#she's observant. so so observant that when the fires of the world burned within her she could only scream of what see had seen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stormhearty · 17 days

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✨ pairings: eris x reader

🔮 preview: (Y/N) Vanserra was cunning, ambitious, and confident, all wrapped in a beauty that could rival Lady Autumn’s. For forty-nine years, she had been hidden away, in Autumn Court, much like a diamond, waiting for the day she could come out and shine. And so, when the threat of a Death-God loomed over Prythian and Beron slowly became a concern, (Y/N) uses her beauty and intelligence for a ploy bigger than herself — one that included sitting her husband down on the Autumn throne, Eris Vanserra.

📣 trigger warnings: Inner Circle bashing (I love the IC guys, but we’re in Autumn Court territory now)

🔎 rating: PG-13 | 🔏 word count: 5.6k+

💜 masterlist | series masterlist + notes: I thank my lovely nonnie from here for suggesting a Roxana-inspired reader from the manwha, How to Protect the Heroine’s Older Brother! I loved Roxana as a character and I found it very difficult (as many of you know, whom I’ve talked to about this story) to write a character who is cunning and intelligent as my character reference. This series was a beast to write (and I am still writing the other parts of it, so please do be patient) — I wanted it to stay canon as much as possible, but also give a story that would reveal the mysterious nature of Autumn Court. Please do give feedback about the first part of this series! I would love to hear your opinions and thoughts for the next part!

And I thank both @prythianpages & @thesunloveschips for their amazing help with this first part (I apologize to them profusely at times for bothering them)

“Be my eyes, be my ears. Be the wallflower that lurks in the breeze. Be the viper that stings all my enemies. We shall become one, to conquer our shared destiny.”

The burn of the bargain tattoo seared onto your skin, a ring of fire that surrounded your left ring finger. It took you a moment to look at it, admiring the dark ink that stained your skin before much larger hands enveloped yours. Looking up, you stared at familiar amber hues as he slipped the golden band on that finger, hiding the tattoo. Lifting your hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss on your knuckles his smirk widening slightly.

“You will be my secret, (Y/N)… My weapon within the walls of Autumn Court…”

“Do you know who she is, Az?” his High Lord’s voice echoed in his head as hazel eyes focused on the female that seemed to have garnered many lingering gazes.

“I unfortunately do not, Rhys… My shadows do not whisper anything about her. I—-” there was hesitancy in his words, “I didn’t even know she existed.”

The Spymaster was stumped, to say the least.

In his centuries of being Night Court’s Spymaster, wielding shadows to his very will, Azriel had every confidence that he knew everything that happened in Prythian. Nothing was able to pass him nor his shadows — he knew all the intel, the gossip. He knew everything that might be deemed a threat to his court and used that knowledge to his advantage.

But it seemed like something slipped, because there was something… more like someone, that passed his shadows; and that was you who was on the arm of the Autumn Court Heir.

Azriel felt like he should have known you, should have heard the whisper of your existence at least. You were accompanying the Autumn Heir to Winter Solstice, for Mother’s sake! How could someone as vital as you slip passed his shadows.

He waited, waited for those slivers of darkness to whisper something… anything about you. Even just your name, the Spymaster would have been pleased to know.

But nothing.

His shadows lazily moved underneath him, not a care in the world about the female that seemed to have warped his mind in chaos.

You had become an enigma to the Spymaster.

And it was something he would go to the ends of the world to unravel.

He continued silently observing you from his position next to his High Lord on the dias, watching as you pressed yourself close to the Heir side, your hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, leading you through the throughs of people that packed themselves into the grand ballroom. He watched as your rouge dress, a stark contrast to the endless sea of black and blue, swayed around you — like a fire that danced in the darkness of the night. Even Eris stood out in his regality in a similar shade of rouge, Autumn Court colors seeping out from every inch of him.

The two of you maneuvered through the halls like flames blazing through the darkness — and Azriel was worried that you would burn his home down.

And when he watched you lean up to the Heir, whispering something into his ear before a boisterous laugh escaped the Autumn Heir, he sent his shadows across the floor, motioning them to listen in — and all the Spymaster hoped was to get a tidbit of anything relating to you; even just the sound of your voice would have been better than nothing.

However, hazel hues watched as his shadows retreated quickly as they had flocked. And it was only then did Azriel had seen it.

A barrier.

One that was so powerful and so thick that his shadows couldn’t even penetrate. He watched as the tendrils of darkness slithered away, retreating back to their master, hearing their cries of pain as they had attempted to break through the barrier.

That was the reason no one knew of your existence — why Azriel never heard of you, why his shadows never picked up your name.

You were a secret — Autumn Court’s well-kept secret.

The shimmer of the barrier caught the corner of your eye, watching it reflect different colors under the dim lighting. You raised a brow, eyes darting around before noticing the lonesome shadow retreating back to its master. You watched as that lonesome shadow slither through the crowd, slithering back to the Spymaster’s side.

“Did that bastard just —-”

You fought back a chuckle, gently squeezing Eris’ forearm — a silent confirmation about the attempted attack from the Night Court Spymaster. You felt him stiffen underneath your touch and you didn’t need to look to know that the Heir was pissed.

Beneath his mask of well-practiced composure, you felt his body thrum with rage and fire — it swirled and bubbled underneath his skin, radiating up to your palm that rested in the crook of his elbow.

Eris had always been quite overprotective over you, thus the millennial old barrier that had kept your existence a secret from all of Prythian — including from the nosy Spymaster of Night Court.

You were not surprised by the Shadowsinger’s actions — curiosity killed the cat, as many would say. And who wouldn’t be curious about you, the female that hung on the arm of the Autumn Court Heir? You had expected something similar to happen, but it seemed that the Spymaster sending his shadows to investigate you did not sit well with Eris.

No one dared to attack you while in his presence.

“Eris…”

The whisper of his name from your lips paused the rage that bubbled from the Heir — amber hues glancing your way. A delicate smile tugged onto your features, another melodic hum escaping your lips as you reached up and caressed his forearm — a gesture that showed you were perfectly unharmed — the barrier had done its job, keeping you safe. It was a gesture that always seemed to calm Eris down — especially when it came to your safety, a silent confirmation you were safe. You felt that bubble of rage and fire simmer, the Heir calming underneath your touch, and felt his hand slip on top of your own, his thumb gently caressing the gold band on your ring finger— a tall tell sign that he was holding himself back from confronting the Spymaster.

“Ah, Eris!”

Annoyance rolled off from the calm of Eris’ demeanor and you fought all urge to tease the male as you watched from the corner of your eye Keir making his way to the two of you, behind him his daughters in tow.

With a well-practiced smile, Eris gave a bow of his head towards the Steward, you mimicking his actions as surprise tugged on the Steward’s features, his steps paused to a halt at the sight of you at Eris’ side.

“Ah, Keir, pleasure to see you again. I thank you for inviting me to such festivities…” Eris greeted the male with a light smirk tugged onto his features — the normal look of arrogance from the Autumn Heir.

Keir had stiffened at the sound of his name, without any lordship from the Heir, as he bit back a reply with a strained smile, “Of course, Lord Eris. We are indeed partners… I had wanted to introduce you to my daughters—-” the male gestured to his side as his daughters gave a bow, their cheeks pink with a light rose color, evident even in the dim lighting.

You bit back a laugh, glancing up at Eris to watch that smile twitch at the corner of his lips — the annoyance very evident despite his mask of pleasantry.

“Unfortunately…” The Autumn Heir had cut off the Steward, giving the ladies a bow of his head. Eris, no matter what was taught to be a gentleman, especially to females. His mother taught him that. “I do not need a partner tonight for the dance… As you can see, I do have a lovely lady on my arm, and it would be such a shame to ignore her presence… don’t you think, Keir?”

A pleased smile tugged at the edge of your lips at the quip — not only did the Steward ignore greeting you, he had ignored the fact that you… without needing to be announced, would be the one accompanying the Heir for the evening’s festivities. And yet, there he was attempting to set up partnership with one of his daughters.

Keir’s eyes shifted from the Heir to you, his hues shaking as he looked at you.

“My apologizes… my lady, I was not informed that the Autumn Heir would be bringing a partner with him tonight—-”

“—-She has been with me the whole night, Keir… and she has not stepped away from my side. I would think, with your… keen eyesight, it would make it clear that I did not need a partner tonight.”

“—- Ah, yes… I apologize…” the stutter was evident in his tone as he quietly shooed away his daughters, watching longing gazes at the Eris before moving through the crowd. Keir straightened up and gave you a formal smile, before clearing his throat, “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady —- before the festivities start…” What a quick change of subject, “My High Lord would like to speak to you…. if you do not mind following me…”

And with that the Steward turned around, his cape bellowing behind him as he maneuvered his way through the crowd… towards the dias where the Inner Circle had perched themselves for the night.

You watched as Eris rolled his eyes, an annoyed sigh escaping his lips, while you let out an airy laugh, bracing yourself on his arm as you leaned up, your breath against his chin, “Tired of being the most eligible bachelor, Autumn Heir?” you teased him.

It had always amused you on how many marriage proposals Eris had throughout the time you were together, and how many he had thrown those letters into the hearth of your shared bedroom at Autumn Court. You had always teased him about it, much to his own dismay after being with you for several millennials — you always found something to tease him about.

Eris raised a brow, turning his head so that your breaths intermingled, “I had not been a bachelor for centuries, my butterfly… It pains me to pretend that I am every time I step outside Autumn Court.”

You gazed up at him, staring in those amber hues through your lush lashes, “Well… tonight we’ll make that clear, once and for all, won’t we?”

A wide smirk tugged onto his lips, as he let out a satisfied sound before straightening up and guiding you through the crowd, steps behind the Steward to the dias. The two of you were a perfect picture of Lord and Lady, graceful and regal in every way.

Pull… pull… pull…

Eyes snapped towards the dias, your body going ridged for a few moments as you felt the familiar magnetic tug — the call of the blade. Eris paused in mid-step, feeling you go still, his head snapping towards you as eyes betrayed his indifferent expression — worry pooling at its depths. No words needed to be communicated between the two of you, you had known each other for centuries… you were honed into each other’s emotions, habits, gestures… you two could read each other so easily, despite the mask you have learned to put on for centuries.

Your eyes shifted from each member of the Inner Circle, trying to find where the magic pull was coming from, landing on the velvet box that was in the lithe hands of a familiar fae — the eldest Made Archeron sister, Nesta. You felt your magic flicker underneath your skin, answering the pull from that velvet box. You knew that the blade was in that box — the whole reason why you had decided to accompany Eris to the Winter Solstice, stepping out of Autumn Court into the wider world of Prythian, risking your identity, and exposing your person to the Night Court. That box, that blade was your sole reason.

Regaining your composure, you pressed yourself against Eris’ arm, placing your hand on top of his own as you silently motioned him to continue moving forward. The Autumn Heir hesitated, but when he glanced into your eyes and saw the resolution in them, he couldn’t argue. He gently squeezed your hand and started to move forward again before leaning down, pressing a kiss on the side of your head to whisper, “Did you find it? The blade?”

You glanced up at him and just gave him a light smirk, gently squeezing his hand. Another laugh escaped him, drawing attention towards the two before he pressed another kiss on your cheek, “You are magnificent, my butterfly…”

The Autumn wind blew a chilled breeze through the large windows of the Forest House. The sky was still in orange, red, and yellow hues as the moon started to peak over the horizon — the seasonal courts never saw true nightfall, the skies still glittering with their court colors. It had just grown dark enough for sleep to fall on its inhabitants.

Slipping onto the large balcony of your shared bedroom, you pressed your hands against the cool marble railing as you watched a monarch butterfly flutter down from the skies. Magic wrapped its fragile wings as you allowed it to gently perch on your left eye, a sigh escaping your lips as you closed your eyes — allowing its magic to seep into you. Visions passed behind your eyes, your all-seeing gaze shifting from Autumn Court, zipping through the seasonal courts and into the depths of one particular solar court — Night Court.

A rusty hammer struck metal, sparks of light flying into the air as the loud ring echoed in your ears. You watched delicate, yet calloused fingers grip the hilt of a forged blade — a power from those very hands seeping into the metal, one that mimicked the ancient Cauldron, which was lost. The blade breathed fire, one so similar to your own that you felt it pulse, no… push against steel — calling out to you, as if it knew you were waiting, watching from afar.

Shifting your gaze from the mysterious Made blade, your eyes wandered to those fingers, traveling up their arm to their features — the eldest Made Archeron sister. You had heard of the eldest sister of the High Lady of Night, once a human, doused in Cauldron power that made her into fae. Her powers were unknown to all, and yet — here she was, creating a weapon from her unknown powers.

“It looks like she isn’t quite as lovely as the winds have whispered…” you murmured, mirth in your tone as you continued to watch the vision unfold before your eyes.

“Who isn’t as lovely?”

Arms wrapped around your middle, large sturdy hands pressing you against a much sturdier front. Another sigh escaped your lips, eyes fluttering open, breaking the connection of magic as you watched the butterfly disappear in a waft of red and orange mist. Your hand raised, swirling the colors in the air before it dissipated. Twisting your neck, you glanced up at the Autumn Heir, his features illuminated by the colorful autumn sky.

You had always thought he looked ethereal.

His complexion glowed something dark that always stirred something inside of you. How his auburn hair beautifully framed his chiseled features and how his amber hues glowed — his innate fire burning through those irises.

Those amber eyes caught your own, his brow raising as his question was left in the air. A chuckle was pulled out of you at his look, “The eldest Made Archeron…”

Eris’ brows scrunched in confusion, as your comment did little to answer his question. He knew that there was much more hidden behind your simple words about the Made fae, much more than you were willing to tell him without him prodding you more. You lifted a hand to gently smooth Eris’ brows, a feeble attempt at a distraction — for both you and him.

“What did your butterflies show you, (Y/N)?”

Eris was able to read you so easily, no matter how many walls you had put up, the Autumn Heir was able to see right through them. He had learned how to read you for centuries, ever since the two of you were children — ever since that fateful day.

You felt him grasp your hand, tugging it away from his face, giving your palm a caress, causing a sigh to escape your lips.

“She forged a blade that breathed fire, one similar to our own… I do not know the purpose of said blade, but I am quite sure it has to do with that bloody bargain you made with that High Lord…”

It was no secret to Eris that you had despised that bargain between the High Lord of Night — a bargain to help him claim the Autumn throne from his father. You understood that it was under stressful circumstances — the looming doom of war with Hybern, needing allies during the war. However, you had known that Eris didn’t need that bargain, not with anyone within the Forest House walls, especially not with pesky Night Court bats — not when he had you to help with the coup within Autumn wards.

You needed no help from overgrown bats with what you had promised Eris all those millennials ago.

“(Y/N)…” he called your name, pulling you from your thoughts. Eris held your waist and turned you in his arms, pushing you against that marble railing, forcing you to look up at him.

Raising a brow, you tilted your head up at him.

“If they made a blade for us… then we’ll use it — take advantage of it,” he asserted, “Let’s play into their little game for now. Make them think they’re on higher ground, that they have control — but when in reality, we’ve always known. And you never know…” A smirk tugged on his lips as he leaned down, his breath brushing against the apples of your cheeks, “That blade might be useful for our plan…”

A light, airy chuckle escaped your lips, “You’re asking me, Eris… out of all things… to act dumb in front of those bats?” amusement laced in your tone.

