words.

"I must admit I do not understand what that conversation was about, but I do understand my brother provoked you needlessly. My hope is that this has not tainted your impression of me permanently, nor injured our efforts to promote neutral arbitration among nations."

"Ah, well," England straightened up, tugging at his clothes.

"Right," England finally began, surprising Ludwig by switching the conversation back to German, "you're right. That behavior was unbecoming. I apologize as well." England turned to address the man Ludwig still hadn't been introduced to, " We came here to avoid a war with your brother after all, and it wouldn't do us very much good to start a new fight in Europe before that's settled."

"Us?" Ludwig thought he heard the man ask, but it was hard to tell as England addressed Ludwig directly again.

"I think it would be best if you direct us to our quarters now."

Ludwig paused, looking back once more at the man standing behind England. When it became clear England had nothing more to say though, Ludwig acquiesced.

"Of course, one of the maids waiting by the door will show you."

Ludwig watched them as they marched past Gilbert, purposefully avoiding eye contact. They didn't have to worry about that though. Gilbert's eyes were fixed firmly on Ludwig.

Ludwig felt the self consciousness coming back full force. Gilbert's expressions was closed off in a way he did not usually see directed towards himself. He just had his greatest growth spurt to date. He felt small.

It wasn't often Gilbert had needed to chastise him, but Ludwig still did not look back on those memories fondly.

Deep down, the feeling also reminded him a little of how England's stare made him feel.

Maybe the joint empire isn't divided so evenly between us.

Isn't that how its supposed to be though?

Gilbert had such high hopes for him. They often overshadowed his own age in comparison to the rest of Europe. There were infinite numbers of faux pas he could have just committed. Infinite rules for dealing with nations that have centuries of history with each other. Rules he couldn't possibly know yet. This was only his first time really being involved with the politics, and they had agreed before hand he should still be an observer more than anything else.

When he finally found the courage to ask directly, "Is something wrong, Bruder?" he braced for whatever shame was coming.

"No," Gilbert said resolutely. His face was still concerning, but his voice was strong, "nothing is wrong, Ludwig. I'm proud of you."

Ludwig stopped short. "What?"

I know what he looks like when he's proud of me, and its not like this, so how--

"I'm proud of you," Gilbert said again.

"But," Ludwig faltered, "if you're proud of me, then why do you look sad?"

Gilbert's face quickly went blank, "I don't look sad."

Ludwig frowned, "Well not anymore, but you did just a moment ago."

"I'm sure I didn't actually," Gilbert raises an eyebrow along with a hand to Ludwig's forehead, "Are you getting sick, bro?"

Ludwig swatted the hand away as Gilbert smiled, seemingly back to his old self, "Seriously, are you feeling hot? No recent hallucinations or anything?"

Ludwig flinched a little. It wasn't warranted. He had seen England speaking to the other man that had accompanied him, so he must've been real. No need to worry.

Gilbert flinched too, "Wait really? Have you actually been having hallucinations Ludwig?"

"No!" Ludwig said quickly, "No, the answer is no. I'm sure of it."

Gilbert glanced around them before leaning in closer. "You know," he said softly, "I wouldn't put you away if you told me."

"Gilbert, I am completely serious. This is not a joke," he said, as straightforward as he possibly could.

Gilbert snickers a little bit, "Alright, now you have to know you sound like a liar. Only a liar protests that much."

Ludwig just sighs, pleased to see his brother acting as his usual self, and already exasperated by it.

"Can we just go wait inside where its warm please?"

Already he felt exhausted by all this, and he's only met one (two?) nations formally that day.

With any luck, it was a European thing.

I hope meeting the United States of America will be less exciting

------

Notes:

*republicanism here referring to the form of government as opposed to monarchies, not the modern day republican party

I posted awhile ago about reading the documents from the Pig Wars arbitration that took place in the newly unified German Empire with Wilhelm I, and having some fic ideas for it. This was one of the very first bits I typed out, and I took some big creative liberties with canon.

