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aemondapologistfrfr · 2 months ago

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Anything for You - Pt3

daemon x daughter!reader

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: The King and the Hand come up with a plan to get you and Daemon to come back to court. Daemon is barely able to contain himself when he lands on the docks of King’s Landing.

Warnings: 18+ different PoVs bc i was feeling it, swearing, pregnant!reader this chap, coercion into like kidnapping?, the rogue prince fr, death(not mc), blood, swords, threats, p in v

Authors Note: idk why i locked in writing this like i planned to keep it cutesy and i was like wait 🤭 short hair daemon in his armor 🙂‍↕️ i never intended for this to be more than a one shot but here we are 😶 literally stopped writing my other stuff and was sat

Word Count: 3.8k

ᓚᘏᗢ

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King and Hand PoV

The King and the Hand sit in the empty council chamber trying to figure out the best course of action. Daemon and his daughter have been gone for almost three moons now and the Keep is starting to speculate. There’s been no word from Dragonstone which could either be good or bad. Whispers around the realm speak nothing of the two, leaving the King at a loss. The King looks at the Hand waiting for his next idea on how to get at least the Princess back to court.

The King has put in his best efforts to push back the prying Lords who were vying for the Princess’s hand. They come around the council chambers and throne room like vultures awaiting her return. The Queen tells the King daily what she overhears from the Ladies and her handmaidens and it’s been causing his temper to rise.

“Even the Queen is being questioned about their location.” the King sits back exasperated. “I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do.” he looks at his Hand.

“I will send out our best men to sail to Dragonstone. If they find the Princess they’ll bring her back to us.” the Hand pulls a blank piece of parchment in front of him. They spend the next couple of hours picking the company to send and decide on having her guard lead them. They hope she’ll take kinder to him and return with the men. The Hand has the King write a note to place in the Princess’s absence for Daemon.

“If she’s there and we can get her,” the King shakes his head. “Daemon will not take this lightly.” he looks to his Hand with worried eyes. “Might it be best if we just leave them?” the Hand scoffs.

“He directly disobeyed your commands. As he does time and time again. You are the King. If you can not control your own brother the realm will begin to see you as weak.” the Hand tries not to let his annoyance show. “The Princess’s hand can garner us alliances, armies. My King, it’s never my wish to speak so poorly about Daemon-“

“Yet you never seize the opportunity to do so.” the King shakes his head leaning back in his chair.

“He’s undermining you. He knows he’ll keep getting away with it.” the Hand searches the King's eyes. “I urge you to send these men out at daybreak.” the King exhales at the Hands plea.

“Fine. See to it then.” the King waves him off. “Pray to the Gods Daemon will see reason.” the King looks to the ceiling as the Hand goes to make the preparations.

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Your PoV

I always heard stories of how the mornings were unpleasant when carrying a babe but I’ve never felt more at peace. The maesters here say I am the most relaxed princess they’ve had the pleasure of helping with her pregnancy. I know my father is the one to thank for that. He absolutely worships me morning, noon, and night. The moment my eyes open he’s pressing his lips across every inch of my body whispering sweet words. He stays attached to me until I plead him for a break.

“I’ll go fetch your handmaidens to bathe you and get you ready for your garden walk.” he presses his lips against my brow before slipping out of our chambers.

I’ve quickly grown fond of my new company of handmaidens here. They dote on me and have a gentler touch than the ladies I left behind in King's Landing. They pour milk and flowers into my bath and keep their hands on me until I’m resting against the back of the tub. After they bathe and lather me in oils and perfumes they pull a flowing dress over my head and help escort me down to the gardens.

I quite like being on Dragonstone again. I forgot how quiet and peaceful it is. The low grumbles and songs of the dragons bring me such a sense of comfort and I feel truly calm and at home here. I don’t need guards hovering around me and I can walk in the gardens at my leisure. I let the leaves and petals brush against my fingertips. I stop and bend down to smell the lilies that wash over my senses.

I delve deeper into the gardens and smile when I approach my bench. It sits near the edge of the gardens and overlooks the Blackwater. I lean back and pull my feet under me as I watch the waves lap against the shore. I tilt my head back and shut my eyes to allow the sun to kiss my skin. Its warmth engulfs me and a smile starts to spread across my face when I hear approaching footsteps.

“I was wondering if you were going to join me today.” I hum turning. My face falls as I see my guard from King's Landing. “What are you doing here?” I tilt my head.

“Hello, Princess.” he bows his head before clearing his throat. “Your father wanted to surprise you with a ship to bring you back to King's Landing. If you’ll follow me.” he outstretches his hand and I look at it.

“Where is my father? Why wouldn’t he just fly me back on Caraxes?” my brows furrow.

“He has a couple more things to finish up here and then he will join us.” he nods his head. I study him curiously but I can’t find a reason not to trust him. He’s protected me my whole life, surely he wouldn’t cause me any harm.

“Okay.” I rise and grab his arm. He sets a piece of parchment on the bench and begins to lead me back through the gardens. “Why are we taking this way?” I look up at my guard and he keeps hauling me down the back steps.

“It’s much faster this way.” his words seem rushed but I shrug this off.

As we make it to the dock I see a couple other men I recognize waiting for us on the boat. Once I’m on board the boat begins to move back out into the Blackwater. I watch as we move away from Dragonstone and take a seat on the bench watching it become smaller and smaller. I watch as some of the men on the ship clap my guards back and offer him hushed words of congratulations.

“When will my father join me in King's Landing?” I look at the man closest to me. He ignores me and goes over to the cluster of men causing a frown to form on my face. My chest tightens and I begin to feel alone and foolish for not going to my father first. A tear slips down my cheek at the same moment I hear Caraxes roar ripple across the Bay.

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Daemons PoV

Daemon had been waiting for his Princess to return for well over thirty minutes now. He knows how she likes her time in the gardens so he didn’t think anything of it at first. He enjoys seeing her so peaceful here so he doesn’t pay it any mind. When an hour goes by he rises from his seat and starts into the gardens.

He strolls through them silently admiring and keeping an eye out for his wife. He tries to listen and see if he can catch her humming but all he can hear is the breeze through the leaves. When he doesn’t spot her on the main path he starts in the direction of her bench. He curses himself for not starting there but when he approaches he finds it empty. He looks across the Bay before going to turn back to the castle until he spots a piece of parchment. He lifts it and begins to read.

Brother-

It is not my wish to anger you or fight with you. You are both wanted and needed back at court. The Hand and I have sent her guard and a group of men to sail her back to King's Landing. We have many potential suitors for her that can look past how you’ve sullied her. I have called some Ladies to court as well to hopefully satiate your appetite. I wish to see you come home.

-The King, Your Brother

Daemon growls, crumpling the note and throwing it in the Blackwater. He curses loudly off the edge of the cliff and Caraxes deafening answering roar comes from out of the pits. He runs back to the castle and makes his way to the doors that lead to the docks. He rips them open and sees the guard standing just on the other side. He slams his fist into his face and his vision goes red as he continues to pummel the guard in front of him.

“My Prince,” the guard gurgles. Daemon slams him onto the stone.

“You’ve let my wife be taken from right under your nose.” Daemon repeatedly hits him as the guards movements begin to lull.

“My Prince, a moment,” guards from inside the castle try to stop him. The last blow lands with a crunch and the sentry goes limp on the stone.

“Clean this up and wash the stone.” Daemon barks out before storming back into the castle.

He takes two steps at a time and pushes his way into their chambers. He grabs Dark Sister from the solar and makes his way down to the pits. He quickly puts his armor on and places his helm before walking out on the platform as Caraxes approaches. Daemon grabs onto Caraxes snout and looks him in the eyes.

“We are getting her back.” Caraxes blinks at him and Daemon takes to his mount.

Caraxes drops them off the edge before shooting them forward. Daemon stays on high alert looking for the ship that is carrying his wife. The breeze carries them quicker and Caraxes turns his snout slightly and pushes on with purpose. Soon they’re circling above the ship and Caraxes serenades them with his song. Daemon watches as the sails sway and has Caraxes fly higher. He wishes to land on the boat and claim his wife once more and end this farce but he doesn’t know if the ship will maintain its integrity under Caraxes and he won’t risk his wife and their child.

He curses under his breath and tugs Caraxes in the direction of the docks at Kings Landing. Caraxes circles above the city grumbling and lets his tail trail across the roofs. He makes his way back over to the docks and sees the ship approaching. Caraxes heeds the command to land at the docks and the common folk who don’t move out of the way quick enough forfeit their lives to the rogue Prince and his dragon. Horses and guards break through the crowds and the Hand comes into view. Daemon stays atop his dragon as he looks down upon the man.

“The King commands you to stop this.” Daemon laughs at the Hand's words.

“I do not see the King.” Caraxes tail whips closely to the Hands feet. He turns as the boat begins to dock and the men aboard look to the Hand nervously. “Surely, you knew I would come.” Daemon drawls. He starts to slide off the side of Caraxes and lands to the ground with a thud. He unsheathes his sword and points it at the Hand. “You would take a pregnant wife from her husband? Steal her away and marry her to another?” he tilts his head, stalking over to him. “And be daft enough to think there would be no consequences?” he laughs, pushing the tip of his blade into the Hands chest.

“If you kill me here the King will never forgive you.” Daemon clenches his jaw knowing that the Hand is right in this matter.

Caraxes pushes the Hand back with his tail and he tumbles to the ground. Daemon turns and stalks over to the ship to retrieve his wife. His brother would be unforgiving if he took his Hand but for the men who took his wife? He could find ten more of them on the street. As he approaches the boat he calls out for his wife and she comes forward with red cheeks. He sees the tears staining her perfect face and how puffy her eyes are. It’s going to take all of his resolve not to burn down the entirety of the Red Keep.

“Come here, sweet girl.” he hums and she walks up to him and folds into his arms. He rubs her back as he feels her sobs rack through her. Every sniffle has him seeing a darker shade of red. He pulls back and cups her cheeks. “Did these men cause you any harm?” he searches her eyes.

“No. Only taking me from you and my gardens.” her voice is soft and his nostrils flare as her tears continue to flow. His hand rests on her stomach before he kisses her brow.

“Go to Caraxes. Hug his neck and don’t look behind you.” she nods her head and he watches as she wraps her arms around his dragon. He takes one step onto the ship and the guards have their swords out in a blink of an eye. Daemon lets the rage take over him and pour out through Dark Sister. As the men continue to surround him he smiles as he slashes and slices through them. He nods at the last man standing who looks at him with a heaving chest.

“My Prince, I was only-“ his head falls to the wooden floor.

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Your Pov

I jump as I feel a gloved hand wrap around my arm. I turn around and look up and see my father. My tears start anew and I cling against him. He holds me tightly and presses his lips to the top of my head. He unwraps me from his embrace and helps me mount Caraxes. He wraps a hand around me and holds tightly to the reins and shots us into the skies. My stomach drops as we approach the Red Keep and he begins our descent inside the inner courtyard.

As we make our way down we see people scrambling to get out of Caraxes path and once they see my father step foot on the ground they run even faster. I hold onto my fathers arm and he begins to walk us into the Keep. He wastes no time taking us to the throne room and upon entering I see the King sitting with a frown. My father takes his helm off and lets it drop to the floor with a thud.

“How dare you take my pregnant wife from me.” I watch as my father stalks toward the King. I shuffle quickly up to his side not wanting to be away from him.

“Enough of this Daemon. I am tired of the cease-“

“Your Grace,” the Hand bursts through the doors, panting with a dozen guards on his heel. The King dismisses the guards and the Hand composes himself before taking his place next to the King. “He’s killed countless men today on the docks.” the King looks at his Hand with raised brows.

“What did you expect? You truly thought he would allow this? Did I not warn you yesterday?” the King glares at the Hand.

“I urge you to punish him.” my father lets a laugh slip out.