He chuckled as well, pressing his lips against your cheek, “I’m asking you, my butterfly… is to act dumb with me. We do better everything together, right?”

You hummed, eyes fluttering close, your lashes brushing against his cheeks. Your arms slid up his more muscular ones, hidden beneath his sleeping tunic, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him, “Then that means, Autumn Heir… you will have to bring me to that Winter Solstice ball if you want me to act with you.”

Eris froze underneath your touch at the mention of Winter Solstice. He had mentioned it a few times to you in the past several weeks — especially when Keir kept sending secret correspondence, begging him to join the festivities. The correspondences had annoyed Eris completely, any chance the Heir had was to verbalize his annoyance to you about it — and you had been very amused to hear it each time. You were to let him go on his own to the Court of Nightmares — it was something you didn’t need to be a part of. You could remain in Autumn, continue to secretly monitor his father and brothers, gain followers, and be the wallflower that you have always acted as.

But, with this newfound information and the idea of the Night Court using the bargain against Eris, you knew you couldn’t just be passive with the invitation.

Opening your eyes, you looked up at Eris who had a conflicting look — you knew why he had been so hesitant.

You had never stepped outside of Autumn Court — no one knew of your existence outside of the Court. Despite being in Autumn Court for millennials, Prythian didn't know, the other Courts didn’t know of you. And yet, you were willing to sacrifice your identity, your role in his bigger plan to gain something as simple as a blade that a Cauldron Made Fae made.

Eris didn’t like the idea, it didn’t sit well in his thoughts.

Reaching up, you pressed your thumb between his brows, smoothing the skin there, “You will get wrinkles at this point, Eris…” you mumbled, eyes focusing on the skin there before catching his gaze, “I have done everything I can here, Eris…” your words were cryptic, you knew Eris would understand — you couldn’t risk it, not when the walls, trees, the winds in Autumn would listen and give away your plan.

“… I have asked you to use me, Eris. All those millennials ago, on that day… so use me. Make me the weapon I made myself into. I can't help you now if I'm in Autumn —-”

Sure, you had been the one to limit your influence solely on Autumn Court, but if Prythian called, then you are willing to step into the larger world.

Your eyes showed your determination, your willingness to devote your entirety to him as you've done for years.

A reluctant sigh escaped his lips as he forcibly pressed his lips on your forehead, “Alright. I will bring you… but you must remain by my side the whole night. No one will rip you away from me..”

An amused chuckle escaped your chest, leaning up to press your lips against his pulse, “So overprotective, Autumn Heir. It sounds like you're too fond of me…”

You felt Eris shake his head at your teasing, tugging you closer before maneuvering you back into your shared room for the night.

The bellow of Keir’s introduction pulled you out of your thoughts, watching the older male give a sweeping bow — overdramatic and with flair — his words of congratulations echoing throughout the large ballroom, the citizens echoing the same sentiments. As the elder male stepped aside, you stepped up along with the Autumn Heir, giving an elegant curtsy, while Eris gave a regal bow at his waist.

“And allow me to extend our congratulations, High Lady of Night, on behalf of my father and the entirety of Autumn Court…” Eris bellowed, his voice of regality, “A Fae child being conceived, what a miraculous announcement to give during Winter Solstice…”

You drowned out the conversation between Eris and the High Lord, barely focusing on the pageantry between them. It was rare for you to be so out of focus on the situation. Normally, you were in tune with your surroundings, focused on the now; however, all you and your magic could focus on was the call of the blade that thrummed inside that velvet box. You watched as lithe fingers grip the box tighter, and your eyes shifted to the eldest Archeron sister

“—- Before you go, Eris…” your delicate ears perked up, eyes shifting back to the High Lord who waved his hand allowing a dark wind to carry that velvet box through the air, handing it into Eris’ awaiting hand, “I offer you a gift, a solstice gift. A friendly token… between a High Lord to a future High Lord…”

Eris’ gripped the box tight in his large hand as you felt the muscles underneath regal clothes grow taunt.

A quip, from the High Lord. A disguised reminder of the bargain between the two of them.

Gently squeezing Eris’ forearm, you urged him to open the box, to ignore the jab from the older male. You felt those muscles relax underneath your squeeze, his mask of indifference returning onto his features as he opened the velvet box.

Inside that box, laid on plush pillows, was an ornate dagger — it was roughly the size of the Heir’s forearm, its handle weaved from iron as if it was cloth, an intricate design of wood and fire etched onto the metal.

One that was similar to the vision that you had seen weeks ago.

Eris picked up the blade by its serpentine handle, raising it, and watched the silver and jewels shine in the dim lighting. It was a beautiful blade — much more than you had seen in that vision. From the corner of your eye, the two of you locked gazes a light smirk tugging on his lips before the air around him flickers.

Eris’ magic throbbed in the air, as you watched flames appear around the blade — surprised screams echoed around you, as all eyes were on the pair of you — the center of attention. Eyes glanced at the Inner Circle, watching the guard dogs step in front of their masters to protect them, your keen gaze watching how the Captain pulled the eldest sister in his arms. A curious brow raised before you gazed back at Eris as he poured his power into that blade, disappearing into the silver in a flash of bright light.

A groan escaped the Autumn Heir, his head tilting back, a long breath escaping grinning lips. It took a moment’s breath before he regained his composure, rolling his shoulders back before his gaze returned to the blade, turning the blade in his hand as the metal changed, the color from a simple silver to a dark black — an obsidian color that swallowed up the light. A mixture of auburn and saffron tinted the onyx-colored blade, changing the way the light hit it — a blade mimicked a dark fire, swirling underneath the dim light.

Eris flipped the blade, holding it by the blade as he turned his body, facing you and staring at you with those brightly colored hues — flame and light within those irises — handling the blade to you, a nudge of his chin, gesturing you to take the blade.

A light chuckle escaped your lips, fighting the urge for your knees to buckle at the look on the Heir’s features — it was an alluring look on him, the power that raged in his eyes, in his veins — as your gaze shifted down the column of his throat and followed the patterns of his auburn suit to the blade in his hand. With lithe fingers, you grasped the hilt and you felt a shiver run up your spine — the mix of Eris’ power along with the power that already surged through the metal, Nesta’s power — no… the Cauldron’s power — was intoxicating. The call and pull of the magic that pulsed in the blade was strong and you felt your own magic answer the call, causing you to tilt your head slightly as you stared down at the blade, your magic pulsing underneath your skin.

What a dangerous weapon… You thought as you shifted slightly out of Eris’ hold to move the slit on your skirt, where an empty sheath was strapped onto your leg, sliding the blade into its new home — a perfect fit.

“I had been meaning to ask…” The High Lord’s voice reached your delicate ears as you glanced up, fingers trailing up your thigh before pressing yourself close to the Autumn Heir again.

“Who are you?”

Eris gently squeezed your waist, as you stepped out of his hold and you gave a sweeping curtsy, one as dramatic as Kier’s earlier.

“Late introductions, I apologize, High Lord of Night…” your tone had mirth and sarcasm tied underneath a layer of elegance and regality, “My name is (Y/N)… (Y/N) Vanserra.”

You glanced up at the High Lord through your lashes, watching his façade of arrogance and boredom shift into surprise — his face showing his thoughts:

Vanserra? Beron does not have any daughters.

Nor did he take up a second wife.

Vanserra? On the arm of the Autumn Heir…

Bright violet hues glanced between you and the Autumn Heir that stood behind you, before locking onto your gaze — your colored hues staring into violet hues. In defiance, you tilted your head up, as you straightened from your curtsy.

And that’s when you felt it — those tendrils of his powers creep near your mind, you couldn’t help but frown, your body stiffening, your hand gripping your gown tighter.

In your entire lifespan, you have never encountered a Daemati — especially one as strong as the High Lord; you had thought that the barrier would protect you from such intrusion of your mind, but it seemed, even that was futile against the power of a High Lord Daemanti.

Not breaking your eye connection with the High Lord, your eyes glowed an eerie ruby hue as you focused on that tether, that connection that he forged between your minds, to those coils of darkness that invaded your mind.

How. Dare. He.

And with a flick of your wrist, your mind grew walls of flame, surrounded by fire hounds who growled and attacked those shadows — successfully pushing him out of your mind. You heard a faint yell from the High Lord, and you saw his hands sear with flames, his hands combusting as he frantically tried to pat it down on his leathers. However, the feeling of lightheadedness started to cloud your mind, and you teetered on your heels before you felt Eris’ arms wrap around your waist, pressing your back against his chest. Eyes pinched close, panting, fighting off the heaviness you felt throughout your body.

It had been simple enough, you had thought, to push the High Lord’s power from your mind — but it seemed you had used too much power, in such a quick second that your delicate stature was giving up. Your mind grew hazy, spots of darkness appeared in your vision and you fought every urge to just pass out right there that you barely noticed the commotion that surrounded you.

Feeling Eris’ grip on you tighten as you heard him growl, “Did you just try to get into my wife’s head, Rhysand?! How fucking dare you!”

That had fully ticked off the Autumn Heir. Not only did the Spymaster attempt to attack you from afar, but now the High Lord tried to invade your mind. Two attempts at your life were too much for one night for Eris — and he threw his well-practiced self-control out the window.

Shrieks from the onlookers reached your ears as you peeked an eye open, noticing a bright light that illuminated the dark room. Heat radiated onto your skin, feeling Eris bring you closer to him, protecting you from the ring of fire that surrounded the both of you, separating the two of you from the Inner Circle. Blinking the haziness from your mind, you watched through the flames as the General and Shadowsinger stood in front of the High Lord and Lady, weapons drawn against the two of you.

“Eris…” you breathed out, grasping his Autumn colored suit, “Calm down…”

His head whipped towards you, that fiery gaze staring down at you, “But he tried to invade your mind, (Y/N)…”

A confirmed hum escaped your throat, straightening yourself in his hold, “I know… But I got him out. That’s all that mattered… And don’t blame the barrier,” you panted, blinking away the spots at the corner of your eyes, “His power is immune to it I guess…”

You stared up at him, your scarlet hues dimming back to your normal colored ones. Amber hues stared into them, assessing your condition, hesitation marred his features.

“Bring down the flames, Eris….” you softly commanded him.

His eyes flickered between you and the Inner Circle before he followed that command, the ring of fire flickering until it had gone out. You did not bother to appear composed — you could appear fragile — play into the heartstrings of the citizens of Hewn City.

The High Lord of Night Court attempted to invade the mind of Autumn Court Heir’s wife.

Word would spread throughout all of Prythian — sympathy and pity would be whispered your way while scrutinizing words would be thrown towards the High Lord.

Even if you despise showing such vulnerability to anyone let alone the Inner Circle, you can use it to your advantage.

You pressed yourself closer to Eris, playing the soft wife that just got attacked by a High Lord. Eris’ arms wrapped around you, as he bared his teeth against the Inner Circle.

“You attempt to attack my wife in your Court, Rhysand, and yet you have your dogs try to protect you? We have not laid a finger against you nor your Court, and you have weapons drawn against us,” anger vibrated in Eris’ tone. He knew how to play your games, he knew exactly how to play them with you — and yet the anger, the fury that lurked in his features were genuine, “You have no damn right to try to lurk in our heads, even if you are a High Lord.”

The General and the Spymaster shifted in their stance, their eyes foggy before stepping aside to reveal Rhysand, cradling his now scarred hands — that was what he got for trying to attack you in front of his people.

“…I…”

“I do not accept your apology if you ever were to have one, High Lord…” surprise tugging onto his features at your declaration, “Myself and my husband arrived on Night Court soil as guests, and yet we are treated as enemies. I have done nothing to you to cause you to try to invade my mind.”

Whispers surrounded you, words of ill-intent for their High Lord reaching your sensitive ears.

She’s right. They have done nothing to them, and yet he tried to hurt her.

The Autumn Heir had every right to act the way he did. It was to protect his wife from Rhysand.

I never did like him… He has trapped us here in the Mountain while he and his people live in Valeris.

He’s nothing but a hypocrite. He says that he welcomes all, but he hurts others as he sees fit.

You fought back a smirk, staring at the High Lord as his features flickered — his mind racing on trying how to turn the situation back to his favor. But you knew, both of you knew, it was too late for him to do anything.

Things have turned in your favor, much like you had hoped.

“I have no need to stay for the festivities any longer, Rhysand. You have attacked my wife twice in one night, your Shadowsinger earlier tonight and now you. I do not feel safe within the walls of your Court and I do not feel safe for my wife’s safety either…”

With a growl escaping his throat, he gently maneuvered you into his arms, lifting you bridal style, turning on his heels as he stepped out of the Court of Nightmares, the crowd parting to make way for him as flames surrounded the both of you. You felt him pause mid-step, and you glanced up at him with a raise of your brow. Eris looked down at you, his face contemplating for a moment before he looked over his shoulder, back at Rhysand.

“—-And the bargain between us is over High Lord… Especially after tonight. No one dares to hurt my wife in my presence.”

The Autumn Heir winnowed the both of you out of Night Court in a flash of fire and light.

And back into the depths of Autumn Court.

👑 General Tag List: @prythianpages @strangelygreat

🕯️Series Tag List: @imma-too-many-fandoms @assriels @kiarathace

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris vandaddy #autumn court #( .series : bleeding crowns )

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ramayantika · 4 months

Text

Bade farewell to the Hero

It’s the onset of dawn. The dark night sky transforms into a beautiful shade of cotton white, colored with various hues of purple, blue, and pink. The sun, as usual, is slowly rising on the banks of the dark Yamuna, but today, her ethereal black waters carry a silent grief of her own as well as of the town of Vrindavan.

As beautiful as the dark night sky, lotus eyes as deep as the Yamuna waters, there sleeps the young beloved lad of Vrindavan, Krishna on the lap of the moon-like beauty of the town of Vrinda, Shri Radha.

“Have you taken your flute, Kanha?” Her soft voice, no more than a whisper, causes the young boy’s eyes to open in sudden remembrance.

Radha sighs with a small smile on her lips. Her nimble fingers bring out the familiar bamboo flute decorated with a peacock feather and pearls from her waistband. Her fingers reverently touch the flute for one last time. Radha’s kohl-rimmed eyes flutter close, as her fingers close upon each of the seven holes of the flute. There is no music playing anywhere nearby, but only her heart hears the heart-wrenching tunes of separation.

Krishna’s fingers tremble while holding the flute as realization sets in. The moment the chariot wheels cross the boundaries of Vrindavan, his flute would eternally go to sleep. The city of Mathura has no loving gopikas, adorable cows, and young boys with him to play the flute all day.

“Being a simple cowherd is not your destiny, Krishna.” Radha tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. As she looks at the tear-laden eyes of her beloved, she steels her breaking heart, her sorrowful eyes now staring at him like a powerful queen going on a battle.

“Your existence is meant for great things. You are to live your life like a king.” She points at the crowd assembled at Chief Nanda’s house, a grand cottage that looks tiny from the heart of the forest where they are in. “You have saved us and this town countless times. The world needs you. You are to be a savior for the whole world. For the whole Yuga.”

Krishna gulps his tears down his throat, which now burns like the fire of separation burning his heart. As a lone tear skids down his cheek, Radha’s voice grows bolder, and for a moment he wonders, how much strength does she silently possess in her being.