In canon Ludwig was "born" through the 1871 unification, meaning he should be a child, but I decided here 1871 was more of a maturation, and this arbitration business is kind of a test. Ludwig has suddenly grown up, he and Gilbert are part of the same empire kind of but also Gil holds most of the power so they're negotiating that, and at the same time trying to put themselves forward as a major power in Europe and ALSO a promoter of resolving international disputes through arbitration rather than war (or so the arbitration papers would have you believe).

Its more complicated than just that, but there was a lot of ass kissing in the American letters to the Kaiser in that regard iirc, oh you're so innovative and so wise to do this Your Highness, and I can imagine young Ludwig earnestly believing in that goal, where Gilbert is kind of reveling in being more powerful/relevant in Europe than he has been in several decades if not centuries.

So yeah, its not canon compliant, but I find the dynamics fascinating. I have some other parts typed up from when America and Canada step in more and there's a lot of pushing and pulling in a lot of directions. I had a lot of fun imagining England's possible reactions to meeting Ludwig for the first time as an adult too.

#hws germany #hws england #hws prussia #hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #hws german bros #my writing

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georgiapeach30513 · 2 years

Text

Pretty Little Secrets, You’re Going Home

Summary: Andy pays for his Clover

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: mild

Warnings: some language, mentioning of prostitution, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 700

Series Masterlist

“So, what things do you like to do?” Andy gives you a kind smile, but his face falls when you chuckle at him. “I think I’m confused.”

“You’re a smart man, Andrew Barber. You came to the Hive, found the precious Cherry Blossom to be a bit too much work. Didn’t want to corrupt her. But you continued to come here, seeking out a woman of a different caliber, winding up in my room. You’ve known about me and the Hive for a few months now. You know that we are heavily guarded. Some of us just your common bed whore. Used for men’s folly, but they won’t take us home as wives. So tell me, what do you do for fun? Besides laying over top of me.”

He leans back, running his fingers through his beard, smirking at you. “So, are you looking for a wife, or a bed companion?”

“Can I not be looking for both?” he cocks up an eyebrow at you, and you let your defenses down.

“You had the perfect one. Untainted and pure.”

“While Cherry was beautiful, she’s much too young, and I don’t want to put the time into training her to be as you call it a bed companion. Yes, she could make a suitable wife, but what would the future president look like with a girl on my arm. I want a woman.”

“And I was that woman?” he nods his head, and you turn away from his handsome face. He is much better looking than just the average man with money. Wasn’t someone that beat around the bush, nor did he feel emasculated by your strong words.

“Future president you say?”

“Leading with eighty-five precent in the polls. My manager said a man with a wife and child would look better to the public.”

“Oh,” you give him a nod. “So we’re not waiting? Like you’re serious, you want to take me out of the Hive? I thought you were just wanting…”

“Just sex is not what I want from you. I realize that this isn’t the ideal living situation. You listen to me when I complain to you about life as a politician, and now I’m propositioning you. I can’t continue to come to the Hive for a…bed companion. I need a wife. Do you want to leave the Hive, and become mine? You will be expected to act as a housewife, preferably we don’t wait to get you pregnant.”

“One prison to the next, huh?” Andy tilts his head to the side looking at you. You become harden, as you try and tell yourself, that you had not been falling for him. And you can’t make yourself believe, that he was falling for you, too, “There’s others that are better trained.”

“I don’t want others, I want you. I haven’t been with others. I’ve only been with you.”

You sigh, shaking your head, “You see where I’m at? The east side of the Hive. We’re left to become common whores. The ones on the west are the housewives. You’ve chosen wrong.”

“I choose you. Paid a ridiculous amount to keep anyone else from you,” Andy stands from his chair, joining you on the bed. When your body starts to lay down, he lifts you up. “There won’t be any of that, unless you tell me that you will be my wife. No one has to ever know where you come from.”

“Meaning, you’d like if they didn’t know, Mr. President?” he answers by nodding his head, grabbing onto both of your hands, he holds them to his chest.

