#and while scar is right there the one he killed will forever be dead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mae-falling-in-may · 1 year

Text

My Little Flower | The Darkling x Fem!Reader

I wrote this just after finishing the season 2 of Shadow And Bone, it broke me so like it's a bit of a comfort fic I guess ? Just the way Aleksander was possessive of Alina made me feel things and I'm sorry about this... just a few heads up, I'm no Alina hater (I love her) I just needed to add a bit of tension in this, and also this is the first time I fully write smut AND that I post it on the internet. I'm very self conscious about smut because huh, I'm not the best writer in the world and english is not my first language. I still do hope you'll like it, I had fun writing it !!

Pairing : The Darkling x Fem!Reader

Warnings : very light spoilers, SMUT, jealous reader, kinda possessive!dark!aleksander ? established relationship, claiming, oral sex (f receiving) unprotected sex (protect urselves pls), p in v sex, dom/sub dynamics, creampie, 18+ only MINORS DNI!!!

Summary : Aleksander comes back from the dead, you feel your heart drop when you see him, darker than ever, the scars on his face making you feel weak. He's determined to get the sun summoner, and you're scared that he's drifting from you, but he will show you who you belong to.

Words : 3k

He came back. The one who held you with just one finger, the one who could get you on your knees just with one word. General Kirigan, your General. Hearing what happened in the Fold with the sun summoner and him, broke you. Hell, you didn't know if what happened between you two meant something to him, but you would do anything to make him feel at least something.

My little flower he called you, away from all curious glances. That was the nickname he gave to you, and you held it. You answered it, maybe he called you to have you by his side forever, only for his plans, maybe it was just all an act, but heck, you fell deeply. You fell so deep that nothing would ever make you betray him. You wanted to be with him until you'll be killed in the field, or even just died at his own hands. Whether it was love or a crazy obsession, seeing him alive made your heart much lighter than it was before. You clenched your fists, dangerously planting your nails in your own flesh to keep you from running to him.

His silhouette, his voice, his dark gaze, and his newfound scars, everything about him made your breath hitch. All you could think of right now while he was walking towards other grishas and you, were absolutely disgusting thoughts about how you would go under him to help him relieve himself. You unconsciously held your breath while he was walking towards you. He approached dangerously, all of your body was calling you to be at his service. You gasped for air when he spoke to you.

"My little flower." He whispered, really close to your face so no one could hear him talk. "I'm glad that my most precious Grisha is here."

You didn't manage to form a proper sentence, you were just stuttering words, and Aleksander saw how you were so emotional. You could only whisper the words: "You're alive.", before bursting into tears. He gently took you into his arms and shushed you.

"It's okay, little flower. I am back, and I'll need you more than anything for what we'll accomplish. Come and join me after dinner please ?" You could only nod while letting your tears drop freely.

"I need the Little Saint, you need to locate her, quickly, I want every information you have on her or anyone who's with her, you hear me ?" The tension in the room was heavy, all you could do with your fellow Grishas was to answer "Yes, General." You all waited for him to dismiss every one of you, and with a flick of his hands, he did. They left the room, as you stayed and waited for anything that he could ask you to do. Anything. You heard him shift into his armchair, and when you let yourself stare at him, your mind raced.

She was the one that caused all of this, seeing your General in this state made your heart clench. If only she listened to him, or you had been her, your General wouldn't be suffering like that. A deep cough startled you and your gaze got on Aleksander again, he was sick. You rushed towards him, obviously worried. You kneeled before him, putting a hand on his back and the other one on his knee.

"My General, are you unwell? What happened there ?" The shakiness of your voice betrayed you.

"Flower." He whispered. "I… It's my new power. The nichevo'ya, they're shadow creatures. They defend me when I'm in danger." He locked his eyes into yours, dark and full of fatigue. You felt him drifting off from you. An explosive wave of emotions passed through you when he looked at you. Was it worry? Hatred for the Sun Summoner? Jealousy? Or just everything that you felt for the General was crashing down deep into your being. You gulped, your mind going from one worry to another, then you asked him quietly.

"Is there anything I can do, my General ?" He lowered his head and waited a bit before answering. "I fear that I do not have a solution for my state right now, flower. I just need… The Sun Summoner, Alina…" He stopped himself, what for? You didn't know, but everything collapsed around you. He didn't need you, the nickname he gave you meant nothing. All you could do was make him feel a bit better about this. You'll bring him back Alina, you swore on your life that you'll do anything for him right? Then you'll do it, even though it will hurt more than you admitted.

You stood up, he looked at you, confusion and worry in his eyes. You tried to compose yourself and explained.

"I swore on my life that I'll do anything for you, General, if you want the Sun Summoner, I'll bring her back to you, even if I have to die trying to." You waited for an answer, an approval, anything, he stayed silent. You finally turned to leave the room, the sound of your steps resonating on the walls. You didn't want to leave, you wanted to stay, but hell seeing him like that hurt. You were about to open the door and leave when he stopped you with his voice.

"Flower. Please." You heard him stand up, and slow steps coming towards you. "You're the only one that can help me right now. Are you rejecting me? Your General ?" You felt tears building up again, you didn't know how you could tell him how you feel, having him obsessing over his Little Saint was so painful. But did you really have your right to speak up about it? You were just a Grisha, like any other Grisha here, you weren't her, yet you wanted to be her. You faced him back, letting your tears drop freely over your cheeks.

"How could I reject you when I'm not even yours, General? I know you need her, and I know I'll never be her, I've accepted it. Let me accomplish this for you, my General." You sounded hurt, exhausted, and deeply in love. He was dangerously approaching you by now, and for the first time in months, or hell maybe even years, he spoke your name. Not calling you Flower, like he loved to, just your name. He whispered it, and it felt so good on his lips. He cupped your face with his hand softly making you look at him, he seemed hurt.

"You don't understand. Yes, she is the Sun Summoner, and yes, I need her for every reason I already told you. But, what she is not, and will never be, is my precious little Flower. And you know who this is right? You, you belong to me, and I belong to you. I'll never deny that I wished you were the Sun Summoner, so we could accomplish everything together." Even with this, you couldn't believe him, your mind repeated to you that you meant nothing to him and that you weren't her. Even with his hand on your cheek, you couldn't let yourself breathe for him.

"Please, General, don't make me hope for something that I'm unworthy of." Something seemed to snap inside him when he heard the word "unworthy". He abruptly put his arm around your waist and pushed your body towards him with his hand on your back. The hurt gaze he wore before turned into something different, into something frightening.

"Do not use this word to qualify yourself, my flower. You are way more than that. You're my most precious Grisha, my most precious ally, and my dear, dear, friend." His words were spilled like tasty poison, so dangerous but yet, so good. You couldn't help but whimper under his touch. You knew how Aleksander could be possessive, but you simply refused to let yourself believe you were in his catalog.

Hearing you whimper satisfied him, he let a small smile creep on his face, and he slowly buried his face into your neck. "If you don't believe my words maybe I'll need to show you who you belong to, flower." He kissed your neck, making a path towards your jaw, then your lips. He made sure to dry your tears before kissing you, you sighed into him, your arms making their way to his shoulders. You felt helpless whenever he touched you like this, thinking of nothing more but to please him right now, in this room.

He broke the kiss that left you both breathless, he took a moment to look at you, your eyes, your face, lips, jaw, and neck, and he felt you burning for him. He loves the hold that he had on you. "To bed, without your clothes, please." Even if he would love ripping out your kefta from your body, to expose all of yourself to him, he couldn't, he already had to deal with the million layers of his outfit. So he just followed you to the bed, while you were removing your boots, then your kefta, and then everything that went under it. He was getting rid of his clothing too, but getting distracted by how beautiful you looked for him, his hands stopped doing what he originally wanted to do, and your voice interrupted the silence.

"Do you need help, General ?" You were almost fully naked in front of him, a wave of arousal went through his body, making wearing pants uncomfortable. He nodded at you first, then when you were getting rid of his first few layers of clothes he spoke again.

"Please flower, tonight, only call me by my name. Can you do that ?" You eagerly nodded while you were getting rid of his final upper layer, revealing his scarred torso to you. You let your fingers trail on some of them, wanting to kiss every bit of scars he had on his body. He smiled, loving your admiration and worship, he missed it. He took your wrists in his hand and smiled down at you.

"I know how much you love to worship me, flower, but not yet, you'll do it when I pump my cock deep inside of you. Right now I want to have you at my mercy and show you who this beautiful body belongs to. You hear me ?" You nodded, unable to form more than one word because of his power over you.

"Words, flower." He removed the last bit of clothes that kept you from being naked, exposing you to him. You stuttered "Yes, I understand Aleksander.", that seemed to please him a lot. He pushed you onto the bed, making his way on top of you. He still had his pants on, enjoying the friction of the fabric when his cock was getting bigger with arousal.

"This time it will be me who worships you. I'm going to taste you and make you scream." You whimpered, while he was kissing your neck, making his way painfully slowly toward your breasts. He kissed them softly before trailing down to your stomach, then your hips. He guided you to open your legs for him and found his hands gripping the back of your thighs. He kissed the inside of your thigh before finally making his way to your perfect already wet cunt. You were this wet since the intense kiss you shared earlier, and the more you felt his touch, the more you would be needy for him.

He first lapped your pussy, to take a taste out of it, then completely buried his face into it. You weren't ready, it's been so long since you felt any kind of pleasure down there, you gasped and moaned, already on the verge of screaming. And he was just getting started? You knew you were about to break under him. The obscene noises of him tasting all of you made your head spin. He was eating you out like he wouldn't be able to do it after. The tip of his nose was making friction with your clit, and his tongue inside of you. He groaned under you, you were delicious, and he would not get over how delicious you tasted.

Your moans and the noises he made by tasting you filled the entire room. He was almost tongue-fucking you as you felt your release build-up. You struggled to align proper sentences, just letting out the same words, "Saints, please, Aleksander". He loved how his name sounded on your lips when you were about to come for him, but he would be sure to make you scream it.

"I'm going to make you cum for me, flower. I want you to scream my name when you do. I don't care if anyone hears, they'll just know who you belong to. You're mine, flower."

He then sucked on your clit and took two fingers to pump them inside of you. You screamed at the newfound sensation of his fingers, and your back arched while you were begging for a release. You were so desperate for him and it made his cock ache under the layer of his pants. He wanted to stop right here and bury himself inside of you just to feel you come around him. He sucked your clit even harder and teased your folds with his fingers. His other hand squeezed your thigh as he felt you crumble under his touch. He knew you were close, you were already losing your mind, and the moans you let out were incoherent at this point.

“I know you’re close, flower, cum for me.” You screamed his name while hanging onto the bed sheets. The heat of your orgasm flew all over your body, your back arched and your legs were trembling. The delicious feeling of your release was overwhelming, you soaked Aleksander’s face. He pulled out his fingers slowly and kissed one last time your clit, then your cunt. He straightened up so you could see his face better, his hair was a mess and he was panting. He crushed his lips onto yours hungrily, making you taste the mix of your juices and his spit. You moaned against him, your hands finding their way to his groin. You stroked the length of his cock through the fabric. You wished he was fully naked right now, so you could feel him completely. He hummed into your lips and helped you get rid of his pants.

He broke the kiss to fully remove his clothes, which was a relief to both of you. He felt uncomfortable with the hard-on he had since he had first kissed you. And you, you wanted to please him, to have the taste of his cock on your tongue, to suck him so good so he could not think about anything else but you. But you knew it wasn't part of the plan today. You saw his cock already so hard and ready to be buried inside you. You bit your lip at the thought of it, you haven't had anyone since he left for the Fold with Alina, and god you missed him.

He went back once he was fully naked to kiss the corner of your lips. "I know what's on your mind, flower. You missed me, haven't you ?" He continued to kiss your cheek, your jaw, and your neck while placing himself between your legs. You felt him lightly stroke the tip of his cock on the opening of your pussy which made you moan. "Oh, Saints, yes I've missed you Aleksander." You felt him smile on your neck while caressing your body until his hands found your hips. He faced you once again and looked at you fondly with his dark eyes.

He licked his lips, seeing you desperate for him, he knew you were about to beg for him to fuck you. He didn't even wait for you to say a word that he pumped into you. The feeling and the heat of his cock were oddly overwhelming, and you felt you could cum right here. "I'm gonna fuck you so good, my flower." You couldn't help but moan a please, to indicate that you needed him to move. He smiled and started to thrust into you painfully slowly.

The rhythm he gave was making you feel every inch of his heat inside of you, you were almost trembling. But you wanted more, you begged once again and put your arms around his shoulders. "Please, Aleksander, I need more." Hearing his name falling through your lips while you were begging felt so good. He let out a curse and started to move into you harder and faster. Both of you loved being in each other's arms so you were on the verge of losing your minds.

The room was filled with your moans, the sound of both your skin slapping on each other, Aleksander's light panting while he was thrusting into you, and the obscene wet sounds of his cock going in and out of your soaked cunt. You wanted this moment to last forever, to have Aleksander all for yourself. The sound he made while fucking you was pushing you closer and closer to your release, and he felt it too. "Flower come on my cock with me please ?" You could only nod, overwhelmed by these sensations.

"I want to fill you up, love, can I ?" It was the first time he called you that, you couldn't even process the name you just wanted the both of you to cum. You almost screamed "Yes, please Aleksander.", you were so loud for him, so good to him, you'd never let him go.

The wave of your orgasm reached you when his thrusts became erratic. Your cunt clenched around him as he finally got the release you seek. You felt his hot seed splashing into you, while he reached to kiss you again while filling you completely. You moaned against his mouth, enjoying everything he gave you.

"You're mine, my little flower, mine only."

#shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #reader insert #the darkling x reader #the darkling #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #aleksander kirigan #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #the darkling smut #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes

2K notes · View notes

after-witch · 1 year

Text

Behind the Curtain [Ren Hana x Reader]

Title: Behind the Curtain [Ren Hana x Reader]

Synopsis: No more shows, yes, that’s what he says. He does not tell you “no more pain,” because there will be pain. Some musings from Ren Hana after the The Show Must Go On DLC (survival ending).

Word Count: 1600ish

notes: kidnapped reader, medical including eye prosthetics discussion, descriptions of past violent abuse and injuries including eye injuries

You poor, pretty thing, lying there in a hospital bed, tubes in your arms and an incessantly beeping machine monitoring your vitals at your side.

You look a mess.

You look lovely.

The wounds from your lively (and, he must admit, very well received--well, until the end) triple show debut are vibrant and gorgeously ugly.

Vivid stitches covered in ghastly looking iodine on your stomach, where you’d sliced your belly right open; antibiotic creams slathered over your puncture wounds; an etching of various cuts and bite marks… yours and his. Not to mention your eye.

You’ll live, you dear thing. Scarred and bruised, inside and out--but you’ll live.

He’s not an amateur. You’ll have good medical care here. He can afford it, although it’s not often used for more than employee check-ups and keeping merchandise alive long enough to be sold or entertain his streams before the big finale. Or for the occasional creative request via a high-paying donor on a stream.

But for you? He’ll make sure to use every resource to get you back into shape. Back to where you were--or more accurately, he supposes, back to where you’re going to be from now on.

You wake up every now and then. Not to the fullest degree. You are pumped full of drugs, though, and he’s not terribly surprised at your lack of coherency. It’s cute, in a way, though he’s looking forward to enjoying you when you’re more alert. More alive.

How alive did you feel, in those last moments before he stopped the stream? How aware were you that he meant to kill you? That you were going to die in that dark room while people paid to watch and stroked their cocks and salivated over watching the last bit of light leave your eyes?

He couldn’t do it. No, no, that’s not right. He could have done it. He’s done it before, to others more and less worthy than yourself.

But he didn’t want to do it and therefore, he didn’t have to do it. You reminded him of that. Chat had power, sure, everyone with enough money had power. But he was in control. It was his stream. His life’s work. And you were his property, not theirs.

Did you know that one question would change everything?

Fuck the people watching the stream. They could have someone else, and they would eventually--logistically, he needed to make it up to them soon, a token apology made in some other poor pretty thing’s blood.

But not you.

Never you.

He smiles, just a little. It’s easier now to think about the future, in the sterile clinic room, away from the rush of the showroom with its screens, the stampede of feet when he pushed the call button, the tangy smell of your blood and the sight of you mangled and delirious beneath him.

The rush of the moment has passed, leaving behind a slow, thoughtful ebb in its wake.

You’re not the first merchandise he’s kept for himself. You’re not even the first person he’s taken a liking to and taken home with the intent to keep forever. And oh, that first one… he hasn’t thought about them in a while, the one that he kept for as long as he could, until they were gone.

You remind him of them, in some ways. Maybe in the way your voice softened when you asked him who gave him his scars; maybe in the pitiful way you begged him, sweet and sniffling, to cut out your eye because you knew it was best.

Maybe in the way you clenched around him, desperate, eager, hating the pain but embracing it because there was nothing else you could do.

But, ah… he’s being nostalgic again. He lets one claw idly trace your forearm, following the line of the IV. That person is gone. Dead. Tragic and all that, and some part of him will always miss them. But there’s no point in dwelling on it, just as he’s long since moved on from Strade and his amateur basement of horrors.

Years ago, he might have thought: what would Strade think of me now? But now he knows the truth: it doesn’t matter one single bit what Strade would think of him now, or what Strade might have thought of him then. Strade was nothing.

He had created his own world, far surpassing anything Strade could have dreamed of; Strade had some talent (he has scars to prove it) but what was talent without ambition? Without creativity, allure?

Anyone could get people to pay money to watch you kill some helpless fuck you snatched off the street.

But it took talent to do what he did, something far beyond basement videos with basic tools and a fabric mask.

It was a talent he had in spades, carefully crafted through trial and error. Lots of errors. But what business, what world, existed without them?

But you do make him reminisce, don’t you?

And then your hand is on his arm. Weak, fingers trembling as you try to grip him, and gain his notice.

This time, your eye isn’t quite as muddled, and you direct your gaze at him rather than flitting about the room in hazy confusion.

He watches as your throat works, swallowing, and he can practically hear the inside of your dry mouth sticking as you force open your lips.

“Is it… is it time for another show?”

He blinks down at you, his lips set in a frown.

Your dry lips tremble when he doesn’t answer. The heart rate monitor speeds up, and he glances at it--faster and faster, like a little rabbit--before resting his hand on your forehead. The beeping slows down just a little, and your eye looks up at him, darting across his face, desperate and terrified.

“No,” he says, with a somber finality, and the words are for himself as much as they are for you. “No more shows.”

Your smile is twitchy and slow, and your eye blinks low and lidded. The drugs want to put you to sleep. You want to stay awake. You’ll lose this battle, but he likes to see that you still have the will to live in you. It will come in handy.

A clawed finger traces your cheek, edging around the white medical patch covering your missing eye. He can see your head try to flinch, but you’re either too drugged to fully do it or you’re stopping yourself out of worry that he won’t like it.

Either option pleases him.

Your eye isn’t as bad as it was, but it will need more healing before you can wear a prosthetic, or so the physician said.

He’d never looked much into them before--prosthetic eyes, that is--but as he discovered during a late night bout of phone shopping, there’s a wide array of options nowadays. Exotic styles--cats and snakes and everything in between--and fun colors and pretty add-ons, like glitter or shimmer or rainbow holographics.

The thought of your false eye staring up at him in some impossibly beautiful hue, accenting a lovely outfit he’s dressed you in, makes him a little giddy, and he hopes you’ll be excited about them, too. Maybe in time you’ll be gazing at a selection of eyes laid out on a vanity, choosing between them like you might have done before all this with lipsticks and eyeshadows.

Will you hold up the eye you chose for his approval, a trembling smile on your face? It would be nice to see.

Though he’s not stupid--not as naive as he might have been, if he’d met you twenty or so years ago. You’re not going to immediately jump for joy that the man who orchestrated your kidnapping, tortured you, jacked off into your eye, pulled out said eye, and almost had you yank out your own guts got you a pretty prosthetic.

No, no… not immediately, anyway. That will take time and work and training. Thankfully, he has plenty of experience with that.

He smiles, just a little, watching as your remaining eye fights so hard to stay open; battling against the drugs keeping you sleepy and compliant for the first step in your healing.

You’re mumbling something, and he’s not really listening to the words, until he sees tears in your eye and you repeat yourself. The words come slowly. He’ll remind the nurse to wet your mouth soon.

“You pr…promise?”

He leans forward, cupping your chin, encouraging you to keep going.

Your voice is a whimper and it’s just so damned cute. Your remaining eye is wide and those pretty tears stick to the lashes like dew. He could kiss them off, he truly could, if he wasn’t sure getting anywhere near your remaining eye right now might send you into a panic.

“You promise no… no more shows?”

“No more shows,” he says again, gentler this time, stroking your hair. The tension in your muscles gradually relaxes from his touch, or perhaps the IV drip has given you a fresh dose of painkillers on schedule. It doesn’t matter. The effect is the same.

No more shows, yes, that’s what he tells you.

He does not tell you “no more pain,” because there will be pain. Life does not exist without it. His business does not exist without it. He does not exist without it.

There is always give and take, push and pull, pain and pleasure. None can exist without the other.

It’s a truth you’ll come to learn, as he did. And he can’t wait to bring you to that truth himself.

#the price of flesh #ren hana #tpof spoilers #the price of flesh spoilers #afterwitch writes #I wanna write smut with him but first!! the introspection

899 notes · View notes

dmwrites · 10 months

Text

Cecil: Birds of a feather stick together. But if that bird loses its way, it will be lost forever. Welcome… to NightVale.

[intro song plays]

Cecil: Listeners, today I have a guest with me here in the studio! Intern Vincent found our guest wandering in the desert as he was driving to the station this morning, and I jumped at the idea of having this guest on our show! So, why don’t you introduce yourself, mystery guest!

???: I’m… Grian. My name’s Grian.

Cecil: Well, welcome to our small community radio show, Grian! Listeners, Grian is-

Grian: Did you say listeners?

Cecil: Why yes! All of our wonderful citizens of NightVale, even the secret police, are listeners of my show!

Grian: Oh… never mind.

Cecil: As I was saying, listeners, our wonderful, if a tad interrupting-y, guest Grian is wearing a torn red sweater, black pants, and closed-toed shoes. I must say, that’s quite a fashion statement, Grian! Not too many people would wear a sweater in the desert. You must not be from around here!

Grian: I… no, I’m not. I’m not quite sure how I got here… I just… I thought I could escape the desert if I walked far enough.

Cecil: Well, as long as you’re not from Desert Bluffs, I’ll call you a friend! Eugh, Desert Bluffs, am I right? But speaking of Desert Bluffs, let me remind all of you that our half-a-millennia traditional triathlon against Desert Bluffs is almost upon us! Volunteers, taken from their homes at four in the morning with bags over their heads, will be competing in three sports events against our bitter rivals, Desert Bluffs. The three sports events, as is tradition, will be: bloodstone dodgeball, confronting the in-laws over broken boundaries, and pickleball. Good luck, NightVale athletes!

Grian: Did you just say, like, words? Like, genuinely, it feels like I just had a stroke. What on earth is a bloodstone?

Cecil: You know, I should have known you weren’t from around here, what with your funny accent. Where are you from, silly little man?

Grian: I… well, that’s a tough one, really. Hermitcraft? Third Life SMP? The Desert? All of them, I suppose. I really don’t know how I got here… I’m not sure this isn’t all a mirage.

Cecil: And you say I say strange things! Well, Grian, I was about to remark on how other cultures may not have bloodstones, but I just noticed all of the blood on your knuckles, and under your fingernails, and on the cuffs of your sweater, which I still do not think is seasonally appropriate.

Grian: Oh god. I thought I scrubbed it off with the sand. Scar…

Cecil: While we figure out the mysteries of the blood here in the studio, and Grian stares down at his hands in horror, let’s take a look at traffic. There is a man with a clock. He stands. He smiles. He will never stop smiling. They will call him a traitor someday, but for now, the traitor lies dead, the present he gave in the hands of that smiling man. They do not know that the clock, golden in its edges, will bind them together in ways they can’t even understand yet.

Grian: Scar is- Scar was my friend. I promised my life to him.

Cecil: I’ve promised my life to someone too! But it was marriage, to my beautiful Carlos. I love Carlos so much.

Grian: Scar… god, he was such a blundering fool, but with a heart and voice of gold. I didn’t think he’d get as far as he did, but we just kept getting away with it. We didn’t think about the end.

Cecil: What did this Scar wear? This is a audio medium, after all, Grian, and I must describe everything to the listeners.

Grian: He didn’t wear much, like, ever. Super annoying, too many abs.

Cecil: There is no such thing as too many abs, Grian.

Grian: I- sure, okay. Can I get back to my story now?

Cecil: Yes, please do! I am sure everyone, especially the secret police, are very interested.

Grian: I killed him with a creeper first. It was a prank, a mistake, but it really cemented the idea that this wasn’t all fun and games. It felt like fun and games for a long time, even after he died for the first time. It wasn’t until-

Cecil: And now, a word from our sponsor. Listeners, are you tired of having a perfect dog? Does your dog-food photo perfect dog leave you the laughing stock of the town? Do you ever wish you could put an imperfection on your dog so you could just fit in? Now you can, with warts! Just put warts on your precious pooch, and slide blissfully back into the dreary backdrop of life while walking them on their leashes. Dog Warts: because nothing can stay perfect forever.

Grian: I… I had to kill him. They- the ghosts of all of my friends, they told me there could only be one victor, and I… god… we stood in a circle of cactus, so we couldn’t leave, and we fought with our fists. I kept hitting him and hitting him and, god, Scar was never the best at fighting… and we were both laughing and I was crying and there was so much blood… it took so long for him to die, Cecil, and all I could do was keep hurting him, so he wouldn’t suffer. And then I was… alone. I said I was sorry, but he couldn’t hear me. No one could hear me anymore. I had won, but at what cost?

Cecil: That’s very dark! Uh, listeners, our guest Grian has a tear running down his cheek, and I am afraid he may burst into outright sobbing! To save you from that audio nightmare, I take you now to the weather!

[Howling by Lupus Nocte plays]

Cecil: Listeners, Grian is gone. He has left the station. He ran out, muttering something about “never being able to escape the desert”… whatever that means. Maybe we should stop inviting random people we find on the side of the deserted road with blood on their knuckles into the studio… but I am afraid that’s all the time we have for today, listeners. Stay tuned next for a canary, stuck in a cage made of bones, singing sadly for none to hear. NightVale, hug your loved ones close tonight. You never know what may happen next. And good night, NightVale, good night.

#grian #life series x wtnv #3rd life #grian can never escape the desert #and he found NightVale!

536 notes · View notes

bookishdaze · 12 days

Text

Noa and Mae as Romeo and Juliet in the Next Planet of the Apes Movie?

Here's why a potential "love story" between Mae and Noa, whether explicit or simply implied, may not be such a terrible idea.

Why? Because Shakespeare told me so, that's why.

"When in doubt, it's from Shakespeare....or the Bible." At least according to a book I had to read for high school, lol.

The biblical references in Caesar's trilogy have been pointed out multiple times already, and these movies have also been described as Shakespearean tragedies. So I thought, 'ok, what kind of Shakespearean tragedy will we have this time around?'