“Choose the path that leads you to your destiny, towards your dharma.”

Radha stands up. The golden rays of the morning sun fall on her gentle face coating her fair skin with a powerful glow. Krishna stands in awe of the splendor that adorns her face. Goddess. That’s what she is. That’s what she has been.

“You are the rising sun of Dwapar.” She holds Krishna’s hand and entwines her fingers with his. Walking towards the narrow forest path, Krishna observes Radha’s gait. She always walked with a swan-like grace combined with a little shyness on her face each time she entered the forest to meet him. Today, she walks with her chin raised, her eyes fixated on the path ahead that shall lead them both away from their love-filled carefree times forever.

Within moments, they reach Akrura’s chariot. Radha knows that Krishna hasn’t spoken a single word to her. She knows that he won't be able to do so, nor does she have the capacity to hear his enchanting voice when he is on the verge of departure.

The whole crowd looks at their hero. Krishna looks at the tear-stricken face of his parents. He hears the loud sobs of his lovely gopikas who pampered him with butter and milk sweets. His eyes gaze over the grim faces of his childhood friends. The cows of Vrindavan stare at him, sadness clouding their eyes, but those poor creatures can’t speak a word.

Gulping the last of his tears that clog his burning throat, he steps onto the carriage. Radha smiles. Krishna’s eyes meet her once again and she keeps on smiling.

It will get easier to leave, Kanhaiya. Baby steps.

Radha takes four steps towards the chariot. Handing over Krishna’s flute to him, she slowly moves back, her eyes fixed to the ground. The crowd goes silent. The sobbing gopikas cease crying and keep looking at the scene ahead.

Radha folds her hands and bows her head to Krishna. His heart cracks open at the gesture. He bows down to her all humbled.

“You may leave now. We wish you well on the journey ahead. Make us all proud!”

Radha then takes her position beside Yashoda who is on the verge of losing her consciousness. Nanda holds her shoulders, in case she falls to the ground in grief, but only Radha sees how his fingers shakily rest on his wife’s shoulders.

All this while, not a word had escaped Krishna’s lips. The hero must always promise a return to his loved ones.

“My beloved Vrindavan people, fret not. This separation is only momentary. I shall come back soon to tell you all about Mathura. There’s no escape from my pranks. Go, rest for a while before your loved prankster comes back.”

Radha’s vision goes blurry. Her dark beloved appears to go far from her.

“Such a mischievous liar you are O Shyam…”

The sun is soon to rise for Dwapar, but for Vrindavan, the sun has gone to sleep forever.

***

I am sorry :(

This was a dance idea but I decided to write a fic on this and then choreograph the abhinaya. I have cried while practicing this out too. Let's share tears??

Oh, yes I do love showing Krishna in mortal shades with grief, confusion and dilemma clouding him sometimes too. :)

Tagging: @kaaga-re @ma-douce-souffrance (I AM SORRY SAANJH) @swayamev @krishna-priyatama @krishna-sangini @krishnaaradhika @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @arachneofthoughts @eugenephosgene @jessbeinme15 @stardustkrishnaverse @krsnaradhika @vijayasena @alhad-si-simran @pulihora @nyxie23 @houseofbreadpakoda @yourfavanxioussunshine @aesthetic-aryavartik @starlitskies0 @navaratna @flowerheadkiller @celestesinsight @kaal-naagin

Oh, and I have written for krishna after a loooong time

#samridhi writes #krishna #gopiblr #krishnablr #krishnafics

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ronwestbreeze · 1 year

Text

TO YOU , WORLDS AWAY : PART TWO : CHAPTER FOURTEEN

pairing: jake sully x fem!reader

summary: little parrot

word count: 2.8k

author's note: yay another chapter! :)

AO3 | prev | next

When you saw Sylwanin lying in a pool of blood, the reality of what happened, what Quaritch had done, the weight of it all made you fall to your knees right next to her body.

You don’t remember crying right away. You really didn’t remember much of what you did except muttering her name countless times, hoping—praying that she was somehow still alive. You pressed your hands against the wounds to try and stop the heavy bleeding knowing it did nothing but stain your hands with scarlet.

What you did remember so vividly was Neytiri’s screams. You remembered her rushing toward her sister’s body, you remembered profusely apologizing to her but even now that was the last thing she had wanted to hear. And then you remembered her shoving you away and aiming her bow at you.

“LEAVE NOW, DEMON!” She screeched at you, tears running down her blue skin. “You do not belong here!” Through her sobs she kept the bow aimed at you but never let the arrow go. “Go! And be with your monsters!”

Neytiri remembered the way your eyes were glassy but you never shed a tear. She remembered you backing away from her in both fear of what she could possibly do to you and…well at the time she didn’t care much for what else you felt. All she wanted was the fear to be there, enough to get you to leave even though you both knew Neytiri would’ve never hurt you.

The two of you had never been close before Sylwanin’s death but Neytiri knew you well enough to tolerate, perhaps one day consider a friend if not for the Sky People interfering. And when you reappeared two years later with sa’nok, Neytiri didn’t know how to approach you. But Tsu’tey interacted with you fine. Somehow the two of you were always able to talk.

Neytiri wanted to have that with you. Be able to call you tsmuke and actually mean it and actually live like it together.

In a way, you were always meant to be a part of her family. She saw it back when Sylwanin took you under her wing. And she saw it even now…when it seemed as if you were long gone.

She felt it, somewhere within herself. You were not dead. Eywa would know, Mo’at would know, she would know.

Jake should know.

You were not dead. You were not dead. You were not dead.

The smell of burning wood tickled your nose and pulled you out of your slumber. Sleeping was the only thing you could really do, that and forcing yourself to sit up so that the healers could observe your bandages. It was exhausting every time. Ìtxata had been right about the damned machines. No matter how much that Dr. Chloe got excited about it, it was only slowing the inevitable. They weren’t doing anything different. Even you felt it in your body. You requested to be left alone, you didn’t want anymore people besides the healers to see your condition.

It didn’t matter how much you wanted to get up with every last bit of your strength to find Jake, the last thing you wanted was for him to see you like this. Besides, it had been five years, right? You’d imagine he has moved on already. And you hoped he did.

Yes, a part of you wanted to be selfish and hope that he had waited for you. But that was unrealistic. It didn’t even seem like he knew you were here on your last limb. And you didn’t want him to know. You didn’t want this to be the last time he saw you. If he had moved on, perhaps started a family, then that was good. That was what you preferred.

When you peeled your eyes open, you were startled to find a woman, a human woman, kneeling in front of a now lit fire pit. The dark blues and purples told you that it was now around evening time and the darker the sky got the brighter the fire became.

Just looking at the fire, feeling the heat from where you lied, made you wince. And your small shift caught the woman’s attention.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” The woman nodded. “The healers had told me to stay and feed you when you woke up..” She gestured to the food next to your hammock. “You should hurry up and eat before it gets cold…or colder.”

You didn’t move to grab it, “I’m not hungry but thanks, I guess.”

The woman shrugged, “You were starting to look a little too skinny anyway—plus I can’t help it sometimes with my mother instincts, I’m always trying to care for people, even when they tell me straight to my face that they don’t need it.”

You really were about to tell her that you didn’t need to be watched or looked after. All you really needed was peace and to be left alone.

“I recommend you eat at least a little bit.” She smirked as if reading your thoughts. “Unless you want one of the healers to come in here and force feed you, your choice.”

It was really ridiculous. What was the point? What would eating do to keep you alive right now? Your body was beyond repair and eating was supposed to be top priority? Bullshit.

When it was clear you weren’t going to reach for your food, the woman hummed and shrugged once more, “Suit yourself. I certainly won’t force you.” She then began searching the hut and sighed, “Damn it, the moment I take my eyes off of him—Spider! Spider, where are you?!”

You watched as the woman got up and poked her head out of the doorway of the hut, shouting for someone named Spider. You really didn’t know what or who a Spider was and you really couldn’t find yourself to care too much. You just wanted to be alone. That is all you asked for. That seemed to be an easier task before all of this, now it was such a difficult request you almost wanted to scream your head off.

“Ah! There you are!” The woman came back into the hut, dragging a young little boy with ruffled blonde hair inside. “I told you you could only come if you didn’t wander off, Miles! And look what you did the second I take my eyes off of you1”

When you looked at the boy, he couldn’t have been no older than five or six years old. He wore a pout on his face as he was forced to sit down by his mother. You were about to let your eyes wander away from him, at first not giving him a second glance, that is until he looked at you.

That was when your mind started to whirl. Even in your foggy state, there was no mistaking the subtle similarities. The name Miles registered in your mind after a few seconds. Sure, it could’ve been a coincidence, anyone could’ve been named Miles.

No.

Even if you wanted to believe that, there was still his father in his face.

The boy looked at you curiously, no familiarity crossing his face. There really couldn’t have been since you hadn’t met Quaritch’s son when he had been born. Too caught up in your own plans and the war. Hell, you didn’t even know he had survived it all.

But just to be sure, you lifted your head a bit and croaked out, “What’s your name?”

The boy blinked, surprised you were addressing him. He was adorable, you could give him that. “My name’s Spider.”

His mother sighed, “No, your name is Miles. Spider is just a nickname, remember? We talked about this, sweetie.”

Spider frowned, “But I like Spider better.” He then turned completely toward you, wide curious eyes watching you. “What’s your name, sleepy lady?”

It really shocked you. Because he was both Quaritch in small ways but his mother a lot more. That helped in a sense, helped you not to build any resentment when you looked at him. That wouldn’t have been fair to the boy anyway.

“I’m Y/N.” You finally say, slightly turning your body to the side to face him better as well. He wore clothes but you noticed on his arms were blue markings, similar to the stripes on the skin of the Na’vi. “What’s that you got there?”

Spider looked down at his skin and his eyes brightened, “I did it myself! I look more like them this way! Like the Na’vi!”

You wanted to laugh. Really let out a full belly laugh. But you were afraid you’d further injure yourself doing that so instead you let out a snort and smirked. “How fucking ironic.”

His mother, or now you assumed was his adoptive mother, glared at Spider, “Don’t repeat that. Only adults can say that, you hear me?”

Spider nodded with a frown and you tiredly grinned. This was the first time you felt a hint of anything besides grief and anger. Learning that Quaritch, the man who hated all Na’vi, has a kid who wanted to be a part of them? This was a literal gold mind.

And just like that your entire day had been made.

You looked at the woman in a new light now, “So, I’m guessing you’re not Paz then.”

Spider gasped, “You knew my mother?!” He crawled toward your hammock excitedly. “What was she like?”

“Miles.” The woman scolded but sighed as she turned to you. “No, I’m not. Unfortunately, both his parents were killed in the battle five years back. My husband and I have been raising this troublemaker ever since.” She ran a hand through her blonde hair, “Oh and I’m Mary by the way.”

So. Quaritch really was dead. There were both parts of you that felt relieved that he wasn’t around anymore to cause anymore strife along with the RDA but there was also a part of you that just felt…hollow….no that wasn’t the right word.

You were just glad that the Na’vi was finally safe from him. From the RDA. That meant something.

You turned your attention back to Spider who had been waiting for you to address him patiently. A small smile tugged at your lips, “Your mother and I met in passing but I wasn’t too close to her to have known her. Sorry, kid.” You hesitated on your next words. “But I knew your father.”

The boy’s face fell slightly, “Oh. That’s okay, I guess.” He didn’t ask how you knew him. Didn’t seem interested when you mentioned him. That told you he had some inkling of who his father was and probably what he had done. That was a good thing too you supposed.

And really, you didn’t want to talk about him either so you changed the subject, “So, tell me about your time with the Na’vi. Have you visited the Omatikaya Clan?”

Spider’s face lit up again as he nodded excitedly, “Yeah, I live there! I’m one of the few humans there but I’m going to become Na’vi too someday!”

“Really?” You grinned, still finding delight in his love for the people. “Have you learned a lot?”

“Not a lot. Mom’s always bringing me back home before I can.” He pouted while Mary rolled her eyes from the corner of the room.

You smirked, “What about the language?”

Spider hesitated, tapping his chin thoughtfully before responding slowly, “Only a little. Still burning.”

A chuckle left your lips, “Still learning.”

“Still learning.” Spider repeated nearly perfectly.

“Good job!” You thought of a few more words he could try. “Can you say ngaru lu fpom srak?”

“Ngaru lu fpom srak?”

“Good, good. Now smon nìprrte.”

“Smon nìprrte!”

“Wow, you’re a fast learner.” And you really meant it, the boy was almost a natural at speaking the language. He just needed someone to take the time to teach him. “You do it so perfectly. Like a little parrot.”

Spider grinned widened, “Can you teach me? You’re one of the only humans that can do it perfectly!”

Mary frowned from her corner, “Miles…”

You waved her off, “No, no, it’s fine.” He possibly didn’t know or understand your situation. Though, you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell him. That bright smile, that yearning to learn the Na’vi way, it brought back a little flicker of something. Something that you hadn’t known you had missed until now.

It was the same feeling you got back when you were teaching Jake. Or when Grace was teaching you. It should’ve made you sad when you realize how long ago that was now that you thought about it. It did make you sad.

But Spider’s childlike excitement somehow made it a little easier.

Grace had said you were always good with kids.

“If your mother allows you back, I’ll teach you as much as I can.” You tell him, trying not to let your sadness show to the naïve boy. “But it’s also up to you to continue learning and practicing…in case I won’t be…in case you won’t be back for a while. Okay, little parrot?”

Spider nodded, “I’ll practice! I promise!”

Mary then stood, “Alright, kiddo. Let’s let Miss Y/N get some rest.” He pouted but got up to go over to his mother, “Say goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Y/N!!”

“Call me, Doc and goodnight, Parrot.”

Before Mary had come back, you reached for the food that still sat next to your hammock. Despite the cold temperature, you attempted eating some of it. Just a little bit. When Mary came back, she sighed exhaustedly, “Sorry about him. I know he can get a little excitable sometimes.”

You finished one of the dragon fruits, “It’s fine. Really…He kind of reminds me of the Na’vi children I used to help…that I used to assist in teaching, I guess.”

Mary stared at you for a few seconds before realization crossed her features, “Oh right, you worked with Dr. Augustine at the—”

“At the school, yes.” You nodded, not wanting too much about it. If you did, you were sure you would break down into tears. And you really didn’t feel like doing that in front of a woman you had just met.

Fortunately, Mary took the hint and didn’t say anything else. Nor did she acknowledge that you were eating, well, attempting to. Instead she poked at the bonfire a few times before wishing you a goodnight and leaving you in the hut. You finished some of the food by then.

And then you cried. You cried. And you cried. And you cried.

“Can I go and play with the other kids now?”

Norma Spellman blinked and turned to look at Spider who was sitting on the table next to him. It was one of those days where the boy would sneak away from his adoptive parents and hang around either the lab or go and find the Sully kids whenever they were free.

But he had never heard the boy speak Na’vi—well yes a few times in broken vocabulary and phrases—but this was the first time he had heard him speak it, almost perfectly.

Norm titled his head curiously at the boy, “Have you been hanging around the Sully’s a lot lately? How have you been learning your Na’vi?”

The boy smiled, “Have I gotten better? I’ve been practicing really hard like she told me!”

Well that’s nice to know. Norm knew how much the boy wanted to fit into the Na’vi culture and their ways. The first thing to do would be to learn their language. And it seemed, whoever his new teacher was, was helping him get there quite fast.