“You won’t be imprisoned. But realize there’s still people going to be watching you. In our home, you are free to be you. In the White House with the staff around, you will be Mrs. Barber. But…”

“Okay,” you interrupt him quickly, knowing there could be worse things than becoming the First Lady. “This means a lot of dresses, and skirts, huh?”

“Only for the cameras. Inside the White House with our children, I would hope you wore something more comfortable. So, shall I sign your papers for release? You’re ready to become my wife?” all it takes is a simple answer of confirmation, and Andy is heading towards the door. “Pack your things Clover, you’re going home.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @thedarkplume @duuhrayliegh @rebekahdawkins @johndeaconshands

#pretty little secrets drabble #pretty little secrets #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x clover #andy barber fanfiction #political au #president!andy barber #wife grooming

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slowtides · 8 months

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Hello. I just logged on to Tumblr after some time and I'm just devastated to find out that memoryslandscape deactivated. I saw your post about them. Did they happen to share why they were leaving? Need some closure 💔

Hi, thanks for sending this message. Unfortunately I don't know anything other than they deleted and are a poet, and I won't speculate out of respect for their privacy. Memoryslandscape did not follow me, and we never interacted (except for when I read their posts).

I understand the sadness and desire for closure, and after sitting on this for a while, I think one way to find closure when we lose track of distant friends (even strangers who impacted us) is to think of them kindly, wish them well, and read a poem for them out loud to disrupt the noise.

Here's a poem about the love and kinship we have for strangers and the intimacies we share and lose with them:

"To a Stranger" by Walt Whitman

PASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me, I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you—I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone, I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

#memoryslandscape #questions

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gatheringbones · 2 years

Text

[“Over time, body positivity has made its constituency clear. It has widened the warm and fickle embrace of beauty standards ever so slightly. Now it showers its affections not only on beautiful, able-bodied, fair-skinned women under a size 4 but on beautiful, able-bodied, fair-skinned women under a size 12. Body positivity has widened the circle of acceptable bodies, yes, but it still leaves so many of us by the wayside. Its rallying cry, love your body, presumes that our greatest challenges are internal, a poisoned kind of thought about our own bodies. It cannot adapt to those of us who love our bodies, but whose bodies are rejected by those around us, used as grounds for ejecting us from employment, healthcare, and other areas of life.

Overwhelmingly, the popularization of body positivity has reinforced the exclusion that fat people experience everywhere else. It doesn’t make thin people less afraid of saying “fat” or being fat. While body positivity held the promise of advocating for all of us, it refused to name our bodies. It could not push for meaningful distinctions between thin bodies and fat bodies, nor the social realities that come with each. When we are not pushed to see our bodies as they are seen by those around us, we cannot have real conversations about the distinct challenges our bodies carry with them, much less how to remedy those challenges. When we are not pushed to see our bodies as they are, we are all left to our default perception—the deep, enduring belief that each of us is unforgivably fat. Diet culture hinges on all of us seeking to become thin, thinner, thinnest, engaged in an endless quest to shrink ourselves at all costs. When we are left to our own devices, we retreat to focusing on the problem of our own mindsets rather than the problem of our internalized biases, the harms we (often unintentionally) cause to those around us, and the ways in which others’ bodies invite different experiences than our own. We universalize our own experience, assuming that believing we are too fat is the same as being treated with the discrimination that too readily plagues undeniably fat people.

Thin people especially struggle to say “fat,” the hypothetical that has hurt them so deeply. But as an undeniably fat person, the word isn’t hurtful to me. It cannot be, because I do not have the luxury of escaping it. Instead, I am beholden to someone else’s discomfort with a word that has never accurately described them. Even as a very fat person, when I enter body positive spaces, I cannot be trusted to describe myself as fat, and I cannot expect support when the truth of my body is hurled at me as an insult. I cannot be responsible for naming my own skin. Body positivity quarantines the words used to describe bodies like mine and, in the process, shuts out those bodies themselves. We need the courage to say the word “fat” and the wherewithal to see all of our bodies accurately. Without it, we cannot name our bodies, nor can we truly embrace and understand all of us who have sought out this movement that felt so essential.”]

aubrey gordon, what we don’t talk about when we talk about fat

#aubrey gordon #currently reading

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etes-secrecy-post · 2 months

Text

Hi, before I explain my post, I want to say something important.