“My wife and I will be returning to Dragonstone. Where we will remain for the rest of her pregnancy, unbothered. If you send anyone else to try and take my wife I will send you what is left of them.” his words are laced with promise and the King continues to stare at us.

“You cannot possibly be considering allowing this.” the Hand looks at the King, taken aback.

“If we would’ve left them, none of today's events would have occurred. She’s with child. You planned to marry her to some Lord but her babe will come out with silver hair. What else would you have me do?” The King looks to his Hand exasperated.

“You are the King. It is your choice.” the Hand looks forward blankly.

“And you are my Hand, my council.” the Kings voice rises.

“Mm, this seems as if it’s a personal dispute.” my father hums. “We’re leaving.” he dips down to grab his helm while his other hand encases mine and we begin to exit the throne room.

“I wish to pack a bag. I want some of my dresses and jewelry.” I whisper up to my father.

“Of course, sweet girl.” he smiles down at me and leads me up my chambers.

He seals us into my chambers and I walk over to my wardrobe. I turn and give a slight jump as my father is standing there with a bag. I look up to him and slowly take the bag out of his hands. I continue to look up at him and nibble my lip. His cheeks are still lightly flushed and his hair is askew from his helm.

“What’s wrong?” he tilts his head with a scrunched brow.

“I think you look handsome in your armor.” I mumur.

“Is that so?” he chuckles, caressing my cheek.

“Very handsome, my husband.” I nod my head as his eyes darken at my words.

“Mm, I quite like that title for me on your tongue.” he pulls me closer. “My little wife.” he presses his lips against mine and I melt into his touch.

“Thank you for saving me.” I mumble against his lips. His back straightens as if he just remembered today's events and ushers me back over to my wardrobe.

“I will always come for you.” his words cause a blush to creep up my neck. “Pack your bag so I can take you home.” I quickly pull down a couple gowns and toss them into the bag before doing the same with most of my vanity.

My father leads us through Keep and the guards step back in his presence. We find Caraxes snapping his jaws as the guards who are brave enough to stay in their stations outside. He dips his wing down and once we’re settled into the saddle he carries us into the skies. My fathers hands are wrapped tightly around me the entire flight back.

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I wake in the middle of the night to the hearth still breathing warmth into our chambers. My father has his arms wrapped tightly around me and his breath is tickling the back of my neck. I squirm in his arms and his response is to pull me closer. He presses his nose against my nape and presses his lips against it a moment later.

“Go back to bed.” his voice is thick with sleep.

“I want some water.” I trail my fingertips across his arm.

He slowly unwraps his arms from me and walks over to the table. I admire his nude form in the firelight and watch as his muscles flex as he walks back over to me. I reach up for the cup but he shakes his head and brings it to my lips. I take a couple sips and he sets the cup on the bedside table. I reach out and press my palm against his torso. I trace my fingers over the defined lines and he steps closer.

“I was scared today.” I whisper looking up at him.

“Of what, sweet girl?” he looks down at me tenderly.

“That they were going to take me from you.” my eyes start to fill with tears. “That they’d make me marry someone else and take my babe from me.” my voice breaks as I start to cry.

“I will never let that happen.” his brows furrow and I reach out and pull him closer. “You’re safe. No one is taking our babe. You’re mine and only mine.” he crawls back into bed with me and I tug at his arm until he’s hovering over me.

“I don’t get why they can’t just let us be.” I sniffle as tears continue to fall down my face.

“They will after this if they’re smart.” he presses his lips to my forehead. “If they try again, I’ll burn the whole fucking city down for you.” he whispers against my brow.

“I need you, daddy.” I wrap my arms around his neck. He lets out a soft chuckle before placing his lips on mine. His hand travels between my thighs and I spread them waiting for his touch. His fingers slide up my slit and I writhe beneath him. “Please,” I wrap my fingers around his length and he groans, resting his forehead against mine. I guide him to my core as he swirls around my bud. I arch up as he slowly pushes into me.

“Gods, you’re such a good girl.” he slowly rocks into me as I gasp into his neck. With every roll of his hips he pulls whimpers from my mouth. His hands rest on either side of my head as our lips mash together. He pats my thigh and I wrap them around his waist and he groans into my mouth. He kisses down my jaw and makes his way to my neck to suckle and bite.

“Daemon,” I breathe out his name and his hips snap into mine.

“Sat it again, sweet girl.” he purrs in my ear, rolling his hips.

“Daemon, please,” I gasp as his hips begin to fall into mine faster. I rock against him as my pleasure begins to coil quickly. He bites down onto my shoulder and I dig into his. “Daddy,” my toes curl as I fall apart around him. He groans into my neck spilling his pleasure into me.

His lips find mine and we continue to cling to one another. He pulls out of me and pulls me back against his chest. His arms wrap around me and one of his hand splays across my stomach. He peppers kisses across my shoulder blades while slowly tracking patterns onto my stomach.

“I love you so much. I will never let another day like today happen. I promise you this.” his arms tighten around me at his declaration.

“I love you. Thank you.” I scoot back into his chest and hold his arms around me.

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masterlist 🔌

and if i say we’re having three more parts of this and two of them are already done - one of them being a prequel to part 1 🫣😏

Part 4

taglist ✍️

anything for you tags: @mamawiggers1980

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @1-fuzzy-squirrels @arya-brooke @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @moonymoo1 @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme @multilover19 @alexxavicry @cedstars @fuckalrighty @mrsmunson-harrington @misspendragonsworld @nz2004

#prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #hotd daemon #daemon smut #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #x reader #x reader smut #x reader fic

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burstfoot · 1 year ago

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Your name is Kristen Wright. You’re barely 10. You’re at the outdoor funeral for your parents, a pair of genius scientists that Terra will never see again. You’ve spent the last two weeks giving false smiles to women and men who pretend to grieve them while spending every moment they think you’re not looking lauding them for their ‘foolishness’ and ‘hubris’. Sitting amongst a crowd of these intellectuals, your feel nothing looking at their crocodile tears, knowing they’re just happy there’s less competition for next year’s grants. Your new guardian grabs onto your hand in an attempt to grant you a modicum of comfort. You stare blankly at the sky above.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Joyce Moore. You can hardly communicate anymore. Your best friend killed herself trying to replicate the experiment that gave you permanent brain damage. Every scientist at Rhine Lab now treats you like a child at best, and an animal at worst. Your parents have not come to see you. None of your colleagues seem to understand that you are still you, with a sense of humour, good taste in TV shows, and fucking feelings, god damn it.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Ferdinand Clooney. You’ve lost everything you’ve ever worked for in a futile grab for power. The department of defense has you by the dick after saving you from a group of Pioneers who (justifiably) nearly beat you half to death. It’s playing fiddle to their whims or the rest of your life in prison - or, most realistically, a tragic accident report. Your aspirations aren’t within your reach anymore, and you know that it’s your fault. You will never be Kristen Wright, and it’s eating you alive.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Parvis Ahrens. You’re not that old. You’re only 58. But you’re losing your mind. Every day, a little more slips away. You rely more and more on encyclopedic entries for information you took immense pride in knowing from your heart. You’ve spent the last few years focused on the pursuit of progress of all else. As part of this, you manipulated your star pupil in an attempt to permanently get her under your wing, outside of the influence of the Defense Director, a weak-hearted woman everyone else seems to think is cold as ice. She has years of life to change Columbian science. You don’t.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Jara B. Wilson. You feel like you don’t see the girl who lived for you with so long in Kristen anymore. You’re a washed-up movie star, working for her cause above all else. Do you have anything that you’re working for for yourself anymore? She’ll be gone soon. You know that.

She hasn’t even left yet, and you’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away once she leaves.

Your name is Nasti Londrey. Your people have never had a home. They might never have a home.

You’ve always felt alone. You will always be alone. That’s fine.

Your name is Justin Fitzroy Jr. Your dad died a week ago, and the cure has just been found for the hereditary illness that threatens to cut your lifespan in half. It was found by accident.

The sword of Damacles no longer hangs above your neck. Why then, do you still feel so alone?

Your name is Loken Williams. You reach out to a girl you tortured, who you know can’t remember what you did to her, because you’re going to die soon, and you need someone to remember what you did with your life.

Even if she kills you, at least you won’t die alone.

Your name is Trevor Friston. It’s been thousands of years down here. You just want to see your daughter again, and it will be another thousand until you do.

You’re very familiar with the loneliness that wraps around every single nanometer of your circuit board.

Your name is Dorothy Franks. Your whole family was killed in a Catastrophe. Your name is Elena Urbica. Your whole family, besides your twin sister, has disowned you. Your drive yourself head-first into the sciences to distract yourself from the loneliness.

Your name is Ho’olheyak. Centuries of ancestral memories swarm around your mind. Because of this, your lifespan was cut to a fraction of the life you should be living. You are obsessed with the history of your people, and you resent them from tearing your life away from you. You tear over books and tomes of history to find all means of unspeakable knowledge, hoping that somewhere in there you’ll find something that you can connect to.

You don’t even know you’re lonely.

Your name is Muelsyse.

You saw the writing on the wall. Saria and Kristen just had a massive fight. You’ve been drifting apart since college, but the only two people who you’ve felt a real connection to on all of Terra will hardly speak to each other anymore. Do you try and mend what happened between them? Can you? You don’t know what to do besides take all means to protect yourself in the fallout. You wish you weren’t so paranoid, so self-centered, that all you know how to do is ensure your own safety.

Is there anything on Terra for you besides loneliness?

Your name is Ifrit. It’s cold, and quiet, and you’re pretty sure you’ve killed everyone around you. Your eyes are blurred, you hands are shaky, and shards of black crystal stick out all over your body. Before you pass out, you think one thing:

Hell, you might be alone, but at least those bastard whitecoats got what was coming to them.

Your name is Olivia Silence. You pull yourself out of the rubble in a destroyed laboratory, where you see Saria looming over Ifrit, beaten half-to-death. You beat yourself up for thinking you could trust her - that she was there to protect Ifrit, and you. You can’t trust anyone in Columbia. You run to embrace Ifrit with your entire body, to protect her from the cold eyes of Saria standing above her. You look back at her with nothing but fear in your eyes.

You’ve never felt so alone. You have to get Ifrit out of Rhine.

Your name is Saria. You’re barely 8 years old. You went your father in tears, as a group of bullies came after you and destroyed your toy car. He tells you to stop crying. You’re not accomplishing anything by throwing a fit in front of him. He tells you to fight back - take responsibility for your weakness.

You’ve never felt so alone.

You won’t ever be this weak again.

Staring up at the sky, looking up as Kristen’s ark sends her out through the hole she tore in the false sky, you know that you were foolish to believe you could bypass your own weakness through sheer will.

And you’ll be lonely for the rest of your life without her.

#arknights #fic #(i suppose. this is moreso like. an appreciation post in prose form)#arknights spoilers #lone trail spoilers #lone trail #your name is Mayer Stony. honestly you’re doing completely fine

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aethien11-blog · 3 months ago

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NOTE: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS. (Also, I’m a sappy, silly, dork at times. Sorry not sorry.)

The boys reactions to learning their s/o has been kidnapped

Fem Reader x : Muzan, Gyutaro, Rengoku, Sanemi

WARNINGS: use of ‘naughty words’, mentions of blood, rape, mutilation, death, violence, and possible spoilers.

MUZAN KIBUTSUJI

It was supposed to be your last day under the sunlight, that had been your request. Muzan had found you far too intriguing (he would never admit to actually having developed feelings for you) to leave you as a mere human, and you for your part had fallen hard for the red-eyed King of the Demons. Granting you one last day in the sunlight was a small price…or it should have been.

Muzan’s nerves were already on edge. He did not like you being away where he could not watch you and be certain of your safety, but Douma had humans with you, other humans that were to see to your every desire for the day. Muzan had ensured they would have ample funds to do so. It would be fine, at least that’s what he kept trying to tell himself all the way up until Douma appeared before him and tossed a mangled human at his feet.