“Who’s this teacher, you’ve got?” Norm asked him in Na’vi, hoping to subtly teach him to continue a conversation. “Does she live with the Olangi Clan in the plains? You’ve been going there a lot lately.”

Spider nodded, “Yes, Doc has taught me a lot!”

“Doc? Is that her name?”

“No, her name is Y/N but she says I can call her Doc too.”

He had said it so casually, Norm had almost missed what the boy had said. The tablet he had been holding had slipped from his fingers and onto the floor, startling Spider. “Spider.” Norm said in English carefully. Heart racing in his chest. “What did you just say?”

Spider looked nervous, “A-About Doc?”

“No, her name.” Norm calmed himself down, not wanting to scare the poor kid. But he had to know. He had to know he wasn’t hearing things. He had to know he wasn’t going crazy and imagining shit. “What was her name?”

Spider looked confused but said slowly, “Um, her name is Y/N. I think my mom said Y/N L/N but she tells me to call her Doc mostly.” He then grinned. “And she calls me Parrot!”

Oh my god.

Norm scrambled to pick up the tablet from off the floor and placed it down on the table next to Spider. He knelt down in front of the kid and whispered.

“Tell me everything.”

taglist: @luvvfromme @sully-stick-together @jakesullylvr @s-u-t @ssc7514 @cheari @tojigirl @nyotamalfoy @perfectprofessorloverapricot @naityelen @dumb-fawkin-bitch @raggedyoldwitch @nhemmingsf @biooiuygjjgfsrb @thatsenoughformelol @thotd-f1 @beaniebeensbaby201 @theoriginalwife000 @3leni @23victoria @lovesickollie @atxara @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @ladylovegood-69 @punchyprincess23 @lovekeeho @lilithmoon14512 @n7cje @fyfy-world @cleverzonkwombatsludge @goddesslilithmoriarty @itszzmoon @eternallyvenus @bajadotcom @ducks118 @alexandra-001

#to you worlds away #jake sully angst #avatar jake sully x reader #avatar jake sully #avatar jake #jake sully #jake sully x reader #neytiri #avatar the way of water #avatar way of water #avatar 2 #avatar fanfiction #atwow #sam worthington

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anathemafiction · 1 year

Text

Jealousy — Part One

The tavern isn't full, so even as he stares intensely at the beer, convincing himself that it's the most interesting thing he has ever witnessed, he can still make out your shape in the corner of his eye. You're so silent and still. Hadrian wonders...

He glances at you again.

Hadrian tries to make himself small. He ducks his head, hunches his shoulders, and scoots harder against the corner of the wall as if he can disappear in the shadows. But, for all his efforts, Hadrian thinks you wouldn't notice him even if he was shouting bloody murder. Your fingers play absentmindedly with the handle of your tankard while your eyes are dead set on the counter. Your mouth is pressed in a pensive line, and never before has Hadrian seen someone physically there but so obviously far away.

You're in a world of your own, and Hadrian shouldn't pry, but he can't help but wonder what it is you're thinking of. He can't help the apprehension he feels at the absent look in your eyes and the grim lines on your face. He can't help the want to go to you and offer his company, as lacking as it may be.

Hadrian can't help but wonder—

"Orland, gimme the usual." A large, barreled-built man barges into his line of sight. He spoke to the bartender, but Hadrian can see his eyes are set on you. He stands just behind your chair with his belly touching the back of it, while his head is cocked to the side to peer down at you.

And now Hadrian's nails turn white when he sees his lips quirking in a leering smile. "And who are you?" the man speaks, setting his hand on the counter beside you. He's looming over you now, trapping you between his chest and the counter.

Fire spreads through his veins. Not so close.

You finally take note of the brute. Blinking, you snap out from whatever thoughts held you, and slowly lift your head to look at the man. His smile turns wider when you exchange glances, and he leans even closer toward you. Hadrian doesn't know when he grabbed his cross, but he's squeezing it so hard that part of him fears the wood might crack.

He wants to go to you, but he shouldn’t. Lord in Heaven. You can deal with this. Maybe you want this. Who is Hadrian to meddle? Who is he to think that disgusting, rotten man shouldn't be within a mile of you, much less two feet apart? What right does Hadrian have?

"Never seen you around before," the man continues when it's clear you won't answer.

You look him up and down, your neutral face slowly morphing into one of... disdain. "You won't see me again," you say then, voice cold, and turn away from your seat.

And may God forgive him, but Hadrian has never been gladder. He smiles, relieved, and hopes that—

"Come now, no need ta be like that," the idiot presses. The man chuckles when you glare at him, and Hadrian's hand shakes on his cross. "Get to know me first, will ya?"

You roll your shoulders. "Fuck off."

The man's smile stiffens, and now his canines flash, and he's not smiling any longer. He's snarling. Hadrian half-rises from his chair, ears deaf to the world but you. "You stuck-up bitch/bastard. Look at me."

The man grabs you by the arm and yanks and beer spill everywhere when your tankard goes flying.

Hadrian is out of his chair before it hits the ground.

(…)

Alessa's eyes narrow into slits.

The sun burns bright, and its insistent rays guard the world behind their shine, but although she's almost made blind, Alessa would never miss you. The cobblestones sizzle, the distant walls of crumbling buildings oscillate in the heat, and you stand amongst the stalls of a busy market day.

Alessa quietly steps into the shadows, feeling the sweat already building at the back of her neck, and lightly rests her shoulder on a post. Her legs cross at the ankles, and while her hand plays with the rim of her belt, ears always listening for any threat, Alessa decides she shall take a moment to observe you.

Just one moment. One small indulgence.

You are bent over, inspecting the counter of a stall with a tall, red cloth arranged like a tent over the merchandise. Half of you is dipped in shadows, while the other lays under the merciless sun, but you do not seem to mind the heat as you take your time studying whatever it is they sell. Alessa's lips quirk on their own accord, but she decides not to fight the smile.

'Tis hard to see from a distance, but she bets you have scrunched your eyebrows as you always do whenever you are thinking hard. She can even imagine the slight press of your lips, and her eyes narrow even further against the rays of an inconvenient sun, but her smile grows wider.

Alessa taps her fingers on her elbow, the rings flashing in bands of gold and silver, and she ponders if perhaps, she should approach you. It is... frustrating how much she finds herself wanting to. Embarrassing would be an even better word. I am a fool. She inhales, blue eyes shifting toward the ground.

You would not know.

You would not know she was drawn to your company; you would simply assume she found you amongst the crowd. Perhaps she could walk nearby and wait until you took notice. The problem was, of course, if you then decided not to call for her. Alessa's lips twist as a sour taste invades her tongue. 'Twould be unfortunate indeed. It would—

She looks back up and sees you are alone no longer.

Seemingly appearing from the cobblestones, a woman suddenly stands beside you. She is tall and dark, and the sunshine covers the world, but her beauty manages to outshine even the brightest glow. Alessa cannot help but admire her long, black hair, braided near her forehead to fall freely down her back. She wears a blue and yellow dress that is both light and intricate, and against her dark skin, she sees the multitude of stones and gems that adorn it.

She bends beside you, her neck elongating to peer down at the counter. Alessa wonders if she is the seller or simply another customer, but she mostly wonders why this woman feels comfortable standing so close beside you. And why do you allow her to do so? She is a stranger, should you not move away? Are you not concerned for your own safety?

But it seems that you are not. You stay in place, and now you turn your chin, and Alessa sees your lips moving.

The woman pauses, smiles, and then moves her long, gracious arm to pick something from the counter. Alessa's eyes are not slits, for the pupils have all but disappeared. There's no blue as she stares, stiff now, stiff over her whole body. The woman — the merchant — moves her other arm, and Alessa sees her brushing her hand between your shoulder blades.

(…)

The wine glass hangs perilously from his fingers.

Alain is vaguely aware that it's almost spilling onto the immaculate golden cushion of the plush sofa he has chosen as his perch for the evening. The nobleman decides that he does not care. Wine stains can also serve as decoration, let it show this sofa has had some use — even if by one sprawled, slightly drunk, good-for-nothing noble.

Alain twirls the glass, hearing the wine splash inside, and his lips quirk when he feels something wet coat his fingers. Oops. He doesn't look to confirm it, however, for his eyes cannot stray from you. A little sparrow.

Although of prey, you resemble nothing. You walk within the crystal halls with your head held high and your shoulders squared, and never before has Alain seen a common-born with a prouder chin. You stride forward, looking them all in the eyes, and he's struck again by that. When you first met, Alain couldn't put his finger on why you impressed him. What exactly made you stand out, but it didn't take him long to realize: you looked him straight in the eyes.

You hold people's gazes, whether they're dressed in wool or silk, whether they're covered in dirt or gems, whether they have a family name or none at all.

Alain's lips curl into a grin when he sees Lady Evelyn gather her skirts and step aside to let you pass. The painted hag scowls at your back, but he knows she'd never do it to your face. She wouldn't dare. You have the handkerchief of the Theers tied to your wrist but more than that, you have a light in your eyes and a countenance to your body that repels these rotten leeches like sunlight to maggots. They wouldn't dare approach you.

Alain brings his glass to his lips and swallows the wine. It's from an old, rich casket, and it flows like honey down his throat. He swirls it inside his mouth as his eyes keep tracking you. You're looking left and right, not hesitantly, but clearly searching for someone. His grin grows as he settles even more comfortably on the sofa, stretching his legs until he's practically lying.

His sparrow looks for him, but Alain is having so much fun watching you from afar. Besides, it's enough to warm his webbed, cynical heart. Someone that wants him. Isn't that nice?

You stop by a pillar with vines and flowers wrapped around it and slowly turn on your heels. Alain sees your eyes sweeping over the room, coming closer and closer to find him. He begins to raise his glass in a greeting, grin softening to something more of—

You snap your chin to the side as, strolling from amongst the crowd, a man approaches you.

(...)

The door swings open.

And all ladies gasp for a different reason as you walk through the door. Your long legs stride confidently into the crowd of puffed-up, powered noblewomen. Your gloved hand rests on your belt while your other one leans casually on the hilt of your sword. Ysabella forgets about insults and jealous cousins as her breath gets caught in her throat once more.

But it’s held out of admiration. How charming you are. How glad she is to see you. Amongst fake gold that glitters an ugly shine, you bring her back to ground level with nothing more than your presence.

"My ladies," you greet, halting in the middle of the drawing room. You incline your head in a respectful nod, but it's not a deep bow, and you never set your eyes on the ground. From all around the room, blushes erupt on the maiden's cheeks. Ysabella can't help but be amused by the sight.

(if Romanus is male)

Most of them have barely left their gilded palaces. They have almost no contact with men outside their families — much less with a man like you. A mercenary, bound by no orders like their guards. Oh, Ysabella can see how they eye you, and she understands them. She understands the daydreams that'll form around you. It only amuses her.

(if Romanus is female)

Most of them have barely left their gilded palaces. They never met a woman like you — a mercenary, not bound by orders like their guards. A woman free of courtesy, with scars and a hardness in your eyes, but even still... beautiful. More than all of them combined. Oh, Ysabella understands the daydreams that'll form around you. It only amuses her.

Poor pretty things. If I did not have Alain, I would have turned out the same.

"I'm here to fetch the lady Theer," you announce, turning towards Ysabella. You flash her a quick, secret grin, and she feels as if her chest will explode.

Bella beams and practically leaps out of her seat. She moves—

Caliana rises in a flash, and Bella blinks when she cuts in front of her. "Is that so?" Caliana says, wrapping her gloved hand around your bicep. She leans her chest closer, and Ysabella knows that, if you look down, you'll get a full view of her cleavage. "I didn't know you were coming for me, but I can't say I'm disappointed. Where are you taking me?"

You furrow your brows at her. "I... I believe you're mistaken."

"Nonsense!" Caliana exclaims, and she throws her neck back to laugh into the air. Her throat exposes to you, and her breasts press even closer, and Ysabella has never once struck anyone in her life, but a sudden, vicious primal beast within her wants to latch onto her cousin and tear away every single one of her hair. "I'm a lady Theer. You've come to fetch one, haven't you? Well, here I am. I'll tell you what."

Caliana plunges a hand into her cleavage and takes out a gold coin. She pushes it into your chest. "Wherever you're taking me, go by the long route. It's been too long since I've enjoyed hanging from the arm of a handsome man/ a striking woman. We high-born have to take our pleasures when we can."

She winks at the maidens, who all giggle and blush and hide their faces behind their hands. "Lady Caliana!" one exclaims, breathless, her voice high-pitched.

You're looking at the gold coin with dark, silent eyes.

(...)

The entire pieces are available on Patreon!

Meddling — Hadrian & Alessa

Commodity — Alain & Ysabella

#some of these don't start at the beginning #hadrian's and bella's #Hadrian #Alessa #Ysabella #Alain #Patreon #The Golden Rose

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dovesintherain · 6 months

Text

all encompassing

word count: 1.5k

warnings: fluff, extremely brief mention of smut

an: this poured out of me… so i wrote it impulsively. consider it a love letter of sorts, to our most cherished larissa.

tears not of sadness or joy... but of love

It was a rare sight to wake before her, your early bird. A sight so rare that each miraculous time it happened you cherished the moment like the gift that it was.

The sheer curtains that hung from her windows did little to block the crisp winter sun, but you found it impossible to be agitated when it painted her with such grace. Your sleeping swan, unconscious and innocent to her ethereal state, was a near mirror image to the icy landscape that stretched into the horizon. Freckled alabaster hills and valleys lay bare and untouched next to discarded linen sheets. You were utterly enraptured as the warm rays tangled themselves around her, illuminating fair eyelashes and messy curls spun from sunlight. You could have watched her for hours, finding a new way to be awed by the woman laying next to you as minutes blew by with the wind. The careful mapping of her sleeping figure came to a sudden pause when you noticed that you, too, were being observed.

Those eyes… so deep and vast like the sky and the sea, were glossy and unfocused. Her usual sharp stare softened around the edges as she pulled herself into the waking world. These were the moments that placed a gentle hum in your bones. A quiet buzz that tugged at the corners of your mouth and brought colour to your cheeks. The wrinkles beside her eyes that appeared when she smiled back downright levelled you. Completely unravelled and utterly safe in the warmth of her, your Larissa. You knew you had to get up soon, you both did. But in this moment, enveloped in tender and endless softness, you couldn’t find the willpower to move a single inch. The blue of her eyes poured so much of her love into your soul it began to overflow, filling your eyes.

You felt foolish. Powerless against the sheer magnitude of affection you held for her. The evocative mixture of memories you made in this very bed merely hours ago initiated the retelling. Neurons firing haphazardly within your skull as the memories, moments in time, filled your mind. All the laughter, the hushed conversations, the secrets, the sex, the fights, the lingering touches, the longing gazes glided rapidly behind your eyes. The story, the journey, in all its complicated and messy glory. Flashes of your time together dancing all the way back to the beginning. It all brewed together in your belly as a warmth began to grow and a burning stung your eyes. Sizzling until a boiling point where you could no longer contain yourself. Suddenly it was all too much. It was all her. It always was. When you finally caved, the dam finally breaking, you blinked and the tears fell.