• What you see my blog has become a major overhaul. And despite the changes, I decided that my 2nd account will be now my artwork blog with a secret twist.

⚠️NEW RULE! (W/ BIGGER TEXT!)⚠️

⚠️ SO PLEASE DO NOT SHARE MY 2nd ACCOUNT TO EVERYONE! THIS SECRECY BLOG OF MINE IS FOR CLOSES FRIENDS ONLY!⚠️

• AND FOR MY CLOSES FRIENDS, DON’T REBLOG IT. INSTEAD, JUST COPY MY LINK AND PASTE IT ON YOUR TUMBLR POST! JUST BE SURE THE IMAGE WILL BE REMOVED AND THE ONLY LEFT WAS THE TEXT.

⚠️ SHARING LINKS, LIKE POSTS, REBLOG POSTS, STEALING MY SNAPSHOT PHOTOS/RECORDED VIDEOS/ARTWORKS (a.k.a. ART THIEVES) OR PLAGIARIZING FROM UNKNOWN TUMBLR STRANGERS WILL IMMEDIATELY BE BLOCKED, RIGHT AWAY!⚠️

😡 WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT EVER LIKED & REBLOG MY SECRET POST! THIS IS FOR MY SECRET FRIENDS ONLY, NOT YOU! 😡

Okay? Capiche? Make sense? Good, now back to the post…↓

Title: Clothing Snuggle Doodle (from Tory) - Spot and Riya

So, like I said, I don't make "April Fools" artworks or sharing throwbacks ❌🤡 owing to the celebration of "Easter Sunday". 🥰🐰🤗🐥🥚 (I didn't say I'm banned from celebrating "April Fools", its just not interested nor not my cup of tea)...🙄😒

• Nevertheless, good thing I have this on my "Unfinished" folder section before I made a final touch or the Speedster Twins (Spot & Riya) enjoying their brand new comfy clothes from our good friend @carmenramcat's OC, Tory Ramcat! 🥰👕👖🤗 And like their owned clothes from Maxwell and May's, their new clothes from Tory could do the same thing. And what I meant was, its not just for "Autumn" 🍂 or "Winter" ⛄ attire purpose to wear, but also any season, including "Spring" 🌻 and... "Summer" ☀️ seasons? Although the latter could be struggle during scorching heat, so its best to take it off and cool their bodies by dipping iced-cool water with ice-cold beverage. 🥵🥤💧

Spot 🐶🏎️ [wearing his owned A/W clothes from Tory]: Good advice. Otherwise, we could stay at home and turn on the AC. ❄️🧊😊🏠

Riya 🐰🏎️ [wearing her owned A/W clothes from Tory]: Yes, but twin bro. Let's give another spare time for snuggling our new clothes from Tory before we could take it off. 🙂

Spot 🐶🏎️ [wearing his owned A/W clothes from Tory]: Yeah you're right, Ri. After all, we could do our laundry after this. So, yeah. Then, we could go to the beach/resort with our friends to cool us off! 🏖️🙂

Riya 🐰🏎️ [wearing her owned A/W clothes from Tory]: Sound great idea! 😁 Our schedule is settled! 🛻⛱️ And don't forget, by the way, we could wear our comfy clothes during rainy day 🌧️☔, which is the best way to snug our comfy clothes! 🥰👕👖🤗

Well, that's all for now! And happy 1st day of April! (The summer continues ☀️🏖️)😊

The Speedster Twins (Spot & Riya; Chowder OCs) - created by ME!

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robininthelabyrinth · 2 years

Text

Discordant Rhapsody - ao3 - Chapter 9

Lan Qiren’s first instinct was to bristle at being questioned in such a presumptuous tone.

Lan Xichen was his nephew, a child he’d helped birth with his own two hands that he’d raised ever since – Lan Qiren had a short temper for insolence in his students, and the additional leniency he gave to his nephews on account of his love for them did not mean that he did not insist on proper etiquette or that they show him the respect due to him as their elder.