Muzan had seen Douma assume many expressions and faces over the centuries, but the death glare down at the now legless man at his feet did not help Muzan’s nerves. Before Muzan could snap at Douma that he did not require anyone else to do his hunting for him, Douma snarled at the human. “Repeat what you just said to me.”

Muzan actually took the time to look then and noticed the robes the man wore. He was a member of Douma’s cult and his face looked vaguely familiar, but the words he uttered through pain stilled the Demon Lord’s heart in his chest, before his blood raged to life through his body.

“T-took her.”

“What do you mean by that?” Muzan's quiet question that was laced with a thousand promises of pain beyond imagination if the answer received was anything but pleasing.

“S-swords. Men with swords. They,” the man coughed another pile of blood at his feet before he stopped breathing.

“Demon slayers, my lord,” Douma answered from a prostate position.

Before he could blink, Douma’s head was snapped back, clawed hands fisted in his hair forcing the multi-colored eyes to meet the furious ruby of the Demon King.

Slowly, as if dragging the words from the pits of his now hollow stomach, Muzan ordered, “Where…is…she?”

Douma blinked only once before he heard the familiar strum of the biwa and four other demons appeared on the floor behind him.

*******************************************************************

You sat up, still with your hands bound before you, in front of the men gathered. There were two women but you would not look at them. All you could feel was cold fear and rage. They had been going on for hours now, asking questions that you gave only short, curt replies to… if you answered at all.

“You don’t seem to understand just what kind of monster that man is!”

That did it. You snarled out, “You don’t get to call him a monster when you are the ones that murdered my escorts.”

“It might seem that way,” one of the women spoke up and you snapped a glare at her smiling face. Her bangs hang loose, but otherwise her hair was drawn back in a bun, behind a butterfly of all things. You silently scoff at the concept. “We were actually saving you.”

There was no keeping the scoff silent that time.

The smile faded from her face barely before she forcibly replaced it. “We were.”

“From what? A happy life?” You didn’t wait for any of them to answer. “They were to escort me to gather the rest of my matrimonial supplies and you killed them and you expect me to believe a single lie that drips out of your open maw.”

“This poor woman.” The giant rubbed his beads between his hands again as he began crying. “He has deceived her.”

“She’ll need to remain restrained.” The heterochromatic gaze made you shiver on its own, nevermind the albino snake slithering over his shoulders. “She managed to do quite a bit of damage to slayers that rescued her.”

“Captured,” you snipe back. “Not rescued.”

“Look, sweetheart,” the large man with gems hanging from his hitai-ate on either side of his face began in a far gentler tone than the rest had used, “you’re safe now. The demons aren’t going to get you here. That’s what we call rescued. Yeah?”

You scoff and purposely turn your face from him. As if. Muzan was nothing but gentle with me and would murder any demon who tried. Your eyes find his face and harden into (e/c) chips. “You are the only ones to cause me harm.”

“Do we know why Muzan wanted her?” the man with hair akin to living flame asked loudly. It was like he didn’t know how to talk if he wasn’t shouting and much like your lover, the noise grated your nerves.

“Nope,” the flamboyant shinobi answered. “She still won’t say.”

“I think we should schedule a watch. Make sure no other demons come looking for her,” the scarred over man stated.

You couldn’t help the smile that crept up your lips then. You do that. Your gaze fell to the now setting evening sun. It was beautiful, the vibrant blue shifting into orange and red hues as if the sun itself knew what you did.

“It won’t matter,” you stated proudly. Your heart beat in your chest steadily and you smiled pleasantly at the fools before you whose mouths dropped at the beauty you could radiate. This view was for him, for the thought of your Lord that you knew was coming for you. “You’ll all be dead by dawn.”

Despite their pestering, you said nothing more for the remainder of the sunset, slowly watching that brilliant orb sink below the mountains with a radiant smile placed on your face. In its final glory, the sun painted the sky a vibrant vermillion that evening and you could think of nothing more than the beautiful red eyes of your Lord and the arms you wished so desperately to return to.

GYUTARO SHABANA

Gyutaro smiled his too wide smile down at the necklace. Daki had helped him select it. She didn’t understand his obsession with you but she did like that you at least caused her otherwise maudlin brother to smile once in a while so she was tolerant of you. It wasn’t like you’d ever compare with her in his heart anyway, right?

Gyutaro adored the way you would take his face in your hands and smile at him, telling him that he didn’t need to bring you things. You were just a simple farm girl after all. Such finery was for high class ladies.

“I’m just happy to see you again.”

The memory of those words made his grin go wider. His hopeful eyes met his sister’s. “Should I ask her… to become a demon like us?”

Daki smiled fondly and squeezed his shoulders in a hug. “I’m sure you’ll know that answer when it's the right time. For now, the sun has finally set. I’ll step back. Go to her.” And with that she surrendered full control to him and Gyutaro stood, gently cradling the gift for you in both hands.

************************************************************************

Gyutaro arrived at your meeting spot, in the shadows of the fields and froze. The door to your home was never left open. Cold panic sank in his stomach as he sprang across the fields. Your father always kept a single light in the window, but the house was dark and the closer he got, the more he could smell the scent he recognized immediately…blood.

Frozen in the doorway, the scene before him turned his stomach. The walls were spattered in blood, the two little bodies of your younger siblings both mutilated. There was a woman on the bed, older, must have been your mother. Gyutaro looked away. What had been done didn’t need to be guessed at.

The man on the floor, a large pulsing gash of blood still seeping out into his garments still, mumbled and Gyutaro leaned closer.

“Sa-save…ha…Took…y/n.” It was the last wish of your dying father.

I’m not eating that, Daki echoed through their link but he barely heard her for the blood filling his ears.

His kamas appeared in his hands to a blood curdling screams that erupted from him before his feet were moving. The bandits had left obvious footprints to follow and this wasn’t the first time he pursued humans, but it was the fastest. His vision clouded in red as he saw only his target, only the patterns of feet and something heavy being dragged between them. He would get there. He would find you and save you and convince you to become a demon, so no one could do this to you ever again.

KYOJURO RENGOKU

Kyojuro hummed to himself as he opened the doors to his home one handed, balancing a load of groceries you had asked for on the other hand. His lovely wife sending him on errands first thing in the morning was nothing new. After all, you saw to the whole estate and made sure Senjuro was getting his study time in even when Kyojuro was away.

You supported your husband in everything, especially in being a Hashira and striving to improve the Corps from the top. Kyojuro chuckled to himself as he thought of your insistence that he take a Tsuguko so he could eventually retire.

“I do support you, my light. I just,” you had paused to blush that pretty blush he loved so across your cheeks back to your ears, “sometimes I want you to myself too.”

“Y/n! I’m back!” he called with a grin as he set the items down in your kitchen.

When you didn’t immediately answer, Kyojuro’s brows furrowed and he began wandering the estate calling to you.

Finally he stepped out into the yard and raised his arm, calling “Kaname!”

Kaname alighted to his raised wrist and peered up at him.

“Kaname, I cannot find y/n anywhere. Could you find her?”

“But of course.” And Kaname alighted once more.

Kyojuro’s earlier smile failed to reappear as his instincts overrode his gleeful personality. Something was wrong.

“Brother?” Senjuro called as he walked out onto the patio.

Kyojuro walked over.

“Are you training, y/n again today?” Senjuro asked, glancing about for you.

Kyojuro couldn’t resist the smile that took him then. “I was actually looking for her. Have you seen her?”

Senjuro seemed almost to freeze, staring up at his brother as if he might have grown another head. “But she went into town with you…to get your steamed buns, right?”

Kyojuro laughed then. “That woman. Such a handful.” He grinned at his little brother. “I hope when you marry, that you find a more docile wife.”

“I don’t want to marry at all. Those things are trouble,” Senjuro shot back.

Kyojuro’s hearty laugh filled the courtyard.

“Seems the boy at least learned something useful from your wife,” Shinjuro jibed. “Probably should go after her though.”

“And why is that, father? Y/n is capable after all.”

Shinjuro glared heavily at him. “Because capable or not a woman shouldn’t be on her own. Now get going!”

Kyojuro caught the sake bottle hurled his way and set it gracefully on the porch before grinning down to Senjuro. “When I come back, we can all train.”

“Lotta good that’ll do ya,” Shinjuro grumbled and wandered off.

**************************************************************************

Meaning to surprise your husband with his favorite steamed buns, you had slipped into town after he left. What you had not intended, was to be held up before you could leave. The men blocking your way were not on the list of things that needed handling today but it seemed, they were going to insist.

“Please stand aside. I need to get through.”

Their sick chuckles were really answer enough but you held hope one of them would see sense and move.

“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be wandering about alone. Why don’t we keep you company?” was followed by another round of chuckling.

“I am never alone. My husband’s light accompanies me everywhere. As does his strength.”

“That light’s welcome to come with us too,” one sniped on a grin.

“Yeah. Your husband’s light can shine on my cock all it likes.” Another round of chuckles as she sigh and slowly shake your head.

“How uncouth.”

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA

Sanemi grinned as he bowed off to Muichiro and Iguro.

“Thanks for another fun night.”

Iguro only scoffed and Muichiro cocked his head to the side. “Your standards for fun seem very different lately.”

Jumping on the chance, Iguro teasingly asked, “Is it because of y/n?”

“Pft, as if,” Sanemi snarled, turning away, though neither sparring partner missed the dusting of pink over his cheeks to the question. “Man can’t enjoy a good sparring match now or something?”

“I didn’t say that,” Muichiro started as he began walking away. “Only that you seem to have gotten stronger since you began dating-”

“We’re not dating,” Sanemi snapped quickly.

“Uh-huh,” Iguro agreed sarcastically. “You’re just training and fucking. No one calls that dating. Oh, and living together. And eating together. And -”

“Shut up, snake head, before I really give it to ya.”

“Give it to her. I’m out of here.”

Muichiro smirked before putting it away and continuing his walk. They would walk together as usual for part of the way back so he could ask after.

And when they were nearly to Shinazugawa’s residence, he did. “Are you going to allow her to join the corps?”

Usually, Sanemi would snap at the question but this time, he didn’t get the chance.

“Lord Tokito! Lord Shinazugawa! Thank goodness!” the out of breath kakushi managed as he doubled over before them heaving breath. “Miss y/n…and mister Kanamori…have been….captured.”

Sanemi’s feet were moving before the kakushi could finish their report. YOU IDIOT!! How could you let yourself get caught?! Sanemi dodged between branches of the forest at a full run. He had trained you better than that. Even made you promise not to join the corps if he trained you personally and now…

“Dammit!”

“I don’t think expletives will help us find them any faster,” Muichiro commented from his side, keeping up with his stride nearly soundlessly.

************************************************************************

One hand to the weapon, the other set out beside you as you spoke, though never turning from the opponents in front of you. “Stay behind me, Mister Kanamori.”

“I’m so sorry. I feel I should be the one protecting you,” Kanamori stated meekly, though he obeyed.

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Then you don’t know my lover,” you stated as the other hand set to the hilt. “Now come at me, you bastards.”

Special thank you to Miss Vry for helping me with tags :D

#demon slayer #kny #muzan x reader #gyutaro x reader #rengoku x reader #shinazugawa x reader

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m0nsterqzzz · 10 months ago

Note

(If you're not accepting requests, I apologize) I NEED you to write a part 2 of "happy wife happy life" where years pass and Clarisse proposes to Reader fr 😭😭

Happy Wife Happy Life (part two)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

pairing: Clarisse La Rue x fem reader

summary: many years after your childhood best friend became your girlfriend and a few after you moved with her to Arizona for college, she seems to becoming more distant. Your determined to find out why.

a/n: this is literally such a cute idea first of all. thank you so much for requesting!! i hope it lives up to the expectations and I'm so glad you like the first one anon!! <3333

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Alone can mean a lot of things.

