#{made to serve her very throne - musings} | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loviestyless · 7 months ago

Text

Shadowed Starlight*

Summary: Odile Einar has one purpose: kill the fae king and prevent the prophecy from coming true. the only thing that stands in her way is their deep rooted history.

fantasy au! king harry x assassin oc

Warnings: murder, violence, blood, smut: dom!harry, thigh riding, choking, praise kink, breeding kink

The shrill echo of a sharpened sword dragging against concrete announced the arrival of the lone warrior, stirring the ripples of shadows curling through the throne room and fuelling the whispers of terror warning her not to venture further. Night followed in her wake as her bloodied weapon etched stars in the dark, marbled floor of the building built off nightmares, the very essence of her power rolling off her body as rage coursed through her bloodstream at the sight of the figure sat atop his throne. Waiting.

Dark stories of the High Fae surrounded the golden throne, the ornate and intricate paintings shone through the shadows - depicting the cruel suffering his ancestors had inflicted upon the unfortunate common folk of Eroda. Every war, every rebellion and every battle for power the royal bloodline had successfully won filled all four walls of the gigantic room - embellished with gold to serve as a reminder to the unfortunate souls unlucky enough to kneel before the king that they never stood a chance.

The Fae King draped himself casually atop the ancient throne, his shadows humming through the walls, clawing at their invisible shackles in an attempt to strangle the woman for approaching the King so brazenly. But he remained unbothered, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as his emerald eyes soaked in her appearance. Everything about his demeanour was the least bit regal, as if he was merely a young prince playing up to a title, he would one day inherit, even his crown lay crooked atop his mess of curls. He maintained slouched against the throne while she approached, almost as if it burdened him to be cursed with such beauty his entire immortal life and the warrior scoffed at such petty vanity the King harboured.

But despite such a relaxed demeanour, the woman knew of the horrors that lay behind those gorgeous green eyes. This man was lethal, his shadows alone could smother the entire room in seconds, killing her instantly if she let her starlight dim under his watch.

Sweat and blood smeared across her dark skin, twinkling like stars as the rows of candles flickered in the breeze that swept through the building upon her entrance. Every slow, confident step forward made it harder for her to keep control of her power, tendrils of night eager to land a lethal strike.

"My, my, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." He purred, his sharp gaze dragging down her body to take in her blood-soaked armour with amusement. Swirls of shadows snaked their ways around his forearms, summoned silently by the King as a reminder of his potential power and to intimidate the Fae assassin refusing to bow at his feet.

It had been years since she had seen his face and as much as she hated to admit it, he still looked just as beautiful as when she'd left. His thick curls were shorter, no longer dusting the tops of his shoulders but sat messily atop his head in a way that emphasised his sharp jawline. Her brown eyes flared with specs of starlight as she forced herself not to succumb to his beauty - it was how she'd gotten tangled up in this mess in the first place and she couldn't afford to let him charm her again. Not when the fate of the entire kingdom rested upon her shoulders.

The shadow's whispers seemed to fall silent while the King taunted the warrior, waiting with bated breath for her to react to his cunning words.

"The little assassin returns." Harry mused softly. His legs swung over the arm of the chair so that he swivelled around to sit properly, his knees parted as he leaned forward with a sinister smirk. "I must admit, twenty years to seek out an oracle is a little excessive, is it not Odile?"

Every sentence that rolled off his tongue was meticulously planned, specifically chosen to tempt her into giving in to the rage he could see flowing through her bloodstream. The assassin felt her grip tighten around the handle of her weapon, a deep breath rattling her chest as she refused to let him affect her. The King chuckled lowly, emerald eyes darkening slightly they flickered over her body once more.

"And no babe in your arms, either." He mocked, shaking his head condescendingly as he stared at Odile's tense form, "What a wasted journey."

Odile fought the urge to stiffen at the reminder of the past, of her old self who was so foolishly naive and trusting in the Fae King that she wandered blindly into the forest twenty years ago seeking confirmation of a life she thought she wanted. But the answers she found were not what she expected. And judging by Harry's proud smirk, he too knew the prophecy that was handed to her instead - one that had changed her forever.

No longer was she a shy, timid woman that remained blindsided by the true extent of the King's powers. She was Eroda's assassin and she was here to kill the treacherous bastard that had reigned for far too long.

"Look at you, burning with rage." A deep chuckle rumbled in Harry's chest, only making Odile's power ripple with anger. Tendrils of night rolled off her body, inching their way closer to the throne where speckled starlight waited to strike the King's shadows. "I think I like this new you, it's more...enticing."

Honeyed words dripped off his tongue and Odile had to force herself to keep her eyes locked on his, resisting the urge to glance down at her feet under his intense glare. He knew exactly the right thing to say to charm people, to get them on his side and that was the exact reason she was in this position in the first place. But she refused to fall for it any longer, he was a brutal murderer and she wouldn't let him continue the vicious cycle for centuries to come. The prophecy would end here today. By her hand.

The Kingdom of Eroda shall fall by the hands of darkness if not stopped by the light. Centuries of bloodshed and corruption will end when stars and shadows join once more and create shadowed starlight. The palace will stand tall among the ashes, ready to rebuild a world that was lost to evil- a world where the stars will shine anew.

"You deserve to die for what you've done." Odile's voice was steady and confident, revenge dominating every inch of her body and making her eyes darken with deadly intent.

"What I've done?" Harry snickered lightly, no sense of remorse at all. "I think we should start with what you've done, darling."

The ripples of shadows swirling around his hands slowly drifted towards her, snaking their way around her feet and up her legs as the King took in her bloodied appearance. Crimson soaked her leather armour, splashed across her skin and drenched her locs but not a single drop of it was hers. Odile was untouched, unharmed and standing tense as the shadows settled around her neck - the ghost of Harry's touch taunting her with the possibility of what he could do.

A chill ran down her spine as her breath caught in her throat at the feeling of his power calling to hers, her inner starlight singing to the shadows and threatening to give in to him once more. She had felt these shadows brush against her skin many times before, but she refused to give in to their touch - not when the prophecy rang clear in her mind.

"Your governors are dead by my hand. They serve Hel now." She announced coldly, allowing her eyes to flare white with starlight so the King could see the threat she posed to his position on the throne - reminding him she was no longer the timid woman he knew twenty years ago. She felt his shadows squirm slightly as her power surged but the King remained relaxed. "You are next to join them."

"Well, you have been busy, haven't you?" He mused, sitting up straight in his throne and finally taking this seriously. It appeared the threat on his life was something to worry about.

No doubt he had heard whispers of the assassin rampaging through his lands the past two decades, training in the woods for the mission of a lifetime before hunting down every corrupt government official that served under the King. All of them were attacked when they least expected, brutally murdered and their bodies hung outside their houses as a warning to those that remained.

No longer would the poor be squeezed for every piece of copper they owned, no longer would the King's guards turn a blind eye to crime and no longer would the black-market fuel the underworld of illegal drugs and fighting rings. Eroda could go back to being the beautiful land, enriched with magic and beauty like the history books had once reported to the world.

All that was left was for the King to fall and the prophecy would be changed.

"I applaud you for your success, my darling. But I must address the little fault in your plan."

"If you intend to beg for your life then you underestimate my power." Odile's hand gripped the leather handle of her sword and carried a certain lightness in her feet as she prepared herself for the attack. Her best bet was to keep him talking, his ego was his downfall and all Odile had to do was catch him when his guard was down.

She was going to slit his throat where he sat and sit on the throne soaked with his blood as the Queen of Eroda - ready to rebuild the kingdom to its former glory.

"Not at all, Odile. I have always known what power you possess; you were just too blind to see it." His words were cocky, full of confidence that he shouldn't have in such a moment before his death. For many, it would be unnerving but for Odile it only made her all the more determined. "I simply intend to ask how you think the prophecy will play out when you kill your mate."

Odile felt her heart lurch at the reminder that the beautiful man in front of her was in fact her mate, the person fate decided was her other-half for all eternity - the person that completed her soul. When she had first met him twenty years ago, their bond snapped into place the moment their eyes locked and everything in her life seemed to fall into place. She was given a purpose, a lover and someone that mirrored her level of devotion.

Her love had blinded her from seeing what a despicable man Harry truly was, that was until the Oracle allowed her to see what she had been oblivious to the entire time. The bond still hummed within her, urging her to embrace his love after such time apart. The pining had almost driven her mad at first, unable to block out her power calling out to him at all hours of the day. Her magic needed him and his shadows needed hers. It would bring such pain to her heart to live on while her mate was killed - their bonded souls torn apart for the rest of eternity.

"You may be my mate and my husband, but I reject anything that binds me to such a cold-hearted leader as you. I would live with such pain knowing I had saved thousands from your blighted power."

Suddenly, bright starlight flooded the throne room, Odile's light bouncing off the golden accents of the entire room and blinding the King in an instant. His shadows recoiled with a hiss, leaving Harry unprotected long enough for the assassin to spring into action. One minute she was standing tall in front of the throne, the next she was straddling her mate's lap, pinning his shoulders against the back of the throne with the bloodied blade of her weapon digging uncomfortably into his neck.

Stars melted around them, revealing the rage filled warrior to the King so he could truly see her now. Honey brown eyes had darkened with anger, tendrils of night snaked up Harry's arms and pinned him in place so he could do little to overpower her.

Blood smeared against the King's face as Odile's left hand gripped his jaw, bringing her face so close to his that their lips almost touched.

Harry's pink lips curled upwards at the closeness of his wife, the twenty years of silent pining for her return finally silenced under her touch. Albeit because she was holding a sword to his throat and threatening his life. But he wasn't worried, he knew she still loved him dearly and had felt the same hollowness in her heart while she was away.

"I am not the man you think I am."

"It is your shadows the prophecy speaks of; you are the dark hands that have tainted this kingdom with corruption." She spat, starlight fizzling off her body and landing in sparks on the floor around her. Harry's eyes drifted down to glance at her lips before meeting her intense stare once again - he'd be lying if he said this new side to her wasn't turning him on.

"You are my lover and with your death Eroda will finally be free."

"I have protected this kingdom for five-hundred years, darling. You truly haven't worked it out yet, have you? We're supposed to save Eroda together. Why do you think I sent you out to the Oracle that day?"

No matter how much she tried to hide her confusion at her mate's words, there was little she could do to suppress the frown that tugged at her brows.

Harry had not sent her to seek out an Oracle, she had done that herself. She had thought she was pregnant and went to ask for confirmation that she was carrying the future heir to Eroda's throne. Secrecy was key if she truly was with child, the last thing she wanted was for rival kingdoms finding out and putting her and her baby's lives in danger. Odile hadn't even mentioned anything to her maid before she slipped out of the palace under the cover of darkness - how Harry had found out she had no idea.

"I never told you I thought I might be pregnant. You didn't send me anywhere."

"You think those books about royal bloodlines just appeared on my nightstand out of nowhere? You think the fact you overheard the royal reports about an Oracle causing havoc in the forest was a coincidence?" Harry's demeanour shifted for the first time since Odile had returned, no longer teasing her but completely serious. "I planted that idea into your head, Odile. I knew what the Oracle would tell you and I needed you to hear it. Because you held the power to save Eroda."

Harry shifted slightly under Odile's thighs, straining against her power and glancing down at the sword pressed against his neck uncomfortably.

"Darling, you already saved us. The darkness has been eradicated." Harry explained softly, making Odile's restraints falter long enough for him to free his hands, his warm touch ghosting her thighs as he rubbed them slowly. "Please, put the sword down.

"Y-you're the darkness. You rule over the kingdom, it's your fault corruption has plagued these lands. This room itself lays testament to the centuries of pain you and your family have inflicted on people."

"Odile, I've always wanted to be different from my ancestors, it sickens me to be surrounded by the monstrosities they carried out under my family name. I have dreamt of a kingdom that was filled with magic and laughter since I was a boy but that was not the plan of my father. He changed the laws of the council so I would not influence their decisions over my people, I became a King by title but with no power." Harry's voice carried a sense of vulnerability within it that Odile had only ever heard when she was with him. To others he maintained an air of arrogance within himself but with her, he was completely different. "I sought out the Oracle two hundred years ago, hoping for a way to save Eroda and that is when I learnt of the prophecy. Of you."

Odile's mind was reeling. She had spent twenty years with only the words that the Oracle had told her to understand the gravity of the situation thrust upon her. She had asked for an explanation, some kind of guidance but little was given outside the prophecy recounted throughout history. Hate had been forced to fester in her heart towards her husband - her mate - and that kind of pain was almost impossible to cope with.

"How can I believe you?"

Harry's lips twitched upwards slightly with a coy smirk, his eyes darkening in the way Odile recognised far too well. His touch grew stronger against her thighs, trailing closer to the place he knew she wanted him but was too stubborn to admit. He could sense her arousal from the moment she'd straddled his lap, no doubt fighting the memories of being in such a position countless times before.

"Because you're my mate and I know in your heart you feel this is right." Harry whispered lowly, leaning in slightly so that his lips ghosted against hers. The sharp blade of her sword dug harder into his skin, no doubt leaving a mark but he didn't care, not when he finally got to touch his mate after pining for her these past twenty years.

Odile gasped slightly in surprise as his lips finally met hers, warmth flooding through her body as she let her husband kiss her with as much love as he physically could. Their lips moved in sync together, the blade at Harry's throat slipping slightly as Odile let her focus drift to how perfect this moment felt. Her heart was thumping erratically in her chest, finally at peace after being torn apart by such distance for so long.

Misted shadows curled around the pair, ghosting touches along Odile's soft neck in a way that made her moan in anticipation while Harry's palms continued to tease the tops of her thighs, occasionally brushing her warm arousal over the top of her fighting leathers. Gods, she'd missed this. No matter how much she'd tried to hate him the last twenty years, she'd always drift into the land of dreams where his touch would be waiting for her. She'd dream of riding his cock once more, hearing his grunts of pleasure ring into the night as she pleasured herself until years of pining was eventually satisfied.

"Look at you, giving in so easily. I knew you'd see sense." Lustful amusement hung off every word that escaped Harry's lips. "Let me fuck you, baby. Ride my cock and claim your throne."

And then it suddenly hit Odile - this was what the prophecy had spoken of this entire time.

The Kingdom of Eroda shall fall by the hands of darkness if not stopped by the light.

She had been the one to murder the corrupt governors and her starlight had sung her victory every time. Nobody was left to rule over the kingdom and so the laws were now irrelevant, all power was now reinstated to the crown. Harry was free to be the ruler that Eroda had desperately needed for thousands of years.

Centuries of bloodshed and corruption will end when stars and shadows join once more and create shadowed starlight.

Odile had previously thought it meant the final death must be Harry's, a final test to eradicate the plague of shadows over the kingdom before she could build Eroda from scratch. But with how things were currently playing out, it appeared to be referencing the passions of reunited lovers, perhaps about to conceive the first heir to the new world she had secured for the future.

The palace will stand tall among the ashes, ready to rebuild a world that was lost to evil- a world where the stars will shine anew.

The loud clatter of metal against marble echoed about the throne room as the weapon finally tumbled from Odile's grasp to rest at the foot of the throne. Harry groaned in relief, rolling his head back slightly to stretch his neck out now he was no longer restricted, the harsh red mark of the blade standing prominent against his skin. Odile's hands cupped her lover's cheeks, smashing her lips into his as she ground her hips into his with a breathy moan as she gave in to her desire.

This was what she wanted, just her and Harry reunited once more and ready to rule Eroda by each other's side.

"Make me your Queen, Harry." She panted breathlessly, barely pulling apart from the King as she spoke her final demand. "Knock me up, give yourself an heir."

Harry's eyes darkened as his powers rumbled with desire, a lustful smirk appearing on his lips as he took in Odile's demands - his mind running rampant with all the possible ways to pleasure his mate after so long apart. He'd dreamed of the day he'd once more feel her wet cunt around his heavy cock, gorgeous tits bouncing in his face while her screams of pleasures rang out through the entire palace.

"You gonna be my good girl, yeah?" He breathed out, hands already trailing upwards to claim her body as his. Brushing her long, bloodied locs over her shoulder, Harry's lips met the exposed skin of her neck, sucking gently as his palms squeezed her heavy breasts. Odile squirmed in his lap in desperate need of some friction against her aching core, revelling in the feeling of her mate's hard cock brushing against her cunt through the layers of clothing in the way. "Bet you're dripping for me, aren't you?"