I'm first gonna start off with Hamlet in the Caesar trilogy. I'm also gonna mention other popular movies that are based on Shakespeare's plays. Not necessarily because it's concrete proof that this is what will happen in future POTA movies. This is me simply picking up certain storytelling beats and patterns I've noticed in some of my favorite movies.

It's not 100% the same, but there are some similarities. Also, this isn't anything new. Many have pointed this out before, but I love talking about this stuff!

The Lion King, Black Panther, and Dawn of the Planet of the Apes are loosely based on Hamlet. A king or rightful heir is killed. Usually by an evil uncle, cousin, or family member. For some reason this always results in them falling off a very high cliff.

Everyone thinks they're dead, the evil relative takes power, and everything kinda sucks. There is not enough food in the Pride Lands under Scar's rule. Killmonger burns the heart-shaped herbs. Koba leads the apes to war against the humans.

The rightful ruler spends time in exile, recovering from their wounds and trauma. They might even get a visit or have a recollection of their dead father.

Then the rightful ruler comes back from the dead, challenges the usurper, and regains their rightful place upon the throne.

Now lets take a look at their sequels.

The Lion King 2 and Wakanda Forever share some similarities. They both follow another one of Shakespeare's popular plays, Romeo and Juliet.

Like the Montagues and Capulets, we have two rival kingdoms in both movies. We got the Pridelanders and the Outsiders. We also got the Wakandans and Talokanils.

The two heirs/rulers from both kingdoms meet. They hate and don't trust each other at first, but then they start to have compassion for the other. In Kiara and Kovu's case, they fall in love. Namor and Shuri don't fall in love, but after Namor shows her his underwater kingdom and what he has to protect, she softens and begins to understand him more. (They even got the whole Hades and Persephone thing going on, who are a couple in Greek mythology, by the way).

There are losses on both sides. Kovu's brother was killed while going after Simba. One of Namor's people was killed when Shuri was rescued by Nakia, and Shuri's mother, Queen Ramonda, died after Namor's attack on Wakanda. (Starts nervously eyeing Anaya here...)

These losses make things worse, by the way.

In the end, both pairs are able to bring the fighting between their people to a stop. The Outsiders are welcomed into Simba's pride. The Wakandans and Talokanils stop fighting after seeing their leaders return together.

In the end, they realize that they're the same. That they can't let hate and fear of the other side cloud their judgement.

Kiara tells her father, "A wise king once told me we are one....Look at them. They are us. What differences do you see?"

Shuri tells Namor while she spares his life, "Vengeance has consumed us. We cannot let it consume our people."

And I think this goes well with one of the core themes of these POTA movies. The apes are a mirror to humanity. We the audience are seeing us through them, and the characters in the movies themselves must come to the realization that they're the same.

Like when Caesar tells his son, "I always think ape better than human. I see now how much like them we are."

Maybe something similar like this will happen with Noa and Mae and whatever fight will happen between apes and humans. While I'm all for a good romance, it may end up being more like Namor and Shuri's case. There's something there. The tropes are present, but they don't fall in love. (At least not yet. Please Ryan Coogler, give me Nashuri endgame in Black Panther 3, hehe).

This is just a theory, by the way. This doesn't have to happen, but I just think it'd be neat. There would be differences though. What those differences would be, idk, but whatever happens in the next one, I can't wait!

"But but.... aren't you forgetting something?"

What's that?

"Don't they...ya know...both die at the end?"

Besides, they don't have to die. Things can be a little more hopeful for our two heroes 🙈

139 notes · View notes

morganski-19 · 6 days

Text

Chills Right to the Marrow part 9

part 1, prev part

Wayne cries when he’s allowed to see Eddie again. Able to see his whole face unobstructed without the breathing tube. He looked so much more peaceful like this. Like he’s just asleep, nothing more. The calmest sleep of his whole damn life.

Eddie was never one to be able to sleep well. Waking up at odd hours of the night or staying up until the sun’s about to rise. Finding the most uncomfortable looking ways to finally fall asleep. The roaring storm he is during the day reduced to quiet snores.

If Wayne listens right, he can almost hear it. Among the other buzzing in the room, every few seconds there is a sharp inhale then a raspy exhale. His boy, breathing on his own.

He is so close. He is so close to being right here again. Right in this room, filling the emptiness with his energy. Making the best out of a bad situation. Just like he always has. All he has to do is open his eyes and then he will be free.

Well, except for the chain stilled clasped around his wrist. Glinting in the light, taunting him. Letting anyone who walks past know that his boy is dangerous. A criminal. The freak turned out to be what everyone said he was. No matter what is actually true.

Truth is, Wayne’s not too sure what’s going to come from this all. The chief claims that he’ll fix this. Get the charges dropped and make sure Eddie doesn’t get carted off to jail as soon as he can. But that won’t change the talks of the town. The stares he’ll receive just walking down the street. The way that parents will hide their children behind their legs, and people will walk faster to get away. While he’s just living a normal life. Just being him.

To be fair, Eddie always turned a few heads. He didn’t exactly fit the mold the rest of the town made for people. And even if he did, the scar that’s refusing to fade on his cheek is sure to make people stare. He didn’t deserve it then and he didn’t deserve it now.

Like will never return back to normal. Their home was split in two and falling into pieces. Barely any of their belongings salvageable. Everything Wayne’s worked for to provide, just gone. Things he can never get back.

His hat collection. All his mugs. The box full of Eddie’s old school pictures in the hall closet. Eddie’s music. His guitars. Their life. Gone without explanation.

Thing is, Wayne’s not dumb. He knows that earthquakes don’t just happen like this. Making almost a perfect “X”, meeting at town hall. Not even effecting the towns surrounding Hawkins. Forever marking this town as the haunted hell hole everyone claims it to be.

Things have been going wrong in Hawkins for years now. All the way back to that case of Henry Creel, killing his family the way that he did. Replicated by that girl in his living room. That poor girl, taken way to soon.

Wayne will never forget walking in to her body that morning. Seeing the way a human body can be pushed to the limit. Bent beyond recognition, face morphed into faces only seen in horror movies. Never meant to be real.

But there it was, lying on his living room floor. He phoned the police as fast as he could, stepping out of the house right after. Sitting on the table outside to smoke. Try to wipe the image off his mind. But it was still burned.

That whole week, Wayne was convinced that he would find Eddie that way. Have to bury his nephew without even properly saying goodbye first. Be so scared he couldn’t even look at his face to do so.

The image came to him in dreams. Eddie’s body contorting itself just that like girl’s. Falling limp before him, dead. Over. And over. And over again it played. Didn’t give Wayne a break. It was the hardest week of Wayne’s life.

Until that Wheeler girl found him at the makeshift shelter in the high school Explained to him what happened and he rushed to the hospital. Saw his boy with the incubation tube down his throat. Knowing he might never wake up again. Then it became the hardest time Wayne’s ever had to live through. Where the minutes bleed into hours at an excruciating pace. And the days pass without change. The only signal being the sun’s rise and fall. Only knowing the date when he goes to clock in for his shifts.

The next day is the same as the one before. But better than they have been. Eddie’s face remains unobstructed. Nothing but the clear tube resting under his nose, making sure that there’s enough oxygen in there. But he can breathe on his own. The levels aren’t changing. If anything, they’re improving. His brain activity is starting a slow rise.

It’s good.

Wayne finds it hard to believe at points. Nothing seems to be going well at all. He’s still homeless, breaking his back at work, and here the rest of the time. He needs some good to come back to his life.

Sometime around noon, Dustin comes into the room. Sits next to Wayne without saying anything. Just sits and stares at Eddie. Looking at him.

It’s the most Eddie’s looked like himself all week.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Wayne finally speaks.

“My mom let me stay home today. Thought I could use the rest, after everything that happened yesterday.”

Wayne nods, looking at the kid. How the tired made him look years older. The way he holds himself like the world rests on his shoulders. The way the light slowly dimmed each time he sat in the chair next to Wayne. Flipped through the pages of his book with less flourish. Lost the character’s voices as the words continued. Half falling asleep during some of the passages.

“And you’re spending that here instead at home. Getting some sleep.”

Wayne feels the need to look after this kid. Sees the hopelessness as he came in day after day. Nothing changing. Saw the way he broke with the news of his friend. This was almost too much for him. Eddie wouldn’t want him to worry like this. Not about him.

Dustin nods, determination weak in his eyes. “I didn’t get to see him yesterday. I needed to see him. He looks-. He looks better now.”

“He does.”

Wayne takes a deep breath. “You know, your friend made a good point yesterday. If this is too much for you, you don’t have to visit as much as you do. Eddie wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

There aren’t many things that Wayne and the Harrington kid would ever agree on, but seeing this kid the way he is right now, there’s one. Dustin needs to stop pushing himself to be here all the time. Not when it’s breaking him slowly each time he walks through those hospital doors.

Wayne can handle this, he’s been around long enough to know how to. Dustin’s just a kid, he doesn’t need this responsibility to take that away from him.

“I don’t care,” Dustin snaps. “I don’t care what he wants. And I don’t care what you want. Especially since you can’t care to say it in your own words. Using his instead. I need-.” He takes a shaky breath. “I need to know that I didn’t watch him die. I need to know that he’ll live.”

A crack just broke through Wayne’s chest. “You were there? You were there when my boy-. You saw what happened to him?”

Before Dustin can even try to respond, Steve storms into the room. “You want to explain to me why your mother just called me in a frenzy having no idea where you were?”

Dustin visibly deflates. “Steve, I can explain.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. You were supposed to take it easy today, take care of yourself. Instead, you run off and make it all the way here by yourself. How, by taking the bus? Riding your bike?”

“I had to see him,” Dustin cries. “I feel like shit knowing that he’s here and I’m out there. Fine and walking and awake. He deserves to be awake.”

The anger in Steve’s face fades, leaving nothing but sadness behind. He’s breaking just as hard as Wayne is for this kid.

“I know he does.” Steve pulls over a chair to get on Dustin’s eye level. “He should be here like the rest of us, and it sucks that he isn’t. And I know you think that this is all your fault, but it’s not. Eddie made a choice, and that choice was to protect you. No matter how much you hate it, it’s true.”

“He didn’t have to do it the way he did. There were other options.”

Wayne can’t even pretend to understand what they’re talking about. It seems so serious that his presence almost feels like an intrusion.

“Not to him. Not to me. If it were me in his place, I would have done the exact same thing.” Steve takes a deep breath. “You can’t keep killing yourself because you think it’s going to make it better. I might not have known Eddie that long, but he cares a lot about you. He would want you to be kind to yourself.”

Wayne’s watching as Dustin’s defenses break. The vulnerable kid is all that’s left. He nods, whispering something that Wayne can’t hear. When they stand, Steve pulls him into a hug, holding him like it’s his own kid. Maybe on some level he is.

“Wait,” Wayne calls out before Steve leaves. “Is that really how he got hurt? Protecting that kid?”

Steve nods, looking straight at Eddie. “What’s worse, he did that to protect me too. That wasn’t his job.”

Steve leaves without saying another word. Leaving Wayne with so many more questions than answers.

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondepresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

#chills right to the marrow fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #wayne munson #wayne pov #dustin henderson #eddie munson #still in a coma #steve harrington #pre steddie #everyone lives/nobody dies

115 notes · View notes

theminecraftbee · 1 year

Text

sometimes I think a lot about aus that exist only in my head that I’ll probably never write. today I’m thinking about. AU where joe is a mostly normal human who just happens to have the weirdest supernatural luck. one day he accidentally stumbles through a fair circle while trying to dodge a debt collector on the way home from work, and catches the eye of two notorious fey, scar and cub. despite the fact he’s otherwise a normal human, he also manages to get back out of the feywild, despite scar hunting him for sport and cub trying to entrap him.

cub and scar, fascinated by this, then start bothering him in the human world. scar is more the wild hunt kind of fae, cub is more the “entrap with trickery and wordplay” kind of fae. joe, being joe, keeps on escaping being got by either of them. however, also joe being joe, he slowly starts to actually befriend them. he starts having regular lunch dates with cub in which cub only barely bothers trying to entrap joe. he and scar end up basically playing tag. and scar and cub end up starting to feel the very strange sensation of starting to become slightly more human, thanks to proximity with joe so constantly. meanwhile, joe’s own morality is becoming slightly more inhuman, as he spends so much time hanging out with cub and scar.

they form a weird equilibrium, right up until joe shows up to a lunch date in disarray. his only human friend, cleo, has gone missing while investigating a series of supernatural murders, and there’s someone after him, too. he doesn’t have the money or resources or anything to escape it. so, like, if he shows up dead, hey, at least he’s probably found cleo? haha. sorry he knows you two are immortal but he’s not but he’d assumed he had like, at least another decade in him before dying tragically young and teaching cub and scar about death, changing the trajectory of their lives forever—

cub steeples his fingers on the table, and he’s both more straightforward and less than he’s been in a long time with joe. and he asks joe: well, true, you alone don’t have the resources to fix this. but cub and scar—they’re powerful in their own right. and right now, they don’t have enough jurisdiction over joe to actually help, especially if there’s another powerful supernatural entity killing things right now. but what they do have is…

hey, joe, cub knows it’s been months since he last even bothered asking, but desperate times. how are you at contract negotiations? how would you like to sell yourself to the fae?

and things then go from there,

#anyway cleo manages to claw her way to undeath after her murder for the record and is an undead monster hunter #but our protagonists Don’t Know This Yet #if I didn’t ALREADY have a sprawling joe hills-based urban fantasy au though…

556 notes · View notes

ivnxrori · 2 months

Text

When Sun and Moon meet - S1 FINALE

Zuko x Fem!WaterBender!Reader Enemies to Lovers

As one of the Princesses of the Northern Water tribe, you were blessed with a gift by the moon. However you were permitted to be allowed to use the gift at all costs. From many hidden waterbending usages, the aftermath of the avatar visiting the Northern Tribe had led to your beginning journey, hiding yourself as a water bender as a princess from the Northern water tribe

Warnings: death, arguing, angst

Masterlist

҉ * ‧͙ ⋆ ⁺ ༓ ☾ Chapter 4 - New Sacrifices

Panic rushes through my mind, when the enemy from the fire nation has the moon spirit fish in his hands. My breathing grew heavy and my headache was aching even more than before. It's most likely my fear and anger, this soldier from the fire nation attacking the moon spirit. I still stood in my fighting stance while Aang attempted to console the fire nation member. Some old man, who is also part of the fire nation, stood by our side. The enemy lays low, slowly pouring the moon spirit back into the water. My shoulders softened and I sighed in relief, only for the worst to happen. The moon spirit was killed by a blow from the fire, and the moon is gone. “What have you done?” I screeched and ran to the pond, seeing the white fish unable to move. I grab it and next thing I know, only the old man was there, none of the soldiers or the killer. I felt tears peering through my eyes. “What do we do?” my voice cracked, I tried to swallow back my tears and breathe shakily. Everything is happening way too fast… I don't know what's real. I wish it wasn't real. “There's no hope now,” Yue said sadly, leaning against Sokka. “It's over.”