Still, he swallowed the reaction back down.

The question was justified by Lan Qiren’s own irresponsible conduct, after all, and Lan Xichen wasn’t just his nephew, he was also his sect leader. He had the right to question anyone he wished in the sect, and while that position did not exempt Lan Xichen from the restrictions on honoring one’s elders – the sect elders wouldn’t have such sway if he was – his role still gave him far more leeway than most. Lan Qiren himself had taken advantage of that leniency on a number of occasions to impose his will despite the other sect elders’ concerns, and he firmly believed that his nephew deserved to do the same. He would be a rank hypocrite if he switched his views now that his position was different.

Still, there was lenience, and there was tolerating rudeness. Lan Qiren was neither a child nor in his dotage – he would not be scolded by his own nephew as if he was. Who did Lan Xichen think he was?!

“I have my reasons for my actions,” Lan Qiren said stiffly, his displeasure obvious in both body and voice. “To which are you referring?”

Lan Xichen at least had the self-awareness to look shame-faced and embarrassed by his exclamation.

“Forgive me, shufu,” he murmured, coming to sit. “It is only…ah, but you told me in your message not to listen to rumor. Do not make assumptions about others.”

Lan Qiren nodded, a little appeased. That was the rational, thoughtful Lan Xichen he’d spent so much time raising.

“But…if shufu could perhaps explain…”

And there was the stubborn one.

Lan Qiren inclined his head very slightly, a concession and a little bit of approval.

“I know that in doing what I have done, I have taken on the burden of the cultivation world’s disdain in Wei Wuxian’s place,” he said slowly. “As his teacher, I am beholden to him and him to me; his crimes become mine. More than that, by taking him on as a disciple after he has committed them, I appear to have implicitly condoned his behavior in defying the cultivation world. I have insulted in the Jin sect in particular, and they will be expecting the Lan sect to make right my actions.”

That was the benefit of a sect, after all. Wei Wuxian’s problem was only that the Jiang sect was too weak right now to defend him – if they had been at their full power, the Jin sect would never have been so bold as to demand retribution so blatantly. At most they would have made noises about aggrieved rights, about righteousness and justice, but they would have left the matter of how a sect conducted its own internal discipline in the hands of Jiang Cheng; in the end they would have accepted whatever punishment was inflicted and some compensation and then shut up about it. As Wen Ruohan had so ably demonstrated, forget a few guards, if you had enough power, you could even go so far as to kill the sect leader of another Great Sect without facing any real consequences.

“My actions have created a profound burden. I am aware of that,” Lan Qiren continued. “But… I am willing to bear that burden. I accept the consequences of my actions, and the punishment due to me for my having in turn burdened the sect. I understand that I have brought it upon myself.”

He couldn’t apologize for the burden that he’d put on Lan Xichen’s shoulders. While he regretted it, the way he always regretted anything that made his nephews’ lives harder, that regret did not mean that he would have changed his actions. An apology would therefore be meaningless and hypocritical, and the rules said be of one mind, decisive and honest with both oneself and others.

Lan Xichen nodded slowly. “I understand, shufu. But…why?”

Lan Qiren’s fingers tightened on themselves.

“For Wangji,” he said, and from the way Lan Xichen paled, he knew his nephew understood.

Lan Xichen floundered for a moment or two after that. Finally, he said, “Wangji wouldn’t…he wouldn’t have done anything – against the rules.”

Lan Qiren snorted.

“Indeed,” he said scathingly. “And yet, Xichen, I would challenge you to identify precisely which one I broke, as well. The rules counsel upholding justice, and do not condemn the taking of personal disciples – one need not break the rules in order to go astray.”

Lan Xichen faltered, then bowed his head, acknowledging the point.

(It was not actually as good a point as it might be – do not accept disciples without careful screening came immediately to mind as a possibility, and do not act impulsively was another – but Lan Xichen, at least, wouldn’t argue with him on this point, the way Lan Wangji might have.)