Odile whimpered at Harry's voice so deep and oozing with seduction, frantically nodding in agreement as she felt his hand slip down the waistband of her leather pants to confirm what he already knew. A soft hum of satisfaction vibrated against her skin as Harry continued to mark up her neck, his fingers toying with her wet folds while Odile was rendered breathless with desire. Speckled starlight flickered from her fingers as she tugged at her husband's curls, head tipping back slightly as she allowed him to take his claim over her body.

Her mind was a blur, uncontrollable whimpers escaped her lips as she rocked against Harry's fingers - chasing the pleasure that was already building in her core.

"Undress, Odile." The King's demand was clear, his fingers quickly removed from Odile's trousers as he pulled back to watch her carefully. The assassin let out a frustrated groan as the building wave subsided, her fingers desperately tearing at her leathers to obey her husband's instructions. The quicker she acted, the better behaved she was, the sooner she'd get to ride his cock. "Need you naked on my lap."

The moment her top hit the floor, Harry's eyes flicked downwards to take in her bare breasts, free from blood and tempting him with their perfection. He watched silently as they bounced slightly as Odile unbuttoned her trousers, lifting her hips off of Harry slightly so she could pull them off completely - exposing her naked cunt for him to admire. Ripples of shadows snaked up her body, teasing her hard nipples before settling around her pretty neck, waiting for the command to choke her just the way she liked and Odile let out a soft moan in anticipation, knowing Harry was going to fuck her senseless at any moment.

"Look at you, my pretty Queen." He hummed softly, dark emerald eyes sweeping over Odile's naked body as if he was committing it to memory.

"If I am your Queen, I shall need a crown." Odile stated boldly, her hands already gripping the golden halo framing her husband's curls and lifting it from his head. A subtle moan rumbled deep in his chest as he watched her place his crown atop her locs.

His cock stiffened even more in the confines of his trousers at the sight of his wife wearing nothing but the golden crown on her head, desire overtook him and he knew he couldn't drag this out like he'd originally planned.

"Now fuck me, my King. Show me how much you missed me." Odile gripped Harry's jaw, her brown eyes locked onto his green with such intent in an attempt to get him to submit. But that was not Harry, he did not submit to anyone - not even his mate. He smirked playfully as she felt his shadows squeeze her neck, restricting the air just enough to make her head go the perfect amount of fuzzy.

"You want my cock, then take it, sweetheart. It's all yours." Settling back against his ornate throne, he watched as Odile set to work unbuttoning his trousers and freeing his length from the confines of his pants. She didn't care he was still fully clothed, all she cared about was finally getting to fuck her mate after years of pining after this exact moment.

He hissed softly as she took him in her hand, tugging slowly at his cock just enough to tease him with pleasure as she ground her pussy against his thick thigh. Wetness seeped into the material of his trousers, leaving a patch of arousal as she continued to get herself off before taking what she really wanted. Breathless pants filled the air as the pair of them got lost in pleasure, blurts of precome collected on the dark skin of Odile's hand like sparkling pearls while Harry's shadows created a necklace of darkness around her pure neck.

Harry's mouth suddenly enveloped Odile's left nipple, teeth grazing softly over her skin as he sucked at her breast perfectly positioned in front of her face. The rhythm of her hips became uneven as she whimpered with sensitivity, already feeling herself hurtling towards the edge after such a long time of nothing.

"H-Harry..."

Stars and shadows snaked around the throne as both their powers were released from its confines, the bond between them growing the further Harry and Odile fell into their pleasure and healing their shattered souls.

"So, close, sweetheart. Such a good girl f'me." Harry mumbled breathlessly, obviously struggling just as much as his wife to last much longer. "Come on my thigh, darling. Let go."

And that was all it took for her to tumble over the edge, hips stilling as she came all over Harry's thigh. Her head tipped back as a loud moan escaped her lips, bright stars filling the room and almost blinded Harry as he watched her gorgeous features scrunch up in pleasure - a sight he had only dreamed of for twenty years. His own release followed almost instantly, spurting up his clothed torso as Odile's pretty moans filled his ears like his favourite melody.

"Fuck-" He choked on his own moans, unable to talk properly as he struggled to stop his power from clouding his mind and rendering him completely speechless. "Perfect girl, so perfect, sweetheart."

Slumped against her husband's body, Odile peppered gentle kisses along his exposed, sweaty collarbones - delicate fingers trailing over the inked swallows that were left on display after the material had fallen open in all the pleasure.

"Made a mess all over me." He chuckled lightly, running his hand over her thighs as he took in the wetness on his trousers. Instead of blushing with embarrassment, Odile simply raised her hand that was covered in her husband's come and made a show of licking it up with a satisfied smirk. The sight of her tongue dragging along the back of her hand, savouring the taste of his release made Harry's cock twitch once more as he felt himself grow half hard with every lick.

"And you." She hummed, "Just as desperate, darling. You're not kidding anyone."

Her hips began to grind against his both of them still sensitive to touch but neither caring. Odile needed to sit on Harry's cock and feel him fill her up for the rest of eternity - she'd been empty for too long and now she needed to satisfy her hunger.

Taking him in her hand once more, Odile lifted herself up just enough to position him at her entrance. Hungry eyes watched her eagerly as Harry waited for the bliss of feeling her tightness envelope him completely - both of them sighing with pleasure as their hips joined once more.

Shadows curled around Odile's wrists, forcing them upwards so that her hands tangled in Harry's messy curls in a silent demand before settling around her neck to choke her. Her head was spinning with lust at the feeling of Harry's power constricting the amount of air she could take in, all while revelling in being full to the brim with his aching cock. Their lips smashed together, tongues dancing in each other's mouths as she began to ride her husband with an eager rhythm, hands tugging at his curls just as the King liked it. Deep moans escaped his lips, filling the air as his hands gripped her butt tightly, helping her to grind harder against him for both their pleasure.

"So tight, so wet, sweetheart." Harry panted into the kiss, bucking up into her pussy to hit the sweet spot inside her. "Missed this perfect cunt."

"Harder, make me scream!" Odile pleaded as a dull ache settled in her thighs with all the effort it was taking to ride his cock with such energy. She needed him to take her, to fuck her so hard she saw stars and he was more than happy to oblige - but not without a little teasing first.

"Knew you wouldn't kill me, darling." He chuckled slowly in between trailing sloppy kisses along her collarbone towards her heavy breasts. His thumb teased her clit, rubbing slow circles to add to the building tension at her core that made her such a moaning mess. "Need my cock too bad, don't you?"

A sharp snap of his hips timed perfectly with her hips bouncing down on his cock filled her even deeper, causing a loud moan to echo about the room unexpectedly, only proving Harry right.

"Who else would fuck you this good, leave you screaming like I can?" He smirked against Odile's skin as her sounds of pleasure continued to ring out across the room, allowing his shadows to ghost over every inch of her body and enhance every delicate touch he was giving her. "You'd miss the warmth of my cock for all eternity."

"Uh-huh, you. Only you, baby." She replied breathlessly, unable to focus properly as her hips began to stutter. Sweat sparkled like glitter on her dark skin, making her appear like starlight itself, all gorgeous and addictive. Harry's cock ached at the sight, his chest heaving with desire as he let his shadows tangle with the stars rippling from her body, both their releases rapidly approaching with little warning.

"Look at you, so full of me." The King grunted with each powerful thrust upwards, his fingers digging into her hips so hard as he helped guide her cunt onto his cock there was no doubt bruises would be left in their wake. "Taking me like a good girl."

"All yours, belong to you!" Odile whimpered, her vision going blurry as she was practically blinded by the tight coil of pleasure that was threatening to explode at any second. With Harry's shadows wrapped tightly around her neck, his sharp thrusts timed perfectly to hit her g-spot and his ghosted touch on her clit, the woman could barely sit up straight - her forehead resting on Harry's shoulder for support as he helped her reach her peak.

"Harry-" Her moan was immediately cut off by another sharp thrust from Harry's hips, the King recognising all the signs that she was seconds from toppling over the edge. Her hips bucked frantically as she chased the rising feeling in her core, heavy pants filling the air between them as the pair turned animalistic in chasing their high.

"I know, sweetheart. Come for me darling." Harry demanded; his voice thick with lust as he felt ready to burst. "Soak my cock, milk me dry."

Shadowed starlight tore through the room as pleasure peaked in perfect waves, slamming into the walls and crumbling the dark paintings into tiny pieces. Their pleasured moans mixed together in a delightful tune as they rode out their highs, Odile collapsing into Harry's arms as her body felt weak after such a powerful orgasm. Soft kisses were pressed against her sweaty forehead as Harry's soft touch rubbed her shoulder soothingly.

Wrapped up in each other's warmth, with his cock still buried deep within his mate, Harry finally felt the peace he'd dreamt of since taking the throne five hundred years ago.

Centuries of terror and bloodshed was over. It was time to start anew.

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #smut #dom harry styles #fantasy #fantasy au #poc characters #king!harry #faerie #fae!harry

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woahiwrite · 1 year ago

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hello!! i saw you were taking requests and wanted to send one!! i’ve been binge reading your headcanons too!! you’re such a good writer 🫶🏼

i was wondering if you could do kenshi with a princess! reader please 😵✨💗 thank you and i hope you have a good one!

Kenshi x Princess!Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of blood, not very graphic, no actual injuries to reader or any of the kast. Reader is female and described as just shorter than Kenshi. For the purpose of the story the tournament spans over a few months, I'd say 4 to 6, just for it to not feel like Kenshi and Reader fell for eachother in like 3 weeks[I don't know how long the tournament is but that is how it felt in the game]. Open ending

Thank you for enjoying my writing, you have a good one as well! For story reasons I decided to come up with another realm for the reader to be princess of, also because this ask gave me so much muse I came up with a bunch of lore too so I apologize if this isn't quite what you had in mind😭. I might make this into something more if enough people want it and I find myself with enough motivation to do so. I quite enjoyed this ask and I think it shows.

• As Princess of Warrealm, you were no stranger to kombat

• There was once a time when your realm had been prosperous, teeming with life, a true paradise

• Though that was before your birth, before your parents' birth, something you only read about in the history books

• Knowing you would be in danger if raised in your home realm, your parents sent you to Outworld, to be raised as Sindel's ward until you were old enough to join your family and hopefully break the millennium long state of war that plagued your realm

• First, you must learn how Sindel ruled and learn how to fight, training under Li Mei and one of the royal guard from your own realm

• As you came of age, you spent more time in Warrealm, participating in battles when permitted, and trying to come up with strategies to hopefully get a breakthrough

• This, is when Kenshi saw you for the first time

• Sindel had just finished her introduction of the tournament, her lips just parting as she went to welcome forth Liu Kang

• When suddenly, her eyes drifted over, and she seemed to still

▪︎ "Woah, who is that?"

• Hearing Johnny's question, Kenshi turned to follow his gaze, and he immediately found himself intrigued, though also concerned

• Strutting forward, bloodied spear in hand, you made your way towards the throne, your skin dripping, and clothes soaked, with crimson

• Sindel watched you approach, ignoring the worried glances from Kitana and Mileena as you knelt before the steps

▪︎ "Empress, I am sorry for this interruption."

▪︎ "Do not worry yourself, I have been awaiting your return, you are unharmed?"

▪︎ "Yes, Empress."

• Sindel seemed to visibly relax, and she nodded her head with a small smile

▪︎ "Good, go clean yourself up, the tournament will begin soon."

• You stood, turning swiftly, before walking out of the throne room without so much as a glance spared to anyone else

• Bloodied footsteps trailed behind you, leaving Kenshi to wonder if it may stain the pristine white floors, and if so, why Sindel didn't seem mad you did so

• He did not see you again until the banquet that night

• You were seated beside him, looking amused at the disgusted side glances he sent towards Kung Lao and the slightly worried ones he gave to his own plate

▪︎ "The food of Outworld is not much too different than that served in Earthrealm, it will not harm you."

• Kenshi looked at you in shock, and then quickly shook his head

▪︎ "That isn't it at all, Princess."

• It was your turn to be shocked

▪︎ "Pardon?"

▪︎ "Oh, are you not one? I had assumed because of how close you had seemed with the royal family."

▪︎ "I am, just..not from Outworld. A story for a later date, perhaps. My story won't provide much entertainment to your dinner."

▪︎ "I'm not that hungry."

• You gave him an apprehensive look, before nodding your head

• You explained to him the history of your Realm, unsure as to if he would know it or not

• That Warrealm was once called Idyllrealm, and that it was once a place unlike any other

• Some from Chaosrealm had came and formed their own battalions, hellbent on taking down the royal family so that Idyllrealm could be a true paradise, another realm gloriously free like their own

• The war seemed never-ending, as people became corrupt by Chaosrealm ideals

• Idyllrealm received little aid even with their good relations with Outworld

• As time went on, Idyllrealm was better termed as Warrealm, for the battles that waged on constantly

▪︎ "So, Outworld is like a safe haven for you?"

▪︎ "Precisely."

• Kenshi was further intrigued by you then, there was just so much to learn from you

• To learn about you

• He could relate with you on wanting to free your people from corruption, and if he wasn't so focused on saving his Clan, he would've offered his aid to you right then and there

• Though, he didn't know how much of a help he would be without any abilities to aid in such warfare with people who seemed to come out of fantasy stories

• But to say it was love at first sight would be incorrect

• It was more admiration

• Though that admiration didn't take very long to turn into love

• You had found Kenshi attractive, not just for his looks, but his personality and his goal that was so similar to yours

• You didn't really realize, but the both of you quickly became good friends

• Even despite the Earthrealmers taking victory after victory in the tournament, you felt no ill will towards them

• If anything, you almost rooted for them to win

• Outworld did not need any battle, and you knew General Shao did enjoy the thrill of bloodshed, he had even aided in a few battles in Warrealm

• So if Earthrealm won, the realms would stay in peace, and it would allow you to keep your mind set

• After all, if Outworld fell into war, you would almost feel obligated to fight alongside them

• Most of your life was spent there, after all

• Though to take your minds off those thoughts, you always could talk with Kenshi

• He told you about life in Earthrealm, and you told him about life in Outworld

• You'd often share drinks together, sometimes alone, sometimes with the company of the other Earthrealmers

• They all liked to hear your stories

• (You ignored the flirtatious comments by the one who went by Johnny Cage)

• It was all good and fun

• You made friends with the Earthrealmers, and even sparred with them whenever you all wanted to

• Of course, you hid this knowledge from Sindel, Mileena, and Kitana

• You didn't know if they would accept any sort of relations with those of Earthrealm outside of the tournament

• Even ones as innocent as friendship

• Though you knew you wanted more than that with the swordsman

• As time continued to pass, and the tournament grew closer to its end, you found yourself growing dreary

• Kenshi felt the same

• It showed in one of your nights basking in the moonlight, drinks in hand, staring out over the city

▪︎ "Raiden fights General Shao and Princess Mileena in a few days."

▪︎ "Are you worried for him?"

▪︎ "Not quite, I think he'll be fine. He is the champion for a reason."

▪︎ "Then why do you sound so somber?"

▪︎ "I'll miss the view here in Outworld, it's quite..beautiful."

• Glancing over at him, you found Kenshi to already be looking at you

▪︎ "Outworld is home to many of my fondest memories. I find myself making new ones a lot more, recently. Some fonder than others."

• Stepping closer to you, Kenshi slightly leaned against the railing as he looked down at you, the distant explosions from fireworks reflecting in his gaze

▪︎ "What are your favorite ones?"

▪︎ "How about I show you?"

• Feeling his hand come up to cup the side of your face, your hand gripped the side of his suit jacket, keeping him close as your lips pressed together

• The kiss was more passionate than you had expected, your heart thudding in your chest as you stepped even closer to him

• When you pulled apart, you were both left breathless

• Tongue briefly darting out to lick your lips, you smiled up at him as he did down to you

▪︎ "There, my most loved memory yet."

▪︎ "I'm glad I made the list, though I hope I won't have to become a memory."