It can mean being by yourself, no one else in the room, or lonely, as in feeling like you're all by yourself in a world full of people.

The thing about you and Clarisse, is she never lets you feel alone.

Obviously, if you need space, she’ll give it. But she always makes sure you’re not lonely.

Until now that is.

About five years ago, you and your girlfriend left the safe place called Camp Half Blood to go to college together in Arizona, and it was soon after that you had an apartment together. You guys didn’t have a lot of money, and you didn’t have the nicest things, but you had each other. That was enough.

At least, you thought it was.

Recently, Clarisse has been distant. You blamed it on her job at first-she loves being a construction worker, but it’s tiring. When she started taking hours to come home after the time she was supposed to be off, you blamed it on how much she loves going to the gym or out for runs and probably loses track of times like she used to when she would do sword training when you guys were younger. After that, you blamed it on her being stressed from work, and Clarisse sometimes likes to go have a drink with her coworkers after work. But the thing about it was, she never came home sweaty. That ruled out the gym. She also never came home drunk or even smelling of alcohol, so the thought of her going to the bar after work was also out of the picture.

Which is why you find yourself here, curled up onto the couch as your eyes stay glued to the digital clock on the shelf near the tv- Clarisse has never been able to read a normal clock- as the seconds, minutes, and hours pass by. Your girlfriend got off work five hours ago, which makes it now exactly 10:30 pm. It may not seem too late, and you're quite scared that staying up to wait for Clarisse after making her dinner that now rests in tupperware in the fridge as it got cold while you were waiting for her at the table will make you seem paranoid. You push it to the back of your mind though. Clarisse, the girl who punches anyone who looks at her wrong, has always told you that communication is clear in your relationship. It’s the main reason that you have decided to confront her about her distance. Why isn’t she just communicating?

Your eyes finally peel away from the clock when you hear a key quietly slotting into the front door before it slowly creeks open. She’s always been sure to be quiet when coming home late, and whether it’s because she doesn’t want to wake you up from a peaceful slumber or so she doesn’t have to talk to you, you just don’t know.

“Hey.” You mumble, but it’s silent enough in the room that she hears you and freezes in the entryway. It’s a small apartment as you guys didn’t have a lot of money during college, so you can see her standing in front of the door, slowly taking off her shoes as she avoids looking at you.

“Hey angel. What are you doing up? Don’t you have work tomorrow?” One of the first things she said to you in weeks, and she doesn’t even seem excited to be around you.

With a sigh, you reveal, “I took the day off tomorrow. We need to talk.” If possible, the girl seems to tense even more. “What’s wrong?” She questions, sitting on the opposite end of the couch you're on with her sock covered feet under her legs. A month ago, she would’ve been laying on you, cuddled up so close to you that one would think she actually wants to merge into your skin. Not now though. Now, it seems like she can’t get far enough from you.

“I don’t know.” You start. “You tell me what’s wrong.” Clarisse seems taken aback, but she doesn’t say anything as she stares at the worn out pillow on your lap. “N-Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

You scoff quietly, picking at the skin around your finger nails. Clarisse hates when you do that. She says she doesn’t want you to cause any pain to yourself. She doesn’t make a move to stop you now. “Okay then. Maybe nothings wrong with you, but is there something wrong with us?”

She seems to take notice of the desperation in your tone as her fingers twitch before they hesitantly reach over to hold your hand. "I....nothings wrong with us. Promise."

You sigh heavily, looking up to the ceiling to stop the forming tears from falling. "Then tell me why you're so distant Clarisse. Please." You're practically begging at this point, and her frown only deepens.

"I'm sorry." Her voice is small, a stark contrast to her usual booming tone. "I can't tell you. Not yet at least. But I promise. I will."

You sit in silence for a minute, eyes not meeting before you stand up from the couch and start making your way to the hallway that leads to your guys bedroom. "Stop promising things Clar." You mutter, lingering for a second before you turn off the lights and leave.

That night, you barely slept. Clarisse doesn't come to bed, probably asleep on the couch the way she always does when she thinks she's bothering you. This can't be the end of your relationship. She's been yours since you guys were kids. And you were hers. What changed?

The next morning, you're awakened by the sound of a loud beeping coming from what sounds like every place in the apartment. Your head hurts from crying last night as you stand up, and you make sure to wipe the dried tears off your face before you make your way out of the bedroom in sweats and one of your girlfriends shirts.

There is a calm but warm breeze coming in from the open balcony doors, but that thought is put on a back burner when you walk into the kitchen to see Clarisse sprinting to the sink with a smoking pan i. hand. She's muttering Greek curse words under her breath as she puts water on what looks like burnt eggs. Once that is calmed down, she opens the oven to reveal a cloud of heat and very crispy biscuits. You can't help but let out a silent laugh at the sight of her angrily swatting a hand towel at the smoke alarm to make it stop beeping.

"What's going on here?" You question, and she quickly tries to get you out of the room of chaos. "Hey honey. Did I wake you?" Clarisse rushes out as she leads you to sit down on the couch. "I'm making you breakfast."

You giggle, the sound causing a small smile to grace your girlfriend's face. "It seems like it's going well."

She nods, sighing as she places a chaste kiss on your head before rushing back to the kitchen to throw out her soaked scrambled eggs. For a second, it feels like the past month never happened. The warmth from the kitchen and open doors can't compare to the warmth in your chest as you watch your girlfriend be the person you know and love for the first time in way too long.

She comes back a few minutes later, pancake mix on her cheek as she takes off your apron and sits down next to you on the couch. Unlike last night, she sits as close as possible without actually touching you- probably afraid you’ll reject her touch. “I’m sorry.” She speaks, nervously rubbing her hands together. “I’m really sorry.”

The daughter of Ares slowly leans in a bit, resting her head on your shoulder when you don’t move away.

“If you’re really sorry, talk to me. Tell me what's happening.” You whisper, and she hears it as she takes a deep breath before nodding and standing up. You stare at her questioningly for a moment as she holds her hand out so she can help you up. Nonetheless, you take it, letting her warm hand hold yours as she leads you somewhere.

The balcony.

You didn’t notice it at first glance as you were busy laughing at Clarisse’s terrible cooking attempt, but it's decorated. Usually, two chairs and a small little table would be on it, but those are now gone, probably somewhere in the house. They’re replaced by a slightly bigger table, clearly the foldable one you guys use when your friends come to visit and they need more room at the three person table in your living room; but she’s put a thin gray table cloth on it that's being held down by a pot of flowers and two glasses of orange juice.

With the background of the far away mountains and plants outside, the place looks beautiful.

“Clar….”

“So? What do you think?” It’s complete deja vu to the day she became your girlfriend. The way she nervously shifts from foot to foot as she scans your face for any sign that you hate it.

“I…I love it.” You mutter, turning to her with a grin. Whether it's an apology for the way she's treated you for the past month or something else, you can’t deny that this is a dream.

She lets out a breath of relief, nodding as she runs back inside to grab two plates before coming back and setting them down. “Why though?” You ask, and she sighs.

“Because I’ve been a bad girlfriend. And all though it’s no excuse, and I should’ve at least told you why.” You nod with a small smile.

The curly haired girl takes a big deep breath, clearly nervous, before she pulls out a dark red ring box and kneels down on one knee in front of you. “The reason I’ve been gone so often, is because I’ve been out trying to find a ring that’s almost as perfect as you. I made Chiron and my brother help, and I’m sure they’re happy I’m finally done looking. It took forever, because I didn’t think any ring out there was worthy of you. But…then I talked to my dad.”

It’s clear she’s struggling to tell this part, so you force down your excitement to comfort her by caressing her cheek. She leans into your touch, taking a moment before she continues. “He said he’s proud. That he’s happy for me and that I found a good one.” You smile. She’s never had the best relationship with Ares, but it’s clear she’s okay with that now. “Then he gave me this ring.” She opens the box, revealing a beautiful, shiny ring with a silver band and red gem. “He told me he saw it in a store once, loved it, but had no one to give it too. Said he’d be honored if I could use it.”

“So, I hope you love the ring as much as I think you will.” She chuckles, hands slightly shaking as she holds up the ring. “Angel, I know we've had our ups and downs in the past, but I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you when we were kids, and I still want to. I know that we have grown and changed in many ways, but I still believe in our love the way I did when I was twelve. Will you do me the honor of being my wife? For real this time."

Finally, a sob escapes your throat, and she’d be scared you’re gonna say no if not for the big grin on your face. “Of course I will! Gods! Yes. I will marry you!” She nods, one of the largest smiles you’ve ever seen growing on her face as she slips the ring onto your left ring finger, the same way she did when you guys were kids. The girl stands up, casually picking you up for a hug like you weigh nothing.

“My wife.” She mumbles into your neck, leaning back to give you a kiss though it's hard with the way you both can’t stop smiling. “You’re finally going to be my real wife.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

After many shed tears and gentle kisses, you’re sitting down at the decorated table on your balcony, waiting for your fiance to bring you your breakfast she made.

She comes back with a pan that smells absolutely disgusting, scooping up what is in it before plopping it onto your plate. It’s dark brown mush, and you stare at it for a few seconds before looking up at her with an amused smile. The girl seems to already know what you’re going to say, because she sighs and grabs her phone from her jeans pockets as you giggle. “I’ll order from that café down the road.”

Happy wife, happy life.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

#clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue #pjo x reader

389 notes · View notes

base0h · 2 years ago

Note

Sorry if I bother you or send you something a bit suck but I wanted to know if it was possible to you to do a hcs (or other forma, it doesn’t matter) with shanks and mihawk with a s/o who can copying everything (Haki, Mouvement, Physic, Devil power fruit, Everything) thanks to a rare Devil fruit..? Than you if you make it and sorry if it’s not corespondent to your blog or rules. 🐙

a/n - watch shanks fall in love with himself 💀 I added Law bec why not 💜

Warnings ⚠️ - g/n reader, s/o has copy copy no mi (copy fruit)

- At first, he thought this was some twisted nightmare where he met himself… “Oh god. It’s me.” He was so disgusted 😭 he was also so embarrassed whenever you copied his abilities, hearing you say “room” and “shambles” made him reconsider what he named his techniques. 💀

- “Room…” -law “SHAMBLES!” -you

- “excuse me y/n. It’s my attack.” Man was offended, you literally interrupted him lmfao 😂 he was all like: bitch don’t take away my spotlight it’s the only thing I have

- “But it’s cool when I get to say it!” He also hates the way his voice sounds now because of this. Overall, he’s very embarrassed of himself, so as a result, you do not use your ability around him much. BUT- he does appreciate it when the marines start targeting you instead of him 🤭

- “LAW. HELP!”

- “Huh? I’m not Law wdym?”

- “YOU EMO MOTHERFU- I WILL THROW AWAY YOUR GERMA 66 FIGURES.”

- “NO-!”

- (ahem, I will calm down)

- enjoys it but also REALLY hates it at the same time. Perona gets you two confused all the time, she’ll ask you where Mihawk’s wallet is and you have to remind her of your abilities. “HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHEN YOU BOTH LOOK EXACTLY THE SAME?!”

- “Scars on the back are a swordsman’s shame!” You said, holding Mihawk’s sword in front of a pirate who had tried to take over the island. Your physique and features were perfect, an amazing copy of Dracule Mihawk himself

- “Y/n, I do not say that. The young roronoa says that. If you do something, get it right.” He said, sipping his wine while reading a newspaper under his umbrella. You glared at the man, turning back into your normal self before shoving the pirate off the island with ease

- “Can you at least admit that I am literally a perfect copy of you-?”

- “No, because you’re not.”

- “Why are you so difficult?”

- “Why are you so talented in things that do not matter?”