Still, point or no point, Lan Xichen deserved a more fulsome explanation.

“Wei Wuxian intended to remain on the Burial Mounds with the Wen sect, using its power as a means of defense…you saw with your own eyes what was left of the Wen. Virtually all of them can be described as elderly, infirm, or an infant; they wouldn’t have lasted three days without him,” Lan Qiren said, his gaze dropping to his hands. “The Burial Mounds is a foul place, inimical to human life, seething with resentment. It is wholly contrary to our cultivation path. Perhaps Wei Wuxian could find a way to thrive there, with his demonic cultivation, but…to think of Wangji there, amidst the filth and grime, each breath full of corpse ash and unanswered grudges…”

He shook his head.

“I understand, shufu,” Lan Xichen murmured. His eyes were sad. Unlike Lan Wangji, he had been old enough, albeit barely, to understand something of what had happened between his parents while his mother still lived, and to have to wrestle with that understanding. “But – the rest of the sect –”

“The choice was mine,” Lan Qiren said firmly. “Wangji has broken no rules. No matter where his heart leads him, whether his affections are requited or not, he has taken no action and cannot be censured.”

“He cannot, no. But shufu, you can be.” Lan Xichen looked at him beseechingly. “There are those in the sect that resent how you have managed sect matters all these years or the decisions you’ve made, those who have been waiting for an opportunity to express their dissatisfaction with you. In all this time, shufu has never given them a chance to do so, but now…”

Lan Qiren knew far too well what Lan Xichen was referring to.

It had been his brother that was meant to be sect leader, not him, and the Lan sect was after all a Great Sect, powerful and extensive; even with their family rules to help restrain them, it was impossible that they would lack in people with ambitions and schemes, divergent self-interests leading to petty infighting. Plenty of people had invested time and energy in supporting his brother with the hope of reaping future rewards, only to be disappointed in Lan Qiren, who was far more orthodox and rule-bound than his brother, and far less inclined towards favoritism. Still others had disliked his strict insistence on ethics, hating how he forced them to actually live up to the rules that bound their family rather than simply pay lip service to them – he had made examples out of several, killing the chicken to warn the monkey, and now both chicken and monkey hated him down to the bones.

Doing what he had done was, in fact, giving them an opportunity to rake him over the coals, and he had no doubt that they would take advantage of it. The voices arguing against his behavior would be all the louder simply because it was him – and the eventual punishment that might come for having breached the rules, however good his motives, was likely to be worse as well. He was very good at following the rules, after all; his enemies within the sect might not ever get another chance as good as this to obtain their vengeance while hiding behind the façade of sect discipline.

Lan Qiren knew this, had known this, and had proceeded regardless.

If he had ever lived his life out of fear, it was fear born of love, whether love for his nephews or his brother or his sect. Not once had he ever made a decision simply because he feared his sect’s punishment. Those petty vultures that still mourned those immoral things he forced them to stop doing…no, he’d never change his mind or his actions simply because of them.

“It’s not just the usual ones, this time,” Lan Xichen said. He was fidgeting in a most uncharacteristic manner, a bad habit that Lan Qiren thought he’d broken long ago. “It’d be one thing if it were just some people with old resentments, I could put a stop to that; the rules say do not hold grudges. But there are also others… You’ve angered more of the sect this time than you might think, shufu.”

Lan Qiren frowned at that, and thought of Lan Yueheng, so enthusiastically shoving himself where he wasn’t needed in order to make a declaration that was probably unnecessary – that Lan Qiren hoped was unnecessary. The implications of Lan Yueheng feeling the need to make such a public statement had worried him when he’d noticed it earlier, and they worried him now.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“It’s…” Lan Xichen hesitated, cheeks coloring. “They say…they said…”

“Do not be of two minds. Tell me what they said.”

“They said you were as bad as Father,” Lan Xichen blurted out, and Lan Qiren stared at him in shock. “They said you’d just been waiting all this time to put down the burden of the sect leadership so that you could do what you wished, and that you’d proved it because the first thing you did after that weight was gone was to act as vilely he had, dragging someone back just the way he did.”