• You huffed, pulling back from him but dragging your hand down until you held his hand in yours

▪︎ "Hopefully not."

#mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat x reader #kenshi takahashi x reader #kenshi takahashi headcanons #woahiwrite

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and-justice-for-zoisite · 1 year ago

Text

𝒞𝑜𝓈𝓂𝒾𝒸 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 - Part 3 (Fujin x Tsung! Reader)

Official Masterlist

Summary: After her last fight with her father, (Y/n) has been plagued with paranoia that something else bad will happen. This would prove right, as, like what happened with Kitana and Mileena, his father had an ulterior motive to replace her.

Word Count: 6.5K Words

"You dare return to me without (Y/n)?!?!"

Shang Tsung had been reluctant to return to Shao Kahn at all, given he couldn't carry out his exact orders of bringing his own daughter back to Outworld. Though, he wouldn't have returned at all had he not had an alternative to offer the emperor.

"You are a disgrace sorcerer!! I'll have you executed-"

"With all due respect, emperor," Shang Tsung cut the angry man off, holding a halting hand up in front of himself, "I did not return empty handed."

Intrigued, Shao Kahn allowed himself to calm down, as he waited patiently for Shang to continue.

"While I was not able to obtain (Y/n), I was able to create something...much more powerful."

Shang Tsung turned to his side, as though he was signalling for someone to come forward.

From the shadows, emerged someone. They didn't just walk out of the shadows, it seemed that they were a part of the shadows - like they wielded them. They made themself known, their figure and face reminiscent of (Y/n) though their skin was much paler, and was covered in ancient symbols.

They approached Shang Tsung, and he placed a hand on their shoulder, once again turning toward Shao Kahn with an evil smirk plastered to his lips.

"Emperor, this is my daughter," he introduced her. "Her name is Kexin Tsung."

The lady bowed in his presence, graceful and delicate, though anyone could sense the malicious intent which emanated off of her.

Shao Kahn's eyes narrowed as he observed the figure before him. There was an unsettling aura that surrounded Kexin Tsung, a sense of darkness and power that both intrigued and disturbed the emperor.

"Interesting," Shao Kahn mused, his voice laced with curiosity. "So, this is your creation, Shang Tsung? A twisted reflection of your daughter?"

Shang Tsung nodded, revelling in the attention he garnered from the emperor.

"Indeed, Emperor. Kexin possesses great potential, far surpassing that of her original counterpart. She is a vessel of dark magic and ancient knowledge, moulded to serve your ambitions. She has been spliced with that of an Oni."

Kexin remained silent, her gaze fixed upon Shao Kahn. Her eyes, a haunting shade of crimson, bore into his soul, as if she could see through his façade and into the depths of his darkest desires. She exuded an air of both obedience and dangerous independence, making her intentions difficult to discern.

Shao Kahn contemplated their proposition, weighing the potential benefits and risks of accepting Kexin into his ranks. The allure of possessing such a powerful and malleable force was enticing, yet he could not shake off the underlying unease that gripped him.

Though, given how successful of a creation his own daughter, Mileena had been, he felt less reluctant to turn this away.

"Very well, Shang Tsung," Shao Kahn finally spoke, his deep voice resonating throughout the chamber. "If this creation of yours possesses even a fraction of the power you claim, then she shall be welcomed into my ranks. Serve me faithfully, Kexin Tsung, and you shall be rewarded."

Kexin's lips curled into a sly smile, revealing a glimmer of satisfaction.

"I am yours to command, Emperor," Kexin responded, her voice carrying a chilling confidence. "I shall prove my loyalty and fulfil your desires."

Shao Kahn felt his own sense of satisfaction wash over him, and he allowed a flicker of a smirk come to his lips before a more pressing matter made itself evident in his mind.

"(Y/n) is still out there, and now that she has allied with our enemies, she poses a great threat to my throne," he began, taking a seat back on the throne he spoke of. "You wish to prove your loyalty to me?"

"Bring me her head."

Ever since her encounter with her father and his allies, (Y/n) had been on edge constantly. There wasn't a moment where she felt at peace any more, not a moment where she didn't let her guard down, even if only to eat or sleep.

Something told her that that wouldn't be the last time she saw him, as much as it seemed like that - and as much as she hoped that was the case. But she couldn't help but think on her very last moment with him, when he brushed past her hair.

It was such a nothing movement, yet...something within her told her that that moment alone would be the catalyst for something much bigger.

This was what had brought her back around to punching trees again, like she had before the tournament, before she even met Fujin. It was strangely comforting to her, to punch a tree until her hands were bleeding, until she was too tired to keep going. Even if it was a physically self-destructive training method, she would still do it - she didn't know what else to do.

The physical pain she inflicted upon herself seemed insignificant compared to the emotional turmoil she carried. It was a way to ground herself, to feel something tangible amidst the chaos that threatened to consume her. The repetitive motion and the throbbing ache in her hands provided a temporary distraction from the weight of her father's actions and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

But even as (Y/n) unleashed her fury on the innocent trees, her mind couldn't escape the memories of her last encounter with her father. The way he brushed past her hair, a seemingly inconsequential gesture, now echoed with hidden meaning. It was a puzzle piece she couldn't quite fit into the larger picture, yet she knew it held significance.

She paused for a moment, her rapid breaths mingling with the rustling of leaves, as a gust of wind caressed her face. The breeze carried a faint whisper, as if the very essence of the forest sought to console her.

But it wouldn't work. Not this time, not today.

Taking a few steps back, she brushed some of the bark off of her bloody fist, and took fighting stance once more. She riled her fist up, ready to strike the tree once more. And as she ran at the tree, she let out an animalistic cry, and braced for the impact she would make with the tree.

Though it wouldn't come, as instead, her fist would land in someone's open hand. Fujin's hand. He looked unimpressed. Even when he had appeared out of nowhere, (Y/n) was unsurprised at his sudden appearance.

"You're going to break your hand," he warned her, his hold on her fist tight though he was careful of her wounds.

Feeling the resistance of Fujin's hand against her clenched fist, (Y/n) halted her forward momentum, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. The intensity of her frustration and anger still burned within her, but she recognized the concern in Fujin's eyes, the genuine care he held for her well-being.

"And what if I do?" she retorted, her voice laced with a mix of defiance and weariness. "What does it matter? A broken hand doesn't compare to any mental anguish within me."

"Your pain matters, (Y/n), both physical and emotional. But self-destruction won't lead you to the answers you seek. It will only perpetuate the cycle of suffering."

His words hung in the air, and (Y/n) found herself torn between her instinct to fight and the need to find a healthier path forward. The turmoil within her was palpable, visible in the way her shoulders slumped and her gaze wavered.

(Y/n) tore her bloody hand away from Fujin's, spinning around abruptly and stumbling over to the trunk of another tree. She dropped down, sitting against it, as she threaded her hands in her hair, holding her head as she sighed and allowed herself to breathe.

Fujin watched (Y/n) with a mix of understanding and concern. He knew that forcing her to change her mindset would be futile, for healing required time and personal realization. Instead, he took a step closer and sat down beside her, offering a supportive presence without intruding on her space.

Silence settled between them, the only sounds being the rustling leaves and (Y/n)'s ragged breaths. Fujin knew that the weight of her emotions was suffocating, threatening to drown her. But he also knew that she was resilient, and could overcome this and anything like it. He just wish that she knew that.

"I've seen the strength within you, (Y/n)," Fujin spoke softly, his voice carrying a comforting warmth. "You possess a resilience that is rare. I know it feels overwhelming right now, but I believe in your ability to overcome this darkness. You are a fine warrior."

He wrapped a gentle arm around her, and drew her in closer to him.

"You are my warrior."

(Y/n) instinctively leaned into him, finding solace in the warmth of his bigger body as she allowed her head to rest against him, taking in his scent as she always did when she was close to him. Fujin felt a sense of relief wash over him when she seemed to give in, even if only for the night. The way her body relaxed against him would always be a satisfying sight, though he knew they couldn't stay out there for much longer when the light was disappearing as quickly as it was.

"Won't you come inside with me, my feather?" Fujin asked, leaning back so he could look at her face properly. "It's getting dark. I'll fix up your hands and we'll make some dinner, alright?"

(Y/n) looked up at Fujin, her gaze meeting his as a faint smile played on her lips. She nodded in agreement, grateful for his care and concerned about the fading light. The thought of tending to her wounded hands and sharing a meal with him sounded comforting, a small respite from the turmoil that had consumed her.

With gentle movements, they disentangled themselves from each other's embrace and stood up. Fujin reached out a hand, offering it to (Y/n), and she took it without hesitation. They walked side by side, their fingers interlaced, as they made their way back through the forest toward the Sky Temple.

Inside, the soft glow of candlelight illuminated the cosy living space. The scent of incense lingered in the air, creating a serene atmosphere. She had began to find a comforting familiarity whenever she entered the temple, like the one she had felt a while ago when she lived with her father.

Fujin guided her to a comfortable seat, his movements gentle as he retrieved the supplies he would need to tend to his lover's battered hands, a basin of warm water, a towel and some bandages.

Sitting beside (Y/n), Fujin placed the basin of warm water in front of them, its soothing steam rising into the air. He unfolded the towel and carefully dipped it into the water, wringing it out before tenderly placing it over (Y/n)'s injured hands.

The warmth of the water enveloped her hands, easing the ache and tenderness she had ignored during her furious training. The sensation provided a stark contrast to the pain she had been inflicting upon herself, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to fully immerse in the healing process.

Fujin's touch was gentle as he held her hands, his fingers caressing the edges of her wounds with utmost care. His eyes were filled with unwavering focus, ensuring that every gesture was delicate and precise. It was a testament to his dedication to her well-being.

In the midst of the silence, the only sound that filled the room was the gentle trickle of water droplets as Fujin carefully rinsed away the dried blood. (Y/n) watched him work, captivated by the tenderness in his touch and the unwavering love she saw reflected in his eyes.

As Fujin finished tending to her wounds, he reached for the bandages, gently wrapping them around her hands with meticulous care. With each turn, he secured the bandages in place, ensuring both support and protection for her healing injuries.

"These bandages will serve as a reminder," Fujin said, his voice holding a quiet reassurance. "A reminder of your resilience and the battles you have faced. They will bear witness to your strength and serve as a symbol of your indomitable spirit."

(Y/n) nodded, her hands cradled in Fujin's as she gazed down at the bandaged wounds. The pain had subsided, replaced by a subtle throbbing sensation that served as a reminder of her journey. Her scars, both physical and emotional, were not a sign of weakness, but of her survival so far in this harsh, cruel world.

Standing up, Fujin extended a hand toward (Y/n), inviting her to rise with him.

"Now, how about that meal, then?"

The night was beginning to settle, and with that, as were (Y/n) and Fujin.

While (Y/n) sat at the vanity in their room, brushing her hair with the light of a candle by her to guide her in the dark, Fujin prepared for bed by changing clothes - he fancied a pair of loose fitting pants for bed, and nothing else.

As she watched his reflection in the mirror, she couldn't help but admire him as she always did. His toned figured, his glowing tattoos, his long hair which reached past his waist. He was simply too much.

His presence was magnetic, and even in the dim light, he seemed to emit an ethereal glow. His tranquil demeanour and unwavering strength never failed to captivate her.

Putting the brush down, she turned her body to face him fully, her eyes tracing the lines of his figure as he moved gracefully. The way he effortlessly exuded confidence and poise was both mesmerizing and intimidating. It was as if he had mastered the art of being both gentle and formidable at the same time.

"You're quite the sight, Fujin," (Y/n) murmured, her voice filled with admiration. "Sometimes it's hard to believe that someone like you exists."

Fujin met her gaze, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"And yet, here I stand," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of playfulness. "Although, you're not one to talk now, are you?"

Fujin's playful response elicited a playful grin from (Y/n), adding a spark of light-heartedness to the room.

"Sit on the bed, you," she told him, picking her hairbrush up once again and standing up herself, "I want to brush your hair."

Fujin chuckled at (Y/n)'s request, pleasantly surprised by her suggestion. He walked over to the bed and sat down. The anticipation gleamed in (Y/n)'s eyes as she joined him, settling behind him with the hairbrush in her hand.

First, she began undoing his long braid, pulling the silver rings out of his hair and unfolding each wrap which his hair was in, admiring the way his hair had formed waves from the way it had been.

Then carefully, she began running the brush through his long, flowing hair, her touch gentle and soothing. Each stroke sent a comforting sensation through Fujin, as if the tensions of the day were being eased away. He closed his eyes, revelling in the intimate moment they shared.

As (Y/n) continued to brush his hair, her fingers occasionally grazing against his scalp, she found herself lost in the rhythmic motion. It was an act of tenderness, a gesture of trust and intimacy that went beyond words. The room was filled with a serene silence, broken only by the faint sound of the brush gliding through his silky strands.

"You have the most beautiful hair," (Y/n) whispered, her voice filled with genuine admiration. "It's so soft and lustrous. Taking care of it must be a ritual in itself."

Fujin hummed in response, a contented smile gracing his lips.

"Indeed, it is," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of tranquillity. "Taking care of oneself is a form of self-respect and self-care. It allows us to reconnect with our inner selves and find balance in our lives."

(Y/n) nodded in agreement, her fingers delicately combing through a tangle.

"It's fascinating how something as simple as brushing hair can be so soothing," she mused. "It's like a meditation, a way to be fully present in the moment."

Fujin tilted his head slightly, appreciating her insight.

"You have a remarkable ability to find beauty and meaning in the simplest of things," he remarked, his voice filled with admiration. "It's one of the many qualities I adore about you."

The room was engulfed in a tranquil atmosphere as they continued their quiet exchange. The brush moved through Fujin's hair, each stroke a symbol of their connection, their trust, and their deep affection for one another. Time seemed to stand still, as if the outside world had ceased to exist, and all that mattered was this intimate act of love and care.

As all of the knots and imperfections were removed from his hair, (Y/n) ran her fingers through his silky white strands, a smile of satisfaction plastered to her lips as she set her brush down.

"Would you like me to braid it again for you?" she asked, readjusting the way she sat behind him. "If you wouldn't mind," he nodded. "I'd hate for it to get tangled again when you spent so much time brushing it just now."

(Y/n) nodded with a warm smile, her fingers gently separating his hair into sections as she prepared to braid it once more. She enjoyed this intimate ritual, knowing that it brought them closer together and allowed them to share a moment of tranquillity before they retired for the night.

Carefully, she intertwined the strands, her hands moving with practiced ease. The rhythmic motion of her fingers weaving through his hair became a comforting melody, soothing both of their souls. As the braid took shape, it seemed to symbolize their connection, an unbreakable bond that wove their lives together.

Fujin leaned back, feeling the gentle tug on his hair as (Y/n) secured the braid. The sensation brought a sense of peace and contentment, knowing that she was there, taking care of him in the most tender way.

"There we go," she whispered softly, her voice carrying a sense of satisfaction. "A perfect braid, just for you."

Fujin turned his head slightly to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, admiring the neat braid that (Y/n) had skilfully crafted. The braid lay elegantly against his back, a testament to her care and attention to detail.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude. "You always take such good care of me." "Of course I do," she giggled, tenderly wrapping her arms around his neck from behind as she pressed her nose into the side of his neck. "Why wouldn't I? When you take such good care of me."

Fujin leaned into her embrace, his heart swelling with warmth and love. He savored the feeling of her arms around him, her gentle presence enveloping him like a soothing embrace.

"It's a privilege to care for you," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "You bring so much light and joy into my life, and I want nothing more than to reciprocate that love and care."

He turned his head slightly, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. Their connection deepened in that moment, their love expressed through the softness of their touch. They sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, basking in the serenity and comfort of their love.

As they broke the kiss, their foreheads touched, their eyes locked in an intimate gaze. In that moment, words seemed unnecessary, as their love flowed between them, unspoken yet understood. They revelled in the tranquillity of their shared affection, knowing that in each other's arms, they had found their home.

It wasn't unusual that (Y/n) would find herself training with Fujin and Raiden, even when her skill had significantly improved over the course of the while she had known them and lived with them. It was important that she kept on top of her training and that she didn't let herself get sloppy in kombat, especially when she used to be such a reckless brute.