- “…You think I’m talented? ��🥹”

- shanks absolutely adores the fact that yo have this ability. It makes for amazing party tricks! Turn into Uta and sing a beautiful song? Easy. Turn into Rayleigh so you can scold him? Hell yeah.

- you turned into him one day, and he was impressed. With himself 💀 “Damn- I look good!” -_- You had enough of him looking at you and complimenting HIS looks. So you turned into Rayleigh, and that my friend, is how you get your red haired man to shut the fuck up.

- “Shanks, do the dishes before I punch you.”

- “Yes sir.”

- man is deathly afraid of Rayleigh’s punch- 🤪 so everytime he starts fo be rude in any way, you turn into Rayleigh, it always works! Except turning into the dark king isn’t exactly great for camouflage against marines.

- they ended up seeing you and chasing you around since you looked like Rayleigh. “I’m not Rayleigh! I’m y/n l/n of the red haired pirates!” They stopped in their tracks, “Y/N L/N! THE LEGENDARY PIRATE?! GET THEM!” That plan of yours severely backfired, they ended up calling reinforcements.

- “Rayleigh you need some help down there?” Shanks asked with the literal most smug grin on his face. You got the best idea, while the marines were confused, you turned into a random soldier to blend in. They then caught sight of shanks and started going after him instead. Man did not think to argue with you ever again.

- “Baby I’m sorry 😭 please don’t ignore me I need love.”

don’t give him hugs

a/n - I loved this idea sm 🤭

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hornkerling · 3 months ago

Text

(The gorgeous art was a commission from leylses, who does not seem to to have an active tumblr any more - if you know where they now live please let me know for proper attribution! )

I have papers to mark, but also the upcoming game has my brain in a vice and I found myself going through my old tags to see where and how I'd left everybody, so I'm bringing back a few of the stories that meant the most to me, inspired by @thievinghippo. I have resisted the urge to re-write this beyond fixing a few of the more egregious fragments and parenthetical asides (damn, I loved a parenthetical, didn't it?). So it is here mostly in all of its old age and earnestness.

Look after each other

Isabela is the love Hawke expects. She is the one shaped to old childhood hopes and the words of all Liadan’s favourite songs, and the world turns to lurching delight and fumbling hope as the two circle each other and stare and glare and smile. Liadan grows wilder and Isabela more centred as they each, in their own way, say: let me in. Let me touch you. Let me love you, at least a little bit. And then just a breath more.

Isabela draws her. Delights her. Lust tangles up between them, the pirate’s hands at her throat, lip caught between her teeth in concentration.

(“I have you, sweet thing. There you are.”)

***

Fenris is different. They rarely look at each other directly. They are too busy, heads bent over books or maps, her words caught between his teeth as she teaches him the silly memory songs that made words stick in her mind.

(“I’m sorry, Fenris,” she tells him, when they have three months of lessons behind them. She is delighted at his progress. It’s better than hers. Better than anything she’s ever seen. She’ll ruin it.

“I forgot how bad I was at this,” she says. “I never learnt well. Just ask Carver. We were both appallingly stupid at this. I—”

“—You,” he says, looking up from his work, hair sticking up from where his hands have tangled, “Are a better teacher than you think.”

Fenris is always surprised when he smiles, the warmth in his face flickering as he realises it’s there.

Liadan is never tired of it. She is never prepared for the answering tug his smiles always call up in her.

They look at each other sidelong, and one of them always looks away first, but there no pattern.

***

Together, all three fight well. Liadan is used to Isabela’s ruthlessness, has learned to use her magic in arcs that the pirate can exploit with a kick or a cry or twin, shining blades. She has learned to spot rare gaps in Fenris’s guard, and let that same magic be as blunt and brutal as the sword in her friend’s hand.

Force magic is ugly stuff that no one expects from the reedy singer with poor eyesight and freckles up her arms. She uses that surprise and feels Isabela’s pride and appreciation. She loves fighting from the back mostly because it means she can watch the others come back to her, Isabela kicking at bottles and pebbles and Fenris grimacing as lyrium fades back into his skin.

(“I don’t want to hurt you,” she’s said more than once. “If the magic is—”

“—It’s yours.” A shrug.

He does not look at her and Hawke wants to force it. Wants to hunker down and tilt his chin up and see. A part of her knows she could use her height for this, her self, to demand understanding, but when she feels that, she also hears Isabela’s voice in her head, and their oldest and sorest and most familiar fight twists up her guts.

“People aren’t problems, Hawke. Sometimes? Just back. Off.”

She holds back, jaw clenched.)

***

When Leandra dies, when every second breath tastes like bile, and my mother is dead repeats as the bass beneath her heartbeat, they are there. Isabela first, kissing the corner of her mouth, warm and scarf askew and never still. She looks at Liadan in all her tired hopelessness and does not turn away, but her eyes are half pleading, half embarrassed.

“I’m not good with this,” Isabela says, and Liadan doesn’t have the words to say I know or thank you. She just lets her head rest on Isabela’s chest, lets herself shake. Laughs a little at the other woman’s small huff of relief that they’ve gone bodied and wordless in the dark.

Fenris is a small knock and heavy step, and Isabela shifts to make room.

(“Are you any better at saying sorry than I am?”

“I…Is anyone?”)

Hawke lets them talk over her. She lets herself feel warm and hopeless and lost and loved and nothing, while Isabela eases her into her lap and Fenris lets one mercifully un-gauntleted hand rest on her hair.

***

She and Fenris do not want each other. Not the same way. They’ve never quite said it—never tugged at the difference between their easy company and the shiver-hope-want of Isabela’s lips on her throat, Fenris’s hands at Isabela’s hips.

They never say, You are my best friend. I love you, and I love that you love who I love. Isn’t it gorgeous? Let’s keep being gorgeous. There is no need. Their voices blend, and in time he reads to her, her clumsy teaching turned beautiful as he shares verse and ghost story and Varric’s latest worlds.

Isabela soars over them both, and catches them both in their laughter.

***

Liadan wonders if she can ever find words all the world’s different sorts of need.

She watches them together. Delights at the catch in her breath, the little, happy flip inside at the sight of Isabela’s scarred, clever fingers twining with Fenris’s over a table at the Hanged Man.

In songs, Hawke knows, she’d be jealous.

She reaches out. Covers their hands with hers.

There should be new songs.

***

“You don’t even like men,” Carver says, wide-eyed and credulous as his ten-year-old self even as he looms over her in Templar armour.

“Well observed.”

“But–”

“–It’s none of your business, little brother.” Liadan smiles at him, rueful and soft. “I know I say that too much, but in this? It’s true.”

Leaving him at the Gallows, her staff a heavy, anxious weight across her back, Liadan worries that she must grow used to the question.

She wonders if, given time, it’ll be easier or harder to squash the urge to punch people in the face.

She chuckles. Easier, she hopes. If not, she’ll need to learn better aim.

***

Liadan is a better sailor than she expects. She’d assumed she’d be terrible.

(“You always assume that, sweet.”

“Hush.”)

Grief does not drift away in the small boat’s wake, Kirkwall’s ashes still clinging to her skin, but it feels like it might. Finding balance is beautiful. She loves the creaks and cries and the strange gurgling noises that sneak into her daily thoughts, the music in her head. She loves the loosening of Isabela’s shoulders. Her strong, heavy body gone light in the rigging as she throws familiar words around in desperately strange ways. Tacking and tying and mainsailing and boarding stars or ports.

Liadan relishes the slow feeling of her world changing, splitting, and making sense.

***

Fenris’s skin burns and darkens. Her own only burns. They both catch themselves staring at the blisters on each other’s hands, and they exchange stories of stars as Isabela steers them toward Minrathous.

“Did you think you’d go back?” she asks.

“Not like this,” he says. “It is–I do not know if it–”

“We’ll help,” Liadan says, hating her own earnestness even as Fenris presses a kiss to her cheek, just above the bone. “You know that, I hope?”

She catches him smiling–more a crinkle about the eyes than anything else.

“You did always say I’d never need to ask you to hunt slavers.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“Yes, Hawke.” Fenris murmurs. There is wonder in it.

***

Minrathous almost becomes a home. Isabela grumbles–port taxes are brutal, and harder than most to evade. But there is something astonishing in the decaying finery all about them. Liadan’s songs turn learn new stresses that come in groups of six and sevens and full of unexpected tonal fractions. Isabela finds her a stringed instrument that fits across the lap, and Liadan is lost for hours trying to match interval to thought.

(“I didn’t even steal it, Fenris.” Muttered delight in the corner of a small, dockside room, the sunlight turned thick through bright orange curtains.

“You sound very proud.”

Liadan looks up as they kiss. She lets them get their breath back before she tells them to hush.)

***

They are not always together, of course. Isabela is growing in boats and restlessness. A day in the market for Fenris becomes two weeks in Qarinus, Isabela and Liadan squinting in amazement at his bold, sparse handwriting when he lets them know he is following traces of Varania that pricked at him with hope he is not sure he can bear.

Liadan writes more than songs. Varric’s answers grow thicker and more frequent, paper piling up whenever she has a fixed address,

(“If I knew what dreaming felt like,” Varric writes, “It might be something like this. The red lyrium’s still here. Still other damn places, and it’s not going away, Hawke. I think the years are turning strange on us. Don’t know what that means.”)

***

Merrill visits. She moves through Minrathous with her energies coiled tight, movements too quick and eyes too large. “It’s lovely to see you all,” she says, while Liadan plays the treasured dulcimer and Fenris avoids her gaze and Isabela, face softer than they’ve seen in years, slips an arm about her waist.

“All of you,” she repeats. “Even you, Fenris.”

Fenris catches Merrill’s tiny smirk. It distorts in the wine bottle he has brought out for the peculiar table. Merrill holds her glass. It splashes, thick and near-enough-to-blood that he should, he thinks, be appalled. But he’s chuckling, and when he does raise his head to see those ridiculous eyes on his, they’re warm with surprised approval.

The next day, Merrill asks Isabela a favour.

“Can you teach me how to spit?”

“I’m sorry, kitten?”

“Please,” Merrill says. “Pirates are good at that sort of thing, aren’t they?”

Isabela laughs and complies, Liadan watching with wide eyes at the serious discussions of aim and phlegm and head-tilt.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love me, Hawke.”

“Always true.”

“You’re so sweet,” Merrill says, and Isabela’s laugh turns from raucous to soft.

“You are,” Merrill says. “Also, you’re staring a little.”

“I’ve missed you, kitten,” Isabela says.

Liadan watches them. Catches the faint flush growing on Merrill’s face. Knows that swallow of Isabela’s. The small shifts of muscle that say the other woman is trying very hard, just this once, not to touch.

She stands, walking between them to kiss the corner of Merrill’s mouth, smiling as the elf turns her head and lets it slip.

“That’s two of us, you know,” Liadan says. She feels bold and open and scalded as her bravery turns into a blush. “If you like.”

“Sometimes,” Isabela mumbles as Fenris sighs with affectionate exasperation and picks up a book, shaking his head at them, “I really like my life.”

***

Fenris catches Merrill later, small body tense as she stands at the base of the grand imperial library, looking up at the columns and statues of magisters-past.

He wants to pull her back. The urge surprises him, sharp and worried as the pricking on his skin from too many eyes in this public place, the skin too tight over his cheeks at his wrists.

He stares as she spits at the feet an archon. She watches her efforts drip down one enormous, silverite boot, and then turns away.

He catches up to her. They are silent as the crowd opens and swallows them, his shadow careful over hers as she wipes the back of her mouth with a shaking hand.

“I’m not as sweet as they think,” she says, after a while.

“I know.”

“I think you do,” Merrill’s smile is lopsided. “I’m glad I came, of course. It’s been so good to see everyone; it would have been even without–” her blush flares up. Fenris watches as the blood seems to sink back into her skin, markings stark.