It's over. It's all over. My mind rang the same sentence again and again. It's like I have accepted the fact we have lost, everyone has lost. There is no winner. “No it's not over” I immediately turned my head, seeing Aang with his eyes and arrow glowing. “What can you even do?” I spat angrily but he paid no attention to it. He just went to the center of the water, near the black fish circling around him who is also glowing. Not even a second later, Aang fell through the water. Causing the world around us to be brighter and bluer. The water moved through the bridge violently, slowly moving upward to show Aang who was in the water. The form of the water was like the moon spirit, moving around our nation destroying the fire nation's people. Then once again the atmosphere was back to being dark. I sigh disappointingly at the fact the brightness of the night didn't last forever. I put the fish back in the water. “It's dead,” the old man said as I nodded in agreement. “I have to go” I got up. This place is going to drive me insane if I stay here any longer. “It's dangerous out there” Katara called out but I didn't respond. I needed to go.

҉ ☾

The only hope there is was with Aang, praying somehow he can bring the moon spirit back. I walk around the bridge only to see the scar boy, Zuko. “How did you get out of the ropes?” I called out and he immediately got into a fighting stance. “You're hurt,” I glared at him. Noticing the purple bruises on his skin. He looked horrible and angry, piercing through me with his glare. “Don't bother with the ‘Avatar’” I said “He is destroying your whole nation, you do not stand a chance with him especially with the state he is in currently.” I once again squinted at his marks “You're also tired” I attempted to grab water to heal him, unfortunately to no avail due to the moon. “I don't need your help” He spat. “You’re right” I exaggerated my arms in annoyance “Why should I even bother healing for an enemy” I hissed. I felt a bright light from the corner of my eye and snapped my head towards that direction. “The moon!” I yelled out excitedly “Aang must have done it” I turned around not even sparing a glance towards Zuko. As if I cared for his well being. Well- I did for a short moment, a moment of weakness and kindness from my heart but that was short lived. I ran towards the spirit Oasis as fast as I possibly could.

“The moon! Was it Aang’s doing?” I yelled, running towards Sokka, Katara and Yue. “I came here as quickly as I could to see the moon spirit”. I exhaled breathily looking around. “Where's Yue?” I asked but I was met with silence. Only answer I got was the siblings and the old man moving their heads down, looking at the grass. That's all I needed to understand. “Please…don't tell me…” I shakily said, looking at the grass holding back my tears. “How could you guys let her do that?” I yelled at the three. “I left for what? A few minutes only to find my sister gone?” I continue shouting. “We tried Y/N! We tried to stop her but she was persistent. She wanted to help her nation, she wanted to help you!” Sokka yelled back angrily. Tears were running down my face, everything was just horrible. “If only you guys never came, the fire nation would have never attacked and Yue would have been alive” I scream, crying, letting every bit of my anger out which hasn't been released in years. “How could you say that?” Katara shouts, Sokka standing up “You're so selfish! You even left us three for your benefit. Yue wasn't all that happy here and she acted out willingly to help everyone.” Sokka yelled back. “Calm down kids'' the old man speaks up “This isn't the best situation to fight.” Sokka wasn't wrong however. I was indeed selfish. I never saved Yue like she saved me, and this was the most impactful. I never gave her anything, I was always on the receiving side. I was, in fact, selfish. I continued to look down but I broke. I fall onto the grass, gripping my hair as tears continue to stream down my face. “I know how hard it is to lose your sister but remember your sister wouldn't want you like this, she would want you to be happy. She did it for you” Katara reassured me, patting my back. I hiccuped silently. Of course Yue decided to do it when I was away. I wouldn't have allowed her to sacrifice herself to the moon and she would have hated me seeing her disappear. I got up and hugged Katara tightly, tight as I ever could. Sokka shortly joined. We have received the moon, but at what cost?

“Chief Arnook! Y/N is gone” One of the soldiers yelled out to Chief Arnook. “What?” He responded in shock, already losing his eldest daughter, now losing his second. “She only left a note on her bed” The soldier unraveled the note, revealing elegant writing written with ink. Chief Arnook grabbed the note and scanned it urgently. The letter read…

Dear Father,

I have decided to leave the Northern water tribe. I apologize for the run away, especially with all that's already happened. But this journey will help me, it will help find what I need. Please don't bother sending soldiers to look for me. I have run away on my own terms and I will not be coming back unless the time is right. I have Yue to protect me and to always be there by my side. I love you and Sivoy but please respect my decision to leave. I know this is selfish so once again I apologize. I have taken a Buffalo yak for transportation so please don't worry.

Goodbye Father and Sivoy,

Love Y/N

Chief Arnook sighed “Don't do anything” as he rolled up the paper. “But…Chief Arnook we already sent some soldiers to look for her and put up missing posters” The soldiers said guiltily as the Chief sighed in disappointment. “What are you going to do?” Sokka asked worriedly, “I believe my Y/N would be capable of handling these kinds of situations for now, prevent sending out more trouble and tell the soldiers to not search for Y/N.” The soldiers bowed to Chief Arnook to take their leave.

“Should I have told my father that I also left to take revenge on the fire nation?” I tilted my head, asking the Buffalo yak only to get a huff from the animal. “Yeah I didn't think it was necessary” I shrugged as I continued to make the water under us turn into us, helping the buffalo yak travel through the water. “I think we might make it to the earth kingdom quicker than I thought” I look at the map and look above. “Thank you buddy” I patted the Buffalo yak’s head in appreciation.

Well this is a new start…

Season 1 END

<- Back - Next ->

a/n: LAST CHAPTER OF SEASON 1 WOOO!! And your welcome that i snuck in Zuko in this chapter however Yue does die :( Im not 100% sure if Season 2 will start back up tmr but it will start up soon!! So stay tooned! Im surprised this many people want to read my work honestly LMAO BUT THANK YOU!! Have a nice day!

Taglist: @luvkvni @katovano @karmaswitch @someonesmember @velvet-spider @sh3sa1dwhat @nerdisthenewcool @meiraloves2dmen @fqnfics101 @iluvme547 @leaderwon @yukihatesreoyo @heart4hees @4l3x1s @kkissaku

95 notes · View notes

94badbye · 3 months

Text

Gotham mourns the day of Jason's death, and Tim Drake should too, but he can't.

It's a day of pain and sorrow in many, many ways. Bruce wakes up earlier and leaves earlier, and Alfred speaks softly and quietly, as if there's real grief in the air.

(There is. Tim knows. He remembers finding out about Robin, about Jason Todd, and then realizing the bitter truth behind it all. Robin is dead.)

In the beginning, people used to call Jason a street kid, a rat. Tim's memory has always been fantastic, and he remembers people's harsh words about that young, young boy, and how Bruce Wayne was fraternizing with poverty, while others were kinder, gentle and sweet, because if even a rich man like Bruce can do such a thing, then there's still hope. It was stupid, and Tim still can't understand how people can be so shallow.

Such a young boy, and Mr. Wayne was a hero by adopting him, by taking him under his wing, by treating him like his son.

It's been months, and yesterday Wayne Enterprises made a big donation to some shelters of homeless kids that is definitely going to be in the news, something about Bruce Wayne remembering his dead son's life.

Bruce took the day off.

It's weird. Every year, Bruce will mourn like Jason was just killed again.

Maybe. Maybe the Jason Todd he knows really is dead forever, and this version of him is what was left, something different and twisted.

If Tim tries hard enough, he can feel the scar on his scalp, the ugly pattern on his skin, close to his nape. And he can hear the shouts. And the screams. And the sound of broken glass being stepped on. Everywhere. And blood blood blood, a red mask standing over him, fists clenched and hoarse voice.

He feels like throwing up when he thinks about it. It's kind of hidden in his mind, but not exactly—a blurry memory.

Sometimes, he closes his eyes and has a flashback of a bloody uniform. A memoir. The uniform of a young soldier.

For some reason, the second Robin was known for being ruthless. Sometimes, in the past but not that long ago, Bruce would call Tim by Jason's name, and wouldn't even notice his mistake. Tim wouldn't correct him either.

Today, on day of Jason's death, Red Hood is nowhere to be found.

Big boots, strong arms, a gun. Sticky blood.

Replacement, Replacement, Replacement.

Now, they're in the Batcave, high-tech equipment everywhere around them. Tim is standing but Bruce is sitting down, typing something in one of the computers, because a day off as Gotham's bachelor doesn't mean a day off as Batman.

"B," Tim says. Soft but not too soft, because Tim isn't supposed to talk about today, not like that, not like it's easy.

Robin was created to save and to smile, never to suffer or to die.

"Hm."

"Are you okay with patrolling on your own?"

Say no, so I'll stay. Please. I'll sleep here, in my room, and we'll wake up tomorrow like this day never happened.

Please.

"Of course. You should go, Tim. It's late."

Never too late. He wants to stay. Bruce is big and tall and Tim wants to hug him and tell him about the scar that is never going to fade away and the blood and the glass.

Look what he did to me. I mourned too, but look what he did.

Anger is something no Robin should feel, and yet—

Tim's cheeks are suddenly warm and he looks away from Bruce.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Alfred can give you some food so you can eat when you get home."

"I'm not hungry. And I can cook, you know?"

Blue eyes, just like Tim's and Jason's, but Jason's are also kind of green. Tim wonders how much of a father figure Bruce used to be—did he buy Jason books and toys and watch movies with him? Did Jason have nightmares just like Bruce still has? If so, did Bruce hold him through it?

Tim's parents are traveling. They're coming back next month.

Bruce isn't there to hold him when he wakes up in the middle of the night, but why would he be anyway?

And Tim knows Bruce asks his next question more because he needs to than because he wants to, "You know you can stay the night whenever you want, right?"

Even tonight?

"Yeah. Yeah, I know, B. But I have school tomorrow, so… I should—I should go. See you tomorrow, kay?"

Tim doesn't even talk to Alfred about the food. He just leaves.

#batfamily #drabble #ao3 #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #i wrote this a long time ago but never really finished it #english is not my first language #94badbye writes

52 notes · View notes

lundenloves · 20 days

Text

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day

Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way

Kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown

Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.

If we were to chuck a song to it, the song would be Time by Pink Floyd. A song originally found bumbling on the janky speaker Soap had bought for the equivalent of ten quid on a longer deployment. It wasn’t new, no, but it was new lyrically. The weight of trauma had created a thick layer of silence and the only choice was to listen intently. Eyes avoided eachothers for the realisation of relatable words,

Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain.

And you are young and life is long.

And there is time to kill today.

Wintering eyelashes bat under the harsh snow, landing effortlessly on each whisker before being blinked or rubbed away from a rough hand. Each man looked like a time capsule of their younger self, scars and stubble growing in thick for those who hadn’t sported a longer beard. Scars that told passed time seemed redder on Johnny’s arms, and Simon’s eyes had grown darker over fatigued nights.

And then one day you find

Ten years have got behind you

No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.

It seemed unfair. The passage of time during conflict, like someone had kicked you to the side, a dark hole at best that housed dead bodies and ash of those who weren’t fortunate enough to be spared from flame. War wasn’t over, war was never over. The starting gun had never shot and each soldier was pushed to the frontest of the lines — shot in the head and then forgotten about.

You didn’t matter. You were a number. A figure at best, one that Britain had bragged of, your bravery a selling point for the country. Ten or more years of your life stolen by higher ups with nothing to show for it but permanent scarring — both mental and physical — with sandgrains churning in your chest from crawling across desert floors.

Some lost limbs, some lost sight and hearing, while others lost nothing on paper.

Aside from quality time.

Nothing a fucking report could be written on.

The loss of your child’s first steps, laugh, smile, words. It took a toll. Not that anyone was to know because that wasn’t part of the conduct was it? Emotion wasn’t allowed bar the mandatory check up every quarter.

And you run, and you run to catch up with the sun but it’s sinking

Racing around to come up behind you again

The sun is the same in a relative way but you’re older

Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.

It was heavy on Simon’s shoulders especially, instigating an expected snap one Monday evening on a European border. He’d remained completely silent on comms, completing the objected mission with usual 141 finesse before breaking. He hated it. Johnny’s eyes on him and the building sympathy from Price over Gaz’s shoulder who hadn’t dared to look at the lieutenant.