So there they all were, in the courtyard of the Sky Temple, Fujin watching intently as Raiden and (Y/n) sparred. The sound of their clashes echoed through the training grounds, filling the air with a mixture of determination and intensity.

Raiden's lightning surged forth, crackling with power as he unleashed a barrage of strikes, each one aimed with precision. (Y/n) expertly dodged and parried, her movements fluid and agile. She had come a long way since their first training sessions, her dedication and hard work evident in her improved kombat skills.

As they continued to spar, Fujin's gaze shifted between the two warriors, analysing their techniques and reactions. He observed the intricate dance of offense and defence, each fighter pushing themselves to their limits. The training session was not just about physical strength, but also mental fortitude and tactical decision-making.

(Y/n) had learned to harness her power and strike with purpose. No longer driven solely by raw strength, she had honed her combat instincts and adapted her style to become a more versatile fighter. Her movements were precise, her strikes calculated, and she demonstrated an impressive ability to exploit her opponents' weaknesses.

Even so, something seemed wrong, and he could tell that Raiden knew as well.

(Y/n) drove her bandaged fist at him, and Raiden caught her wrist, pausing the session momentarily.

"(Y/n), your progress is commendable," Raiden said, his voice resonating with authority. "But I sense hesitation in your movements. You must trust your instincts and act without hesitation. Embrace your training, and let your skills flow naturally."

(Y/n) took a deep breath, absorbing Raiden's words. She hadn't even really noticed any difference in her kombat, though she figured it must've been due to her overthinking considering her father, and all of her anxieties must have been having an impact on her performance.

She nodded, acknowledging his feedback. As he began letting go of her, she stepped forward and hooked one of her feet around one his ankles, pulling forward in an attempt to take him off of his feet. While he didn't fall, he did stumble ever so slightly, losing his balance a little and therefore his focus as well.

Raiden regained his balance quickly, impressed by (Y/n)'s swift counterattack. A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, acknowledging her resourcefulness.

With her great agility, she was able to pull off a nice back handspring to reset her kombat - perhaps a little over the top, but she was never one to shy away from showing off, especially when she could sense the smirk and the shake of the head from Fujin who knew she only did anything acrobatic to flash out her kombat.

She prepared herself for another attack, feeling her chest swell with mischief as she smirked devilishly at Raiden. This was the spirit she was missing within herself, and it was finally reflecting in her fighting again.

As she launched herself at Raiden, something went oh so horribly wrong.

Raiden watched as the look in her eyes changed, and before she could carry out her next movement, she cried out in pain, clutching her chest and falling to the ground.

She coiled in pain, and both Raiden and Fujin approached her, confused though most of all concerned.

Raiden and Fujin rushed to (Y/n)'s side, their worry evident in their eyes. They knelt beside her, their voices filled with urgency.

"(Y/n), what happened?" Raiden asked, his voice laced with concern. "Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

(Y/n) gasped for breath, her face contorted in pain as she struggled to speak. She could feel a sharp, stabbing sensation in her chest, rendering her unable to form coherent words. It felt as if an invisible force was constricting her, making it difficult to breathe.

Fujin pulled her back, cradling her in one arm while the other brushed the hair out of her face.

"Please, try to breathe my love," Fujin urged her, cupping her face in one hand.

"It's no use. Breathing, that is."

Fujin and Raiden looked up, trying desperately to find the source of the voice which spoke. It was unfamiliar, yet...they had heard it somewhere before, somehow.

Standing by a gathering of trees at the edge of the forest was a figure, though her identity was obscured by the shadows which surrounded her. They didn't seem to be any ordinary shadows however, it was as though they were at her command.

"I've constricted her breathing from the inside. No amount of silly little breathing exercises will save her."

Fujin didn't bother ask the woman's name and what exactly she wanted with (Y/n) just yet, deciding that it was obviously more important to get his lover breathing once again.

With his power, he performed somewhat of a kiss of life on (Y/n), parting her lips and placing his mouth against her open one, allowing a surge of oxygen to go through her. It was only a temporary solution, though it did get her breathing again, as she coughed and spluttered after he pulled away.

"Who are you?? And what is the meaning of this??" Raiden demanded, his voice booming with authority as he spoke.

"We have not yet met, Raiden. Though I do believe you will all recognise me in...some aspects."

The stranger emerged from her place amongst the trees, the shadows around her dispersing as she took slow, intimidating steps towards them. And as her face became clear to them all, they were all much too stunned to speak.

(Y/n) felt a sense of pure dread wash over her when she was met with her own face, her own body. But...it wasn't her. She was her. This was not her. What obviously set the two of them a part was the difference in the saturation of colour of their skin. (Y/n)'s skin was healthy and full of colour, but this stranger, her skin was ashy and dull and covered in ancient symbols of evil.

(Y/n) had been good friends with Mileena in the past. She knew exactly what this was.

The stranger bowed slightly, a glint of mischievous evil in her eyes.

"My name is Kexin Tsung. I'm here to replace (Y/n)…and bring her head to Shao Kahn."

They remained in a stunned silence for a moment longer, trying their hardest to gage the situation at hand.

With all the strength she could muster, (Y/n) managed to hoist herself up, with the assistance of Fujin who stood up with her, holding her so she would remain steady.

"...my...my father created you," she panted, nearly wheezing from not only her exertion from before but also the way she had been strangled from the inside. "He created you in the flesh pits, with my DNA." "He's our father now, (Y/n)," Kexin corrected her, her smirk condescending and evil. "Don't you see? We're sisters." "You are not my sister," (Y/n) protested, clenching her fists tightly. "You're a weapon, created with the sole purpose of mass destruction. You don't have the capacity nor the room in your heart for the concept of family."

Kexin Tsung's expression twisted into a malevolent sneer, her eyes burning with an unhinged fervour.

"Oh, but dear sister, you underestimate the power that courses through my veins," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "I am a perfect amalgamation of your DNA and the dark sorcery of our father. I possess all your strengths and none of your weaknesses. Together, we could have been unstoppable."

Kexin took a few steps closer, bearing her weapon which seemed to be a flashed out Chain whip which had been modified to her specific tastes, and her sneer returned to a smirk once again.

"Though, I have different orders now. Shao Kahn wants your head, and I plan to deliver it to him."

Fujin held (Y/n) close to him in a protective way. His eyes narrowed, filled with resolute and a flicker of wind swirling around him.

"You will not have it, Kexin," Fujin told her, his voice firm and unwavering. "We will not let you harm (Y/n)."

Kexin let out a mocking, hysterical burst of laughter, placing a hand over her chest as if she couldn't take it.

"Oh, dear. This is simply too good," she cackled, unable to contain herself. "Your lover thinks he can protect you from me, sister. Isn't that just precious?"

Her laughter subsided to little giggles, and she covered her mouth ever so slightly.

"Won't it be absolutely hysterical when he has to watch me tear your body apart? Though, I suppose you won't get to see that now, will you?"

Fujin's grip on (Y/n) tightened, and he felt rage fill his body for the first time in a long, long time. Though, before he could say anything in retaliation, Kexin lurched forward, her chain whip slashing through the air with a malevolent speed. Fujin swiftly stepped back, pulling (Y/n) out of harm's way, narrowly avoiding the deadly strike. The chain whip whistled past them, missing its intended target by mere inches.

Raiden summoned a surge of lightning, crackling and dancing along his fingertips. He directed the bolts towards Kexin, aiming to immobilize her and create an opening for his allies. But Kexin, showing remarkable agility, swiftly dodged the electrical onslaught, weaving through the charged currents with unnatural grace.

"Impressive," Kexin taunted, her voice dripping with derision. "But you'll need more than some silly magic tricks to defeat me."

She held her chain whip between both hands, and seemed to focus on it for only a moment, before it was surrounded by a dark magic, one which would no doubt make the weapon she wielded much more deadly.

Raiden took a step forward, electricity crackling along his form. He raised his hands, ready to summon a more potent surge of lightning, though this time he would allow himself to merge the attack with his kombat. Hastily, he made his first movement, a direct hit with his palm, though Kexin was quick to dodge it, bringing her chain whip around and aiming to hit Raiden in the head with it. He ducked when he noticed it coming, dodging the attack with ease. He seized the opportunity to retaliate, using his lightning-infused palms to launch a barrage of rapid strikes towards Kexin. The bolts of electricity crackled through the air, seeking to overwhelm her defences.

But Kexin, displaying her enhanced agility, maneuvered through the lightning strikes with astonishing speed and grace. She twisted and contorted her body, evading each attack with an uncanny precision. It was clear that her dark magic had heightened her reflexes and granted her an advantage in kombat.

Though, it was obvious what she was trying to do. She was trying to out manoeuvre Raiden to gain access to (Y/n). Neither of the storm brothers would have this.

Fujin was quick to swoop (Y/n) from off of her feet, his intentions with taking her elsewhere while he allowed Fujin to deal with the situation at hand.

He could sense the exhaustion in her body, and he wanted to ensure her safety and well-being away from the battlefield.

"I've got you," Fujin murmured softly, his voice filled with reassurance. "I'll find somewhere safe to take you. She will not have you."

Typically, (Y/n) hated when Fujin defended her, especially concerning personal matters like this. Though, as of now, she was much too tired to argue with him, and her control on her breathing was slipping again, making it hard for her to speak anyways.

He didn't want to have to separate her, especially when she was like this. However, how was he to protect her otherwise?

Fujin took her up into the temple, toward their shared room, hoping he could tuck her into bed and stay nearby, should she need any more immediate attention.

Carefully, Fujin laid (Y/n) on their bed, ensuring she was comfortable and secure. He adjusted the blankets around her, tucking her in with a tender touch. His concern for her well-being was evident in his every movement.

Though, as she felt herself coming back, she seemed to fuss, sitting up and trying to push Fujin away from her.

"...I need to do this, Fujin," she told him, her tone firm but her voice was weak. "...this is my burden to bare. I can't have you and Raiden fight this for me."

Fujin's brows furrowed with concern as he gently reached out to steady (Y/n) and ease her back onto the bed. His eyes reflected his love and worry for her.

"My love, I understand your desire to take on your own burdens," Fujin responded, his voice filled with tenderness. "But you are in no state to be fighting. You need to rest. Let Raiden and I handle this." "I can't! It's not fair on you!" (Y/n) snapped, her voice trembling as she tried once again to push Fujin off of her. "This is my problem, and my problem alone."

Fujin's grip on (Y/n) tightened, gently but firmly, refusing to let her push him away. Her stubborn nature was something that he both loved and hated about her. It was admirable how strong she was, and how unwilling she was to simply give up and throw the towel in. However, this also meant that she didn't know when to quit, and naturally, this was detrimental.

"As much as I love you, my feather," Fujin began, cupping her face in both of his hands as a small, teasing smile tugged at his lips. "You are infuriating."

(Y/n) couldn't help but roll her eyes playfully, her gaze meeting Fujin's.

"What, and you're not?" she jabbed light-heartedly, placing her hands over his as she melted into his touch.

"Certainly not as much as you," he sighed, one of his hands tracing upward so it could thread in her hair. "Even so, I wouldn't trade it for anything."

He leaned in and placed a tender kiss against her forehead. For a moment, (Y/n) had completely forgotten about what was going on, Fujin always seemed to have that effect on her - calming, soothing, and he could always lull her into a sense of security, false or not.

As she felt like she could finally give in, a crash rang out through the temple. Particularly, outside of their room.

The door crashed open as someone was thrown through it.

Raiden, and his limp yet still alive body. He groaned, covered in blood, wounded over a significant portion of his body. All was silent as Kexin walked in after him, casually as though it were nothing. Her sight flickered between Raiden and the couple on the bed, and the she stared at her nails.

"Goodness, he wasn't much of a challenge now, was he?" Kexin sighed, bored as she approached him again, giving him a little kick.

(Y/n) was horrified at the sight. If Raiden was folded, then surely she wouldn't stand much of a chance. Just who was she spliced with? It obviously had to be someone pretty formidable, though she couldn't quite put her finger on the symbols which decorated Kexin's skin, and why on earth they looked so familiar.

Fujin stood up, in front of his lover, prepared to defend her in whatever way he had to to ensure her safety.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, ready to unleash his divine wind upon Kexin if necessary. The sight of Raiden injured and the threat posed by Kexin only fueled his resolve to keep (Y/n) safe at all costs.

"You will not harm her," Fujin declared, his voice steady and filled with a quiet but resolute power. "You will not lay another finger on anyone in this temple."

Kexin smirked, seemingly unfazed by Fujin's display of defiance. She slowly approached, her chain whip slithering along the ground behind her.

"My dear brother-in-law, always the protector," she taunted, her voice dripping with disdain. "But you cannot save her. Your powers, your wind, mean nothing to me."

Fujin's eyes narrowed, a gust of wind swirling around him in response to Kexin's words. He braced himself, ready to face her head-on.

As Kexin closed the distance between them, Fujin summoned a powerful gust of wind, aiming to knock her off balance and create an opportunity to strike. The tempest roared around him, carrying the force of his determination and protecting his beloved (Y/n) behind him.

Kexin, however, displayed her agility once again, gracefully dodging the wind currents with an uncanny ease. She moved with a calculated grace, her chain whip poised to strike.

With a swift movement, she lashed out, the chain whip slicing through the air towards Fujin. He deftly evaded the attack, his body moving with the fluidity of the wind itself.

In a counterattack, Fujin summoned a powerful burst of wind from his palms, aiming to buffet Kexin with a force that could render her momentarily vulnerable. The blast struck true, momentarily staggering Kexin and allowing Fujin to press his advantage.

But Kexin was resilient. Despite the wind's force, she quickly regained her composure and retaliated with a flurry of lightning-quick strikes from her chain whip. Fujin skilfully maneuvered, deflecting and evading the attacks, his wind serving as both a shield and a means to strike back.

Though, as they fought, Kexin was monitoring anything she deemed weak in Fujin, and ultimately, his reluctance to kill her immediately was his catalyst.

Her chain whip whirled through the air, delivering swift and precise strikes that Fujin struggled to evade. He attempted to summon his wind to shield himself, but it faltered, unable to provide adequate protection against Kexin's onslaught.

Her power was unlike anything that any of them had ever seen, and (Y/n) could do nothing but sit there, paralyzed, as she tried to think of something - anything to do.

It was only when she saw Kexin knock Fujin to the ground before grabbing onto his throat and lifting him back onto his feet when (Y/n) felt the adrenaline kick in.

She stood up abruptly.'

"Spare him, please! I'll come with you," she spluttered, her voice trembling as her eyes filled with tears.

There was a brief pause in Kexin's actions, as she regarded (Y/n) with a mix of amusement and curiosity. The grip on Fujin's throat loosened slightly, but Kexin maintained her hold, keeping him restrained.

"You'll surrender yourself? To save your lovers life?" She asked, following her speech was a condescending snicker. "How cute." "(Y/n), you mustn't-"

Fujin was cut off by the way Kexin fastened her hand tight around his throat again, causing him to choke and splutter as he clawed at her hand desperately.

"Yes, I'll surrender myself," (Y/n) said, her voice quivering. "But only if you release him and promise not to harm him or Raiden any further."

This was it, this was her opportunity to have Shao Kahn wrapped around her finger. Oh, how easy it was, human sentiment was so feeble and easy to manipulate. She giggled, dropping Fujin before she approached (Y/n).

Before anyone knew it, (Y/n) had been restrained, and in a burst of smoke, both she and Kexin were gone.

A/n: WHY DO I KEEP DOING THIS TO MYSELF AGGGHHH

#fujin mortal kombat #fujin x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 11

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nectaric · 4 months ago

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TOP 10 MOST SIGNIFICANT MOMENTS IN ZEUS' LIFE:

choose ten moments within your muses' life - moments that have impacted them the most - and explain why. moments can be good, bad, or both. tagging: you!

10. the life and death of metis. metis' significance in zeus' life is not to be understated. she taught him nearly everything he knows. he loved her, deeply, and her death at his hands was horrific and impacted him heavily. but their relationship was never healthy. it bordered on co-dependency, and zeus' infatuation with her was immature and toxic. for all his guilt, and suffering, and love for her - he can see now how much worse it could have gotten. he wishes he could undo it, but he is afraid to imagine how much more horrible he might have been to her if it had progressed any longer. 10/10 impactful but in a very convoluted way.