She knew you so well. With an unbreaking certainty. Like the lines in her palm or the feeling of her favourite sweater against her skin. She knew you like how she knew the sun would rise only to fall and reveal the moon. She knew you beyond your body, beyond your mind and dare you say beyond your soul. She knew you so well that to her this was no surprise. No reason for unease or perturbation. As her gaze shifts once she notices the tracks on your cheeks it does not falter, it only grows softer.

To you, it always felt silly, the endless expanse of love you held escaping through the leaky faucets of your eyes, but every drop that landed on your skin would fill her soul ten fold. You watched as she slid her hand out from under her pillow and brought it to your face. The pads of her fingers collecting your tears would feel like an invitation for needless apologies, but you see… you also knew her. You knew that her fingers dancing across your cheek would press ever so slightly against your lips, making your words retreat back into your throat and into the far corners of your mind. Unreachable. So you hold them, where they remain lining the roof of your mouth and the backs of your teeth.

You knew that she would remind you like the endless times before that there is no need to be sorry. She would remind you what a privilege it is to feel so deeply. Deeply, unconditionally, wholeheartedly. Her gentle caresses would lose precision due to the trembling emotion in her fingertips when she would tell you what an honour it is. How privileged she feels to be held and kept so safely in your heart. Your heart. That poor useless thing. Stuttering, jumping and in most cases stopping completely in the presence of your lover. Maybe if your maker had known just how hard and fast you fell for the woman inches away from you, they wouldn’t have given you such a feeble vessel.

You knew that the low register of her voice in the morning would disarm you completely. The rasp of her sleepy vocal cords would vertebrate through you and create yet another crack in your shell. As if she hasn't already stripped you of all your armour, you'd think to yourself. The shell you once carried, that you once retreated into… long gone, instead morphing into the shape of the woman laying next to you. Your haven, your castle, your home. So you let the tears fall freely and let your mind and heart feel full. Full of her. There was no need to worry as the woman who held your soul in her hands saw your love for her reflected in the shine on your cheeks.

Larissa was a force. She was strong, she was fierce… but God she was gentle. Gentle in the way she addressed her students, folded laundry and turned the pages of books. She was gentle but never with herself, which broke your heart. Never good enough. That traitorous and poisonous lie you knew she told to herself everyday. You didn’t have to hear the words leave her lips to know how heavy the weight she carried was. You saw it. It was difficult to catch but with a trained eye you could see it. You knew her well enough that it stared at you in the face. The cynical shadow that hovered over her. You saw it in the bags under her eyes that she would shift away or cover with makeup. You saw it in the residual wine at the bottom of her third glass. You saw it in the countless nights that you would wake up to a cold bed only to find her working tirelessly down in her office. Your pillar of strength cracking itself from the inside.

But what that shadow didn’t know was that there was an aid. A light that Larissa went her whole life without… you. You with your feeble heart that would beat in sync with hers. Your presence would chase it away, back into the recesses of her thoughts, giving her a moment's peace. Relieving her of the weight. You always let yourself feel smug when her negative thoughts would retreat with its tail between its legs because in those moments she was entirely yours. Your pillar of strength unburdened. It was a promise you made to yourself, that any damage the lies she told herself would cause, you would mend. Brick by brick.

It was such a simple thing really, and even if it wasn’t… you would still do it for her. You’d do anything for her. But the little acts of kindness were enough. Little reminders to show her that she was always enough because nothing fed your soul quite like seeing her happy. The chuckles that escaped her when you attempted to carry a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers (that you could barely see over) through her office doors. The flush that would take over her complexion when you would tell her how beautiful she looked when she was completely undone. Even the way you could feel the tension leave her through a quiet exhale when you would wordlessly lace your fingers together with hers. You knew that if she’d let you, that you would do those little things for the rest of the time you’d be graciously granted with her.

Oh the little games you played. The unspoken rules you both followed. Fighting her demons while you let her wipe your needless tears. Your early bird, your sleeping swan, your pillar of strength, your keeper of your feeble heart, your lover, your everything… your Larissa. As the tears finally slowed to a stop, her hand drifted from your cheeks. Her fingertips traced over your lips with the precision of a well practised painter. Among the million thoughts of her flying through your brain a single phrase reared its head. Just like it did every morning, evening and night. A truth that ran so deep in your bones it shook you to your very core. Three little words that were carved into your heart and with a single breath you whispered them into her skin.

“I love you.”

cheers to the discomfort of exposure therapy @weemssapphic !

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems fluff #larissa weems imagines #wlw #fluff

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zeciex · 6 months

Text

A Vow of Blood - 23

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 23: A Woman's Shame

AO3 - Masterlist

(TW: Attempted Rape)

In the following days, Daenera kept herself occupied, intentionally avoiding encounters with Aemond. The incident in the throne room had been impulsive and risky, a dangerous game of passion that could have exposed them both.

However, it seemed that luck was on their side, as no rumors or whispers reached her ears through the usual channels. Tris Caswell’s gatherings of gossiping ladies, the conversation among the servants, and even Joyce, who was always well-informed, remained oblivious to the incident.

Daenera couldn’t shake off the caution and unease the weight upon her. It had been a foolish thing to do. And the feeling only intensified when Joyce made a disapproving sound when she had brewed herself more moontea. No words were exchanged, but the unspoken judgment lingered heavily in the air.

Searching for her misplaced notebook, Daenera entered one of the sitting rooms within the Keep, where she had joined Tris for tea the day before. The room was adorned with carved furniture, elegant tapestries, and a collection of books. She scanned the space meticulously, hoping to find her precious notebook that contained her poultice recipes.

“Did you enjoy your ride on a dragon?” Aegon’s voice grated on Daenera’s ears, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand. She turned to look at him, finding him leaning against the table with a cup of wine in hand. The first buttons of his doublet were unfastened, and one was even missing. From his disheveled appearance, she presumed he was already deep in his cups.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion coloring her gaze as she tried to discern his intentions. “It was kind of your brother to fly me back to the Dragonpit.”

Aegon’s mischievous smile only grew wider, his amusement evident as if he held the upper hand, privy to all her secrets and desires. It made her skin prickle. It wasn’t the same as his brother’s smile; it felt more akin to a boy setting fire to a cat just to watch it burn.

“He did little more than fly you back, did he not?” The accusation hung between them.

“I do not like what you’re implying,” Daenera said dryly.

He responded with an upside-down smile, shaking his head and shrugging nonchalantly. “Am I wrong?”

“I am not in the mood for your theatrics, Aegon,” Daenera retorted coolly, dismissing him by turning around and focusing her gaze on the floor, hoping to conjure the presence of her book so that she may leave.

“They say the first time riding a dragon it is like mounting the world,” Aegon continued, undeterred by the sharp glare Daenera shot his way. “Did it feel like mounting the world to you?”

“It felt windy,” Daenera replied, choosing to feign ignorance of the underlying meaning behind his words.

Aegon laughed. “I will be sure to tell him that.”

“What do you want, Aegon?” Daenera cut to the chase, not wanting to prolong this conversation any further.

“Well, I want you to answer my questions, of course…” Aegon pushed himself off the table and made his way to the other end where Daenera stood, his head tilting curiously. “Was that your first time?”

“No, I’ve ridden with my mother on Syrax before,” Daenera lied, attempting to deflect his torying. Aegon exuded the scent of wine and sweat, his hair hanging limply and greasy around his face. He looked tired, she observed, and dangerously bored.

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Your insinuation is insulting and preposterous.”

“Not as preposterous, I presume, as it is for you to think that no one has noticed,” Aegon retorted, leaning in closer to her and sniffing as if he were some dog. Daenera instinctively leaned away, ready to shove him away by the face. Aegon straightened up again, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Definitely spoiled.”

Daenera grimaced and snarled, her disdain evident. “You’re disgusting.”

“I admit, I am insulted that you chose my unskilled brother above me,” Aegon said, his voice dipping low.

“Does it really surprise you that someone would choose anyone above you?” Daenera shot back, her annoyance seeping into her words. “No woman in her right mind would choose to lay with you. No one knows where you’ve been and what disease you could have caught.”

“So you admit it?” Aegon’s voice carried a dangerous edge.

Daenera glared at him with exasperation. “I have nothing to admit to. I am unspoiled.”

Aegon leaned closer, his eyes glinting with provocation. “How long do you think it will take for people to notice? I mean, it’s not far-fetched for two Targaryens… Well, a Targaryen and a dragonseed, to be found in inappropriate circumstances.”

“It does not interest me to feed into your conjecture, uncle,” Daenera retorted, her voice tinged with warning. “And I suggest you keep your imaginings to yourself, should you find yourself in worse circumstances.

Her threat hung heavy in the air, a clear indication that she would make him regret his words if he continued down this path. But Aegon had never been good at listening to warnings.

“There’s an easy way to prove you are right,” Aegon taunted, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip of his wine. “I promise to be gentle… or rough, if that is what you enjoy. I won’t judge.”

“I am not bedding you or anyone else,” Daenera stated firmly, her cheeks flushing with indignation and shame. She despised the way Aegon looked at her, with seductive eyes and a cruel amusement burning within them.

“I won’t tell my brother if that’s what concerns you,” Aegon added, his tone oozing with smugness. “I can keep a secret.”

He could not. Given the chance, he would exploit any vulnerability and delight in causing torment. Aegon had a talent for it, and would persistently probe at a wound until it bled, relishing in the suffering he inflicted.

“What concerns me is your level of delusion. What makes you think I’d ever agree to lay with you?” Daenera scoffed at him. “I wouldn’t come close to your disease-ridden, shriveled up cock with a ten-foot pole.”

A muscle twitched in Aegon’s right eye, his anger barely contained. “You know, it’s so easy to ruin a girl's reputation…”

“No one would believe you,” Daenera shot back, her words sharp and insulting. “That’s what happens when you’re a disappointment to the family. Your mother is the only thing that holds any semblance of your reputation and respectability together.”

Aegon’s gaze fixated on a spot on the floor, his eyes growing distant as his expression seemed to darken. “Hm…”

Daenera took his silence as the end of the conversation and turned, but as she attempted to walk away, Aegon grabbed her wrist painfully. Without warning, he slammed her against the table with a jarring impact, the sharp edge digging into her hips. The suddenness of the atack left her breathless and disoriented, and she slammed her hands down on the table, trying to stabilize herself.

His hand gripped around the nape of her neck, holding her in a vice-like grip.

Daenera’s heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and anger flooding her veins. She struggled against his hold, trying to free herself from his iron grip, but Aegon was unrelenting.

The weight of Aegon’s body pressed down on her, trapping her beneath him against the unforgiving table. The treat in his voice sent shivers down her spine.

“Since you believe me a monster, I might as well prove you right. My reputation can hardly get any worse, yours however…”

“Aegon, stop this at once!” Daenera’s voice trembled with desperation and fear. She swallowed thickly, trying to regain her composure.

“Oh, my dear niece, I relish the challenge,” Aegon hissed into her ear, tightening his grip on her neck. “You will do best to keep this a secret, unless you’re willing to ruin your own reputation.”

Daenera’s pleas fell on deaf ears as Aegon persisted in his disturbing pursuit of the truth. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she desperately fought against his overpowering hold. Her nails scraped against the table, her attempts to break free growing increasingly desperate.

The sheer terror coursing through her veins made it difficult to find her voice, but she managed to muster enough strength to cry out, “Aegon, please! Stop this!”

“I simply wish to know if you’ve fucked my brother,” Aegon persisted, seemingly impervious to her pleas. “And since you refuse to disclose the truth, I shall uncover it on my own.”

Daenera’s entire body trembled as she kicked her legs and thrashed against his grip, her primal instinct for self-perseveration taking over.

The air grew thick with fear and tension as Aegon hitched up her skirts, his actions invading her personal space. Daenera fought back with every ounce of strength she possessed, her breaths coming in rapid bursts. She continued to implore him to release her, her voice trembling with a mixture of panic and anger.

Dread filled her body as Aegon’s hand grazed the skin of her inner thigh, the touch sending an icy shiver of revulsion through her. Her attempts to reach for the small dagger hidden in her skirt proved futile as she remained trapped against the table, the edge digging into her hips with bruising force. Tears pricked in her eyes, lungs raw with panic. The pain intensified as Aegon’s grip on the back of her neck tightened, causing her head to throb with each forceful push downwards towards the table top.

“Stop, Aegon!” She cried out, the desperation she felt evident in her voice. She despised how weak she sounded.

“I only aim to prove that you are as much of a whore as your mother.” Aegon’s laughter only fueled her fury, his words slicing through her like a blade. His hand slid higher, grabbing at the flesh of her inner thigh, pinching at it.

The revulsion surged within her, coiling in the pit of her stomach. The back of her throat throbbed from the force with which she suppressed her tears, her lashes sticking together as pearls of water clung to them. Daenera’s trembling lips were pressed tightly together, her teeth biting down hard to stifle herself.

Closing her eyes, Daenera uttered a desperate prayer to whatever higher power might be listening, hoping for deliverance from this moment. And, in that moment, whatever it was, the gods or some mysterious force, her pleas were answered.

Suddenly, Aegon was gone, leaving Daenera trembling and exposed. The reason he had touched felt cold and violated, and Daenera hastily adjusted her skirts, trying to regain a semblance of dignity. Though he hadn’t gone further, the violation she felt lingered, staining her soul with a sense of dirtiness and wrongness.

“Have you lost your damned mind?” Aemond spat at his brother, his voice dripping with anger as he hurled him across the room. Aegon crashed into a heavy cabinet before falling to the ground, groaning in pain.

“Ah, fuck…” Aegon moaned, clutching his side and rolling on the floor. He glanced up at his brother, a mixture of pain and amusement in his eyes. “We were just having a bit of fun, brother.”

“A bit of fun?” Aemond’s voice echoed with barely contained fury. His hands clenched tightly at his sides, the urge to unleash his wrath evident. “Do you even comprehend the consequences if anyone else had caught you?”

Daenera retrieved the dagger from her skirts, her ears ringing with shock and the sound of her blood rushing through her veins. Her head pounded and she still felt Aegon’s touch on her skin. Without fully processing Aemond’s words, she instinctively moved towards Aegon, fully intent on punishing him.

“Oh, ooh!” Aegon exclaimed with maniacal amusement, pointing at Daenera and her dagger.

Aemond swiftly stepped in front of her, blocking her path to Aegon. His face was etched with a stern and resolute expression, while Daenera’s eyes burned with a vindictive fury. He had laid his hands on her, and she was determined to make him pay dearly.

“Step aside,” she demanded, her grip on the dagger tightening.

“I can’t,” Aemond answered firmly, his resolve unwavering, unable to let his brother come to harm, no matter how much he might deserve it.

“I will have his damned cock for this,” Daenera growled, her grip on the dagger tightening with enough force to turn her knuckles white. She was determined to make him pay, starting with cutting off his cock before shoving it so far up his corrupted ass that he could taste the consequences of his own debauchery. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t choke on it. Or maybe he would. She was willing to find out.

Aegon laughed from the floor, lying back down as if completely unconcerned by her fury. Of course, why would he be concerned when he could hide behind his brother for protection?

“And I was just about to give it to you, sweet niece,” Aegon taunted, his words dripping with sarcasm, “when my dear brother so rudely interrupted us.”

“Shut up, Aegon,” Aemond hissed, his voice laced with warning, silently urging his brother to keep quiet and allow him to rectify the mess he had created.