“You alright mate?” Was the question asked, Soap’s harsh accent cutting the silence finer than it had to be. All he had received was a shrug. An indecisive action, one Simon rarely performed.

“What do you think?” A pin drop silence. Simon effectively laying a pitfall trap for Johnny to walk right into, he seemed to snarl with his words though they maintained a nonchalant.

Eyes narrowed. Fist clenched, anxiously flitting against his thigh with hands alternating in lift between smoking and biting his other hands nail.

Soap nodded to himself, steeling away from the situation and patting an intentional hand on Simon’s shoulder on his passing by. Silence.

Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time

Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines

Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way

The time is gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say.

Returning home was forever a measurement of trauma. Soap’s wife knew he was game for delicate touch and love instantly, curling large arms around her and managing to adjust to civilian life within a day or two.

Price never did go home. He never had a family there like the other lads.

Within an hour of landing on the strip he would be on his way to base with dry dirt still on his face from the evac.

He couldn’t cope away from work.

Neither could Simon, but that was a known.

Home, home again

I like to be here when I can

And when I come home cold and tired

It's good to warm my bones beside the fire

meh

#simon ghost riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw fanfiction #simon riley #ghost mw2 #captain price x reader #simon ghost riley headcanons #ghost call of duty

28 notes · View notes

rose-sophia-isabella-rogers · 4 months

Text

A Steel That Went Through Hottest Fire: Chapter XIV - A Diamond Is Forever

Chapter Summary: The Saints explain the situation to you. Nikolai trains to once and for all get rid of the monster inside him. You and Zoya train as well, but to become better Grisha. Or maybe even something more. But when the ritual finally takes place, not everything goes according to plan. Well. It depends whose plan…

Pairing: Aleksander Kirigan/Reader, Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky

Characters: Aleksander Kirigan, Reader, Zoya Nazyalensky, Nikolai Lantsov, Yuri Vedenen, Sankt Juris, Sankta Elizaveta, Sankt Grigori

Word Count: 5464

A/N: This chapter contains excerpts from "King of Scars". Inspired by prompts: https://pl.pinterest.com/pin/207306389089798509/ https://pl.pinterest.com/pin/207306389089792244/

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed):

@budugu

@intothesoul

@mizelophsun11

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy

@zeeader

@marrymonrich

@wonderland2425

@chelseyyouraverageluigi

@thehufflepuffavenger1

@drinix

The sands carry you toward the palace. The closer you are to it, the more in awe and impressed you are. If the circumstances were different, you'd probably be glad for the opportunity to see such a novel architecture. Alas, right now you're more focused on wondering whether you're actually going to get out of this alive.

You finish your journey in a circular room. Sands become stone underneath your feet, while table and chairs emerge from it. You sit down and demand answers. While everyone talks, you only listen and ponder about what you find out.

Three Saints tell you they've been trapped here for four hundred years because of the Darkling. This place, a version of the Shadow Fold, has always been sacred. And they, woven into the fabric of the world in a way no other Grisha are, were drawn to it when Kirigan created his masterpiece. They cannot leave this place nor assume physical form anywhere but here. They believed it would end with Aleksander's death. But it didn't, because his powers live on in Nikolai.

The King questions why bring him here and not kill him during the battle if they need him dead. But it turns out they don't want him dead. One, they don't wish to destabilise Ravka. Two, the power might survive. It must be burnt out of Lantsov. Obisbaya.

'Congratulations, Yuri,' Nikolai says. 'Looks like you do get to put me on a pyre.'

'Pyre?' asks Grigori.

'No pyre,' denies Elizaveta. 'The thorn wood is older than all of us, older than the first magic. It is the wood from which the first altars were made and from which the walls of the Little Palace were constructed. I can raise it from the roots that survive beneath the Fold to begin the ritual, but then it will be up to you to summon the monster from inside and slay it.'

'You created those miracles,' you realise, speaking up for the first time. 'The bridge, the roses, the earthquake, the bleeding statues, the black disk, all of them, to bring us here.'

'The Age of Saints,' Yuri declares. 'Just as he promised.'

'Our power can still reach beyond the limits of the Fold, but only in places where we are still worshipped,' Elizaveta explains. You notice that her vine that is around the monk's shoulders curls a bit more tightly. You frown at that, ignoring the exchange between Juris and Zoya.

Nikolai says that the monster doesn't follow his orders. The Saints tell him he must teach it to do so, otherwise during the ritual the thorns will burn him inside out. It is dangerous and there is no guarantee the King will survive. But if he does, the life will return to the Fold, he'll be free and so will the Saints. But for them it means they're going to lose their powers, become mortal. However, after such a long life this is what they want.

'You will want to discuss it,' says Grigori. 'But make your choices quickly. Merzost is unpredictable and every day the monster inside you takes firmer hold.'

'There is nothing to discuss,' Nikolai denies. 'When do we begin?'

And so for the next weeks he trains with Elizaveta calling the monster and sending him away. They use Zoya for it. The Saint puts her in danger and the King has to change into the creature to save her. In time, he becomes better and better at it.

When they're not training with Elizaveta, the Squaller has her own training with Juris. He teaches her how to gain more power. True power of Grisha. How to become the storm instead of just summoning it. And when you sometimes observe their fights, you're amazed how it looks and how more powerful your friend already is.

'You'd like that as well, wouldn't you?' you hear next to you during one of your secret observations. You turn and see Elizaveta and her bees. She smiles kindly at you.

'It's alright,' she says. 'I saw the way you look at the palace, when you take a stroll around it. With a childlike wonder. And a mind of a Durast, desperate to learn how it was made. How to recreate it.'

'Sometimes I can't stop my mind from analysing things,' you say, shrugging. The Saint smiles and starts walking. She motions for you to follow her. You feel a bit weird around her, but you still go after her.

'You're already more powerful than an average Durast,' Elizaveta says after a moment. 'Mostly thanks to him, isn't it? He opened the door for you. And it's hard to close such doors once you open them.'

'He showed me I was meant for more,' you say after a beat. 'I might have made some wrong decisions in his name, but I will never regret making them, if only because thanks to all that I understood this.'

'And because you cared about him,' the Saint says and hums. 'It's alright. I can understand that, since I've met him.'

'I shouldn't be surprised you crossed paths, since you've both lived for hundreds of years,' you say after a pause. 'What was he like then?'

'Arrogant. Idealistic. Beautiful. I met him many times throughout the years and he adopted many guises to hide his true self. But the faces he chose were always lovely. He was vain.'

'Rather smart. People value beauty. They can't help but respond to it. But that's not why I followed him. I did it because he saw me. The real me. And he helped me see her, too.'

'And now, as you watch Juris and Zoya, you see there's still more for you to achieve, to have.'

'Isn't that the way of life? Shouldn't a person always learn, always aspire to be someone greater?'

Elizaveta smiles. She nods.

'Perhaps,' she agrees and thinks for a moment. 'Perhaps… It would be only fair if I showed you how you can become more, since your friend is being taught by Juris, don't you think?'

Your eyes light up. You're not a fool, you suspect it's a trap, that the Saint has some ulterior motive for it. But you're also not stupid enough not to take this opportunity.

'Are we going to fight as well?' you ask.

'Not at first,' Elizaveta says, shaking her head. 'But we may get to that part. First, you need to understand this: you must open the door. Stop thinking what you can make of something and become it instead. When your mind is free, the door to the making at the heart of the world opens. And you'd be able to do things Grisha can only dream of.'

'Well,' you say after a pause. 'Good think I have no problem in trying to think differently than I usually do.'

And so, you start your own training. When Elizaveta is not helping Nikolai, she's helping you. You quickly see the change in you and your powers. Sand changes into a solid rock at your mere thought and the other way around. You almost feel sad that your goal is to get out of here and say goodbyes to the Saints. Who knows what you could learn if you had more time?

The time has come for the ritual. You, Nikolai, Yuri and Zoya arrive at the place where it all started. But to your surprise only Elizaveta is there from the Saints. You find it suspicious, so once she calls the wood to the surface, you slip away and return to the palace. But the moment you enter it, walls surround you from all sides and the rock underneath you become an amber liquid that starts to rise.

'I knew not to trust her,' you sigh. The liquid rises, becoming more solid when it touches your skin. Soon, it reaches your waist.

'I did not survive two and a half years in prison, to go down like that,' you growl and bring your hands together. You frown and the liquid freezes. It tries to resist your will, but you're angry. It withdraws and the walls disappear. You drop your hands.

'You shouldn't have offered to teach me, Sankta,' you snort and hurry to Juris cavern. But once you reach it, you stop dead in your tracks.

The Saint is lying on the ground, dead. Zoya is kneeling beside him, mourning. Her kefta is torn. She's holding something in her hands.

'Zoya,' you call, rushing to your friend, whose head shots up at your voice. 'What happened?'

'Where did you go?' she asks, eyeing your clothes that are still covered with the amber liquid. 'You disappeared suddenly…'

'I went to find Juris and Grigori,' you explain. 'Once I got back here…'

You point at your clothes. The Squaller scoffs.

'She's given Juris fuel,' she explains. 'Only their own power can destroy them. His flames burnt him from the inside. He was almost dead when I reached him.'

You look at her hands. You see now she's holding his scales. You understand what happened.

'Didn't he condemn amplifiers?' you ask.

'Only if we don't give something in return,' Zoya answers. You glance at her torn kefta. Ah.

'May I?' you ask, extending your hand. Your friend eyes it for a moment. Finally, she gently passes you the scales. You take them and let them guide you.

You feel the shape they want to take. A crown. You smile. Juris, pushy to the last moment. But you know Zoya won't like it. Instead, you convince the scales to form two cuffs.

Once you're done, your friend offers you her hands. You put the cuffs around her wrists and seal them together. You see the change in Zoya immediately. You take a step back and wait for her to come back. When she does, she looks at you.

'What is Elizaveta trying to do?' you ask. 'And what happened to Nikolai?'

'He… he won,' the Squaller says slowly. 'And he almost destroyed the monster. But she stopped him. She never wanted him to get rid of it, get rid of the Fold. She wanted to… bring him back.'

'Who?' you ask, blinking. Your friend looks you in the eyes. You see hesitance in hers. And you understand. Your shoulders slump.

'Kirigan,' you whisper. 'She wants to leave the Fold, bound to him. But his body-'

'She saved it,' Zoya laughs bitterly. 'Switched it somehow, like we did with Alina. I don't understand exactly what she's trying to do, I can only guess from seeing his body. Nikolai is trying to fight back. Last time I saw him, he was attacking Yuri, who was apparently colluding with Elizaveta all this time. They both try to bring him back.'

She looks at you, tense. She's clearly wondering on which side you will stand this time. You look at her and once again offer her your hand.

'Over our dead bodies,' you say, your eyes burning. After a moment, Zoya smiles and takes your hand. You help her up.

'So,' you say. 'How are we going to get back there?'

You fly there on the storm of Zoya's creation. You don't scream. But you want to. Even more when you see Grigori trying to keep Elizaveta and Yuri away from Nikolai and his shadow self. Elizaveta's thorns stab Grigori, who keeps shifting, again and again. But the insects she unleashes are the one that cause him the real harm, slowly devouring him.

Finally, he shudders and collapses. Elizaveta shouts in triumph and descends upon the pinned bodies of Nikolai and the monster, both of them held in place by the wines of the thorn wood. But Zoya, who's been training with Juris to bend the borders of Grisha's orders, sends a gout of flame at the Saint, who rears back in surprise. You stand side by side, facing amused Elizaveta.

'I thought you were wise enough to run, Zoya,' she says. 'You're too late. The Darkling's spirit will soon re-enter his body. There's no reason for you to be a casualty of this battle. And you, [Y/N], should not try to stop this. Didn't his death break you?'

'Our king lies bleeding,' the Squaller says, as you glare at the Saint. 'We are his subjects and his soldiers, and we come to fight for him.'

'You are Grisha, Zoya Nazyalensky, [Y/N] [L/N],' Elizaveta says. 'You need be subject to no one and nothing.'

'Subjects to no one but you? The Darkling?' the Squaller asks. Elizaveta laughs.

'We will not be rulers,' she says. 'We will be gods. If it's a crown you want, take it. Sit the Ravkan throne. We will hold dominion over the world.'

'We saw his body on the pyre,' Nazyalensky says. 'We watched him burn.'

'I stole him from the sands of the Fold and left a facsimile in his place,' the Saint explains. 'It was well within my power.'

Zoya keeps her talking. You, in the meantime, slowly and discreetly use your powers. The sands move under your command, bringing the bier on which the Darkling's preserved body rested. In the corner of your eye, you see Yuri taking out a glowing thorn from the creature's chest. You'll deal with him later.

Zoya reveals her amplifier and starts fighting with Elizaveta. You're close, but not quite there. But that's alright. Zoya can move the rest of the way.

'I have the advantage of eternity,' you hear the Saint say. You whistle, letting your friend know it's time.

'I'll settle for the advantage of surprise,' Nazyalensky says. She raises the sands for cover and let herself plummet in a flash toward the Darkling's body. You move the torn wood out of her way. After a second, she lifts her arms.

'No!' cries Elizaveta. The Squaller thrusts her arm down and lightning flow in a precise, ear-splitting crack. It strikes the bier in a blaze of sparks and blooming flame. You see a shadow emerge from the fire, as if trying to flee the heat.

'What have you done?' the Saint screams. She hurtles at Kirigan as the thorn wood tries to lift him to safety. But Zoya makes the wood collapse on itself, burning it. Stalks twist around hers and your ankles. She burns them and you force them away.

Elizaveta tries to retrieve what's left of Aleksander's body. Zoya attacks Yuri and takes the glowing thorn from his hand. She immobilizes him with sands and rushes to Nikolai. You turn your attention to the Saint.