9. birth of dionysus (and death of semele). the love zeus possessed for semele was very different from the love he had for metis. it was strong, genuine, honest. it was born of respect and trust, which is difficult for him to do. he adored her, and it was because of this that he lost her. he was too trusting and too quick to act, throwing himself at her feet with reckless abandon. and he lost her. it was gruesome and graphic. and then, what he endured to keep dionysus alive (not just the physical trauma, but the emotional as well) is etched onto his brain. watching dionysus live only to then have to spend so much time away from him was equally difficult.

8. childhood pre-titanomachy. many of zeus' complexes, desires, and issues were born in this time. he grew up almost entirely alone, save for the rare visit from his mother or his grandmother's check-ins. he lived in isolation that was consuming, that made him long so desperately for a family it hurt. in this time, i also headcanon that he suffered a lot of abuse at the hands of gaia that became such an ingrained part of his life and identity that he took centuries to even recognize them as abuse. that isolation, and the suffering, and the childlike wonder that became tainted by sheer desperation for family really set him up for interesting and complicated relationships in the future.

7. gigantomachy. this is the first real threat zeus faces with his entire family on the line. the stakes feel higher, the danger more apparent, his worry even greater. he spreads himself a little too thin trying to ensure they're all safe - and in some cases, does not necessarily succeed. he's nearly too late before porphyrion assaults his wife. ares is captured. there are too many close calls, and though they are ultimately successful, there is another nagging problem. gaia, the one who raised him, the all powerful goddess who should have been on his side, has now turned on him. though zeus did not yet know exactly what the implications of that could be, it was a betrayal nonetheless.

6. the attempted coup. zeus had trust issues to begin with. he was paranoid, jaded, and cruel, and this is what drove his family to betray him. while this was a wake up call many years down the line, in the moment it only served to make zeus angrier and more paranoid. the act itself was difficult for him, being chained down and fearing for his throne and safety. but what it did to his trust in everyone around him was terrible, and he became even more guarded for a long time as a result.

5. marrying hera. she is the love of his life, the apple of his eye, the mother of his children, and he adores her. all of this is naturally very important, and its impact should not be ignored, but the other part of marrying hera that is very significant is that she is his equal. he had someone at his side to help rule the cosmos, and she filled those shoes perfectly. she has saved him from so much stress and solved so many problems, that he could not imagine ruling with anybody else at his side. true loves and incredible leaders!

4. titanomachy. ten years of war began when zeus was barely a teenager, and he was expected to lead, fight, and succeed in toppling an entire kingdom. it was daunting, to say the least, and was a grueling series of battles that left him and his family scarred. in this time though, zeus came to understand himself, his capabilities, and his desires. he found his first love. he reunited and bonded with family. he became a king, loathe as he was to do so. the entire period is so informative for zeus and who he is, that the only reason it isn't higher is because the other three are doozies.

3. dying in "titans 2". this is purely based in the world of roleplay and a thread with a friend, but at one point, the gods were unseated by an alliance of their worst enemies. zeus was killed, his soul banished to tartarus, during which time he experienced torture and isolation. though he was ultimately rescued, and assumed his throne after a very difficult war, such a tremendous loss weighed heavily on him. it is, ultimately, what i think drives zeus to step down at some point and drastically impacts his current mentality.

2. becoming king of the gods. i mean, naturally, this would change the course of anyone's life. zeus had been fighting for this moment since he was very young, and had been leading since he was a preteen. but this solidified not only that the war had been won, but that prophecy was true, that his hard work had paid off - and that he was up against an eternity in a very difficult position. being king completely changed his personality, his health, his relationships, and has been a world changing event as well.

1. defeated by typhoeus. in my canon for zeus, he faced off against typhoeus alone after much of his family fled in fear. he lost. typhoeus tortured him for weeks before hermes was able to assist in setting him free. zeus has genuinely never been the same sense - the mental, physical, and emotional toll of what he endured still sits heavy on his shoulders. it was also the spark that convinced zeus to become a better father, king, and person. it drastically changed the course of his life, and more than anything, is what has impacted him the most.

#zeus.#headcanon.#save.#many of these are not “moments” i am aware of that JDHFNDM but. you know what i mean #also i did this for hades ages ago and i realized i never did it for zeus so here we are

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marshalforgotten · 4 months ago

Note

ACHIEVED//

Memories Served

ACHIEVED for a scene from my muse's past in which they completed / achieved something they were proud of

-----

"A high advisor?" the ivory monkey questioned, tilting her head.

Before her and the humans she lived with stood a king, one who ruled these lands in particular. A thick crown of gold ringed around his head with red stone at its center, to mark his status among the people. Said material also fashioned his earrings and woven necklaces went around neck. A cape made of leopard's pelt draped down his bare backside and onto floor, whilst orange skirt along with sandals kept his modesty. Despite the greying hairs on his beard, man was well built for his age. However such factors did not goad him into hubris, as evident by two soldiers who stood vigilant on his sides.

The groups were currently upon a balcony; overlooking capital, as sun began to set on horizon. Being called here instead of throne room was a change in their usual exchanges. Alkebu-lan could still recall the day she offered herself to help discover disappearing treasure's whereabouts. How amusing his surprise was! After her bargaining with the Grootslang, she, mother and siblings ended up visiting palace a few more times to help with certain matters.

This time however the king deigned to inform them on upcoming ideas he wished to lay out. Specifically, with monkey becoming a new, special category of advisor amongst his counsel.

The ruler nodded, his dark skin shining against golden glow of atmosphere.

"Yes. I have contemplated this for quite some time now, ever since your feat with finding and returning our jewels. Your recent accomplishments with the destruction of the popobawa however has left little room for doubt." As he explained this, the king poured banana wine into his chalice. He turned his head, gazing upon bustling town with sincerity. "My kingdom has always been... divided, plagued with warring tribes. It has long been my dream to move this nation forward and establish peace. With your help, lucky monkey I believe I can accomplish just that."

At this, Alkebu-lan frowned in contemplation.

"That sounds like quite the noble dream, my king. I cannot however leave those who first found me behind."

At this the king chuckled and set his cup down. "I am aware of your loyalty, baboon. It is one of your more endearing qualities... and it is very well placed. That is why I propose this idea."

He moved over besides surrogate mother, taking her hand in his. Both gazed at each other and Alkebu-lan saw a familiar expression on Andrietta's visage- one she wore when speaking of late husband. Now however there was less sadness.

"I will take captain Andrietta as my wife and her adopted children shall live in the palace with me. That is-" he brought bald woman's hand towards face and bowed his head, pressing nose's tip against knuckles with closed eyes; a sign of submission in their culture. "If she will have me."

At this, Andrietta's lithe fingers caressed his cheek drawing his rusty eyes to look into her caramel jewels. They were loving and lips smiled.

"If my king thinks me worthy, I will try not to disappoint."

"Wait-" chimed in the disbelieving voice of the young man, Tebello. "We are going to live in the palace now!?"

At this the young girl behind him squealed, before tackling Alkebu-lan into a hug.

"By the stars! Sister! Sister! We really are going to be living here! Mama found a man! We are going to become royalty!" Thandiwe exclaimed gleefully.

While surprised at first, her little sister's joy was infectious. Chitters escaping Alkebu-lan, she scooped girl into an embrace and spun around.

"Well if you put it that way, who am I to refuse?"

No longer would this family worry about gathering food, or monsters prowling in the night. Now, they would be safe with bellies full.

#a person is a person because of other people (ic)#knowledge is a garden. if it isn't cultivated you can't harvest it (answered ask)#lon3lyqu3en #((she felt so happy that her mother and siblings wouldn't be at risk to the elements anymore))#((even to this day she considers it one of her greatest accomplishments))

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shipcestuous · 1 year ago

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The Fall of the House of Usher

Anon #1: I first read Poe's 'The Fall of the House of Usher' 15 years ago as a teen and I have been in love with it ever since. When I saw the promo stills and read the synopsis last month for the show that just came out, I was a bit weirded out by the modernized vibe in the stills, but seeing it called an 'anthology' and that it would explore multiple stories by Poe, I thought that we might just get the actually story of the House of Usher in one or two eps, just a bit quirky and... well, modernized. So I was still excited. It took me 5 min in the tag last week to realize they had completely screwed up the story. I didn't even doubt my assessment to go 'oh look, I was right after all' now that I've read on this blog that people who watched it were hugely disappointed.

I am still baffled that they could mess this up. It's literally one short story involving a mansion, the owner, his dead sister, the first-person POV guest, and the irrefutable incest in the owner and his not-so-dead-after-all sister's family tree. I'm sure someone served the owner and the guest dinner. I don't even remember their existence for them to be an important presence in the story. Seriously how can you screw this up?

Anon #2: When it comes to House of Usher, I’ve only seen the Vincent Price one. They don’t have the incest be canon (made in 60s and all), but it did seem to be implied. Also, wow, I didn’t realize how many adaptations there were of that story!

@leopard-skin-pillbox-hat-ok: I was watching House of Usher thinking about the future ship (Madeleine x Roderick) that I would be obsessive about it… imagine my surprise when there’s absolutely nothing there! 💀

@winterborn-muse: Netflix's "Fall of the House of Usher" may not be canon but in my opinion it's definitely shippable. Especially in their younger years/flashback scenes. One in particular... phew.

----

Previous discussion here.

I finished watching The Fall of the House Usher so I can finally answer these asks.

It's crazy how different it is from the original story. I almost wonder if Flanagan came up with the story and then added in the Poe elements later, maybe even after it was already written. I think it's only called "The Fall of the House of Usher" because that's such an awesome title and everyone knows it. And also because Hollywood is scared no one will watch something original. There was obviously no attempt made to adapt the story itself (or the other Poe stories), except superficially.

I didn't mean that to sound too negative, because although I am disappointed this wasn't what it might have been, I thought it was fairly entertaining and well written. It just wasn't what I was hoping for, and what I made the mistake of expecting. The premise of solid, I just wish it hadn't masqueraded as something else. Also, the "House of Usher" title just doesn't have the same power or vibe when Roderick and Madeline are really the first generation, and then there's Roderick's kids and 1 grandchild and that's all.

The Vincent Price version being coy about the incest is understandable. Why Mike Flanagan didn't take the opportunity to include incest here is baffling. I can only think that he didn't want anyone to accuse him of copying Game of Thrones. But even leaving the original story aside, in which incest was implied, look at the potential here: rich, decadent family with lots of siblings? Sibling matriarch and patriarch bonded by a traumatic childhood and murder?

Roderick and Madeline are definitely not canon at all in this version (if it can be called that?), but I completely agree that they were shippable. They were very close, life partners really, and seemed to love each other more than they loved anyone else.

I love the gift of the jewels that Roderick got for Madeline because it was so thoughtful and showed how well he knew her, on top of how expensive and difficult it was to get. He basically called her a goddess.

But the flashbacks were agreeably the best stuff. Obviously when Roderick and Madeline were sharing a bed:

Not that that's the craziest thing in the world after what they had just been through.

Then you've got Madeline not liking Roderick's wife, and Roderick's wife not liking Madeline.

I think they were also called "king and queen" once and Roderick is referred to as Gatsby and Madeline as Daisy.

Plus just the whole deal, the way Carla Gugino's character makes a deal with them together, and treats them as a single unit, and says they'll die together just like they came into the world together.

So at least there was some very shippy stuff.

But man oh man, the wasted opportunities here. smh

#asks #winterborn-muse #leopard-skin-pillbox-hat-ok #anonymous #commentary #noiv #nr #the fall of the house of usher #tw: incest #r: brosis #madeline and roderick

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mercurygray · 1 year ago

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When Empire Was Young -Brother Day x OFC

The business of the court persists, and Brother Day is bored with it. There is one petitioner more before they adjourn - and she seems to be taking especial delight in angering her Emperor…

Fandom: Foundation 2021 (Apple TV) Cleon XIII x Original Female Character.

Rated T - nothing explicit here (except maybe how very annoyed Day is.)

Brother Day was bored.

An inauspicious word, he knew - he would hardly deign to utter it aloud. The ruling of our worlds is never boring, dearest Brother! He’d heard Brother Dusk say it more times than he liked to admit. We are the Three-fold Throne, blessed with worlds beyond number to command and manage - the whole host of the universe!

And yet they were here, and he was bored.

The business at hand would wrap up soon, he thought, and then he would be free to go hunt. The woods had been little disturbed of late and the game doubtless getting complacent. There was but one thing more and he could leave.

“The Ambassador from Kentos, Empire,” the hall-steward announced.

read further below or here on AO3!

Day took a deep breath and recalled the brief that Demerzel had served to them this morning - Kentos. A small world rich in oxygen and plant life, known for its flowers and gardens. It had developed a small popularity among travelers as a rest-haven on some of the longest haul flights between outer reaches of the universe - the air there was rumored to be especially restorative after too long in hypersleep. The first Cleon, in his younger years, was said to have enjoyed his visit - he’d placed some protections on it that meant to preserve the special qualities of the atmosphere. It was custom, too, that Brother Dusk, on his ascendancy, might visit for a fortnight or so to mark the time - a fact that Dusk had made note of himself, when Demerzel had given them their brief. They have revived an old custom to come with tribute for you, Empire, Demerzel had explained. To celebrate the anniversary of Cleon’s Gift.

Day had mused, privately, that if they made time to mark every single anniversary they’d hardly have time for the business of the day, but Demerzel’s logic models were usually good and her judgement in these things was impeccable. It would be but a pause in the day’s business - a small moment of calm. Who could say no to that?

The Ambassador was a young female, obviously specially selected to this post, wearing a robe of deep viridian that recalled forests and foliage, shifting with iridescence with each step in a way that made Day call to mind a particular species of beetle. Her attendants, in perfect step behind her, all wore brown - the better to let their leader shine the brighter, one assumed. She made a gesture with her hands like a flower opening up and bowed low to present her hands to the assembled thrones. “A thousand blessings bloom upon you, Empire.”

“Should it not be three thousand, Ambassador?” Dusk asked, his smile beneficent from the Evening Throne. “I should hate to split such a greeting among my brothers and it does not divide cleanly.”

Tired old man, Day thought peevishly, watching the Ambassador’s smile widen just a little at the bad joke. Must you really try to make every pretty girl smile?

“If it pleases you, Empire, a thousand thousands,” she replied with ease, her bow dipping deeper still. Oh, she’s well-schooled for this. “May the Heavens smile always upon you and the Three-Crowned Throne.”

“You have a pretty manner for one so young, Ambassador - your leaders chose their messenger well. We recall well our own last visit to your homeworld,” Dusk continued. “Most refreshing and well-met. A splendid welcome.”

“We are honored that Empire’s memory esteems us so,” she replied. “We come with a gift for you, to celebrate the time-honored bonds between our world and your august selves.” The attendant behind her drew forward, and she undraped the object in the woman’s arms to reveal a chest, cunningly carved all over with vines and flowers, which she then presented before the thrones.

“A box,” Day said dryly, very underwhelmed and beginning to regret their decision to allow this audience. “Surely your leaders know we already own such things in quantity. A bouquet of fresh flowers would have been more novel.”

She made a small bow of apology towards the middle throne. “If I had known Empire’s preference for such things, Revered One, I should of course have brought them. What I have is a small token, only. Our botano-historians and plantmasters have managed to resurrect a flower recently known to be extinct - a favorite of your august self when you made your first visit to our humble planet many centuries ago. In our language we call it kitri - it was traditionally prepared as a tea, which we have brought, along with its traditional implements, for you to prepare and enjoy.”

“Oh, splendid,” Dusk said happily, his joy almost childlike. “Your teas were of particular pleasure on our visit. A rare treat indeed. Have you sampled it yourself?”

She nodded, turning towards the Evening Throne. “I have, Empire. It has a pleasing aroma, when prepared properly, and a mild stimulating effect. There was of old a ceremony for the serving of this tea, which I have also been instructed in - should Empire direct me thus, I will be happy to oblige.”