“Even without all of that,” she says. “But Tevinter. I hadn’t thought. Not really. Seeing all this knowledge. All this old power, and most of it’s nearly dead, but my people died first. For that mural, maybe. Or that statue. It’s all–”

“–Merrill–”

“–pointless.”

She stops to breathe, glaring at the city-shadows, and Fenris isn’t sure who is more surprised when he pulls her into a rough embrace.

“I do not understand,” he says. “Not fully. But nothing you do is pointless, and there are many reasons for rage.”

Merrill looks at him. He does not flinch when she cups his cheek. They are of a height, her eyes dark and locked with his.

It breaks when she smiles. Her eyes close. He catches small, bright teeth and a half-laughed breath.

“You love them very much, don’t you?”

Fenris squirms,

“Yes.”

“Good,” Merrill says, stepping back. Her hair has grown in the years since Kirkwall. “You’re all very nice together.”

***

“I have to go back,” Hawke says, in the end.

The rift light tinges everything. Their skin and their teeth; the street and the oily water of the port. Even Isabela’s jewellery picks up a layer of corpse green, and Fenris tastes magic at the back of his throat.

“Yes,” Isabela says.

“No,” says Fenris.

They glare at each other, and Liadan holds back a sob.

“It’s��her choice, sweet thing,” Isabela says, tugging gently on Fenris’s hair. “She’s a big girl.”

“Varric needs my help,” she says. “And if it is–”

“I cut off the magister’s head,” Fenris says. “I pulled out his heart and cut off his head. We all checked–”

“–Twice,“ Isabela sighs.

“And if Corypheus is still alive,” Liadan says, “Then I’m the one who’s fought him. Feels only right to do it again.”

“You,” Fenris mutters, words thick, “Are a fool about this.”

Liadan sighs. “Please,” she says. “Look after each other.”

“No,” Isabela says.

“Yes,” says Fenris.

The three hold hands as they look toward the end of the world.

#my fic #liadan hawke #isabela #fenris #merrill #ot3 #compersion #a word I didn't even know when I first wrote this in 2016 or so #dragon age worldstate #fenhawkebela #with a brief aside of Fenris and Merrill in furious accord because it's all I've ever wanted

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emperordinozenmon · 1 month ago

Text

Is it wrong to Fight my enemies outside a dungeon?

“What is the mark of a hero? Is it courage? Honor? Virtue? Community?” I wonder, feeling that familiar ache echo in my chest, the hollow loneliness I never quite manage to fill. “Maybe if I tried hard enough, this pain gnawing at my spirit would disappear. Maybe the isolation would too.” I shake my head, trying to push away the thought. The more I think about it, the deeper the ache becomes.

“Yo, Zen, stop being introspective, and come on!” Izanami’s voice cuts through my thoughts. Her bright tone and casual warmth make me feel safe, like I have a purpose here, with her. I force a grin and jog over, and she gives me that signature grin of hers—bright and encouraging, always making me feel that maybe, just maybe, I’m exactly where I need to be.

“How was the dungeon crawl?” she asks, her eyes filled with that motherly concern I’ve come to rely on.

“Fine. Made it a floor deeper than yesterday,” I say, handing over my loot.

“Not bad at all,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “You’ll be a level-two adventurer in no time.” Her pride in me stirs something warm and solid, a feeling that tethers me to this strange, chaotic world. She goes through the haul, nodding approvingly. “This will keep us going for at least another few months, at least,” she says with satisfaction, and I give her a thumbs up. Being the only current member of her Familia is tough, but she’s always there, supporting me in ways no one else ever has.

As I head toward my room, a faint sound—voices, laughter—catches my attention. That’s odd. The Yomi Familia hall has always been quiet, just Izanami and me. I glance over my shoulder at her, and she shrugs an amused smile.

Before I can ask, there’s a crash behind me. I spin around, and the next thing I know, someone’s barreling into me, sending us both sprawling onto the floor. I groan, pushing myself up—only to find a pair of warm brown eyes staring back at me.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” The girl sitting across from me lets out a startled laugh, brushing herself off as she rises. She extends a hand toward me, flashing an apologetic smile. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to run into you like that.”

Her voice is strong yet soothing, a kind of calm confidence I wasn’t expecting. I take her hand, pulling myself up. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I mutter, still a bit stunned. “Uh…I’m Zen.”

She laughs again, and it’s warm, genuine. “Nice to meet you, Zen. I’m Jihyo.” Something is reassuring about her presence, something that makes the unfamiliar warmth in my chest less unsettling. She lets go of my hand, glancing at Izanami with an easy familiarity.

“I met Jihyo while picking up your sword,” Izanami explains, crossing her arms as she watches us with a knowing smile. “She’s new to the Familia, just left her previous one. They…abandoned her in the dungeon.” Her voice grows cold, and I can tell Izanami’s already fiercely protective of this recruit.

Jihyo’s gaze drops for a moment, and she nods. “Yeah, I suppose you could say I had a falling out with my last Familia,” she says, her voice quiet but resolute. “I was stuck on a lower floor, left to fend for myself. But I’m here now.” She looks up, and there’s no bitterness in her eyes—only determination.

I nod, feeling an unexpected respect for her resilience. Izanami places a hand on Jihyo’s shoulder. “She’s a wizard and a songstress, so she’ll need you to look out for her when she’s preparing spells. But I have no doubt she’ll be a strong addition to our team.”

Jihyo looks at me, her expression soft but serious. “I may be new, but I’ll do my best to pull my weight,” she says earnestly. “I don’t want to be a burden. I want to prove I’m worth this second chance.”

“You will,” I reply, surprised by how certain I sound. Her sincerity has already disarmed me, and for the first time, I feel an odd flicker of purpose in protecting someone. “You’ll be safe here.”

Izanami, grinning now, chimes in. “Our little Familia is growing, Zen. We have Jihyo here, and a few more new members: Hanni, Azulon, and the supporter Ranni.” She beams, clearly thrilled. “It’s exciting to see this place coming alive, don’t you think?”

I give her a small smile, nodding. The thought of a larger Familia, of people filling the empty spaces, feels strange—but in a good way. For once, I don’t feel so alone.

Izanami leans in, almost conspiratorial. “Oh, and Zen—don’t forget. I still need to check your experience gains.”

An hour later, I find myself lying on my stomach, Izanami tracing symbols on my back, reading out my latest gains. “More strength, more agility…pretty much everything’s up across the board. And your skill ‘Tyrannus Taxare’ has leveled up.”

I hear a quiet giggle from the corner. I look up to see Jihyo leaning against the wall, watching the process with amused curiosity.

“I didn’t know you found counting so exciting,” I teased Jihyo. She smiled and said.

“Well…I was curious about you,” I smiled. Jihyo smiled back.

“Didn’t expect adventuring to involve getting a progress report, did you?” I ask with a grin, feeling oddly lighter with her around.

She laughs softly, meeting my gaze. “Not exactly, but it’s kind of nice, you know? To be somewhere that keeps track of you.” Her smile fades, a thoughtful look replacing it. “It makes you feel like you matter.”

I nod, absorbing her words. At this moment, with Izanami’s hand steady on my back and Jihyo’s warm presence nearby, I feel something shift within me. Izanami finishes her work, the chill of her fingers lingering as she hands me the update sheet.

“You are now an official level 3 adventurer,” Izanami says. I turn to face her confused.

“But I thought I was level almost level 2?” I questioned. Izanami smiles and then says,

“Well I might have messed up the math a few nights ago after you beat that Dragon but yeah you are level 3 now… yay. Isn’t it exciting?” I nod suspiciously and Izanami smiles.

“You’re not telling me something” I deduced. Izanami smiles and says,

“And neither are you.”

I squint and ask what she means.

Her expression softens, but there’s an intensity in her eyes that feels almost maternal.“Are you finally going to tell me why I found you in that alley, wounded and holding onto Orichalcum+, mithril+ Adamantine+ 2 ancient war dragon fangs, and one artillery dragon spine? Like it was a lifeline? Most level-one adventures don’t have access to high-level items like that t” Her voice is gentle, and probing, but I can feel the weight of her concern pressing against me.

I look away, my hands tightening around the sheet. “No…not yet,” I reply quietly.

She lets out a soft sigh, clearly wanting to press further but holding herself back. I catch Jihyo watching us from the corner of the room, her eyes sharp and curious. When Izanami turns away, Jihyo mouths a single word: Later.

After everything is wrapped up, I head to the communal bath, eager for the solitude it promises. The warm steam begins to ease the tension in my muscles, and I let myself relax.

The door creaks open.

I instinctively reach for a towel, pulling it around myself as Jihyo steps in, wrapped in her towel. Her hair is damp, a few strands clinging to her neck. She doesn’t hesitate as she approaches me.

“So,” she begins, her tone pointed but not unkind, “tell me what a dead adventurer is doing in a new Familia under a different goddess’s protection?”

I tense, shrugging defensively. “Does it matter?”

Jihyo crosses her arms, inching closer. Her eyes are steady, unwavering, and I feel my pulse quicken under her gaze.

“It matters to me,” she says firmly, her voice softening as she steps closer. Her presence feels both reassuring and unnerving “Garuzen.”

The sound of my real name—one I haven’t shared with anyone, not even Izanami—sends a shiver through me. My throat tightens as I meet her gaze.

“How did you know?”

“Despite the beard, the scar, and the face paint your face is the same, and I never forget the face or name of a fan. I am surprised though that an ex-member of Karna’s familia is here under a goddess who loves Karna like a brother. So what happened?”

I stiffened and Jihyo noticed. She moves closer. Her hands slip into mine and she stares at me with those soft big brown disarming eyes.

“You’re safe with me,” she affirms as she caresses my arm, her voice low but steady, a quiet promise that somehow feels unshakable.

For a moment, I want to believe her. To trust her. But the memories—the fear, the pain—they’re still too close, still too raw. I

“I’m not ready to tell the story yet,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jihyo huffs a mix of disappointment and understanding flickering across her face. She doesn’t press further, though. Instead, she shifts, leaning her shoulder against mine.

Together, we sit in silence, gazing up at the stars visible through the open roof of the bathhouse. The quiet stretches between us, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It’s…peaceful.

Her hand finds mine again, her grip firm and steady.

“Fine then I’ll trust you,” she says finally, her voice carrying an honesty that cuts through the fog of my thoughts. She leans in closer, her warmth seeping into the spaces where I feel the cold the most. After a while, we leave the bathroom and go our separate ways but I feel an ache in my heart when I don’t feel Jihyo’s presence near anymore.

The next day, the sun is already high as Jihyo and I make our way toward the guild hall. The streets hum with the usual morning bustle—vendors calling out deals, adventurers haggling over supplies, and the occasional raucous laughter spilling out of taverns. Beside me, Jihyo walks with an easy grace, though her occasional sideways glances tell me she’s deep in thought.

Finally, she breaks the silence, her voice soft but curious. “Why do you avoid passing Karna’s Familia home? We could cut our time in half.”

Her words catch me off guard. I glance at her, expecting the usual skepticism or judgment most people would throw my way when I mention Karna’s Familia. Instead, her gaze is steady, her brow furrowed not in accusation but in concern.

“I’m avoiding it,” I say simply, hoping to leave it at that.

But Jihyo doesn’t let it go. She nods thoughtfully, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Look, I get being angry, but avoiding them forever isn’t healthy.”

I blink at her, genuinely surprised. “I’m not angry with them…well, except for the one I am.” I hesitate, then tilt my head slightly. “Wait. Is my guardedness coming off as hostility?”

Jihyo stops mid-step, her face scrunching in surprise. “Wait? Huh. I thought—” She shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “Guess I was reading it wrong.”