'It's too late, Elizaveta,' you say, walking toward her. 'You can't save the body.'

'How could you?!' she shrieks, turning to face you, her form shifting from bees to meadow to woman. 'Weren't you loyal to him?! Didn't you care for him?! Don't tell me you don't wish for him to come back!'

You don't answer her. You just look at her with pain and grief in your eyes. Thorns rise and try to pierce you but you stop them with your hands. The Saint snarls.

'You were an apt pupil, but I haven't passed you most of my knowledge,' she says. Vines quickly surround your body. Elizaveta flies at you and stops mere inches from your face.

'All of our training was just to keep you occupied so you wouldn't find his body,' she hisses. 'You're not a match for me. Maybe you would be if you weren't so lost, so broken. You're simply too fragile to face me and win.'

'Oh, but that's the irony,' you say and look at her with fire in your eyes. 'Broken people are not fragile.'

You have only a second. You use it to make the vines let go of you and grab Elizaveta. She gasps, surprised, and tries to change into bees. Part of her manages that, but her chest doesn't. Not in time to dodge the thorn you force to rise and thrust itself into her heart. Just as another one, guided by Elizaveta, pierces your chest.

Her eyes go wide. Bees fall onto the sands. You grit your teeth, trying not to cry out from pain. You feel blood soaking your kefta. You lean to the Saint's face and stare into her eyes that are losing light.

'Don't worry,' you say quietly. 'In a way, you'll get your wish.'

You snatch the bees that were a part of her and let them guide you. They change shape. And the moment Elizaveta dies, you make a necklace bind itself with your neck and you feel no pain, your wound already healed.

The Saint's power and strength flows through you. You open the door. You feel her past, her life trying to overwhelm and kill you. You surrender yourself, share your own life with her. Finally, she draws back, defeated. And you fall on the sands, letting out a soft sigh.

Nikolai is first to wake up. He sees you lying on your face in front of impaled body of Elizaveta that slowly turns to ashes. Same as the palace and Grigori's body. Zoya is lying not far from him, so he goes to check on her first. Once she comes to, they walk to Yuri, who's fainted. They consider what to do with him, when they feel the ground shake underneath them.

'What now?!' Zoya growls, grabbing Nikolai's arm to support her. The King turns his head, looking for you to see if you're in danger of falling into the sands. He finds you. But not fighting for your life.

You're on your knees, your palms pressed to the ground. You're causing the ground to shake.

'[Y/N]?!' Nazyalensky shouts, surprised. You don't even look at her, focused on whatever it is you're doing. And they see what it is a moment later, when something rises from the sands.

'Oh, you've gotta be kidding me,' Zoya scoffs. 'How many more are there?!'

Nikolai stares, stunned, at another bier with the Darkling's perfectly preserved body.

'All is not lost then!' Yuri, who's come to, cries in relief.

'Over my dead body,' Nazyalensky snarls and throws herself at you. She lands on you, causing you to fall and tumble down the sand dune you were on. You land on your back and she on top of you. Your eyes meet. Yours, calm but with a hint of guilt. Hers, full of anger and betrayal. For a moment none of you moves. Until a familiar voice says:

'Touch her and I'll break your neck.'

Your heart skips a beat. Zoya freezes, her eyes widening. She lifts her head and her face pales. You see in her eyes fear and disbelief. You almost hear her thoughts, begging for this to be a nightmare. Shocked, she slips from your body and stares ahead numbly.

You sit up. For a moment you stay still, fearing this is a dream. Finally, you slowly turn. You almost cry out in relief. You only feel tears filling your eyes. You still think this is not real.

But no, he really is there. Aleksander. Alive. Standing on the sand dune and staring at you softly with a small smile. You see his hand twitching, as if he wants to reach out to you.

'No,' Zoya murmurs next to you. 'It can't be true.'

You use that she's still in shock (and Nikolai probably as well) and jump to your feet. You throw yourself at Kirigan. You manage to notice his face relaxing in relief, before you land in his arms that enwrap you tightly. Safe. You're finally safe. And whole. No longer broken.

'Moya milaya,' the Darkling whispers in your ear and you almost whimper. 'It's alright. I'm here. I'm with you and I swear I will never leave you. Not again.'

His voice is shaking a bit and only thanks to his words you realise you're crying. You don't force yourself to stop. You just hold his kefta tighter and press yourself closer to him. You inhale his scent. Saints, how you missed it. How you missed him…

Suddenly, you feel him stiffen. You pull slightly away and turn your head. Nikolai is now standing next to Zoya, his revolvers in his hands. The Squaller's hands are shaking, but she brings them together. Their eyes are filled with determination. They're weak, tired. Nikolai is wounded. But they're still ready to fight the Darkling. And you if necessary.

You almost feel shadows shifting around you. Aleksander gets ready to defend you. You quickly grab his hands and look at him.

'No,' you say sternly. 'You promised.'

He stares at you for a moment. Finally, he relents. He sighs and shadows back away. He looks at Nikolai and Zoya. He smirks and spreads his hands, showing them his palms.

'I imagine you'd like to tie me up now,' he says. 'I won't resist, I promise. I do not wish to fight you.'

The King and his general narrow their eyes with suspicion. They talk with hushed voices. The conversation becomes heated. Finally, the Squaller huffs and crosses her arms, glaring at Kirigan. Lantsov puts on his calm mask and looks at you two grimly.

You, the Darkling and Yuri are bound and gagged. You think you walk for hours until finally you find shelter in some farmer's shed. The night has fallen while you were still walking. You fall asleep quickly and have no dreams, you're just so exhausted.

Before dawn, Zoya sets out for Kribirsk. She's not happy to leave Nikolai alone with you three, but the King is too weak to be the one to travel. So, she leaves and Lantsov turns to you.

'Alright,' he says after a minute of staring at you. He walks to you and gently lifts you to your feet. He leads you to the door.

'I won't harm her,' he says. You turn your head and see Aleksander staring at the King with his eyes narrowed, his body stiff. He looks you in the eyes. You nod, so he relaxes.

Nikolai takes you to a nearby plum orchard. You can see he's uncomfortable and you honestly can't blame him for what he's been through. He finds some stool and sits you on it. Then, he steps a bit away from you and stares at you with his arms crossed and a grim expression.

'I have many questions,' he says after a long moment.

'I can imagine,' you say quietly. He opens and closes his mouth a few times. He sighs, frustrated, and runs a hand through his hair.

'I have to admit, you're a brilliant actress,' he finally says. 'We all've been fooled by your act of feeling guilty.'

'That was not an act,' you protest. 'I am feeling guilty for everything I've done. Same as betraying your trust. I just don't regret it.'

'I can understand a Saint stealing the body from under our noses,' he says after a beat. 'But how did you do it? It was guarded all the time.'

'Oh, Nikolai,' you sigh. 'You gave me an opportunity yourself, don't you remember?'

His blood runs cold as he remembers your request to prepare the Darkling's body for his final journey. You looked so sad and vulnerable… he couldn't say 'no' to you. He curses under his breath. He brought this on himself. Didn't Baghra warned them, when she, Alina and Mal returned from Morozova's workshop?

Don't underestimate her. She may look meek, small and weak… but there is a reason she got his attention.

Nikolai assumed that after the Darkling's death, you have no reason to be their enemy. The conversation he had with you strengthen that belief. He clearly was a fool. He honestly didn't think you'd steal the body to bring Kirigan back. But…

'I remember you were guarded all the time,' he says, frowning. You smile wryly.

'Oh, that poor guard really never told you he… fell asleep… on duty?' you ask. The King blinks.

'What did you do?' he asks.

'Me?' you ask innocently and shrug. 'Nothing. At least not to him. All I did, was hiding Kirigan's body in the sands, preserved it.'

'You had help,' Nikolai guesses. 'I guess not his worshippers. They haven't existed yet back then. Someone from his army. Who- Oh. Right. We've never caught them.'

'Ivan and Fedyor,' you confirm, smiling softly. 'They got into my tent pretty soon after I was put there. They wanted to rescue me. But I told them I was exactly where I needed to be and asked them to get into the tent with the Darkling's body when I'll be taken there. They didn't want to leave me, bless them, but they did what I asked. They slowed the guard's heartbeat enough to put him to sleep. They found a dead man looking close enough like Kirigan that with their poor Tailors' skills they managed to make him look exactly like him. It wasn't supposed to be for long after all. Just enough to be burnt. I didn't anticipate Elizaveta stealing that body, though. Still, either she forgot how he looked like or Tailor powers work differently on dead bodies, or Fedyor and Ivan are better at it than I thought.'

The King wants to bang his head on a tree in front of him. Repeatedly.

'So, you weren't working with Elizaveta?' he asks. You scoff.

'I killed her, remember?' you ask. 'And she tried to kill me. No, we weren't working together. We weren't aware we have the same goal. More or less. I knew someone else is working to bring him back, but I wasn't aware who.'

'Did you have vision as well?' Lantsov asks doubtfully. Your look softens and you look away.

'I'm not sure I'd call it visions,' you say after a pause and Nikolai raises his eyebrows at the use of plural form. 'I… dreamt of him. I'm not sure how much of it was just normal dreams and how much was him talking to me. I will have to discuss that with him. But yes, during one such dream he told me about someone else trying to bring him back.'

'Did he tell you to kill her as well?' Nikolai asks. 'Because I'm sure she'd be a powerful ally for him.'

'He just told me to let the events unfold during the ritual and once at least a fragment of his power with separate itself from you I can do what I please,' you answer and your eyes darken. 'You may think of me what you like, but I care for Ravka. I didn't want Elizaveta to bring terror and fear to it. Nor I couldn't allow her to kill you. You're a great king, Nikolai. I believe you can fix this country. But not alone.'

'You told me that before,' Lantsov sighs, remembering your conversation in the tent. 'And since we're going to be at war… I'm going to need every resource I can have. The question is… is he going to help or fight with us?'

'I didn't bring him back so he could start another civil war. And he knows it. If he as much as tries to hurt any of you and take your crown… he loses me.'

'Forgive me, but why exactly am I to believe you're that important to him that he won't risk losing you? I mean, I know he confessed his feelings before he died- Oh. Oh.'

He snorts and shakes his head. They were so stupid.

'It appears our mistake was to assume that since he said it with his last breath, you were friends until the end,' he says and looks you in the eyes. 'But you weren't, were you?'

'We've been much more since David's escape,' you admit and sadness flashes in your eyes. 'But while I confessed my feelings, he did only admit them just before he died. But I knew he cared about me more than for a friend. I had some doubts, of course. Maybe I still do. But you can be sure that even if he does risk losing me, I also promised to kill him personally if he hurts any of you. He knows I won't hesitate. Not after everything I've lived through.'

Lantsov shivers at the look in your eyes. Nope. Never underestimating you again. Ever.

'One thing I don't get,' he admits. 'How did you even know it's possible to bring him back? I mean, you didn't know a nichevo hurt me back then.'

You smile. And Nikolai finds that smile very unsettling.

'Point your revolver at me,' you say. The King's eyes widen.

'I beg your pardon?' he asks, dumbfounded.

'Just point it,' you encourage him. 'Then I'll explain. Do it.'

He eyes you with suspicion. Finally, he sighs. He sure hopes so the Darkling won't come barging out of this shed and attacks him for pointing his revolver at you. But he grabs his revolver and starts raising it… but finds himself unable to make it go higher, to point it at you.

The monster that's still inside him snarls and causes him physical pain, stopping him from as much as pointing his revolver at you. He drops his head, exhaling shakily. He looks at you, stunned.

'Why?' he demands.

'I'm sure Baghra, Mal and Alina told you I could control nichevoy'a,' you say and he nods. 'Do you know why? When he created his first, he did it because I was being taken away by a Volcra. He created it to save me. And while he was their master and they protected him at all cost… protecting me came first. That's why they listened to me, even when my life was in danger. We became connected. So, when I saw Alina getting Mal back after he died and I felt this awful anger… I felt one nichevo ready for my command. I didn't know where it was back then. But when you walked into that tent… I knew somehow a part of it is in you. And that I could use it in some way to bring him back. My dream later that night confirmed it.'

Ready for my command…

Nikolai's face goes pale when realisation downs on him. You smile sadly at him.

'First time it took control… it was short after you were released from your cell,' he says. 'You were the one who caused it. You were doing it all this time.'

'Except for the last time,' you correct him. 'That was Elizaveta by Yuri. You know, so she thought she's the one pulling all the strings. That night I was supposed to just came across Zoya, Tolya and Tamar and follow them. To show I can control the monster, so you would take me with you to the Fold.'

The King stares at you speechless. He shakes his head.

'You've been very patient, I give you that,' he says. 'I mean… you couldn't have known we would ask for your help with jurda parem two and a half years after we had locked you up.'

'No,' you admit. 'But I knew you'd need my help for something sooner or later. And I was ready to wait a lot longer. Mind you, I'm glad I didn't have to. I fear I would eventually go mad in there.'

You twist a bit, starting to feel uncomfortable. Your necklace from Elizaveta shines in the sun. Nikolay eyes it.

'I picked a very wrong place for a conversation, didn't I?' he asks. 'If you wanted to, you could break out of your bonds and attack me with trees, couldn't you?'

'Not necessarily in that order, but yes,' you confirm. Lantsov sighs and massages his temples.

'What do you want?' he asks. 'In return for your and the Darkling's help in fixing Ravka, keeping our enemies at bay.'

'The same thing I've always wanted,' you answer. 'Him. I want a life with him. Peaceful. With no one threatening us, no wars, no fights, no deaths.'

'And how can you be sure he wants the same?' Nikolai asks. You stare at him with sadness.