“Move, Aemond,” Daenera demanded once again, her voice barely containing her rage. Aegon couldn’t simply get away with laying his hands on her. He might be a prince, but she wasn’t just some common born servant, she was a princess.

“My brother is a drunken fool,” Aemond declared, his voice carrying a practiced coldness.

Daenera felt a surge of frustration and helplessness wash over her. Aemond’s words were like a cold, hard slap to the face, a reminder of where his loyalties lied. Aemond would remain between them, an obstacle on the path of seeking justice. The realization settled heavily in her chest, a mix of both anger and disappointment.

“I bid you forgive him. He is blinded by wine and devoid of any sense, it seems,” Aemond elaborated, the lie hanging in the air between them.

“Yes, forgive my insolence, princess. I am a drunken fool,” Aegon cackled from the floor, his mocking tone doing nothing to alleviate the princess's seething anger.

“He doesn’t deserve your protection,” Daenera retorted, her gaze fixed solely on Aemond.

“He is my brother,” Aemond replied firmly, unforgivingly. “He bears the title of a prince, he’s the son of the King. It would be preferable if he behaved in a manner befitting this position,” Aemond sneered back at his brother, then turned his eye back to Daenera before continuing, “But that does not alter the situation. You cannot take justice into your own hands.” “What will you have me do then?” Daenera challenged, her voice filled with frustration. “Should I bring it to your mother’s attention? She would protect him as you are.”

Aegon scoffed, pushing himself to sit against the bookshelf.

“Or should I bring it to the King?” Daenera threatened, knowing that Viserys, at the very least, would take her accusation seriously and perhaps even take action. If Viserys held enough sentiment for his son not to behead him immediately, he would surely send him to the Wall. Yet, even then, Viserys might succumb to the influence of Queen Alicent, who would do anything to evade justice.

“You and I both know that nothing would come of it,” Aemond replied, her tone casual, as if going through the motions. “Continuing on this path would be ill-advised. If you become subject to unfavorable gossip, it may hinder your chances of securing a suitable husband. Ser Aran Blackwood could potentially be an option then, or perhaps a life dedicated to the Faith would be more fitting for you.”

This was the moment she had been waiting for ever since he took her maidenhead. He had finally resorted to using his power against her, threatening to destroy any potential future she could have.

Daenera’s mind raced, contemplating her next move. The temptation to defy Aemond’s warning was strong, to reach out to her mother, to Daemon, and seek their support in seeking justice. But Aemond’s words lingered in her mind, warning her of the potential damage it could cause to her own reputation.

“If I fall, I will take you down with me,” Daenera sneered through gritted teeth, her words venomous. She forcefully slid the dagger into the folds of her skirt, its presence no longer a comfort but a reminder of her powerlessness. Without sparing Aegon a second glance, she pivoted on her heels.

Aegon’s taunting jeering came to an abrupt halt as Aemond delivered a swift kick to silence him. The sound of a groan echoed through the room, momentarily breaking the tense atmosphere.

Queen Alicent’s entrance only added to the spectacle, her concerned frown highlighting the unsettling scene before her.

Daenera’s eyes, red-rimmed and filled with fury and judgment, met Queen Alicent’s gaze with a piercing intensity.

“Teach your son the meaning of no,” Daenera declared, voice dripping with disdain.

With that final statement, she turned on her heels, the rustle of her skirts marking her departure from the scene. Anger and weariness coursed through her veins as she retreated.

Frustration twisted Aemond’s features as he swiftly sidestepped to evade Aegon’s grasp on his boots. He resented the fact he had to protect his foolish brother but it was his duty. He couldn’t allow Daenera to carry out her revenge, no matter how justified they may have seemed. Aegon was his brother, and he had the responsibility to shield him from harm. His actions protected not only Aegon but also their mother, Helaena, and the twins.

However, Aemond’s restraint only held so long, and his anger towards his brother boiled within his chest, threatening to consume any remaining patience he had left.

Had he not warned Aegon of the consequences? How could his brother be so stupid?! Did he not understand that it wasn’t just his life he risked?

The door swung shut behind their mother, her sharp gaze dissecting the scene before her. A wave of disapproval radiated from her as she moved swiftly across the floor, her eyes narrowed with anger and concern.

“What is this?” Alicent demanded, her voice cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. Her eyes flickered accusingly between her two sons.

Aegon ran a hand through his tousled hair, a feeble attempt to appear somewhat repentant. His face held a childlike sheepishness, a pitiful facade he hoped would appease his mother. Aemond remained still, his face carved in stone.

“We were only having a bit of fun, mother,” Aegon offered in a weak attempt to downplay the severity of the situation. He shot this brother a pointed look, silently try to compel his cooperation. The unspoken demand hung heavily in the air.

“Aemond?” Alicent demanded.

Aemond’s gaze shifted back to Alicent, his expression remaining stoic and indifferent despite the torrent of emotions raging within him. There were countless truths he could have revealed in that moment. He could have exposed Aegon’s shameful actions, how he had pinned down and assaulted Daenera. The mere thought tightened around his stomach like a fist. He could have divulged how Aegon, as the first born and the future King of Westeros, was single-handedly unraveling all of their efforts and ambitions.

Yet, he chose not to speak those truths.

“We were only having fun,” Aemond repeated, his tone steady and controlled, concealing the anger bubbling beneath the surface.

Aegon pushed himself up from the ground, slapping Aemond on the shoulder in a display of feigned affection. The tension in the room grew palpable as Alicent refused to accept their explanation at face value. She seized Aegon’s face, her fingers digging into the flesh of his cheeks, forcing him to purse his lips in an ugly grimace. Her eyes bore into his, searching for the truth she knew he was withholding.

“Tell me the truth of it,” Alicent demanded, her voice edged with accusation.

Aegon attempted to wave his mother’s hand away, trying to dismiss her probing gaze. “Why must you always assume I am lying?”

“Because I know you,” Alicent responded firmly, her grip tightening. “And I am no fool. The princess left in a wretched state, and if you do not confess the truth, I will have no choice but to assume the worst.”

Aemond clenched his jaw as he watched his brother squirm in their mothers grasp. Aegon finally managed to free himself, running his tongue over the inside of his cheek to alleviate the pain. It was a small price to pay.

“I was only jesting,” Aegon claimed, his words laced with a veneer of nonchalance. “I merely wanted to ascertain whether she followed in her mother’s footsteps.”

Aemond remained the pillar of restraint and control, gritting his teeth as he witnessed the unfolding scene. Alicent, on the other hand, struggled to contain her fury. She had firsthand knowledge of Aegon’s capacity for reckless behavior. It was only days ago that she had to dismiss a servant girl due to his inappropriate advances. But what he had done now was far more dangerous than mere misconduct with a servant. It could have dire consequences for their family, for everything she had sacrificed for.

In a swift motion, Alicent slapped Aegon across the face, the sound echoing through the room. Her actions conveyed her disbelief and the gravity of the situation. What if their actions reached the ears of the King? Rhaenyra and Daemon would surely call for their heads.

Aegon winched, his hand instinctively moving to his reddened cheek, his eyes wide and wet. He looked like a child then.

“Do you have any inkling of the peril you’ve put us in?” Alicent hissed, her fury burning in her eyes and her teeth bared. Unable to stand still, she paced the floor, her anger palpable. “Do you hold so little regard for our lives? Are you truly willing to squander everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve sacrificed for! What if she goes to the King?”

“She won’t,” Aemond interjected, his voice steady and reassuring.

The contrast between her two sons was stark and undeniable. One embodied everything Alicent needed him to be–the protector, the dutiful son, the dedicated soclar. Aemond was honorable, courageous, and everything she wished Aegon could become. Aegon, her firstborn and the one who should inherit his father’s throne, had become her greatest disappointment and vulnerability. She longed for him to rise above his reckless impulses and understand the purpose she had dedicated years to. After all, it was to protect him that she was doing this.

Life had never been fair, and this situation served as a bitter reminder of the fact.

“How can you be so certain?” Alicent questioned sharply.

“He’s sleeping with her,” Aegon interjected, a twisted grimace marring his face. He couldn’t help but drag his brother down on his level, to tarnish his reputation.

Aemond, however, dismissed his brother’s claim with a wave of his hand, choosing not to acknowledge it. “She knows it would be her word against his. And I advise you, brother, to keep your imaginings to yourself. Spreading lies would only further complicate matters.”

“It is not a lie,” Aegon insisted, meeting his mother’s gaze with defiance.

Alicent fixed him with a stern look. “Listen to your brother, Aegon. You are already in enough trouble. Do not besmirch your brother’s honor with baseless accusations.”

Aegon’s jaw worked as realized that his mother would not believe him, and he fixed his gaze on the floor.

“You bring shame upon our family, and I will not tolerate it, especially while the princess is here,” Alicent continued, her tone laced with frustration. “She is already causing enough trouble with her political machinations, rallying support for her mother’s claim and interfering with governance of the kingdom. I will not have my son contributing to the chaos.”

Aegon sneered, a vindictive thought seeming to cross his mind. “Ruining her honor would serve as a fitting consequence. It would send her back to Dragonstone in shame, and perhaps she would remain unwed for a very long time as well.”

“And you believe that ruining your brother’s honor is worth such consequences? Ruining your own in the process? Where is the sense, Aegon?” Alicent’s voice rang out with scorn and disappointment.

Despite Aegon’s troublesome reputation, she had always shielded him from the worst of it, hoping he would come to realize the efforts she had made on his behalf.

“It was merely a passing thought, mother,” Aegonr replied, casually picking at his nails. “Or perhaps you should consider marrying Aemond to Daenera.”

Aemond’s eye snapped to his brother with a piercing glare. Marry the bastard? The notion seemed absurd. They were too incompatible, destined to clash and bring each other misery. He only wanted to use her, ruin her.

“Aemond has spent time with the princess, hasn’t he, brother?” Aegon continued, refusing to let go of his insinuation. “You took her riding on Vhagar.”

Aemond’s indignation burned within his chest as he met his brother's goading expression with an steely resolve. “The princess lost her horse. I didn’t want to leave her stranded in the middle of a field and have her walk back to King’s Landing.”

Alicent frowned. “Where was her servant?”

Aemond gave a half-hearted shrug, not caring to elaborate on what had happened.

“You’ve been staring at her,” Aegon persisted like the child he was, trying to get his brother into trouble.

“Would you have me pluck out my remaining eye?” Aemond drawled with little care to his brother's answer.

“I would gladly assist you with that, brother.”

“Enough,” Alicent interected, rubbing her temples in frustration. “There will be no mutilations, and there will be no marriages. Put these thoughts out of your minds.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #hotd fanfic #aemond smut #A Vow of Blood

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mimilind · 6 months

Text

Stranger of the Falls - Part 6

Pairing: Boromir x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2400

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

※※※

6. Defense

You twirled a smooth horn between your hands. Boromir had made it from a curved ram’s horn, drilling a hole in it and turning it into a sort of trumpet. Should the enemy approach you would blow it and alert everybody.

You were on the lookout that evening; Boromir had divided the nights into watches and now it was your turn. You sat on a rooftop and observed the deserted plains in the growing darkness.

A few days had passed since the village prepared for war, and the dreary darkness from Mordor had finally disappeared, blown away by a fresh south-west breeze. Nothing had happened yet, and you were hoping it never would. Without the strange darkness to hide them, the orcs probably wouldn’t dare venture this far.

Even if Boromir had a plan, no plan was foolproof.

You wished you knew how the war went, but no news had reached you since you learned about the attack of Cair Andros. It felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something – be it good or bad.

It made you restless and nervous.

You heard steps from below and turned to see Maja approaching you. “My mama needs you. It is time!”

You were about to climb down and fetch a replacement lookout when something else caught your attention: a group of people coming running across the southwestern plains. They were far away still, but heading to the village.

No… not people. Orcs! You noticed their crooked swords and axes now.

The sight filled you with cool tendrils of fear. This was it. War. War was upon you!

You remembered the horn and blew it, producing a dull hoot. As you climbed down from your post, you blew and blew and blew, and from all doors around you people came out.

Boromir was among the first to reach you. He looked alert and strangely excited.

“The enemy army is here,” you told him. It came out like a terrified squeak.

He observed the orcs briefly. “No, just a minor band, thirty or so at the most. Raiders perhaps, or deserters. With our precautions we should take them easily.” He turned to Vidar. “Take a lantern and wait for my signal over by the trench. Be sure not to drop it until every orc has crossed.”

You tried to swallow but your throat felt too narrow and too dry. Was this the last time you saw these men? Vidar… and Boromir.

You wanted to tell him to be careful but no longer trusted your voice.

“What about Mama?” Maja asked, pulling at your sleeve. “The child is coming.”

Boromir looked at her, then you. A fierce, crooked grin broke out in his face and he pressed your trembling shoulder encouragingly. “Then you deliver the child and I deal with the orcs. I will be seeing you!”

You nodded. Deliver the baby. That you could do.

As soon as you entered Sigrid’s house you became completely calm. There was a patient needing your help and until she and the baby were safe you had no time to worry about orc attacks.

※

You could not say how much time had passed when you finally laid the wailing infant on her mother’s chest. It had not been an easy birth.

“Thank you,” Sigrid said tiredly. “Damn Torsten for putting this little monster in me and then riding off to war.” She stroked the baby’s damp head. “He thought it was a boy but I knew it would be a girl. When he returns I shall gloat at him that I won.”

Something about the way she said ‘when he returns’ made you want to cry. She did not think he would.

But then you remembered about the orcs and your heartbeat increased. Had Boromir made it?

You ran out. Guttural yells and clangs of steel reached you from beyond the palisade and you ran to the gate, expecting the worst.

You were met by a spectacular sight. A burning ring surrounded the village, sending sparks and bright tongues of fire high into the air. Within the ring lay a litter of dark corpses in the grass, and others hung skewered on the sharp lances along the palisade. Some were still writhing in death throes; Vidar walked among them, grimly beheading anyone moving.

Boromir was chasing two last orcs on Svarten. He sat tall and formidable, driving them before him like Béma the Hunter himself. His face was streaked with soot and his hands covered in black blood.

This was his right element, here in the midst of battle, bravely protecting people.

You had never admired him more.

Desperate to evade the menacing pursuer, the orcs leaped through the fire, but the burning tar stuck on their boots and turned them into living torches.

Svarten easily jumped over the trench and followed them. Two neat sword slashes later and the orcs fell to the ground in reeking piles.

It was over.

※

Other villagers had joined you at the gate, now a loud cheer broke out. He had made it! The village had withstood the attack!

Boromir dismounted. Standing there tall, proud, victorious. Beautiful.

“After tonight, I will no longer call you ‘Främling’,” said Vidar. “You are no stranger to us anymore. Hence, since you still do not remember your name, I say we name you ‘Hjälte’! For, you are a true hero, and we are blessed to have you among us.”

His words were met by an even louder cheer and Boromir graciously bowed. “It was the least I could do after you took me in so generously.”

Everyone then helped put out the fire with buckets of sand and refill the trench with tar in case of new attacks. Like Boromir had said, this had only been a small band. They could be forerunners or scouts from a larger army.

Afterwards, you walked home beside Boromir almost shyly. For the first time, you had seen warrior-him in action. You wanted to hug him and tell him how glad you were that he had survived, but felt too intimidated.