We resume walking, her words lingering in the air between us. By the time we step into the guild hall, the familiar hum of activity surrounds us—adventurers swapping stories, guild clerks shouting out new requests, and the faint scrape of steel as someone sharpens their blade. But I barely notice. Her question sticks with me, and I find myself compelled to explain.

“I avoid them because of Karna,” I begin, glancing at her. “He doesn’t use normal vision. He has true sight. He sees people as they truly are. So if I walk by his Familia home and he happens to see me—which, historically, I’m not lucky enough to avoid—he’ll make a scene.”

Jihyo arches a brow, curious. “A scene? What kind of scene?”

“The kind where he calls out my name loud enough for the entire city to hear and then pulls me into some overly dramatic reunion. Trust me, it’s the last thing I need.”

Her eyes widen slightly as I continue. “Karna’s an excellent leader—kind, fair, nurturing. But he’s also naive, oblivious, and excitable. His Familia is either full of people like him or full of treacherous opportunists. I was unaware of the politics at first because I barely stayed at the Familia house. But…well, you can imagine how that turned out. The point is, I don’t want him—or his Familia—to know I’m alive.”

We stop at the request board, and Jihyo appraises me. Her expression shifts as she pieces something together. “One of your Familia mates betrayed you…after a dungeon crawl?”

I sigh, the memory surfacing like a wound I’d thought I’d buried. “Yes.”

She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Why not take your stuff, then?”

“He did.” My voice comes out flatter than I intended. “I was a level 4 adventurer before coming to Izanami.”

Jihyo freezes, her expression turning to horror. “Oh, gods. He used a cleanser, didn’t he?”

I nod grimly. “There’s a young man named Mordred in the Familia. He forged a weapon called Clarent from cleansing stones. But that’s not all. He has a skill called Skill Drain. It lets him steal someone’s stats and skills through physical attacks. When I hit level 4 and replaced him as the top adventurer in the Familia, he ambushed me. Stripped me of everything I’d worked for.”

Jihyo stares at me, stunned. “He didn’t just steal your skills…he stole you. All your hard work is gone in a moment.”

I don’t respond immediately. My hands tighten on the stack of requests I’m holding, and I force myself to shrug. “Can I get those skills back? Maybe. But that would put Izanami, Karna, and anyone else I care about in danger. I won’t risk it.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then steps into my line of sight, her gaze soft but determined. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Zen. And if anyone can come back from something like that…it’s you.”

Her words catch me off guard, but I find a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself. “Thanks…oh, and please don’t mention this to Izanami. Because if you do…” I let out a low groan, already dreading the thought. “She’s doting to an overbearing degree as it is. If she knew, she’d make a scene. And that’s the last thing I want.”

Jihyo laughs, the sound light and warm. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” She pauses, her expression softening again. “Thanks for opening up to me.”

I nod, exhaling a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “You’re welcome.”

The tension between us dissipates as we step away from the request board. For the first time in a while, I feel a little lighter, though the weight of the past still lingers. Jihyo falls into step beside me, and as we head toward our next destination.

We arrive at the dungeon entrance just as the morning sun starts to climb higher, its light casting long shadows over the yawning, ominous opening before us. The faint sound of adventurers returning from overnight runs carries in the crisp air—armor clinking, voices murmuring, and the occasional groan of someone who’d clearly had a rougher time than expected.

I glance at Jihyo as we approach. Her usual composed expression is mixed with a hint of anticipation, her hands tightening around the straps of her gear.

“You’ve got everything, right?” I ask, scanning her pack briefly before looking her in the eye.

She furrows her brows, tilting her head slightly. “Wait, we’re going in without a supporter?”

I nod, adjusting the strap on my pack. “We don’t need one. This isn’t a full crawl, just a small trip. The purpose is to fulfill a few minor requests, get the guild their cut, and maybe grab a little extra for ourselves. Nothing major.”

Her expression softens, though a flicker of doubt lingers. “Oh, okay. So how long will we be in the dungeon for?”

“Two hours, maybe,” I answer with a shrug. “Depends on how cooperative the monsters are.”

She lets out a small laugh and nods. “Right. Cooperative monsters. I’ll keep my hopes low.”

We step past the threshold into the cool, dim interior of the dungeon. The atmosphere shifts immediately—the air becomes heavier, carrying with it a faint, metallic tang of stone and the distant growl of creatures deeper within. The walls glisten faintly in places, catching the pale light of our magic lantern.

As we walk, I keep my voice low, pointing out small signs that most newcomers would miss: scratches on the wall marking a monster’s patrol route, the faint shimmer of mana-rich ore embedded in the stone. Jihyo listens attentively, her footsteps light and steady beside mine.

The first materials we need are gathered quickly—clusters of glowing mushrooms that emit soft blue light. I kneel, carefully slicing the stems with a small knife while Jihyo holds the lantern steady.

“These are for a potion maker,” I explain. “Glowcaps are tricky. They’re fragile, and they lose potency fast once harvested.”

Jihyo nods, her focus sharp as she carefully packs the mushrooms into a padded compartment in her bag. “Got it. Anything else nearby?”

“Yeah, a vein of mana crystals should be around the next bend. Easy pickings if no one’s been through here yet.”

We continue deeper, finding the vein exactly where I expected it to be. Jihyo grins as she picks up her first crystal, its faint purple glow illuminating her face.

“These are beautiful,” she says softly.

“Don’t get too attached,” I chuckle. “Once the guild processes them, they’re just money in someone else’s pocket.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles, tucking the crystals into a pouch.

The rest of the run goes smoothly—a few minor scuffles with low-level monsters that we dispatch without much effort, and a few more materials gathered for various requests. Jihyo surprises me with her precision in combat, her movements deliberate and fluid. She might not have the raw power of someone who’s been at this as long as I have, but she’s sharp, adaptable, and unfazed under pressure.

By the time we head back toward the entrance, our packs are heavier, and the air feels lighter. The weight of the dungeon’s oppressive energy starts to fade as the sunlight comes into view.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Jihyo says, her voice tinged with satisfaction. “Two hours exactly, just like you said.”

I glance at her and smirk. “Told you. Not every dungeon trip has to be life-threatening.”

“Still…” She trails off, glancing over her shoulder toward the dark expanse behind us. “I don’t know how you ever get used to it. The quiet, the darkness—it’s unsettling.”

“You don’t get used to it,” I reply, stepping into the sunlight and turning to look at her. “You just learn to make peace with it.”

She considers my words as we head back toward the guild, her expression thoughtful. I catch her looking at me out of the corner of my eye, but she doesn’t say anything, and I don’t press.

The dungeon might be behind us, but Jihyo’s silence is heavy, her steps uneven as we walk back toward the guild. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, noticing the way her fingers fidget with the straps of her bag. She’s jittery, her shoulders tense and her breaths slightly quicker than usual. Her eyes dart to the shadows around us, even though we’re in the clear.

I lean closer and ask softly, “Everything alright?”

She flinches, startled, as if I’ve yanked her out of her thoughts. “Oh, uh—yeah. I mean, sort of.” Her voice wavers, unconvincing. “It’s just…that was my first dungeon crawl since I got abandoned.”

I stop walking and turn to her, my brow furrowing. “What happened?”

Jihyo hesitates, her lips pressing together as she looks at the ground. Her hands grip the straps of her bag tightly, knuckles white. “I don’t—” She cuts herself off, glancing at me, and then it happens. She breaks down, tears spilling down her cheeks as she sobs openly.

I step closer but don’t touch her, giving her the space to let it out. After a few shaky breaths, she finally speaks, her words trembling but raw.

“We were facing off against a lich,” she begins, her voice cracking. “It was supposed to be a simple job. But then it summoned something out of nowhere—a dracolich. We weren’t prepared. Our leader, Yamato, yelled for a retreat, and we all ran for it. But on the way out, Dahyun…she got trapped in a prism spell. She was screaming for help, and I begged Yamato to go back for her.”

Her voice hardens, bitterness creeping into her tone. “But Yamato just looked at me and said, ‘Abandon her. She’s replaceable anyway.’ Replaceable.” Jihyo’s fists clench, her nails digging into her palms. “I couldn’t believe it. I was furious. Dahyun was one of us, and she was willing to leave her behind like she was nothing.”

Her gaze lifts to meet mine, her eyes filled with pain. “I couldn’t accept that. So I went back for her. I fought my way through the lich’s traps and managed to free her, but the prism caught me instead. I…I was ready to die there.”

She pauses, her breath hitching. “And I would have, if not for a random adventurer. This warrior showed up out of nowhere, wearing red armor, and started fighting the dracolich single-handedly. He didn’t even hesitate—just charged in like it was nothing. The lich and its minions scattered, and somehow, he managed to shatter the prism and get me out. He didn’t even say much before disappearing. I don’t even know who he was.”

As she speaks, a faint memory surfaces in my mind. An armored adventurer wearing red, battling a dracolich in the depths of a dungeon. My eyes widen slightly as I realize—it was me. Back when I was with the Karna Familia.

For me, it had been just another day. I’d been mining for mithril and adamantine, not expecting a fight, when the dracolich showed up. That battle had been grueling, but it had rewarded me with a series of intrinsic skills that couldn’t be drained by Mordred. It had felt like a stroke of luck at the time, but now, hearing Jihyo’s story, I realize it was more than that. Our lives had intersected in that moment, and neither of us had even known.

I keep this realization to myself, letting Jihyo finish.

“When I got back,” she says, her voice quieter now, “Yamato was furious with me. He accused me of insubordination, said I’d put the entire Familia at risk. I told Amaterasu our Familia's goddess what she said about Dahyun, how she called her replaceable. she didn’t even deny it. sHe just said that leaders have to make tough decisions, and if I couldn’t accept that, I didn’t belong in a Familia with her.”

Her jaw tightens. “So I left. I couldn’t stay with someone like her, someone who would abandon her own. Dahyun left too along with the rest of our adventuring group. We tried to start over without a familia, but…it wasn’t the same after that. I’ve been trying to rebuild, but every time I step into a dungeon, I can still hear his voice. ‘Replaceable.’ Like none of us mattered.”

She falls silent, and I let the weight of her words settle between us. After a moment, I speak, my tone steady and reassuring.

“For what it’s worth, you’re not replaceable, Jihyo. Yamato might have been a leader, but he sure as hell wasn’t a good one.”

She offers a weak smile, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thanks, Zen. I guess…I just needed to say it out loud.”

We resume walking, the guild coming into view ahead. But my mind lingers on that memory, on the red armor and the dracolich. It’s strange to think how connected our paths have been, even before we met. Life has a funny way of weaving stories together, doesn’t it?

After turning in our requests at the guild, Jihyo and I step out into the bustling square, the sun warming the stone streets. She looks more at ease now, though her earlier tears have left a faint redness around her eyes. I’m about to suggest grabbing a bite to eat when I hear a voice call out from the crowd.

“Jihyo?”

We both turn toward the sound. A woman with short, dark hair and a radiant smile weaves her way through the crowd, her silver-and-blue Freya Familia cloak billowing slightly behind her. She’s flanked by a familiar face—Lua, my old friend from the Kali Familia. Lua, always composed, raises an eyebrow when she spots me.

“Mina!” Jihyo exclaims, her face lighting up. She rushes forward to embrace the other woman, and they share a tight hug that speaks of relief and affection.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Mina says, pulling back but keeping her hands on Jihyo’s shoulders. “It’s been ages! You look…well, okay, you look like you’ve been through a lot, but still, it’s so good to see you.”

Jihyo laughs, a little sheepishly. “Yeah, it’s been a rough year. But you—you’re with Freya Familia now? That’s incredible!”

Mina grins. “It’s been a wild ride, that’s for sure. Lady Freya saw something in me, and, well, here I am. But enough about me—what are you doing here?”

Jihyo glances back at me, and Mina’s eyes follow her gaze. “Oh!” Mina’s grin widens mischievously. “Who’s this? Your new partner?”