“Oh, yes, of course. It would be instructive for Brother Dawn,” Dusk said fondly, looking over at the Morning Throne and the youngest of the three, pale and spotted in his robes of light blue. (He, too, looked rather taken with the prospect of having this enchanting creature all to himself; Day made a note that a visit to the Gossamer Court might finally be in order. ) “Tradition and ceremony are a good part of any young man’s education. Have a quantity of it brought to my chambers, Demerzel, after the usual checks.”

“Instructive - and potentially dangerous,” Day cut in. “Have the Ambassador come to my rooms first. She will perform this thing for me - and my personal taster, of course. We have some time this afternoon, I think.” He looked over to Demerzel, who gave an efficient nod. “See that the Ambassador has what she requires.”

“Of course, Empire.”

The three of them raised their hands as one, making the ancient sign. “Respect and enjoy the peace.”

The whole court bowed as they made their exit, and the Three Thrones retired away to lunch, Dusk and Dawn now sharing stories of Dusk’s time on Kentos before Demerzel interceded with pronouncements about the rest of the day’s schedule.

At the end of the meal another senior servant came and made a bow to the table. “The Ambassador has been assembled in your receiving room, Empire, and awaits at your pleasure.”

Day briefly considered - would it be better to make her wait? The hunt was calling his name again. But then you’ll need to do it later, he reflected. Better now and have it done for good.

The regular furniture of the receiving room had been cleared away, and in its place was a small, low table, placed atop a carpet of grasses that the Ambassador must have also brought with, the table arrayed with a startling variety of tools that Day could neither identify or name. On one side of the table, the Ambassador knelt, her green robe from earlier pared down to a much simpler dress that left her shoulders bare, her headpiece also removed and her hair loose so that she appeared in a much more informal mode.

She gestured to the place opposite, where a circular cushion was arranged. “As the honored guest, you have the cushion, Empire. A show of hospitality and welcome.”

“Is your world such a poor place that your people can ill afford furniture, Ambassador?” Day asked, folding himself down onto the cushion and surveying the table and its implements, all laid out in pristine order. “How very dull for you.”

“Like all ceremony, Empire, it has its roots in an imagined reality - a humble host who gives all she has for an honored guest. But before your esteemed person I need not pretend poverty - who can contend with the riches of the Triple Throne?”

Day made a sound of agreement - that, at least, was true.

There was some small interest in watching the scene play out in front of him - the ceremonial striking of a flint three times over the cup before it was brought to the neat pile of coals under the brazier, the fluid motion of her hands as she scooped back the gauze of her fore-sleeve to pour the water into a second vessel to observe the steam. The flower itself, an uninteresting and wizened little ball of brown, made an appearance in the palm of her hand, placed with precision in the bottom of the cup.

Day, meanwhile, was growing restless again. The hunting grounds were growing more appealing by the minute, and this was verging on blinding tedium. He could see the appeal to Brother Dusk, passing his time leisurely until the end, but the Middle Throne had business to attend to. “If this is your marvel, Ambassador, then your leaders had a wasted journey,” he said, making little secret to his annoyance. “I see little to astonish.”

“The marvel comes with time, Empire,” she responded evenly, pouring water over the little brown ball and covering the cup with a flat circle of wood. “On my world, we say often that as it is with flowers, so with joy - that the best things come to those who wait.”

“Some people would consider that message an impertinence, to a king.”

“And perhaps it is,” she acknowledged, finally raising her gaze to meet his own. “Our historians record that my ancestor and yours drank kitri together, once. When the Empire was young.”

When the Empire was young - a clever phrase. She meant when the first Cleon still walked the halls of this palace, or at least, a younger version of the bloodline. It would be impossible, of course, to commit to memory every single happenstance in a chain of thirteen lifetimes. Client states and planets came and went with dismissable regularity. There would be something in the archives about it, if he had the need for exact details later. “Oh, really.”

Her eyes held his gaze carefully, hair curtaining just so across her face in what he could only assume might be regarded as modesty. “I was told I am very like her, Empire.”

Day stared for a moment until he realized what he was seeing – she was trying to seduce him.

It almost made him laugh - seduction! As if he could be so cheaply bought. That was a scheme from long ago, before the Genetic Dynasty made such things irrelevant. A pretty face, sent to tempt their king, to offer an alliance built on blood and the promise of an heir. One of many, of course - everyone believes they wish to wed an emperor. But no one ever just wants us, Day thought to himself. They want our power. That is what keeps the threefold path alive and unspoiled – we are our own continuance. No need to parse or delegate or scheme to keep ourselves alive. “Do you think you’re somehow clever?” he asked, scoffing at her across the table. “What you’re doing has been done to me a hundred times before - and shall be done a hundred times again when you are dust.”

Somehow this observation did not wound her – still she smiled, her gaze direct. “No cleverness, Empire. You asked for this instruction and I gave it. That was the intended purpose of the gift.”

“Thus offering us the opportunity to be alone,” he said, pointedly. She made no reply, and he continued. “In older days the seduction of the king might mean getting one of his by-blows – but such things gain you nothing here. Our geneticists and doctors see to that.” If you came looking for Cleon’s bastard, I’m afraid you’ll go home looking still.

“But the act itself is still a pleasure, is it not, Empire? Cannot pleasure be its own end?”

That made him pause. She was pretty, after a fashion, though hardly remarkable. (Hadn’t Brother Dusk observed that already? They were alike in their tastes in this regard – the cloning kept them so.) “I can easily get that pleasure elsewhere.” I have the entire Gossamer Court at my disposal – why should I look to the likes of you for that?

A careful nod. “Of course, Empire. Your word and will are law and should not be denied you.”

His breath was sharp, catching on the deliberation in her words – deny me! The very suggestion galled him. He should have her right here, on this gods-damned table, and to hell with these charades. It would be simple - she could not hope to stop him. “You think you can deny your emperor?”

“Of course not, Empire. I am a mere subject and accede, always, to your glorious will. But it is possible to still play the game, is it not?”

Play the game! What, that he was not the Three-Crowned Throne and could kill her with a word? That she was somehow not entirely within his power? How did she know precisely how to vex him? “You think your Emperor a man for gaming?” Have I not better uses for my time? These are not simple matters, woman! It was for this my house was born!

“I think palace life is predictable,” she replied. “And as I said – sometimes a thing is better after one waits to taste it.” She reached down to the table, her hand elegantly removing the cover from the cup. “Shall you summon your taster so we may have our tea?”

It was the last straw – he would not give her the pleasure of seeing his full discontent. “Get out,” he snapped. “Your presence tires me.”

If this unnerved her, she did not show it – her movements were still full of fluid grace as she rose from her seat and made her bow, the tea things still in perfect, untouched order on the table. “As Empire commands.”

He leaned back in his chair, still fuming at the thought. A game! What use had he for games? If he wanted a thing, he would have it - the simplest kind of calculus. A game! His blood was fairly boiling at her and every fiber of his body cried for war – to run, throw, crush and maim. How would his hands feel wrapped around her perfect little neck, mm? How then? Would she be so gods-damned calm with all her air choked out?

He rose swiftly from his chair, energy coursing through him, and his eye caught sight of something - a flash of color in her tea things, still set upon the table. Inside the cup that she’d prepared, a perfect flower bloomed below the water, striking yellow against the white, the tendrils of steam framing it just exactly how she had described. The brown thing of before was gone. Sometimes a thing is better when one waits to taste it.

It was too much – he picked up the cup and threw it against the wall, grossly pleased at the sound of its shattering. How’s that for your priceless antique, then, Ambassador? His hand hummed a little with the pain of the hot water, nanobots working tireless under his sky to heal the burn away, but that hardly signified – in a moment it would be gone. The flower now lay lifeless on the floor, surrounded by shards, the tea running, in sad rivulets, down the wall behind it. He sneered at it a moment and then looked back at her empty place - before he heard her voice again with stunning clarity, a woman unamused by petulance.

Well. I guess you won’t know how it tastes, then. Your loss, Revered One.

Day stared a moment longer and gave an audible snarl. “Obrecht!” The Shadowmaster appeared at the doorway in an instant, ready to do whatever his lord commanded. “Send word to the Gamemaster I want to hunt - something larger than ghilliehawks today. His Empire is sanguine today.” And after that the Gossamer Court - or else our prisons. If the hunt goes poorly I may have a need to whip something.

If you enjoyed reading this, a kind word in the comments means a lot!

#foundation 2021 #cleon xiii #original characters #i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents

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blueberrypancakesworld · 2 years ago

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Greetings, fair author of the arts! I have a request because testing is making me weak [ oof nursing 🤧 ] and I have the flu [ double oof ] I wanted to request something new; so I tend to ask for family stuff, but what about a story that follows the child of Mysaria and Daemon who in this telling was born on the narrow sea, instead of Myseria losing the babe. But, since the fling was a while ago the child is a little older than Aemond, so like 22. The kid can be boy or girl and icing on the cake if they are infatuated with Alicent, looking up to her for her strength and poise, maybe sneaking away from their Spy Master mother to go visit her in the garden where she and Rhaenyra would read.

Maybe Alicent likes them too?

Greetings back my muse @freelyunlikelykingdom of my inspiration and wonderful ideas. First of all sorry that you had to wait a little longer I had some stress and had to catch up in some other school things. After that I wish you a speedy recovery and hope you recover well from the flu. Maybe or I hope this story with a very interesting and inspiring story will bring you some rest, recovery and comfort. Have fun reading this also applies to all readers others.

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Green Flames

warning : hurt/comfort , angst , tw implied rape , soulmates basically , fluff , hope with a semi good ending , big comfort

masterlist

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Mistake. He knew that he was a mistake since his birth. A bastard or none. So it was none in the words of some and in the words of some others he was none. In the eyes of his all-seeing mother he was a blessing, a prince and yet at the same time his own mistake.

In the eyes of his father he was a mistake from the beginning. A mistake that could have happened but should have been destroyed. His father is a prince, Prince Daemon Targaryen, the brother of the king.

His mother is a former whore, but one of the most feared, loving and valuable women when it came to information. And he himself did not know. He had no real name. His mother, when she loved him, called him Prince and Dragon.

His father Bastard, and Flame. But most called him the winged worm. The best of both. But his legitimacy was something that had been open for a long time and still was. Daemon had not officially married Mysaria, at least not according to Viserys, but the marriage still existed.

Which made his son the prince and also heir to the throne. Something that the boy wanted more and more with time and yet resisted. He had to realize that any name, title, birth and fame had a price. Starting with his mother.

Mysaria remembered the look on Daemon's face when she told him about her pregnancy in a letter. How he rode up on Caraxes, the red dragon screamed angrily and spat fire, and the prince grabbed her by the arm. ,,Kill it!" he demanded, and at that moment she knew that she had never seen the real dragon until now.

What had been a game for him was now apparently deadly serious for him. But why what had changed his mind. ,,It's because of her," his mother had always said. When the white worm realized that the prince had lost his dragon heart to his niece.

He had put his plan into action, he had chosen his way through the flames and his mind was made up. To serve the true queen Rhaenyra and rule by her side. Anything was better than those leeches of Hightower winning. But a bastard got in the way. A realization that she and her child had to accept.

For as long as he could remember, either the lands beyond the straits were his home, the ships or King's Landing. He knew it no other way. Even in the royal palace he was rarely if ever only to see his uncle the king who received him surprisingly warmly.

But he could not blame him. He, the winged worm, still looked more like a Targaryen than his aunt's children.

He had his father's light hair and his eyes were a dark violet, not as bright as his father's. A loss due to his mother. A loss of his mother and his skin seemed as light as the snow. Only a single strand of black hair trailed down his light hair. ,,The kiss of my love," his mother had always said.

But even so he was not lacking in everything. It even went so far that he was supposed to get the dragon egg of his dead uncle Baelon. But he never did. ,,They took it away from us, you could have flown," he heard his mother say. And her white clothes blew through the air as if her anger was being unleashed.

She had done this more than once. She grabbed him and yelled at him for his birth, why he didn't have brighter eyes, only not to find the blame on herself. Pushed him to the ground and shouted that he could have been a prince or even a king.

But all he wanted was someone to love him. His father was cold, his flames were icy. His mother loved and hated him, he was not information, no he was a threat to her business. But all this had been going on for such an incredibly long time.

That his heart was torn between the throne, his family, his origin, his love. He had known the love early it was horrible when he heard the ringing of the yellow bag. How the door opened and closed and the golden coins were thrown carelessly beside him on the bed. These were the worst years of his life.

He was not a prince, not a bastard. He was the son of a whore who continued her trade. Something he was glad to see ended by his father and uncle. But this was also paid with a sum of money. Everything was settled with money and power.

But this was years ago and now he was twenty-two years old. He was an adult man and still a bastard. Brushing a long strand of hair behind his ear, he rose from his windowsill in the large living area above the brothel.

An apartment the crown had given him to be something of his mother on the floor below him. His eyes fell on the ring on his finger. A golden ring one of his few possessions. It showed a dragon wrapped around the hightower from old town. ,,Alicent," he murmured, thinking of the queen.

He knew that she was an old friend of his aunt Rhaenyra, maybe even more depending on the rumors. She was now a queen, powerful and beautiful. Almost like me he ventured the thought and was almost afraid his mother would rush in and drive these thoughts out of him. But that was not the reason why he was awake so early. He had to and wanted to go into the castle. A sword fight with Aeomond, the second son of the queen.

He was a few years younger than himself, but the only one who could keep up with him. That was the only thing his father had taught him besides his worthlessness. Sword fighting. He was one of the best and had already defeated Aegon the second countless times and Ser Criston had to fight with the younger one.

Whereby the children of Rhaenyra had hardly a chance. Taking his eyes off the ring he slowly went down to the stairs. He saw the white robe of his mother counting the money from the previous day as usual.

He knew that she would never let him enter the castle so freely. But that was the attraction, he made sure one last time that his mother did not notice him for the moment before he hurried to his window.

There he pulled out the many knotted clothes from his dresser drawer before he lowered them and tied them to the dresser. Gods please let this hold he thought as he slowly lowered himself down the side of the house.

He was only a few meters from the ground when he suddenly lost his footing. His clothes had come off and with a silent scream he went dully to the ground. ,,What are you doing up there?" he heard the loud question of his mother, who had heard the noise and was coming up the stairs.

But he had no time to get up from the ground and go to the two horses they had. Another gift from the king was a horse, a white mare. He swung himself on his horse which he named Seasmoke. Equaling the handsome dragon of Laenor Velaryon.

He crashed into the side and could still hear the screams and shouts of his mother who tried to hold him back. But it was too late and with a broad smile he galloped towards the castle. Finally a piece of freedom he thought happily and rode as fast as Seasmoke would allow towards the castle.

It took him a few minutes to ride his horse into the courtyard, where he was met with either disrespect or disparaging looks. ,,Winged Worm, you're finally here," he heard Aemond say, moving away from the blacksmith in the courtyard and going to his nephew.

Daemon's son got off his horse and offered his hand to Aemond, who ignored it. ,,I'm not here to listen to your chicaneries" said the elder and put his hand on the sword hilt. ,,But a bastard doesn't have a prince's title," said the one-eyed man, grabbing him by the collar before pushing him away. ,,Your king welcomes my visit," he hissed to himself before walking after his relative. The two walked to the training ground.

He saw Ser Criston, the Queen's bodyguard, and Viserys with his wife Alicent standing above them on a height, looking at the younger ones. ,,Your Grace," he said to the king and queen, bowing. ,,Welcome back, my nephew, it is a pleasure to see you," said Viserys, not rising from his chair. He knew that his uncle was too old to be called physically strong.

But his spirit was still responsive. He recognized and was happy about the visit of his brother's son. He was more happy about him than about his own children. His gaze lingered on Alicent, who had often spoken with the queen.

She was a remarkable woman, different from his mother, more loving and yet as equal as he. She seemed to understand exactly what the other needed and wanted. Security, safety and affection. ,,Worm, come on," he heard Aemond say, grabbing his sword and moving to a secure stance.

The older man drew his sword and looked at his ring again for a moment before he saw Aemond's sword approaching. He blocked it with ease and the two swords clashed. ,,Show what you can do" he heard the hiss of Aemond pushing him away.

He knew he had nothing to prove to the younger man. He knew he was hated by the Targaryens, Velaryons and Hightowers. They all hated him because of his father's gender.