“Thank you for saving us,” you said instead. “The ring of flames was fantastic.”

“It worked better than I had dared hope,” he said proudly. “I got the idea from a place called Moria where I once saw orcs hesitate before a burning chasm. Not one of my best memories, but this time it was helpful.”

Back in the house, you noticed red blood in the water when he cleaned his hands.

“You are hurt,” you said worriedly.

“A mere nick.”

“Let me treat it. There could be poison on their weapons this time also.”

Like the other day, your concern seemed to amuse him, but he obediently sat at the table and held out his hand.

You sat next to him, putting a generous amount of ointment on the cut and binding it neatly.

Still with his hand in yours, you looked at his beautiful face. You could not express your gratitude with words. He saved you; all of you. Maja and her mother, the newborn baby, Vidar, little Kalle, everyone had him to thank for their life.

This handsome, kind, generous man was truly a gift to your people. To you. You had never met anyone like him.

You admired him so much. Held him in such high regard… no. More than that.

You loved him.

Part of what you felt must have shown in your eyes, for Boromir gently eased his hand from yours and rose. “We must get some rest.” But instead of stretching out on the bed, he leaned back in your comfortable chair.

At your surprised look, he explained: “Long have I been imposing on your hospitality. You should have your bed to yourself.“

“I do not mind sharing,” you said earnestly, feeling a lump in your throat. He was pushing you away. Creating a distance.

“You already did so much for me,” he said seriously. “I never even thanked you for saving my life. Twice. First you healed me, and then your faith in me and stubbornness hindered me from taking the cowardly way out. This way is better; I can do some good now. And for that, you shall always have my heartfelt gratitude.”

His words shook you to the core. This way is better.

Did he mean to die in battle?

Now you saw the scene earlier in a new light. Boromir’s excitement before the fight; his heroic charge against over thirty orcs. It was not courage. It was the fearlessness of one who had nothing to lose.

Was he still choosing the cowardly way out, but disguising it as bravery?

You did not say anything of what you were thinking. Instead you tried to hide your dismay and make your voice steady. “I am a healer; it is what I do. Think nothing of it.”

You went to bed, ignoring how large and empty it felt, and exhausted after the long night’s events you fell asleep almost immediately.

※

The next morning, Boromir, Vidar and you went out to gather the orc carcasses, piling them up and setting them on fire. While you were working, a group of riders approached from the same direction the orcs had come. They were Rohirrim!

As they came closer, you felt your heart soar with relief. It was people from your village, as well as the neighboring ones. Jan, Ragnar, Karl, Torsten, all the rest of them. They had survived! Did that mean the war was over?

“Welcome back!” Vidar waved excitedly.

The men looked weary, but relieved when they saw your pyre. “Béma be blessed. We were worried we would find naught but smoking embers like in so many other villages. We have been tracking these orcs for days and found only ruins and homeless refugees in their wake – until now. How did you defeat them?”

You proudly indicated Boromir. “We had help.”

Torsten cut in: “Why, if it is not Lord Främling! You look well. I am glad you made it.”

“He is Lord Hjälte now,” said Vidar.

"Congratulations on becoming a father again, Torsten,” you said.

“The child is born? And everything went well?” He leaped off the horse in a smooth jump. “I have to go see them at once. Was it a son? No, say nothing, I know it was. I have a talent for guessing these things.”

You smiled smugly as he hurried off.

Meanwhile the other riders filled you in with news from the war, at long last. A lot had happened. Théoden King and his riders found their way to Gondor blocked by the orcs at Cair Andros just as Boromir had feared, but got unexpected aid by a people who dwelled in the mountains and took them on a shortcut to Minas Tirith, capital of Gondor, just in time to save the day and help defeating Sauron’s enormous host.

They then described the battle in detail, encouraged by a barrage of questions from Boromir.

There had been many losses and injuries. Théoden King was dead, and his niece Éowyn, who unexpectedly joined the army, was badly hurt. Her brother Éomer would become the new King of Rohan.

Another man who died was Denethor, the Steward of Gondor. Boromir’s father.

“Poor old fellow; they say he lost his mind and burned himself alive, broken with grief after what happened to his sons,” said Ragnar, unaware that one of them was standing right in front of him. “The eldest was killed in battle in the north prior to the war, you see.”

Boromir did not betray any emotions at the news, but you saw his fists clench and his whole stance become rigid.

You wished you could hug him. What a gruesome way for a man to die!

“And the youngest?” His gaze was intent.

“Hurt in battle, but Lord Aragorn healed him. He is greatly improved; they say he will survive.”

Boromir grew visibly less tense. “And what now? You said this mysterious heir to the throne has appeared, this Lord Aragorn. What are his plans? The Dark Lord lives, and although he lost a battle, he will return with renewed force soon enough.”

Ragnar shifted uneasily. “Lord Aragorn is on his way to Mordor. It is a ruse, and he does not expect to survive, but…” He lowered his voice. “There is a secret, powerful item, you see… a ring, they say, a ring of power. It was forged by Sauron a long time ago and if he can get it back he will use it to usurp the entire world. But a brave young halfling is on a secret mission to cast the ring into the fires where it was once wrought. A halfling is–”

“I know what a halfling is.” Boromir had grown very pale.

“Oh. Well, so Lord Aragorn has decided to make this decoy attack to distract the enemy, hence increasing the chances for the halfling to succeed. I know, it sounds impossible, but Aragorn believes it might work, and nearly everyone is following him there.”

“But not you?”

He blushed hotly. “He sent us to free Cair Andros. Us and some others…”

“We were afraid and did not want to die,” Karl cut in. “We have families waiting for us. He saw that and released us. A good man, he is. And a great king, if he survives.”

“We bested the army at Cair Andros,” said Ragnar. “This group we were tracing were the last survivors.”

After exchanging a few more words the men left you, eager to go see their families now that their task was finally over.

Boromir left too, with a curt “I shall take a walk” that made it clear he did not want company.

You looked long after him.

※

That night Boromir moved out of your house. He said he was no longer a patient, and did not want to impose on your hospitality. Therefore he had arranged with Vidar to sleep in his spare room.

Your stomach grew tight; you knew what this was about. He wanted to keep a distance from you, and you were fairly sure it was because he suspected you had feelings for him.

“I am happy for Vidar’s sake,” you said, smiling forcedly. “He has been lonely since his wife passed away.”

“Goodnight then.” He bowed and left.

”Goodnight.”

You went to lie in your empty bed. And then you cried.

※※※

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#boromir #boromir x reader #boromir fanfiction #boromir x oc #boromir x you #boromir lives au #lotr #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings #hurt/comfort #healing #heroism #Stranger of the Falls

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aidenpriceless · 3 months

Note

Which Shrek character would excel the most in PFL, in your opinion?

Greetings. Apologies for forgetting this reply in the drafts, hopefully you are not inconvenienced by the delay. Am I correct in assuming that you would like me to draw some comparisons between the cast of the Shrek animated movie franchise and the roles of our agents? In that case, this question would require an in-depth analysis of their abilities for me to formulate a satisfying response.

There are plenty of characters within the source material, but let us stick with our main entries: Shrek, Donkey, Princess Fiona, and Puss in Boots.

Shrek

Superhuman Strength (diminishes when transformed into a human)

Durability (survived being burned alive)

Can travel on foot for miles without tiring

Hand-To-Hand Combat (Krav Maga, Irish Street Fighting)

Survival skills from living in the swamp

Improvising plans

Knowledge of fairytales and ogre lore

Powerful roar he can use to blow people backwards

Bonus abilities from the original book: swallowing lightning, heat vision, fire breathing

If we were to compare Shrek to any of our agent, we might see resemblances with Agent Washington and Agent Maine. His durability and being a jack of all trades would certainly make him an asset to our organization. He is likely to meeting our standards, in terms of performance. His temper, however, can cause many issues and further observation would be required to establish the proper measures we need to take. 8-/10

Princess Fiona

Master Martial Artist

Superhuman Strength (As an Ogre)

Durability

Expert Weapon Combatant (in the alternative world of Shrek Forever After), can hit targets while blindfolded

Team Leadership (in the alternative world of Shrek Forever After)

Princess Fiona is most similar to Agent Carolina, as we have seen the speed with which both are capable of landing hits. Her already enhanced strength is a great addition. She would benefit from using our camouflage armour enhancement and become virtually unstoppable. 9.5/10

Puss in Boots

Combat Proficiency (mostly as a swordsman) despite his small size

Sharp claws

Expert thief and hunter (thanks to speed and fluidity of movement which he also uses in dance challenges)

Distraction, using his cute nature

Guitar playing

Implied to be at least bilingual

Even more so than Princess Fiona, Puss In Boots is fast. Due to his ability to deceive, he would benefit from a holographic projection enhancement such as the one assigned to Agent Connecticut, who shares the usage of blades as her main weapon. In short, there is potential, but the determining factor is the presence and focus on the mission. Those values may not align with this character. I would not send him on a mission alone and not expect him to wander on his own. 7/10

Donkey

Empathy

Ability to keep secrets

Diplomacy, with which he has successfully changed others' stance regarding people or issues

As you may have noticed from exploring the franchise yourself, Donkey's special...Skillsets do not unfortunately include combat, which is the main requirement in hiring our agents. (3/10) If we are not strictly talking codenamed agents, there is plenty of members from freelancer personnel who could instruct him to a suitable profession. Namely, our field medic for simulation troopers, mr Frank DuFresne.

#shrek #rvb #agent connecticut #agent carolina #agent washington #agent maine #frank dufresne #project freelancer #pfl

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raventroll80 · 2 months

Text

A Beast on Mars

Chapter 3 (Rewrite)

The Last Human on Mars

(I wasn't too happy with the original ending to this chapter so I rewrote it. Big thanks to @horseyneigh2002 for giving the new ending a read through before I posted it!)

Edit: I forgot the warnings! This chapter contains description of graphic injury, a lot of blood, and death.

Mim Digsby was a rather unremarkable person, they were just below average height with a somewhat stocky build, but they never thought it’d come in handy until they had to hide from the risen corpse of a security guard. They usually kept their hair short as they felt it was more hassle than it was worth, though they never thought they’d be grateful for it until they watched a co-worker get dragged into the vents by her hair. Mim mostly worked maintenance now, and knew the vents like the back of their hands, but they never knew that it’d ever save them from the demons that now prowled the halls of the UAC.

It had started like any other day, Mim had been scheduled to do some basic maintenance on some machinery in the morning before switching to excavation in the afternoon… that was until the screaming had started. One of the security guards had gone to investigate but seconds later he came running back firing at something howling behind him, then the something pounced on him and began to disembowel the man.

Mim and their co-workers had immediately fled the room only for another one of these… things to jump them. The only warning they had gotten was the stench of sulfur and a flash of red light before that thing, that demon just appeared. It stood maybe six, maybe seven feet tall, its body was covered in thick yellow chitin with jagged spikes jutting out of its body. Its eyes, god its eyes… they burned into them like argent. Mim watched as the imp gutted Samson in one swift motion, his body had dropped like a sack of hammers, his blood spilling out onto the floor. Mim could still hear his screams as the demon didn’t even wait for him to bleed out, thank god they hadn’t looked. The lockdown alarms were blaring but the doors refused to shut, something was wrong with the protocols… if the lockdown wouldn’t engage properly then there’d be nowhere for people to hide. Emerson, a technician, suggested that they go and manually engage the lockdown at the southside control room, given their lack of options everyone agreed to go. But things only got worse from there.

Mim had to lead the small group of survivors through the maintenance tunnels, during this they had passed through an observation deck where a large almost ape like monster shattered the glass. Georges and Amsbury got dragged out by the air pressure while Harris had been grabbed the massive monster. Within seconds their group of five became a band of two, Mim and Emerson had barely made it to the cargo elevator when they were jumped by yet another imp. It had managed to slash Emerson across the chest before Mim was able to blast its head apart with the shotgun she had taken from a dead guard. The demon slumped over, it’s bright red blood pooling on the floor. Mim had tried their best to stop the bleeding but it just kept pouring out. They tried convincing Emerson to come and look for a medical station, but he refused, claimed that he was fine, that it only looked worse than it actually was…

God why did they believe him…

As the elevator came to a stop the two heard the chime that accompanied an announcement over the intercom, but instead of VEGA or some other automated message it was Dr. Pierce and pit formed in their stomachs as she spoke.

“I believe in honesty, especially now, in what will be your final moments in this world. All the rumors, the human sacrifices, the Hell portal, the demons… it’s all true…”

The two gave each other a grave look before climbing the blood-soaked stairs as Dr. Pierce continued her speech.

“My brothers and sisters be thankful, you will be the first, you will have a seat along side them just as I will in what will become the new world, they create for us… starting now…” Instead of another chime indicating the broadcast was over a demonic scream blared over the intercoms.

Emerson was able to stop the broadcast from repeating before forcing the lockdown protocols to engage. The technician looked out over the Martian landscape, the blue sunrise slowly creeping over the horizon.

“If Pierce is already on their side, then how many of the others are too… if we just leave it on then some, some cultist could just swing by and turn the lockdown back off. Hel- fuck, we don’t even know if VEGA is still on our side!” Emerson said in frustration, staring down at the consol with a contemplative look.

“Then what do you think we should do…”

“You think you can shut the power off?”

“Yea, there’s a main generator not too far from here. I can use the access vents to get to it. What are you going to do?” Mim asked, not entirely sure what to make of the situation.

“I’m gonna lock VEGA out from accessing the terminal digitally. If he’s really on our side then he can come turn the power back on himself.”

Emerson initiated some sort of malware or firewall before giving Mim the go ahead and Mim jumped down into the maintenance vent. Through the dark tunnels of wires and metal Mim crawled, until they found the main generator. They logged into the access terminal and shut off the power to the Res Ops facility. Mim hoped they’d given people enough time, or that there were any people left. It was deathly quiet as the facility shifted to emergency power. Normally it wouldn’t, but with the emergency lockdown protocol in effect prior to main power shutdown the facility forces the use of the backup generators. The quiet of the facility felt crushing as Mim crawled back to the control room. Something felt off as the mechanic drew near. It was too quiet, something was missing…

“Emerson!” Mim called out as they realized that they could no longer hear the technicians ragged breathing.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” they muttered as they scrambled out of the vent but it was too late. Emerson was dead.

The man was slumped over, his back against the console, clothes drenched in blood. Mim took a few shaky breaths as they processed the situation. Chances where the casualties were in the thousands, and if they were being realistic… then Mim Digsby was possibly the last human left on Mars.

“God damn it Emerson… why didn’t you listen to me,” Mim pressed their forehead against Emersons before stumbling out of the control room, their body was still shaking from the shock and reality of the situation. They needed to find somewhere safe, somewhere to hide and hope there was anyone left to rescue them.

Mim didn’t know if it had been hours or days that had passed, somewhere in that time they had managed to find a chainsaw. Why was there a chainsaw on Mars? Who cares, it’s a chainsaw! Like they were just going to pass the offer of a free chainsaw in a time like this. Besides, chainsaws are great communicators when it came to the undead. Just as Mim had finished airing their grievances with a zombie they’d found in a locker room an explosion boomed from outside, causing the lockers to rattle and Mim to jolt and accidentally wedge the chainsaw deeper into the corpse. Before they could try to remove the weapon, another explosion rocked the room and demons began howling as what sounded like heavy artillery went off.