It was the most offensive statement that Lan Qiren had ever heard.

And yet, the thing was, they weren’t…entirely wrong.

Hadn’t Lan Qiren had the same thought himself, comparing his taking of Wei Wuxian as a disciple to his brother’s taking of He Kexin as a wife? In each case they were deliberately making use of the norms of the cultivation world and their sect’s face, knowing that the sect would have no choice but to support them or else be embarrassed by them, in both instances both he and his brother had used themselves and their reputations to hide the crimes of another and to make their sect their unwilling accessory in doing so.

But Wei Wuxian had come to Gusu willingly, even if the circumstances had conspired to put him in a situation where coming to Gusu was a far better choice than his alternative – he had still had an alternative, however dire and distasteful the thought of staying at the Burial Mounds was to Lan Qiren. Wei Wuxian had not been forced, he would not be forced; there would be no seclusion for him, no eternal penance, no dying by inches. The Lan sect valued human life the most, but like most families, rated the lives of their Lan sect members at a little bit more than that; He Kexin’s crime of deliberately murdering an honored teacher had won her a far harsher penalty than the deaths of few Jin sect guards under questionable circumstances would ever amount to – Lan Qiren had meant it truly when he had told Wei Wuxian that he would take the full weight of that punishment onto his own shoulders. His action were meant as a gift, to Wei Wuxian and to Lan Wangji both, and he had asked permission to give that gift, obtained that permission without coercion…he was not acting selfishly, thinking only of himself.

Lan Qiren was not stepping on the faces of his ancestors nor forgetting their grace through his actions, as his brother had. He was not forcing someone into accepting something that would ultimately kill them. He was not bringing someone back unwillingly and trapping them away. He wasn’t –

He wasn’t his brother.

He wasn’t.

The shock took a little while to pass, but when it did, it was followed by anger. How dare his sect say such a thing? His brother had cast aside everything for He Kexin, up to and including the duties of sect leadership, those same duties to which Lan Qiren had sacrificed the entirety of his life, casting aside his dreams and turning himself into a substitute that serve the sect only as a bridge between his generation and the next. He was nothing like his brother.

Even his decision now was a decision he’d made thinking of others, wholly unlike his brother’s complete self-involvement…ah, but he couldn’t tell anyone about Lan Wangji! To admit that he feared that Lan Wangji would behave like his father before him had, thinking of nothing but love – he would never lay such a burden on Lan Wangji. He would never willingly insult him so grievously for a fear that had really been more about Lan Qiren’s own demons than his nephew’s conduct, present or future.

Once cooler minds had prevailed, Lan Qiren had understood that his worries were less about Lan Wangji than for him. Even if Lan Wangji wouldn’t disobey the rules all at once, his good character formed from being raised by a stickler like Lan Qiren, in the end his Lan sect heart would never allow him to stand aside as Wei Wuxian was chased to the end of his rope and then beyond. Eventually, someway, somehow, he would take action to support his beloved and no matter what happened then, his end would be miserable.

If Lan Wangji forced Wei Wuxian back to Gusu against his will, it would destroy any hope of love between them and break Lan Qiren’s heart in the process, destroying their family; if Lan Wangji went to Wei Wuxian’s side, choosing to live in the Burial Mounds, he would be setting himself against the entire cultivation world and even escaping with his life would be a challenge; if Lan Wangji defied his sect for Wei Wuxian’s sake, they would punish him, perhaps severely; if Lan Wangji failed to protect his beloved, whether through refraining from action or by trying to aid him without success, he would be as if one widowed, doomed to never again find happiness or a dao companion in his life now that the one who had captured his heart was gone…

Lan Qiren had prevented that, doing what he’d done. He’d prevented all of that.

Lan Wangji had broken no rules.

Let it stay that way.

No – Lan Qiren knew in his heart that he wasn’t like his brother. No matter what anyone else thought, no matter if they never knew the truth, he knew that he’d acted out of love, selfless love, rather than selfishness. That was enough.