'I'm not,' you admit. 'I just have to hope… that I'm enough.'

For a moment, Lantsov feels a need to hug you. But then he reminds himself how you played them all. He settles for a compassionate look.

'You, him and Yuri are going to be taken as prisoners back to Os Alta,' he decides after a moment of silence. 'Then… with others we'll decide what to do next.'

'As long as he's safe and alive, I'm at your service… your majesty,' you say, bowing your head.

'Can you say the same about him?' he asks. You smile slightly.

'He'll behave,' you say and look him in the eyes. 'You have my word.'

A/N: Thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts! Reblog, like and comment if you could. Every comment makes my day!

This can also be found on Archive of Our Own: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52696933/chapters/134901757

43 notes · View notes

rexmeshlasblog · 7 days

Text

Give up?!

Commander Wolffe x Jedi Reader

Summary: Jedi Reader wants to train during shore leave, ‘cause she got defeated by Ventress on their last mission. Commander Wolffe offers himself as her sparring partner.

Word count: 1700 words

Warnings: feelings, fluff, battle, fighting, war, use/mentioning of guns and war stuff, use of Y/N, Female MC, mentions of loss, intimate moment, cuteness, sexual tension, flirting, teasing, scared of losing in a match and losing people, bit angsty maybe?, Canon typical violence

A/N: Let me know if you like how I write Wolffe and what I could do better. (Not just with character arc but also with my writing style) thank you for reading.

Ps I just found this in my drafts from like a year ago and thought its time to finally post it.

Where the kriff was he? Commander Wolffe, my sparring partner on this evening, was late for our first session. Normally he was always in time, but today, when the 104th left the cruiser for shore leave, he wasn’t.

I was walking up and down the training room while waiting. Biting my lip and clenching my fists over and over again. It made me more anxious than it should, that he made me wait for him.

Maybe he just forgot our arrangement, which consisted of him training with me my hand to hand combat skills, but I hoped he didn’t. I needed him to get better and back in my original shape.

Our last mission was a pretty tough one. We lost good men and friends. They were a part of this family and I wasn’t good enough to safe all of them. It was a misery.

To our surprise Ventress was with the droid army and I had to fight against her. While I tried my best to protect my men and myself I wasn’t able to defeat the woman with her red lightsabers. She was too strong and I too distracted at the wrong moment. Which she used.

Master Plo Koon was the one who had to save me. Luckily he came right in time as Ventress was about to shatter my heart. She nearly killed me and when I closed my eyes just a bit I still felt the heat of her lightsaber on my skin.

A shiver ran through me. It was a close one this time. Death was never as near as in this exact moment. Her lightsaber was on me and ready to slide right through. Thats what this thing was made for, but still I quite couldn’t believe how fast I could’ve been dead. There were screams around me from different troopers. Barking commands. It was Wolffe who screamed my name as Ventress was about to kill me. I’d looked at him as he tried to reach me, but he was way too far away to save me. As I reached through his force signature I just felt pure panic and angst. We held eye contact for what felt like forever before I noticed the figure appearing behind me. My old beloved Master was the hero in last minute. After all I came away with a scar on my chest. Lucky me.

The day after, when I still had to be in the medbay, the Commander offered me to train with him. At least for the time in shore leave. Then we’d see how much progress I made and decide if I’d still need his training, but I was confident that I’d need it. Obviously I would ask him to keep training with me, not just, because I wanted to stay in shape and don’t want to get killed as easily. But also because I kinda had a thing for the grumpy Commander with just one original eye.

“There you are”, I greeted him with a small smile.

Wolffe finally arrived only grunting something, which you could call one of his friendlier greetings. I was grateful that he didn’t seem in the baddest mood. Surprising that I could tell by now how his mood was depending on how he grunted and furrowed his eyebrows. Wolffe was a grumpy one and so you had to check the waters before you let the cat slip out of the bag. When I saw him hours ago he was shouting at some Shinies which broke the caf machine. A hilarious picture to look at. Wolffe had this big furrow between his eyebrows and that annoyed look in his eyes and was obvious on the edge of his nerves while the Shinies looked like they wanted to run away as fast and as wide as they were able to do.

Wolffe was only in his blacks as I noticed now. Showing off his muscles and letting zero to the imagination. I gulped feeling the heat in my cheeks growing. Kriffing maker.

“What would you like to start with, General?”, he asked politely. His voice sounded deeper than normally. If he noticed my darkening cheeks, he didn’t say anything about it.

“Maybe some simple sparring? Just starting easy in this session.“ Starting easy. Yes, for sure.

Wolffe only nodded. I knew that the clones were good at fighting. Not just with their blasters, but also with their hands and body’s. So it was clear that it would be a difficult task to defeat Wolffe.

A few seconds later I was already on the floor again. I stopped counting after the fifth time. And I was a Jedi? Not even able to protect myself without my lightsaber and the force. How should I protect others then?

Above me Wolffe smirked a grin right out of hell. He was enjoying this far too much.

“Already giving up, General?“ One eyebrow raised a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. There was a sparkle in Wolffes eyes one I rarely saw and which he only showed when he was truly in the mood for some fun.

“You think I’m defeated after a few times on the ground? Then you don’t know me well enough, Commander.“ With a simple jump I was right back on my feet. My arms in front of me in a defensive position. Wolffe switched into fighting position right away, but not before giving me a sarcastic eye roll. He really was one of a kind.

“Then we keep going.“ Wolffe murmured more to himself.

Half an hour was going by. Wolffe only hitting the floor a few times when I remembered some old Jedi tricks from time to time. But now, while he was also slowly losing his power, his movements were slower and less precise. A advantage I’d happily use. I had saved my strength to be able to counterattack at the right moment, when he’d get more tired.

Just as Wolffe was about to punch me in the stomach, a spot I had deliberately left uncovered, I grabbed his other arm, twisted it behind his back and threw him to the ground, all while also pulling his feet away. Too bad I hadn't calculated that he could pull me along with him, because that's exactly what he did. Wolffe grabbed my jedi robe and I fell right with him to the floor. Me above him. For a second I hesitated before I used the position to pin his arms and legs with my own. I got him. The big bad Wolffe was defeated.

“Give up?“ I asked out of breath. Wolffes breathing was as heavy and loud as my one while his chest brushed over mine with every deep breath he and I took. I felt his breath on my lips. His pupils were blowing wide and sweat visible on his forehead. He smelled better than I expected. More like himself and less like everyone else on the ship. More like the real Commander and not the cheap lemon soap the Clones got.

As I noticed now he was wearing a small smirk again. “You should know better.“ And with that he used his power and rolled us over. Now he was on top of me. One of his legs between mine while he pinned my hands above my head. Wolffe was obviously stronger and every attempt to break free failed.

“Give up, Mesh`la?“ Eyebrows raised and a confident smile was all I could see. Kriff, he really got me now. Unless I’d use this situation and my body to my advantage.

“I don’t know, you tell me Wolffe“, I whispered against his lips.

Wolffe growled under his breath before he brushed his lips against mine. Now I got him where I wanted.

“You’re doing things to me you don’t know ‘bout“, he mumbled deeply and I was sure that he felt my heart drumming against his chest. Wolffe had this special power over me and it was clear that I made him feel the same way. We never spoke about our feelings, but we both knew, that this between us was something more than a friendship. Maybe a dangerous game, because if anyone found out about our mutual feelings, they would take each other away from us. After the war, I always told myself, maybe after the war there’d be an opportunity to get together, but not now.

Wolffes hands which pinned mine loosened its grip while one of it went straight to my waist. His eyes were hooded and his breath was quicker than usual. The Commander really thought our little game was over.

“Maybe you should tell or show me then.“

His breath hitched after my respond, “I don’t want to scare you off.“ His eyes were showing pain I’d never seen in them before. Was he scared of losing me? He could never. I knew about his reputation. He was the big bad wolf the little Shinies and other clones were afraid of. But I wasn’t scared of his hard case. I actually adored it. It made him intriguing.

“I’m a Jedi. It’s not easy to scare me off, Wolffe. And you’re definitely not someone I could ever be scared of.“

He shrugged, wanting to say something, but before he could, I wrapped my legs around his hips and turned us over once again.

“Who has the upper hand now?“ I smirked. This time pining him, so he couldn’t roll us over once again.

“Looks like you won this time, Cyare.“

“Obviously, Commander.“

I got up to my feet, before giving Wolffe a helping hand which he agreed to take. This little moment between us was over.

“But I don’t think the Clankers will fall for a move as such.“ Was all he said all while giving my butt a little smack, as I was slowly walking away. All I could do was smirk. Typical Wolffe.

I winked at him, “You aren’t one of the Droids and also, it was a move I specially made up for you.“

Wolffe crossed his arms, not before giving me one last of his typical eye rolls. “See ya, Wolffie.“

I heard him chuckle while walking away. Excited how our next interaction would go on.

#clone wars #jedi reader #fanfiction #oneshot #star wars #command Wolffe x jedi reader #star wars the clone wars #star wars one shot #commander wolffe #sw tcw #commander Wolffe x reader #clone wars one shot

25 notes · View notes

legally-allowed-to-slime · 5 months

Text

Before Gem could register it, Scar’s sword ran her through, taking out the last of her hearts.

The death screen flashed in front of her. She instinctively pressed the respawn button, and all of the weight in her body disappeared, leaving her lighter than a feather.

She looked down at her hands. They were transparent. No weight, no colour. A ghost.

She was dead. And she’d respawned in her bed.

Oh, God…

Scott.

She’d always known from day one that in the end there would be a final battle, that there would’ve been kills she didn’t want to make. But it had always been hazy in her mind.

She’d gone along cheerfully, picking off anyone who wasn’t on her side, never thinking that when it came down to it she would have to kill someone she called an ally.

More than that. A friend.

She remembered Scott’s blue eyes. Not staring at her in his final moments, but focusing on his inventory, and her diamond blade swinging down, and the lightning blinding her for half a second…

Gem gasped and clutched her head. Those few seconds kept replaying in her mind.

“You have to kill me, Gem.”

She knew even now that Scar and, and, Pearl were probably fighting it out, deciding the winner, or whatever. Winning didn’t seem to matter now.

The lightning flashed again, in front of her eyes.

She hadn’t wanted to be the leader! Why had Scott kept looking to her as if she was, telling her to kill him? Why did he have to die like that? She didn’t want to do this anymore.

Gem tried to lean against the wall to stabilise herself, but she fell right through and ended up outside, floating anxiously.

The cherry leaves were still falling, like nothing had happened. As if the base could stay in its pink, cherry, happy state forever.

(The crater by the entrance disagreed.)

Scott’s voice, her sword, the lightning, her gasp after she’d done it were all confused in her mind. Overwhelmed, she squeezed her eyes shut, but it wouldn’t stop ringing.

“Gem! Gem, you okay?”

Gem, nearly hyperventilating, barely heard Impulse but looked up.

“It’s okay, we’ve all been there,” Impulse said soothingly as she practically collapsed into his grasp, relieved for something real.

“She’s up here?… Oh, Gem,” Scott ran into earshot. Gem broke away and looked at Scott uncertainly, still breathing fast, her heart pumping. What felt like her heart. She didn’t know how ghosts worked.

“Scott?”

“You did so good,” he said, smiling but not moving closer, as if unsure of how she would react.

“Scott, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that, uh, I’d have to kill you, and I just got caught up in the moment, and, you know,” Gem rambled hysterically.

“I don’t regret it. You carried the band so, so well. You’re safe now, alright? All good.”

Gem slowly nodded as she tried to recollect herself. “Right.”

“It’s always like this on the first series. I remember in Third Life everyone was so shocked after they died.” Impulse said, grinning as he pat Gem on the shoulder.

“Nah, in Double Life when Pearl died was even worse. Ready to kill everyone, more like.”

Gem’s head snapped up. “Pearl! She— she and Scar…”

She hadn’t expected it, she hadn’t expected Pearl to swoop in for a blow as she was fending Scar off. And then she’d just stood back and let Scar kill Gem. Entirely indifferent. Betrayal without a word.

She hadn’t understood, Cleo had been right. She hadn’t understood a single thing about the death game, and it wasn’t a game, it was just death—

Gem started to panic again, gasping for air. Scott quickly put his arm around her.

“Shh, don’t worry about that. It happens every time. You get used to it. For now, just relax, okay?” Scott said reassuringly.

“Okay, okay,” Gem said, half in tears.

There was no sound for a while, except for the wind extending its wispy fingers through the cherry leaves.

“Come on, let’s sit on the plank,” Impulse said.

So they did. Since they weren’t solid it couldn’t be done, but they decided to float above it instead and look out on the rest of the server, empty but, finally, peaceful.

“The band’s back together,” Scott joked.

Gem sighed, and smiled. For now, for that brief moment in time, everything was okay.

47 notes · View notes

dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years

Text

Midnight Blades {2}

Aemond Targaryen x princess!reader (Dark!themes) Summary: Aemond makes an entrance with a proposal and you must choose the lesser of two evils. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, violence, blood play, rough sex, blow job, dub con WC: 3230

A/N: forgot to add there’s some spoilers for Episode 10

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten || Part Eleven || Part Twelve || Part Thirteen || Part Fourteen || Part Fifteen || Part Sixteen || Part Seventeen || Part Eighteen || Part Nineteen || Part Twenty ||

The throne room was abuzz with father’s men talking over one another when you arrived, the herald announcing your entrance and silencing the cacophony for a moment. You strolled right up to the Oaken Throne, its roots forever entombed in the stone while the stump was carved by the finest craftsmen who also built the palace that surrounded it.

“What is the cause for so much excitement, your grace?”