“Was it the marines? The Elite Guard?” Mim abandoned the chainsaw and climbed through an access vent to the offices above to investigate the sounds, though what they saw was far from what they had been hoping for. There, just outside the building was a behemoth of a monster clinging to the very structure they were standing in. The creature appeared to be fighting the demons outside of the locker room, though fighting was a strong word for what was happening, it was more of a bloodbath if anything. The room shook violently as another explosion rocked the cargo bay outside. The glass rattled menacingly but thankfully didn’t shatter, thank god. Mim scurried back from the window as the behemoth slaughtered the last of the demons. In their haste, Mim had knocked over a chair and alerted the massive demon. They had barely made it into the vent before the behemoth was tearing its way into the room.

Mim quietly watched as the massive creature began searching the room. Was it looking for them? God they hoped not, that thing just tore through the building like it was cardboard! Granted this wasn’t the strongest of building in the Mars facility, but the point still stood that this thing, whatever it was, would catch Mim within seconds. The mechanic watched as the creature inspected the health station in an almost curious manner. Tilting its head inquisitively, before turning it slightly as though it were listening to someone or something. Its curiosity apparently satisfied, the great beast turned around and proceeded to smash in the glass to one of the storage rooms.

“Holy shit, holy shit, I need to fucking leave” Mim hissed to themselves and they started to shimmy further into the vent. That glass was at least an inch and a half thick and that thing just shattered it like it was nothing.

Mim heard the creature walk back out to the cargo bay, catching a glimpse of it beginning to scale the wall, it’s clawed gauntlets digging into the stone. Part of them was slightly in awe of the massive beast, but overall Mim was terrified. The massive thing, looked to be nearly 16 feet tall, it could probably eat them in one bite if it wanted to. Mim shuddered at the thought, “Nope, nu-uh, nah…” The monster’s armour was complex, not too unlike that of Hayden’s Elite Guards though it was a deep green colour instead of the guards imposing red and black armour. Though Mim couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d seen it before…

A raspy hiss rattled from behind the mechanic, filling them with dread before sharp claws dug into their legs and dragged them off into the darkness of the facility. Mim was barely able to let out a scream before their head was slammed into the vent and everything went black.

As the Slayer climbed up the walls of the cargo bay, he heard a faint sound echo from below. As quick as it came it was gone, but the sound was unmistakable. It was a scream, and not just any scream; a human scream. The Slayer looked back down to the platform below, should he go look? What if they were already dead? He watched as several field drones entered the room below and fanned out. One of the drones separated from the group and hovered up to him. That familiar chime sounded in his helmet garnering an annoyed growl from the behemoth.

“I apologize for the repeated interruptions but one of the nearby cameras picked up what I believe to be a human scream. The sound originated from this sector and I wanted to know if you heard anything. The cameras have been malfunctioning, replaying audio and visuals from the start of the incident. I do not know what is causing this malfunction but it is impairing my ability to search for survivors so I will need your help in locating any potential survivors.” The Slayer huffed, clearly getting impatient with the AI.

“I do not know what your stance is on humans as a whole, but I can tell you already have a distain for the UAC. But I must ask that you please keep an eye out for any survivors.” VEGA waited for a response from the Slayer, but all he got was a soft growl from the behemoth.

VEGA left the Slayer to return to his mission, concern starting to build in his processors. Could he trust the Slayer to protect, let alone inform him of any survivors? VEGA hadn’t even been able to recover the field drone that he’d destroyed, he couldn’t even find any evidence of its existence aside from a few scraps from the outer shell… did he eat it? No, he couldn’t have. The Slayer may be a brute, but even he should know that a drone wasn’t even remotely edible. Right?

He could only hope the Slayer would be kinder to a human than he was to a machine.

The Slayer followed the elevator tracks up the chasm and into what appeared to be a mining tunnel or a cut-through point in the facility. The tunnel was long and dark, lit only by the dim string of lights that hung from the walls and ceiling. Checking his map, the Slayer confirmed that this was indeed the way forward. The giant grumbled as he walked down the cold tunnel. He was certain there was a faster route to the gore nest but VEGA was (regrettably) right. As much as he wanted to tear the UAC apart, he needed to be mindful of any potential survivors. Sure, the chances of anyone surviving this long were slim, but he didn’t want to take that risk. As he walked through the tunnel he passed by a group of corpses. Bodies both human and demon were strewn about, it appeared this group chose to make this their final stand, though it was clear the battle had no winners. Further investigation revealed that in an attempt to close off the tunnel or possibly destroy the Gore Nest ahead, the workers had loaded containers of explosives onto trolleys and carts, their lids hastily removed in a last-ditch effort to try and blow up the attacking demons.

Slayer thought about taking the explosive with him, but without the detonator they’d be harder to use. As he contemplated the explosives, the Slayer spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. Expecting a demon trying to get the drop on him, he whipped around and was about to fire at the movement, but stopped himself just short of pulling the trigger when he spotted the source of the movement.

There, slumped against the wall was a human barely clinging to life, staring at him with a fearful expression smeared across their bloodied face. Their body was heavily scarred; thick deep gashes across their stomach, their clothes torn and drenched in blood, a large chunk had been taken out of his right shoulder, their left leg had been torn to bloody ribbons while the right leg was nothing more than a bloody stump. The Slayer froze, not sure how to proceed, how the poor man was still alive was beyond him.

Slowly, the Doom Slayer approached the injured human, who quickly held up a small rectangular box, causing the behemoth to freeze. They had a detonator, if he wasn’t careful and scared the human too much then he’d bring the whole tunnel down on both of them. Carefully the Slayer his gun down and raised his hands in the air. The human gave him a suspicious look as he took his finger off the button but still refused to drop the detonator. Once again, the Slayer began to slowly approach the human, his tail slightly raised as to not let it scrape across the ground. Eventually the Slayer managed to walk up to the dying human and sat down next to him, the next few moments were oddly peaceful given the circumstances, the human had even put down the detonator and leaned his back against the wall.

The human huffed and closed his eyes, seemingly trusting the Slayer not to kill them in this moment of respite, their breath ragged and shaky. Carefully, while their eyes were closed, the Slayer wrapped his clawed hands around the injured human’s torso and pulled him close. The human in question, quickly scrambled in an attempt to grab the detonator before but all they managed to was aggravate their injuries, so instead he threw his arms over his head and braced for whatever violent end he was about to meet… but it never came.

Instead, they were placed in the lap of this strange behemoth as it removed its gloves and helmet. The creatures face looked almost human but not quite right, it-he? Stared down at the man before gently lifting their body up once more, but instead of biting his head off, the Slayer instead held him close to his chest. A soft rumbling began to emerge from deep within the behemoth.

The Doom Slayer leaned his back against the well as he felt the human slowly begin to calm down, but something felt… off. Instead of the grooved stone of the tunnel, the Slayer’s back was leaned against the cool metal of a wall, the sharp stinging scent of chemicals assaulted his nostrils. Where was he? Mars? No, that’s not right. He wasn’t stationed on Mars, it was Phobos he got sent to… wait. If he was on Phobos, then why was he holding a miner? Miners weren’t stationed on Phobos. The Behemoth huffed, stale cave air filling his lungs, the rancid chemical smell quickly fading from his memory as he felt the human squirming under his grasp.

The Slayer quickly realized that his grip on the human had gotten tighter, hurting the poor thing. The Slayer loosened his grip and tried to give the poor man a reassuring pat with the pad of his thumb which only garnered frightened whimper. Feeling even worse for the dying human the Hellwalker tried to croak out an apology as he set the human back down in his lap, but all that came out were garbled bellows as blood began to bubble in his throat. The no-longer man quickly stopped his attempt only to realize the miner had gone still, his eyes glazed over and lifeless. The behemoths shoulders sagged and huffed as he came to the realization that the human had died.

Looking back down at his bloody hands and chestplate, down at the dark red blood from the human mixing with the bright crimson of the demons. Gently he set the still warm body down upon the cold stone of the tunnel and made a mournful sound the taste his own blood tingled in the back of his throat. As the Doom Slayer stood up, donning his helmet once more, sorrow quickly turning into anger as he remembered why he was here and that Hell was to blame for this. Checking his map, he confirmed that the Gore Nest was at the end of this godforsaken tomb, and with a vicious snarl he snatched up the crates of explosives and charged down the tunnel with blood on his lips and fury burning in his chest.

Within seconds the Hellwalker found himself at the end of the tunnel looking out into a much larger cargo bay. Across from him, the Gore Nest hung, suspended by thick sinewy cables that attached themselves to gore covered support beams. From his position, the Slayer could see the Gore Nest’s beating heart and a circle of zombies knelt around a sigil. The Unchained Predator threw the crates onto the demonic structure before lobbing a grenade towards it and firing. An explosion shook the room and the Gore Nest screamed in pain and with a running leap the Doom Slayer jumped onto it, shoving the still burning barrel of his shotgun against its putrid heart and fired.

#my writing #g/t #giant tiny #troll! doomguy au #A Beast on Mars #the rewritten chapter is also up on my ao3 too #tw gore #tw graphic injury #tw death

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melmedardasworld · 11 months

Text

Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Who Got Her Revenge

Qetsiyah delivers her promised torment on Silas

The Other Side

A perpetual gloom hung heavy in the muggy air, casting a wan pall over the entire realm. The landscape, a mirror of the mortal world, is eerily desolate. Gnarled trees reach their skeletal limbs toward the foggy sky. Amidst this silent wasteland, a stone sculpture lies in the center of a clearing. The slab, covered in enchanted scripts in Aramaic, marked the focal point of distorted energy. A spectral hand reaches out, attempting to touch the humanoid bust, but the male's fingers pass through without effect.

A slither of frustration rose within Silas as he realized the full extent of powerlessness. "Beaten through the combined efforts of a teenage witch and my crazy ex." Lost in thought of his defeat, Silas suddenly keeled over when a searing pain tore through his stomach from the inside. His mouth dropped, but he suppressed the cry ripping from his burning throat. Silas's body shuddered from the aftermath of the sudden soul passing through for the nth time.

Silas muffled grunts turned into a wheezy chuckle. "You think this is going to break me, Qetsiyah?! I was desiccated for 2000 years. I can handle pain double that amount!"

"No need to keep track of time," The sultry voice brushed and whispered close by, "we have an abundance of it together." Silas whipped around. The shadows on his face twisted at the sight of the beautiful woman.

Recovered from the numbing pain, Silas narrowed his eyes and smirked, aiming to strike at Qetsiyah's deepest vulnerabilities. "You think this will break me? You've already given me what I wanted. You released my true love from her torment. Amara is at Peace. Nothing that you can do here will ever change that. You were merely a means to an end, and like the lovesick fool, you gave it to me."

Qetsiyah's eyes glinted with amusement as she observed Silas's futile attempts to hurt her. She had long forgotten those feelings. Qetsiyah didn't say anything but flashed Silas a soft and lovely smile.

Silas grinned like a madman." You love me. No matter what I've done or how much pain I've caused you, you'll never stop loving me. You know you do, Qetsiyah. This prison proves it."

"I did love you once, and then you broke my heart," Qetsiyah answered calmly, her smile unwavering. She had long since accepted the twisted nature of her feelings for Silas, and his taunts could no longer shake her resolve. Qetsiyah had heard all his cruel words before, his repetitive egocentric claims and immortalized love for Amara.

Qetsiyah raised her hand in a dismissive gesture. A tingle crept up Silas's spine, and he whipped around when countless apparitions surrounded them. He stiffened, anticipating the agony that was to come. Qetsiyah's narrowed eyes sharpened beautifully at the edges and gleamed as she manipulated the very nature of the Anchor, her creation, the Other Side, her domain, and the Spirits waiting to pass with childish ease.

"Since you're so confident in your convictions, let's put it to the test, shall we?" In an easy, fluid motion, Qetsiyah waved her hand. She dismissed the invisible barrier she had placed, allowing a torrent of freshly departed supernatural souls to appear and pass through Silas all at once.

The moment the partition vanished, Silas braced himself for the imminent onslaught. But nothing could have prepared him for the excruciating torment that followed. Once the first soul passed through, it felt like a white-hot blade slicing through his core. Silas gasped, his body tensing as the pain intensified. The sensation was akin to being flayed alive, each nerve ending set ablaze by a relentless fire that seemed to consume him from the inside out.

The second one tore through him like a barbed whip, ripping at his spirit with a ferocity that left him breathless. Silas gritted his teeth, his eyes wide with shock and horror at the relentless brutality of the assault.

As more and more souls surged through him, the pain only grew, each soul carving its own unique path of destruction through his being. Every ounce of suffering the departed had experienced was channeled directly into Silas, amplified a hundredfold. His immortal essence was stretched and torn, twisted and shredded, as the relentless tide of agony threatened to overwhelm him completely.

Silas's screams grew louder, more desperate, until they were nothing more than ragged, anguished sobs. His body trembled, convulsed, and writhed in torment, every muscle and tendon straining against the onslaught. His vision blurred through the haze of pain, his surroundings twisting and warping in a nightmarish kaleidoscope of color and shadow.

The air around him seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his pain as if the Other Side was recoiling from the brutality of his torment. But he was immortal. Silas possessed an infinite physical and spiritual life span, immune to death.

Finally, as the last of the supernatural souls passed through him, Silas's body went limp, his spirit battered and raw. The once-proud Immortal lay broken, now a tormented shell of his former self. In the aftermath of the indescribable pain, he struggled to draw breath, his mind reeling from the intensity of the experience.

"...your reality now, Silas. You will endure this pain for all eternity, and you can do nothing to escape it." Qetsiyah muted voice gradually trickled through his ringing ears. Silas's eyes flickered with pain and hatred as he looked upon Qetsiyah. Her captivating presence taunted him, a cruel reminder that love had led him to this infinite torment. Her raven hair cascaded down her back, framing the delicate contours of her face. Her eyes, a deep, enchanting brown, shimmered with triumph. Even her lips, curved in a sinister smile, held a cruel kind of beauty.

As Silas lay there, his spirit bruised and battered, he knew his torture had just begun. He would be subjected to this pain and suffering, a never-ending dance of retribution. But even in his weakened state, Silas clung to a flicker of defiance, a stubborn refusal to be defeated. "Give me your best shot."

Qetsiyah's lips curved. "Don't worry. I will."

They were bound together in this realm of perpetual gloom, locked in an eternal dance of suffering and retribution. The realization that the nightmare had just begun began to sink in, but deep within Silas's soul, a flicker of defiance still burned, refusing to be extinguished.

The spectral energy in the clearing swelled as a timeless woman of beauty that echoed her ancient lineage drifted into the scene. She emanated an aura of calm, counteracting the chaotic air of the Other Side. Her dark gaze was steady as she took in the sight of Silas, writhing in the aftermath of his torment. Her eyes, however, held a more profound layer of caution as they moved onto Qetsiyah.

"Taking pleasure in the suffering of others?" The woman's voice held a trace of disappointment, but her gaze remained unwavering.

Qetsiyah, unperturbed, turned to face her descendant. "Ayana, here to nag and judge me again? Know that none of it has any sway here."

#qetsiyah #silas #imo this happened #ayana tvd #this is what should have happened imo #part of a larger story im busy with #can’t wait to share it soon with you all #also imagine cheating on qetsiyah?!?!?!?!#that man deserves the worst

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