He was a threat and a bastard at the same time. He lunged and struck from below, forcing Aemond to retreat so that the blade did not slide up his own sword to his hands. He knew that the younger prince had a sore spot. His eye.

He tried to make the younger one turn. He struck with such force that the one-eyed man had trouble keeping the sword from him. With a well-aimed kick, he knocked Aemond to the ground, but gave him no time. He aimed at the blind side of Aemond, but he had underestimated the younger man.

The prince rose with a speed the older had not seen coming. He tried to dodge the sword, but only almost succeeded. He felt the slight cut on his forearm. Not his first and not his last. Only one flaw that would not please his mother. ,,The purer the more valuable" he heard his mother's words, a painful feeling.

However, the memories were all the more painful. But that was enough to let his guard down for a moment. Aemond pushed him to the ground, towering over him, looking too much like his uncle, the father of the wingless worm.

The cold flame of his father, the blows, the coins of his mother, the touches of the strangers. Everything came back. He let go of his sword completely in his fear and looked at the one-eyed no he looked at his father fearfully.

The sword blinded him and Aemond threw it down. ,,Aemond stop it!" his mother screamed before the king's voice thundered through the courtyard. ,,That's enough Aemond, go to your room," the king shouted and the second youngest son gave the older one a withering look before throwing the sword aside and disappearing into the castle. But it was neither his father nor his mother who helped him up.

It was Alicent Hightower, the queen. ,,Come on, I'll help you," he heard her soft voice before she gently pulled him behind her. He knew what it must have looked like to everyone else. A bastard who had the queen's devotion. He wanted to break free, to say something, but he could not.

The touch of her hand she was not angry that he had pushed her son to the ground. She was not lustful like the suitors. She was just nice and friendly. ,,The garden," he murmured in confusion, looking at the large werewood tree to which she led him.

Slowly they both settled down, leaning their shoulders against each other, but nothing more. They didn't need to do that, but both of them seemed to be too eloquent for that. ,,My queen...I am sorry that I kicked your son. I have caused trouble, forgive me" he said and was about to rise, not knowing what else to do.

He watched Alicent out of the corner of his eye as her lips showed a gentle smile. Her fingers ran over her green dress but there was sadness in her eyes. ,,You were afraid," she said suddenly, but did not look at him.

A painful smile came to his lips as he held his cut. ,,You have seen it...you must have felt what I have felt" he replied and he saw the small nod from her side. ,,Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and yet powerless" she philosophized. Hesitantly he reached for her hand, he felt her twitch as she touched his bloody fingers.

But she did not hit him, not like his mother when he stained her robes. ,,I know that we are similar, and I don't mean my status, forgive me. No, I mean in our appearance, in our past, in our devotion," he said and he felt his breath shake. I'm not going to lie to her and see what's going on, he thought, knowing that she was not having an easy time.

He himself was one of the first children of the royal family, next to Aegon. But he would never be so powerful. ,,Of the sex, of the night, of the money...I-I admire you" she admitted and wanted to withdraw from his grasp. ,,Please don't...don't leave me like my mother or father. Your admiration I don't return out of loyalty to the king...no I admire you for your power and your attitude towards everything of the kingdom's division you are still so strong" he admitted and this time he wanted to break away. ,,Is that true?" she asked, hope in her dark eyes. ,,Do you believe the words of a bastard?" he asked, but she held him tightly. A soft sad smile came to her lips. He had decided that he was a bastard prince, a gold-wrapped dragon, and yet the son of a whore.

The thorn in the side of his father's family. He was a mistake. ,,You may be a golden worm on the outside, you may be hated for it. No, you are more than that, you are a stone green dragon that gives grace to kings, and I give you power that you execute. You are my friend, my lover, my sword, my executing power" she replied and slowly rose. ,,What will you do now?" she asked and saw him standing in front of her. ,,I will inherit nothing, my mother is a whore, my father hates me, the king makes me and yet he can give me nothing, the children hate me even more...I want to help you, I want to finally be the dragon I deserve" he said and drew his sword. The metal gleamed in the sun before he knelt down in front of Alicent.

He looked at her on his muse, the woman he admired. ,,You are my friend, my lover, my healer, my commanding power. You Alicent are my queen, so let me help you, let us together give each other what we want. Let us together strike down all those who have wronged us" he said and felt her hand softly next to his cheek.

She did not touch him, she knew why. He knew it even more. ,,Rise, my dragon," she said and he rose. She put one hand on his that was on the hilt of the sword. While her other went to her ring on his finger. ,,May they perish in our vengeance in the green flames" she said and he nodded in agreement.

Before Alicent kissed the sword and he the ring. A covenant of shared pain Alicent stained and used by Viserys only because of her lust. The younger of the suitors of King's Landing.

No parents to support them at least not as they should. Both questioned. They complemented each other so well because they both knew what the other had been through. But the support they gave each other was a power that could shake anyone.

The former queen Alicent Hightower reported that the master survived the war and was imprisoned. But what happened to her sword, her dragon, there were legends. The prince's bastard would outbid his father. He outbid every targaryen.

At the beginning of the war he had won in numerous battles for the green took over the corn trolls of several armies. But what made him most famous. Was that the bastard was not a wingless worm.

He rode into the war on Cannibal the unrideable dragon, bigger than Vhagar and it was true. The lands of the black of the false queen burned green. The color green was the last thing Rhaenys Targaryen saw before he burned her.

He was not a Targaryen, he was a green one. He was the man, the son, he was the hope that Alicent Hightower always had. He was the true dragon. He had found his purpose...until it was taken from him.

Killed by his own father in a duel in the air. ,,I am proud of you my son" Daemon is said to have said when the two dragons fell to the ground and the two riders died pierced by each other's swords.

In the end he was not a bastard, he should go down in the books as. The greatest dragon rider in history and the true prince who was promised.

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#hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #daemon targeryan #king viserys #house targaryen #house hightower #daemon x rhaenyra #queen alicent #alicent hightower #big comfort #ser criston cole #aemond targaryen #team green #dragon #mysaria

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pnkb1tch-archive · 1 year ago

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VERSE DROP : court of tides .

Born to the Western Kingdom of Essetir, Court of Tides, Prince Arlo's destiny has been pretty much predetermined since he was old enough to tie his own laces. The eldest Thompson child is a woman, Tiffany, and thus she is not expected to ascend the throne–however, from an early age it was clear that Arlo was not meant to lead, and his pretty face made it that much easier for the King and Queen to prepare the boy for life as a courtesan/mistress. It was ultimately decided that whatever man Tiffany might marry would be King, as their son could be an Essitirian heir, with both his father's blood and their mother's royal blood.

Essetir borders the warrior Kingdom of Castremam ( in conjuncture with @tartt9 ) on the west, overseeing a series of port towns and inland towns closer to the castle. Several trade routes pass through Essetir and are only accessible through their many ports, thus making the Kingdom an incredibly strong trade economy. Thanks to Essetir's topographical position, the Kingdom is also home to several smaller fishing and farming villages, meaning they are rich in resources as capital. It seems like Essetir has it all, from a vast amount of land, to highly coveted trade routes and an abundance of resources–however, they are very much lacking in military power, and despite the political scheming of the ruling class nobles, if faced with a hostile takeover or coup, Essetir would likely fall. This where Prince Arlo comes in. Should Essetir wish to ever align themselves with a strong military power and form an allegiance with a stronger kingdom, they plan to marry Arlo off to that kingdom's prince or princess. This is how Prince Arlo discovers his love of music and his people. In her endeavors to make Arlo an appealing pawn, Queen Veronica ensures that Arlo receives training in all the forms of finery as she sees fit–etiquette training, musical training, political literacy–Arlo is coached on how to sit, how to speak, and how to appease. Queen Veronica doesn't count on Arlo's love of music, however; at age 16 the boy begins composing his own music and performing in the city for nobles and commonfolk alike. Disliking that Arlo has developed an interest outside of serving the throne and fulfilling his role as a pawn, Queen Veronica demands that Arlo cease his musical training and be confined to the castle the following weeks. Having spent his entire life doing exactly what he's told, when he's told, Arlo escapes the castle and runs away to a neighbouring fishing village. For a week he is not found, and he trades song and story for shelter with the village locals, befriending everyone down to the town crones and the tavern drunks. When he is finally found by a search party of knights, for the first time in his life, Arlo makes a demand of his parents–either they let him continue his pursual of music, both in lesson and in practice, or he'll do this again. He'll make their lives living hell lest they allow him this one freedom. Impressed by his sudden bravery, and worried by their eldest daughter's increasingly headstrong behavior, the King and Queen agree to Arlo's terms. From there on, Arlo continues composing his own music, eventually composing poetry and literature as well, and becomes known across Essetir as the Kingdom's Shining Jewel. His songs are known all throughout the land, and he himself is known as a prince of the people. The ruling class nobles all look down their noses at Arlo for it, and are ever-eager to marry him off and out of Essetir for good. Prince Arlo will likely never marry for love, and lest he is rescued by some outside party or interloper, he will likely never be free of the Essitirian Court's thumb. He is destined to be a pawn…that is, unless your muse decides otherwise.

#╰ * VERSE FIVE : V5 ⧽ court of tides .

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inthewings-ofthedragonking · 17 days ago

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My Own

Creator

Was Crueler Than My Enemies Ever Were

I Think I Need to Leave

#{made to serve her very throne - musings}#au #aus #alternate universe #pokemon #metal sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic au

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lastxdragon · 10 months ago

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RP: Treachery Most Foul

There would always be those who questioned. In absolute truth, Jaime did not care. He had never cared what others thought of him. If he had, then he would have looked Ned Stark in the eyes and told him the truth to why he’d killed the Mad King, instead, he had kept his lips sealed and allowed the rest of the world to title him the Kingslayer.

The only person he had ever cared about when it came to their opinion had been his sister, and she had turned against him in the end for the Iron Throne, for Lancel Lannister and Osmund Kettleblack. Disgusting. The mere thought made a fire burn in the pits of his belly even now, years after, and even after the death of his twin. But now, he was beginning to realise, that there were only few people who he cared what they thought of him, and one of those was the woman that stood before him. The others, his little brother, and Brienne of Tarth, but Brienne had always stayed loyal to the Starks, and now? They may very well be pitted against one another if worse came to worst.

When Daenerys’ hand went to the collar of his tunic, he felt his breath hitch, caught in his throat for a moment. How long had it been since he’d had a woman’s hands upon him? Too long, he thought, and yet, it was so out of line to think anything but innocence from it. But Dany was not a girl, she was a woman, she was a hardened, battle-worn woman now, who had watched people lie and betray her just like everyone else who was in power. Gods, who would want for such a thing?

Jaime flinched harder than he wanted to when the knock was heard, and he took a step back, a hand at his sword in fear. How silly, no one that was going to murder the Queen would give a polite knock on the door. He settled when it was just the serving girl, the tension in his arms loosening. All he did was nod in confirmation when Missandei left to gather the blankets.

“I doubt I will do much sleeping,” he replied once they were back in the privy of one another. “But to answer your question, I do not fear what simple minds have to think of me.” He didn’t fear much at all, if he were honest, just the loss of Tyrion, and losing his honour again.

“The Kingdom’s have been at war for a long time, too long if you ask me. I have done many regrettable things, but some of them I would do again if it meant saving the people I care about. That includes you, Your Grace.” He had no problem admitting that, he was part of her guard now. It was his duty.

“I didn’t come here to serve in your guard like my Lord Father would have.” Simply because she was winning the war. “We have all lost because of this war. I do not regret slaying your father, despite how it may sound. He wished to kill the common folk of King’s Landing, and anyone else in his path. But I knew your brother. He was a good man, and you have earned your crown, and the respect of your men.” Jaime included. “I know I serve in good faith.”

PRIVATE ROLEPLAY: DO NOT REBLOG IF YOU ARE NOT MY PARTNER.

@call-2-arms ╣❦╠ ƈօռզʊɛʀɨռɢ ֆȶօʀʍ ❧

Dany noted the faint hitch when she touched his collar. It was a surprise, though not an unpleasant one. Of course, she was aware that Ser Jaime was still a handsome man despite his age. The difference in their ages meant nothing to Dany, who had been married to Drogo with a much larger difference so long ago. She feigned not to see his flinch as Missandei brought the extra bedding into the room and tended the fires. The door closed again a few minutes later and Ser Jaime spoke first. She sighed. “One of the things I appreciate the most about you is your honesty, Ser Jaime. It’s a rare quality.”

Her smile softened at his declaration. Jhogo, Aggo and Rahkaro had been loyal to her due to Drogo. Ser Jorah for his own desires. There was an irony that the one man who was honorably loyal to her was a Lannister. “This is not my first war, though I pray it shall be my last. The ones who suffer the most are the ones who want it the least,” Daenerys mused, pausing to take a sip of wine. “When this charade is over, I will no longer remain here while my people fight my battles.” She lifted a hand, anticipating a protest. “The quicker this war is over, the fewer who will suffer of it.”

“Come. I do not think I’ll have much use of sleep either, but we should try,” Dany chuckled, taking her glass as she crossed into her spacious bed chamber. The larger settee was midway across the floor between the door and the bed itself and she could see that it was prepared. Tonight Dany only removed her tunic dress and boots, keeping on her undertunic and pants. Slipping under the thick fur quilt, she began unbraiding her hair. “You are not the first to compare me to my brother. I know they called him the last dragon, but they were wrong. I am. I am the last.”

If she meant dragon or Targaryen, Daenerys did not elaborate. There was a small pause before she spoke again, her tone softer. “I have seen him, you know. Rhaegar. From a young age, I dreamed of him. I saw and heard him playing his silver harp. I even saw my nephew, Aegon, once. Would it surprise you to know that my dreams come true? At least, the ones of the present. The first time I dreamed, I told Viserys. He beat me and said I was lying so I never spoke of it again. Until now. In one dream, Rhaegar was atop a stallion on the Trident, ribbons flowing from his helm, fighting beings of ice, but when I lifted his visor, it was my face within.”

#lastxdragon #daenerys stormborn #call-2-arms#ser jaime lannister #treachery most foul rp #got au #private roleplay

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bruiisedpetals-a · 1 year ago

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𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊 / 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖

h.o.t.d. the ruling lord of karhold and house karstark. — g.o.t. the secondborn and bastard son of ruling lord rickard karstark; sometimes called the grey son.

twenty eight. fabien frankel. karhold, the north. [secondary/trial muse.]

general g.o.t. verse: half-brother of lord heir harrion karstark, he is the bastard son of ruling lord rickard karstark and a reachborn whore by the name of lillian. he is not legitimised, but has grown up alongside his half-siblings and shares a distant but friendly enough relationship with them. his father is somewhat disconnected but has never treated him with cruelty, and the lady karstark has also been civil to him though he represents his fathers' affair. though yoren is treated akin to a fostered outsider, rather than a member of the family and his bastardy isn't often a joke; owing to the ire mentions of the affair elicit from lady karstark. called the grey son mainly due to his habit of wearing a neutral grey garb (armour, clothing, even his saddlebag and sheath are all shades of grey) & the grey of his sealskin pelted cloak, his half-brother and father had taken to wearing black chainmail, so this also made him stand out as the grey 'son', whilst also serving as a misnomer due to his bastardy. this colour motif originally stemmed from his wearing of harrion's hand-me-downs; they were often faded.

general ho.t.d verse: he was already serving as the ruling lord of karhold at the start of the dance. yoren is the direct descendent of the founder of their house, karlon stark. yoren became lord of karhold after his father, kerron karstark, suffered a horrible fall from his horse and sustained a level of paralysis. kerron became angry and resentful after his accident, lashing out at his family and, briefly (before he was removed from public), towards his men and people. he now keeps himself locked away in his room, seperate from his wife, and sees no one bar a maester and his servants. yoren was castellan for six years, and when he was twenty two, he officially took over rule from his father who hadn't been seen in several years.

details. age & canon ref. dance era. birth: 103AC — the year jaehaerys targaryen, the old king, dies and the year viserys i targaryen is crowned king. yoren will be around twenty-six years old at the beginning of the civil war, and around twenty-eight when it concludes. game era. birth: 277AC — the same year as garland tyrell is born. yoren will be around twenty-one at the beginning of a game of thrones (aka. season 1), and he will be around twenty-eight approaching the two final seasons.

personality and game of thrones timelines explained under cut! note; yoren has two different timelines to operate in based on location.

personality traits. + summary.