“I…will deal with it,” he said, struggling to maintain his composure, his voice breaking only briefly, and Lan Xichen bowed his head to hide how he was biting his lips out of sheer worry. “Xichen – whatever the motive, the decision was mine. I should bear the weight of it. That is what our rules counsel, and I have always sought to live by the rules for better or for worse. No matter what the others may think of me, I acted as my heart directed me, and I have no regrets.”

Lan Xichen nodded. His distress had not abated.

Lan Qiren wanted to pull his nephew into his arms to comfort him the way he had when Lan Xichen had been young and too full of feelings to understand how to manage them. It would be inappropriate now, of course, and yet, the desire had never left him.

“Perhaps I spoke wrongly,” he said quietly, and Lan Xichen looked at him. “My sole regret is that you must deal with the trouble I’ve caused you.”

Lan Xichen looked surprised, then chuckled a little, the sound of it watery. “Shufu knows that with Wangji’s happiness at stake, I would likely do the same.”

In truth, Lan Qiren didn’t think he would. He loved his eldest nephew dearly, but he knew his character well – Lan Xichen was instinctively inclined towards peace, often meditating between rivals and genuinely convinced that everyone in the world could get along and all things forgiven if only some effort were put into it. He was not as grimly stubborn as Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji were, each one coldly and ruthlessly convinced of their righteousness, obstinate as mules, utterly unwilling to waver in their positions because of their conviction.

Lan Xichen would be a better sect leader than Lan Qiren ever was because of it.

His sect would love him, and he them. He would give them peace without letting them tear him apart. He would do the same for his family, who he loved dearly and deeply…but not excessively.

Not like his father. Not like Lan Wangji.

Not like Lan Qiren, either.

Perhaps because of Lan Qiren’s experience with his brother’s selfish madness, he had never valued the sort of love that would lead a man to pluck out his eyes to let his beloved see – the type of love that gave too much, giving for the sake of giving even when the recipient didn’t want the gift. He had spent so many years trying to teach his nephews the same lesson, trying to show them that they could love in a way that was productive rather than destructive, that they could be measured and moderate with their love and still be true. He’d thought that he himself served as a model of that alternative, a type of love that was no less deep and passionate for the fact that it was quiet and calm and left room for prioritizing oneself.

What irony.

What a joke.

Lan Qiren had, he now realized, modeled the precise opposite. He had wanted to keep his nephews from following his brother’s path, a love so selfish that it did not think about the harm it was doing to the one it supposedly for, but he had gone too far the other way. The rules said Love and respect yourself, but what was there in Lan Qiren’s life that he had not given of himself to that which he loved? It was only that he loved his sect, loved his nephews, loved the Cloud Recesses and the rules and the rest of it rather than a person that had obscured his vision and made him think, foolishly, that he knew the meaning of restraint.

Lan Xichen would be better than Lan Qiren. He would listen, and everyone would know he was listening; he would make decisions, and everyone would know that he had considered all aspects before deciding. He would compromise when he needed to, and stand fast when he had to, and at all times would remain sober, remembering not to lose himself in favor of his love.

If Lan Xichen had one fault, it was that he was too inclined to forgive, to bend and compromise, to see the best in people. But that fault, too, was something that could be mitigated – and would be, because he still had Lan Wangji standing beside him to advise him. Lan Xichen trusted no one in the world as much as he trusted Lan Wangji, trusted him more than Lan Qiren and Lan Yueheng and either of his sworn brothers, trusted him as if they were twins in truth rather than merely brothers. With Lan Wangji safe, with Wei Wuxian already at his side and no horrible future to devastate him and take him away from Lan Xichen during this critical time of rebuilding when the latter needed the former most, they would be able to together lead the Lan sect into the future that they deserved to have.

If Lan Qiren could achieve that, no matter what else, whatever he faced now would be worth it.

He just had to keep reminding himself of that.

“Let us go and speak with the other sect elders,” he said to Lan Xichen, who nodded grimly. “We will see what can be done.”

#mdzs #lan qiren #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #discordant rhapsody #variations

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