“My darling child, thank the stars you are here.” The King rubbed his forehead to ease the pain that often flared when difficult decisions needed to be made. “News arrived from Westeros, Viserys is dead and his council has crowned Aegon as his successor.”

“That snivelling worm!” Your fingers curled around the pommel of the sword hanging from your hip. “And what of Rhaenyra? Surely she will not take the treachery lying down.”

“You know as well as I do, she does not have the support to take her seat on the Iron Throne.” The King drummed his fingers over the arm of his throne and watched you pace before him.

“The skies must be nearly black with ravens in Westeros.” You stopped pacing to look at the tapestry map of the Known World hung across the wall, narrowing your eyes at the embroidered lettering locating King’s Landing. “Every man and his dog will be out trying to gather support for one side or another.”

The doors to the throne room were thrown open and the heralder looked pale as he announced the new arrival. “Prince Aemond, requesting to seek an audience with the King of Scythe.”

“Speaking of dog,” you muttered at the same time as Aemond stepped into the doorway, pushing past the heralder as he spoke, “Request suggests I will take no for an answer.”

The faded pink scar on your chest burned as he scanned the cavernous room and you noticed his step falter at your sight only because you knew how graceful his feet could carry him. More than once, your hands had found themselves between your legs on the nights spent alone, his name on your lips as you chased down a release that couldn’t come close to matching what he had given you.

“You dare to waltz in here and demand an audience with the King.” It didn’t matter that the king’s guards were stationed between Aemond and your father, you drew Black Heart from her scabbard and crossed the room. “I should have your tongue for the insult.”

The curve of his lips left a perpetual smirk on his smug face but the press of your sword to his chest had it widening by the second. “That would be an enormous waste, princess. I think you would rather like what my tongue can do.”

His words were only for you to hear and you felt them all the way down to your toes that curled in your boots before Ser Negan reached your side and placed a calm hand on your sword arm. “The prince is here as messenger, not warrior. Isn’t that right, Kinslayer?”

Kinslayer. That was a new title or you would have heard of it already, but which of his blood relatives had he killed, you wondered.

Reluctantly, you sheathed Black Heart and took a breath as you regained your composer that had been misinterpreted as anger and not what it truly was, desire. As your sword slid home, you swore it would not be the next addition to the Iron Throne, nor would your fathers.

Aemond finally looked away from you as you turned your back on him, trusting Ser Negan to protect it as you walked back to your father’s side. No one moved until you reached the last step and were securely placed behind three rows of kings guards.

“I come with a proposal,” Aemond spoke to the King, his voice calm and confident despite standing in the heart of his enemy's territory. “To unite our people and end the conflict that has kept us divided.”

The King chuckled and your own laugh echoed his as the rest of the room held its collective breath. “Your family has already usurped one throne. Is your plan to use this union to steal mine too? Or, perhaps you just want my soldiers to die in the war you have waged with your sister?”

Aemond ran his forefinger over his bottom lip and you remembered the feel of them as moved inside you, your corseted dress suddenly too tight to breathe in. He seemed to notice the tell of your dark thoughts and stared at the skirting as if he could see the throb pulsing between your thighs.

“I won’t lie, if the opportunity were presented I might take it for myself,” Aemond said to you before flicking his eye to the King. “But if my dear wife-to-be begged on her knees, I may be inclined to listen to her requests and let her homeland remain untouched.”

You cocked an eyebrow at his bluntness and for confirming that the union would be one of marriage and not trade, not that it made you any more comfortable. There was already an heir to the Oaken Throne but your half brother was travelling the dangerous northern provinces, if something were to happen to him you would be the next in line to the throne. It would be dangerous to have someone with Targaryen blood married to someone so close to the throne.

Your father rose from his throne and drew Dragon Bane from where the ancient sword had rested against the arm. The sword had been forged by dragon fire and could cut through the thick scales that protected the beasts, one of only two blades that remained intact to this day.

“I do not take kindly to threats,” the King stated as he watched the flames from the large hearth reflect in the metal. “Especially ones towards my sweet daughter.”

“I intend to find out just how sweet she is.” The prince laughed as he knew the truth and took a lazy step closer to the guards ready to cut him down and pulled a scroll from his cloak. You caught sight of the dagger that you were intimately familiar with as his cloak fell back into place and licked your dry lips. “I have already taken the liberty to draw up the contract. You will find the terms quite agreeable.”

Quiet as a mouse, your Lady-in-Waiting skirted around the edge of the room until she was at your side. The slip of a girl took your hand and kissed the top of it as she curtsied, passing a note into your palm before disappearing silently into the crowd.

Two dragons overhead.

One order and the city beyond the stone palace would burn.

The King stepped down from the raised platform the throne sat upon and raised his sword, the guards parting at his gesture. “I will tell you exactly what you can do with that scroll, prince, but I assure you it won’t be enjoyable.”

The threat of violence was shimmering in Aemond’s eye and he was excited to hear the threat that would give him cause to damn the city, you couldn’t allow that to happen. “I accept your proposal.” Your father’s eyes flared with fury as he spun around to see blood dripping from your palm, the promise already made. “You will not make an oathbreaker of me will you, your grace?”

Grief washed over your fathers face and he dropped his sword with defeat, cursing your mother for the drop of witch-blood that passed through the female descendants. The cocky grin from Aemond only served to enrage your father more until he screamed for the room to be emptied.

“Not you,” the King ordered when you stepped past him, he caught your elbow and held you there until the last guard closed the heavy wooden door behind him. “What were you thinking! You wish to live with our enemy?”

“I was thinking I don’t want to see our city and our people burn the second the spoiled brat doesn’t get his way.” You slapped the note into his palm and watched his eyes widen at the words. “I have studied the dragon wars, father, two of the beasts could destroy Scythe. I am sworn to protect my people, even if it means sacrificing myself.”

“The Targaryens will expect the support of our soldiers.” Your father shook his head and cupped your face. “He will demand that you live in King’s Landing with him.”

“They don’t know how many soldiers we have. Half are in the north and they cannot expect us to leave our country undefended so we can argue for the national corps to remain stationed here.” You placed your hands over your father’s and patted them reassuringly. “Once word gets across the Narrow Sea that Scythe has allied with King Aegon, Rhaenyra will assume that means our vast army of legend. Perhaps it will be the deterrent needed to avoid war all together.”

“I will pray to the stars to keep you safe.” His fingers traced the blood promise cut across your palm. “That is all any of us can do now.”

“Where is he?” you demanded the second you stepped out of the throne room and found the foyer empty, save for the king's guards.

“Prince Aemond?” Ser Khoal asked with a confused frown. “He said you would know.”

Forcing a smile on your face, you bid farewell and took the shortcuts the maids used until you reached your room without the eyes of the guards seeing.

“You whoremongering, dragon’s turd.”

Aemond chuckled without casting a glance in your direction as he sat in your chair, watching the flames in the hearth. “Is that any way to speak to your soon-to-be husband, my darling?”

You stepped in close between him and the fire so he was forced to tilt his head back to meet your glare. The temptation to deal with the consequences of being an oathbreaker seemed to look pretty good all of a sudden when he licked his lips and smirked. The urge to wrap your fingers around your sword was strong but you transferred the deadly strike to a more forgiving slap across his pale cheek. “Suck a dick, Aemond.”

The blood from your palm smeared across his cheek that was burning red in the shape of your hand and in a heartbeat you found your feet swept from under you and the stone floor rushing to meet you. The jarring of the crash sent an ache through your bones but the gasp of pain was stolen by the fingers that gripped your throat. You tried to buck him off but he was taller and pinned you beneath his body with the ease of his training.

“You know exactly what my sexual preference is, love,” he taunted in your ear as he eased his grip slightly to let you take a wheezing breath in.

“Do I?” you rasped with short intakes of air and smirked as you felt his cock pressed hard between you. “You did…fuck…my ass…”

With a growl he released you to tear the buttons on his tunic and pull it over his head. Lean muscles glowed in the firelight and you ran your fingers along the scar over his heart before raking your nails down. His back arched and his lips parted, enjoying the pain with a feverish shudder that sent a bolt of lightning straight to your core.

“Did you find such pleasures when you left?” you asked as he pulled a short knife from his boot and cut through the material of your dress from hem to collar.

His eye fluttered shut as you freed his cock and ran your thumb over the swollen, leaking head. “No one would dare bleed a prince of Westeros.”

“Such a shame.” You moaned as his lips sealed over your breast and his tongue swirled and sucked your nipple to a stiff peak before moving to your other. The velvet warmth of his tongue and the soft tease of his long hair falling over your body had your hips rolling to see what else you could feel. “One day I will bathe in your blood and know my realm is free from your poisonous family.”

You cried out as he bit your nipple before releasing it and nudging your legs wider to bury himself in your cunt with a hard thrust your body wasn’t prepared for. The stretch of his thickness burned and the mewls from your lips spurred him to move faster until your back was bruised from the stone beneath it.

“I love it when you talk dirty,” he growled against your lips before taking them roughly like he did your body with a clash of teeth and tongue. You wrapped your legs around his hips and gasped as his cock rode over the deepest parts of you, the pressure of impending release building low in your abdomen until it burst and your legs trembled. “We’ll see how quick you are to threaten my blood when it is your child, a Targaryen, who will be born from this union.”

You tore your legs from his hips about to push him from your body but it was too late, his teeth clenched with a deep moan and his back arched as he spilled his seed deep within you. “Fuck you, Aemond.”

“Insatiable little minx.” He chuckled and took a seat back in your chair, his trousers still hanging down his hip and his glistening cock still standing tall. He caught you staring at the hard length of him and wrapped his fist around it, smooth gliding strokes thanks to the mix of your cum coating him. “Suck a dick, princess.”

You could have tossed a shoe at him for throwing your words back at you but the want to hold his most precious anatomy between your teeth and watch him balance on the knife's edge of desire and fear had you kneeling between his parted knees.

The first long lick drew a moan when you reached the sensitive slit at the top and dipped the tip of your tongue inside but the second one drew a groan. His need to have your lips wrapped around his cock was showing but you were not finished teasing him.

“Careful, prince, you’re looking desperate.”

He bared his teeth and grabbed the back of your head as he bucked his hips. His cock filled your mouth and choked off your air until your nose pressed against his skin. Your throat convulsed at the intrusion and he fell back into the chair giving you a moment to breathe before pulling you back down until you gagged. Spit ran down your chin as you moaned around him and the taste of his cum coated your tongue, tears burning in your eyes. It was a mess, raw and primal.

“Fuck,” Aemond murmured through his clenched teeth when your nails dug into his hips and left crescent moons of blood behind. His hand fell away from your head and he watched lazily as his entire cock disappeared into your mouth and your hand slipped between your legs. Your fingers were slick as they circled your slit and gathered the warm cum leaking out to glide over your clit.

The muscles of his body tensed a moment before he moved, grabbing your arms and dragging you up onto his lap so he could see you pleasuring yourself. “Show me.”

You shamelessly teased yourself from his knees until your arousal was running down your thighs and over his leather trousers, his cock twitching at the sight. Needing to be filled more than your fingers could, you climbed higher and impaled yourself on his shaft.

His hands groped your ass, pinching and squeezing it before laying sharp slaps to the skin that drew delighted gasps from your lips as you rode him. His hair tangled in your hands and you tugged at the strands until his chest was heaving with his shaking breaths.

Your thighs burned from the quick pace you set as you chased your release but the growing warmth in your belly told you it wasn’t far away. The bead of sweat rolling down Aemond’s chest told you he was just as close and you dipped your head to taste the drop. It tasted of the sea he had flown across and the smoke of his dragon’s fire, it tasted wild and free.

Leaning back, you cried out at the sharp angle and rolled your hips to hit the spot again. You ran your hands down his legs until you reached his boot and returned with the short knife in your hand, soft trembles starting to rise up your body.

“Give me your hand.” There was no hesitation as he placed his hand on yours, his palm facing up. “Our wedding custom is far different to what you have in the Seven Kingdoms. We have the bloodletting.”

You dragged the blade across his palm and pressed the cut to yours, lacing your fingers together so the blood of your houses melded to one. You weren’t sure whether it was the pain or the union that unleashed the restraint he had held as you rode him but some animalistic part of him rose to the surface.

He locked your joined hands behind your back and held you in place as he fucked up into you, lifting your legs off the chair as he found the deepest wall within you and tried to break through. Heat flooded your body and you cried out as you came, your pussy clenching around him as your moisture soaked his lap. With a dark curse he collapsed against the chair and you shivered with each pulse of his release filling your cunt.

Sated and overstimulated, you fell against him, resting your head in the hollow of his neck until you could feel your limbs again.

“Ser Negan called you Kinslayer.”

“Yes, well I would hardly call the bastard son of my sister kin.” His lip curled at the thought. “Little Luke took a tumble from his dragon, in pieces. Mother was none too pleased but a war with Rhaenrya was inevitable, despite what she thought of her old friend.”

Your head fell back with a laugh as you sat up and Aemond’s hands gripped your hips enough to bruise as he growled, “Glad you can see the amusement in war.”

“Not at all, I am just glad that you will see your end before it is over.” You twirled the strands of his hair around your fingers as you stared into his pale blue eye. “Not even the gods can protect you from a mother’s vengeance. Rhaenyra will burn all of Westeros for what you did.”

You laughed again as he pushed you from his lap and tucked himself back into his damp trousers before standing. His usual smirk had fallen away as he stood at his full height and looked down at you. “And when my sister comes to take her payment, a son for a son, will you laugh then too?”

“You should have done your research, husband,” you murmured as you stroked the scar down his cheek, a smile teasing at your lips. “My mother’s line has never birthed a son.”

Click here for Part Three.

#aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #dark!aemond #dark!reader #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond fanfiction #hotd

600 notes · View notes