(hotd) — there is a spiteful part of him that, due to his fathers accident and behaviour placing him as castellan and then lord, he wants to experience more than just karhold and lordship. this conflicts with his firmness in being northernborn and a dedicated leader, so he tries to balance both. he uses his duties as a way to avoid a marriage, claiming that he will once his father is 'well' (an impossibility) ... to allow him to remain uncommitted in at least one of the two great aspects of his life, he's openly flirtatious and arguably promiscuous, at least by the standards of someone who 'should' be married at this point. he cares greatly about his mother, but she has become more and more dedicated to the gods and less in her family since the accident, his only sibling is a brother four years his junior. going into the dance, house karstark follows house stark's support of the blacks. [note: there is no karstark lore in the targaryen era, so details are up to plotting!] (got) — he has somewhat of a chip on his shoulder at being a very clear outsider, like seeing a life he can't have though a thin pane of glass; just out of reach. it's tied less so to the concept of being a lord, or titled, but more that he knows his only kin in the region are no better than passing acquaintences. part of him does wish he had the authority to act as reckless as he feels sometimes, but being half northern and half reachborn, he also feels less valid in defending himself as being worthy of being at karhold. positive. adventurous, appreciative, charismatic & charming, dedicated, dutiful, firm, hardworking, honourable, leaderly, observant, persuasive, romantic, secure, strong, tolerant. neutral. aggressive, competitive, deceptive, dominating, high-spirited, noncommittal, proud, religious/mystical, sensual, stubborn. negative. assertive, brutal, cynical, disrespectful, hedonistic, hostile, impatient, impulsive, opportunistic, petty, possessive, reactive, resentful, strong-willed, superstitious, unrestrained.

v. bloody red keep ; in this timeline, at the outset of game of thrones yoren meets a brother of the nights watch, a 'wandering crow', brother yoren. the nights watchman is to journey up the kings road to collect prisoners for the wall, yoren volunteers and goes with him as to see outside of karhold and the north and learn more about the reach, which is where his mother hailed from. primary location is kings landing. using his bastardy to his advantage, he is able to slip through the initial northern noose that the lannisters put around kings landing, he is blending in as he gathers information on news of his house, house stark and the north, and includes/will include learning of his fathers execution at robb starks hand. (ref. yoren of the nights watch is the crow who intercepts arya at nedd starks beheading and escorts her out of the capital; my yoren would have been seperated from the party between the arresting and execution of lord stark, and unless otherwise stated, his knowledge and opinions are based on the canon events.)

v. they were terrible & red ; this follows more canon timeline lore. rickard is executed by robb, harrion is under lannister capture. his great-uncle arnolf karstark becomes castellan and declares for stannis & house baratheon, yoren's outrage caused a massive verbal row to break out; he argued that neither rickard nor harrion would follow someone who champions the lord of light and denounces the old gods. arnolf had yoren put in a cell for his 'treasonous talk', with the threat of being sent to the wall if he continued. yoren isn't fully aware of the secret alliance with the boltons that his great-uncle has planned, though he had overheard suspicious clips of conversation that would later make sense. when his half-sister alys karstark flees to the wall to seek out jon snow – yoren is tortured and questioned despite having no information. at his earliest opportunity he escapes after much planning; murdering a guard and stealing a horse, making for either the wall or winterfell (for jon snow and his half-sister alys, or to house stark; timeline dependent)

#( trial muse bio! )#( trial muse master tag )#v. grey son of karhold ⋯ life

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shxwmaster · 2 years ago

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👄 + pathonia.

send a ‘👄 + character name’ and my muse will talk about that character

—

“ Ha! ”

It's a sharp, bark of a laugh Shaw lets out, one where he throws his head back and guffaws. Why, the very audacity of mentioning the name brings such a visceral reaction out of what is an otherwise unemotive man!

“ What's there to know about my dear old Granny Patty? Hmm? ”

He paces his study. It was a slow day; the shoulderpads are off, as is the leather vest. He reaches for a glass at a cabinet behind his desk and pours himself a generous serving of whiskey, ferrying the glass with him as he makes another round across the room.

“ You know how grandmothers are. Always doting. So old and gentle. Calling you nicknames. Making you eat too much. She would even bake cookies. ”

His smiles are all teeth, face strained with a sneer as he spits the last word with venom and takes a sip. He shakes his head, chuckles unrelenting. It must be so funny to him.

“ Dear old granny... ” he says bitterly. “ It's incredible what happens when you tame a monster, isn't it? What sorts of things they're capable of creating if given the right resources? The right amount of power? If you feed them enough to stay on your side? Walk with me, won't you? ”

He strides out of the office, walking out to the wide hallway. At the end of it is a large, framed painting of a fully armored Pathonia Shaw in her youth, standing side by side with King Barathen Wrynn. The painting is old and damaged; she had gone through great lengths to rescue this painting during the ransacking. It meant much to her. The grand painting is punctuated by a small wooden cabinet, where no doubt her urn should have been.

Mathias seems to look at that spot smugly, sipping his drink.

The missing urn rests somewhere at the bottom of the Stormwind Canals.

“ She built the Assassin's Guild and Stormwind Intelligence from the ground up. Every machination of these organizations is by her design. She was a thief who was caught for petty theft and crime, and given resources to create an empire to do the exact same thing and more, but this time, for the 'right people'. ” He looks up at the painting with a humorless smirk. “ Who would have thought someone like her would have had such an impact. Such a ripple through history. Such capability in her. ”

Sometimes, he wonders what Pathonia did to her daughter. How his mother was raised. He wonders if Pathonia gave her mercy, if her upbringing was more gentle than his, or if she too, locked her into the belief that her life belonged to the throne and the throne only. He wonders if Pathonia was ever capable of mercy.

“ My mother failed in her line of work. Pathonia, who could raise an army, create an entire empire in the shadows, couldn't save her own daughter. She corrected this with me, her last of kin. Brought me up to excel where my mother had failed. Where Pathonia failed her, she aimed to rectify with me. ”

He takes a long drink. He lets the silence hang.

“ I was four years old. ”

He was able to accept it when he was a little younger. Even just a decade ago, he could look back at how Pathonia brought him up and see it as acceptable. It made sense to him. Logically, you should always start young. The younger, the better. It made him efficient. It made him deadly. It gave him years of a headstart compared to every other rogue, because no rogue ever starts that early, not like he did. Not the way she brought him up.

But with age comes reflection. With age comes wisdom. One has to think eventually: How could anyone do such a thing to a child?

The painting stares back. She stands tall and rigid, orange hair braided back and tight. Her posture is perfect, she holds herself with all of the same majesty as King Barathen beside her does. A smug smirk rests on her lips naturally, and cold, sharp eyes stare directly back at the viewer. The artist made the choice of adding no shine to her eyes, not like Barathen's. They look dead. Soulless.

One might think it's an artistic choice.

Mathias knows that's just how she was.

“ She taught me everything she knew and then some. She raised me along the deadliest assassins in the Eastern Kingdoms, and showed me how to become better than them. I had my first kill at fifteen. I was coronated at thirty. The SI:7, you may not think it, but it is in its own right, its own kingdom. It is Stormwind's shadow, it is the very veins that run through and course its blood to keep the kingdom alive. It is an essential force for the Alliance. Pathonia had a vision, and she painstakingly built it with her bare hands. And what she could build, she broke it until it bent to her will, and she could create something more. Something beautiful. ”

The tower he's in is the heart of the SI:7 Headquarters. Every agent reports here. Nothing ever stops. Cogs in a machine, always flowing, the machine runs. Productivity always in motion.

“ Something to be feared. ”

He finishes his drink and sets the cup down on the wooden surface upside down with a loud clank, and he folds his hands neatly behind his back. His posture is just the same. His eyes are just as cold. Just as dead.

“ It's impressive what one creative person is capable of, don't you think? ”

A muscle on his face twitches. No, those eyes aren't dead. They're filled with rage, with grief, with sadness, with longing. It's a fire raging behind them. The lights catch on his eyes. He isn't his grandmother.

He turns away from the painting, making his way back to his study.

“ I always wish I could've told her how much I hated her. ”

#missive: inbox #backlog: ic #file: pathonia #( HOOOO this one was fun. )#( thank you for sending this!! pathonia and mathias' history is something i will ALWAYS be so compelled by )

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cursedfortune · 2 months ago

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The thought that Wukong may wish to change his appearance never crossed her mind. It was rare a witch disguised themselves, the true identity was one worn on their sleeve and yet their inherent secretive nature could make it feel so far away. Whyever would he want to hide himself? Aside from desiring to remain a myth, in which case it would make more sense if he worried that could be compromised. She noted such when she noticed in her peripheral his tail curl around his waist. What a cute fashion statement, she mused to herself.

His words of not seeing a true witch in some made sense, if only due to the state of her species. Out in every country they more often than not kept to themselves, they weren't bound by the same mortal need to reproduce - which was already a slow process. A witch could live over a thousand years and produce a single offspring - provided, they even felt inclined to continue their line. And lastly, new souls ascending into becoming a force, into becoming a witch and beginning a new bloodline was also just as slow going. Her species had already been small in numbers, but after the war she served in... so many were gone in a single instant, rendering her part of an endangered species.

In most other circumstances she'd say, 'it's survival, it's fair'. Witches killed others, others killed witches. But not that incident. That was a war crime that she would only recover from in the afterlife, unbound from her purpose. That particular incident and witch hunters were the exception to her acceptance of her people being killed by others.

"Witches these days are often mortals parading as us. They shallowly practice aspects of our culture but it rarely results in anything. Magic doesn't exist in the same way it used to. As strong as some of their wills are, they are latching onto an identity that isn't their own and it limits them. But, words have power - so I appreciate them empowering witch-kind." Mortem chuckled, not really offended. Humans who called themselves witches just were rebels, and she could respect that.

Mortem already possessed a very particular view on the term family. Her mother, her grandmother were family. Witches were extended family in the same way humans rallying behind a flag considered themselves a unit. But these pretenders were not family, yet she didn't mind very loosely giving them some honorary regard low down on the totem pole. At least, those effective enough to earn such.

Black eyes peered down to Wukong at her side, an appreciative gleam to her gaze as he said she should be proud. And she was. Perhaps not so much at the traitor title but she also didn't regret doing what was necessary - even if it meant condemning herself to a life of solitude. A light laugh left her lips, "I very much enjoy the way your mind works, Great Sage." And by that extension, just what he had to say. Drawing together those two titles only reminded her of how livid the Church had been, which she thrived on as she stood beside the King's throne. Looking down upon the very church that hunted her people.

Their conversation sparked something nostalgic within her. A feeling she had been without for so long. A soul that knew of a past as far back as she talked about. Someone who remembered. Someone who didn't denounce the present day, but still missed plenty of the things that once were. It wasn't just some manner of reassurance or validation she felt, it almost was like finding a fragile piece of art that survived a house fire. A piece of home from a place neither could return to.

"You may just be the oldest soul I've met, lovely. And I've met deities younger than us." And how pissed off those deities were when she called them infants. By now she could certainly smell the food, hear the commotion of people enjoying the lively festival. They were drawing closer, she could see people heading towards the city like them up ahead. She could see the colorful decorations from this distance, hear the music and laughter - the cheering as a performance ended and another began. The loveliness of mortals was on display.

It brought a slight relaxing to her shoulders. Even if times were different, the atmosphere of a festival was always the same. Dancing, singing, shows, food, mingling among one another - not that she cared much for the latter, save for her current company, of course.

Speaking of which, the invitation to share her tale with him over a good meal brought forth yet another subtle flicker of surprise. Had she not lingered a moment to observe his expression and the cant of his head, it may have just been easy to miss. But there was recognition in the language he slipped into, noting the change and yet following his meaning as her mind translated it in real time. Language was too important not to dedicate time to learning and she had nothing but time to learn all the various ones among mortals.

Knowing what he had just referred to her as usually would have made her suspicious, but she found an easy acceptance in how he approached it. He had no reason to seek something from her beyond entertainment, company. "Keep up this charm and I'll stick to you like a burr." The witch warned playfully with an equally playful curl of one of her plum locks around her finger.

But there was no denying the content warmth that shined in her eyes, in the way her smile relaxed. "If that is what you wish, I'd be honored to share with you." Even with a witch's secretive nature, she never had an issue being open if one knew how to ask her to. And Sun Wukong did very well simply being himself to warrant her honesty. "Though, I hope you'll also share some of your tales, too? Be merciful and spare my voice at some point. I do not possess your skills." She teased, referring to how they met earlier. Though, she certainly could physically speak unending due to her regeneration factor - that didn't mean her soul could withstand listening to herself speak so much. Blame her witchy hermit nature.

He glanced towards the horizon, eyes almost seeming to shine with the excitement he had felt upon seeing the city on it’s edges. In his excitement, he wondered if he should shift forms; nix his tail and more Monkey like appearance to masquerade as a human. It was a form he loathed to take on – he felt naked without his fur, his tail, his feet felt uncomfortable in shoes made for men – but it was one he was willing to do just in case. Those who were aware of Stone Monkeys tended to find one to be of awe; those who didn’t know, tended to treat him like an animal instead of Mortal. Whichever, his attention was driven back to the Witch besides him.

❝It’s only fair after all,❞ Sun had jest, finding her amusement to be entertaining. He wrapped his tail around his waist, it almost looking like a furred belt, as he loosely held his arms to his chest. He’ll listen to her tales about herself.

Her own myths and legends and folklore to be have.

Witches were a kind – a species, a distant link to humans as Monkeys were to Man – that the Monkey King barely dealt with. The ones he had he had, unfortunately for her, had killed and struck down. Let it be for their assaults on his Master way back in the day, or them threatening his Mountain which some tended to do, Sun sadly took the lives of those related to her. Would he say it?

Of course now; who would openly admit that they took down someone’s kind? That was rude, if not heartless.

And for the moment, he was neither; even more so as the calm smile she slipped onto her lips didn’t meet her eyes. Something he could tell by simply looking at her.

❝I haven’t seen a Witch in quite a few years – at least, a Witch who was truly a Witch.❞ And not of those who, religiously, consider themselves as such. He continued to stare up at her, eyes gleaming with interest as he listened.

A War Veteran turned Turn-cloak; the Church's Dismay; A Hermit of Misfortune; A King’s Birther; A Fortune Teller; all folklore that could make one’s story far more interesting than a simple ‘I a merely a Witch of a the Northern Lands’ (as he knew of as).

❝All titles that you should wear with pride, I’d say, for who could be both The Church's Greatest Dismay and A King Maker in the same breath?❞ Or, Sun couldn’t see the line between the two. To go against one’s religious teachings was something Sun was unfortunately good as; as the one who represented ‘A Monkey’s Mind’, he knew his reactions could be out there when sparked.

Which surprised him, over how he didn’t react snarky to her miss-wordings; he found them to be more amusing than anything, and something he felt himself tacking onto himself as time went by. For who is he, but an impulsive and destructive Monkey?

❝I remember those days, before law came about the lands and division was not a concept. Interesting, that we’re both older than most would account for.❞ The Monkey King had grinned in return to her smirk, uncrossing his arms and finally looking away from her. The smells of people and food alike was stronger than before to him – perhaps it was that, that made him feel a bit on edge. He was aware of his own Stage Freight, and the possibility of being recognized as something he did not want to anticipated, but he was also excited.

It was almost a mixture of both excitement and fear that made him remember his time as a traveller more fondly. For who was he, if not, the travelling monk known as Sun Zhǎnglǎo?

❝If your story can be told with a good meal between two companions, then what says you? I’m more than willing to listen.❞ And make comments along the way. ❝So how about it, Hǎo Péngyǒu, would you care to tell me your story tonight?❞

‘Hǎo péngyǒu’, traditional Chinese for ‘Good Friend’. . . My, the Monkey King was laying on his charm, wasn’t he? A comfortable, if not lax, smile on his features, and a slight cant of his head towards Mortem.

#stone monkey becomes stone frog lmfao #literally the only transformation she knows if turning someone into a frog for the lols so that's extra funny #thethreadofmuses #rps

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