Before Jihyo can answer, Lua steps forward, her long black braid swaying with her movement. She crosses her arms and gives me an exaggerated once-over. “Zen with another adventurer? That’s a sight I didn’t expect to see.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “Hello to you too, Lua. Still traveling with the Kali Familia, I see?”

She smirks. “And still better than you, obviously.”

Jihyo looks between us, confused but intrigued. “Wait, you two know each other?”

Lua chuckles, gesturing between us. “We go way back. Zen here was my sparring partner for a while—when he wasn’t sulking over his Karna Familia drama. I’m surprised to see you out and about with someone new. It suits you, though. You look…happier.”

I glance at Jihyo, catching her soft smile before she quickly looks away. “Yeah,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. “Life’s been better lately.”

Mina claps her hands together. “Okay, this reunion deserves lunch. My treat! There’s a great little place around the corner.”

At the tavern, we settle into a cozy booth, the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread wafting around us. Mina is seated next to Jihyo, while Lua sits across from me, her sharp eyes scanning the room like she’s always on duty.

“So,” Mina says, turning to Jihyo, “tell me everything. How are you holding up?”

Jihyo hesitates, then nods. “Better. Slowly. I’ve started taking on requests again, and Zen’s been helping me. Today was my first dungeon crawl in a long time.”

Mina’s expression softens. “That’s amazing, Jihyo. I’m so proud of you. I always knew you were the strongest of us. None of us could’ve done what you did back then.”

Jihyo blinks, surprised. “What do you mean?”

Mina leans back, swirling her drink. “You went back for Dahyun, even when everyone else was too scared. You stood up to Yamato and Amaterasu. That takes guts—more than any of us had. And now, here you are, rebuilding yourself. That’s strength.”

Jihyo looks down, her cheeks tinged pink. “I don’t feel strong. Half the time, I feel like I’m just…barely getting by.”

Mina reaches out to squeeze her hand. “That’s part of it, too. Strength isn’t just about winning fights; it’s about surviving when things get hard. And you’re doing that.”

Lua chuckles, breaking the serious moment. “Besides, it looks like you’ve got someone keeping an eye on you now.” She nods toward me, a sly grin tugging at her lips.

Mina catches on immediately, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Oh, I see it now. You’ve got a thing for Zen, don’t you?”

Jihyo’s face turns a vivid shade of red. “What? No! I—he’s just helping me, that’s all!”

Lua snorts, clearly enjoying the moment. “Sure, sure. Except I know for a fact that Zen liked you ages ago. Remember that Amaterasu Familia concert I dragged you to,Zen? You couldn’t stop staring at her.”

Now it’s my turn to blush. “Lua, I swear—”

Mina laughs, throwing an arm around Jihyo’s shoulders. “Well, looks like you two have more in common than I thought. Maybe fate’s giving you a second chance, huh?”

Jihyo buries her face in her hands, half-laughing, half-groaning. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

I sigh but can’t suppress a small smile. “You’re both impossible.”

Despite the teasing, the mood is warm and light. As we share stories and jokes over the meal, I notice how Jihyo’s shoulders gradually relax, her laughter coming more freely. Mina’s encouragement and Lua’s humor seem to lift a weight from her, and for the first time in a long while, she looks truly at ease. At some point during the lunch Jihyo's hand intertwines with mine and stays like this for the rest of the lunch date. The only reason I noticed is because Lua pointed it out.

As we part ways, Mina pulls Jihyo into one last hug. “You’ve got this, okay? Keep going. And if you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”

Jihyo nods, her smile genuine. “Thanks, Mina. That means a lot.”

As Lua and Mina disappear into the crowd, I glance at Jihyo. “You good?”

She looks up at me, her eyes bright with gratitude. “Yeah. I think I am.”

The moment we step into the Familia house, Izanami’s presence washes over us like a warm wave. Her radiant smile and boundless energy are impossible to ignore as she rushes toward us, arms wide open.

“Oh, my kids are back!” she exclaims, her voice dripping with saccharine affection. Before we can react, she pulls us both into a tight hug, squeezing us against her as if we’d been gone for months rather than hours. Her long, dark hair sways around us, wrapping us in the same comforting embrace as her arms.

I glance at Jihyo, whose face is a mix of amusement and mild embarrassment. She’s still not entirely used to Izanami’s enthusiastic displays of affection, but the slight smile tugging at her lips tells me she doesn’t mind.

After a moment, Izanami lets us go, her hands lingering briefly on our shoulders as she beams at us. “Now, go put that money in the Familia safe,” she instructs, her tone as doting as ever. “Then come back here so I can tally your experience. I’m dying to see how my little adventurers have grown!”

We do as she says, placing our earnings in the safe and returning to her. Izanami claps her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “Alright, Jihyo, you’re up first!”

Jihyo steps forward, and Izanami places her hands gently on her shoulders, closing her eyes as she channels her divine energy. A soft glow surrounds Jihyo, and Izanami’s smile widens.

“Oh, this is wonderful!” Izanami exclaims. “Jihyo, you’ve unlocked a new skill called Infinite Lullaby. It’s a songstress skill that can put enemies to sleep. Very powerful in the right situations.”

Jihyo’s eyes widen, and she covers her mouth in astonishment. “Really? I didn’t even know I could do that!”

“That’s not all,” Izanami continues, her tone brimming with pride. “You’ve also gained your first class skills: Summon Minor Plantfolk and Summon Familiar. How exciting! You’re growing so fast!”

Jihyo’s face lights up with a mix of pride and excitement. “Thank you, Izanami. I’ll do my best to use them well.”

“I know you will, dear,” Izanami says warmly, patting her cheek. “You’re becoming a formidable adventurer.”

Then it’s my turn. I sigh and step forward, pulling off my shirt as Izanami instructs. She takes her place behind me, her fingers tracing over the glowing symbols etched into my back. Her touch is gentle, but I feel the familiar weight of her divine scrutiny as she examines my growth.

Jihyo, now leaning against a nearby wall, watches with a proud smirk. I can feel her gaze, and I’m not entirely sure if she’s admiring my progress or just amused by the process.

Izanami hums softly as she works, her fingers lingering on certain points longer than usual. “Oh, weird,” she mutters, her brow furrowing slightly.

“What is it?” Jihyo and I ask simultaneously, both of us leaning slightly forward in concern.

“Hm, it’s nothing,” Izanami says, though her tone suggests otherwise. She tilts her head, still tracing the marks. “It looks like your skills are in flux.”

“In flux?” Jihyo’s voice sharpens with worry. “Is that bad?”

Izanami scratches her head, looking uncharacteristically puzzled. “Honestly, this is my first time seeing it. I’ve only heard about it happening in other Familia. Karna mentioned a few cases like this in his Familia, but I don’t know much else. All I can tell you is that it usually happens as a result of a perspective shift—a change in how you see yourself or the world. But beyond that, I’m stumped.”

I nod, trying to process her explanation. Perspective shift? I couldn’t think of anything specific that might’ve caused this, but the idea of my skills evolving… It’s both exciting and unnerving.

Izanami claps her hands together, her cheerful demeanor returning in full force. “Regardless, this is exciting! As your skills evolve, you’ll reach new heights as a hero. I can’t wait to see what’s in store for you!”

Her enthusiasm is infectious, but then she says the words I dread hearing.

“Oh, and by the way,” she says casually, as if she’s talking about the weather, “we’re going to be doing some work with Karna this week. He’ll be bringing Mordred and Megera along, so I need you two to be on your best behavior.”

I freeze, my entire body tensing. My face twists into a grimace, but thankfully Izanami is sitting on my back and doesn’t notice. Jihyo, however, sees everything. She glances at me, clearly fighting to keep her reaction neutral. Her lips press into a thin line, and I can tell she’s biting back a sharp comment.

“That sounds…great,” I manage to say, my voice strained.

Izanami hops off my back, completely oblivious to our discomfort. “It’ll be a good opportunity for everyone to work together! I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

After Izanami dismisses us with her usual cheer, I decide to slip away, needing a moment to process everything. The bathroom seems like a good enough place to retreat. I lean against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The faint glow of divine markings still lingers on my skin, a reminder of what I’ve become—or what I’m becoming. I splash water on my face, hoping it’ll clear the heavy fog of unease that’s settled over me.

The door creaks open behind me, and I instinctively glance up. Jihyo steps inside, her expression soft but resolute. She closes the door gently behind her and slides down to sit on the cool tile floor beside me. It’s like last night all over again, her quiet presence grounding me when my thoughts threaten to spiral.

“Hey, Zen,” she says softly, tilting her head to catch my gaze. “Are you okay?”

I shrug, sighing as I sink down beside her. “Um…not really. But I’ll figure it out, regardless.”

She watches me for a moment, her eyes filled with quiet determination. “Well, you don’t have to go it alone,” she acknowledges.

Her words carry a weight that catches me off guard. There’s no pity in her voice, just an unwavering belief in my ability to carry the burdens I don’t even fully understand yet. I manage a small smile and murmur, “Thanks, Hyo. I’m probably just overthinking.”

Jihyo shakes her head firmly. “No, not at all. You’re at risk, Zen. I don’t blame you for being worried. He nearly killed you. You’re right to feel uneasy.”

Her words hang in the air, and I nod slowly, processing them. “But that’s the weirdest part,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “I’m not anxious. My mind is…super clear. I have this weird feeling inside of me, and I don’t know what it is.”

Jihyo’s brows knit together in concern, but there’s a spark of curiosity in her gaze. “Oh? Really? Describe it.”

I hesitate, trying to find the right words. “It’s like…ever since I fought the dracolich, something in me has been changing. Like I’m becoming more detached from my humanity. And the strange part is, when I think about Mordred, it’s not pure malice I feel anymore. It’s…this weird, cold certainty. Like there’s a voice in my head saying, ‘Why worry about him? The next time you see him, he’s dead.’”

Jihyo’s lips press together as she processes my words. There’s a flicker of concern in her eyes, but it doesn’t overshadow the understanding I see there. “That does sound strange,” she admits, “but it also makes sense. After what you’ve been through…maybe your body and mind are trying to adapt, to protect you. But we should still make sure it’s nothing serious.”

I glance at her, my curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she says, her voice gentle but resolute, “tomorrow, before we leave for Karna, let’s get you evaluated by someone in the Morrigan Familia. They have some of the best doctors in Orario. If something’s really wrong, they’ll figure it out.”

The offer surprises me, but there’s a comforting sense of clarity in it. For all my strength, I’d forgotten that not every fight had to be mine alone. I nod, feeling a warmth I can’t quite name. “You know what? I’d like that. Yeah, let’s do that, Hyo.”

Jihyo beams at me, her smile lighting up the dim bathroom. It’s not just happiness I see there—it’s pride. She’s proud of me for trusting her, for leaning on her even just a little. The sight of it makes my chest tighten in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

Without a word, she shifts closer, her shoulder brushing against mine as we sit side by side. The cool tile under us contrasts with the warmth of her presence. She leans her head lightly against my arm, her gaze drifting upward.

Together, we watch the stars through the small window above us. The silence isn’t empty—it’s full of unspoken words, shared understanding, and a growing bond that feels as natural as breathing.

I don’t say it out loud, but I realize something in that moment: if I’m losing my humanity, it doesn’t feel like it. Sitting here with Jihyo, her unwavering faith in me shining brighter than the stars, I feel more human than I have in a long time. Not weaker, but stronger—because of her, and because of the parts of myself she helps me see.

After bathing together again, Jihyo and I head to our separate rooms. I settle into bed, ready to drift off, but just as I close my eyes, the door creaks open. I glance up to see Jihyo stepping inside. Without a word, she hops into bed beside me, pulling my arms around her waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I raise an eyebrow in question.

“It’s cold in my room, and you’re like a furnace,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Oh, okay,” I reply, unable to hide my smirk as sleep starts to claim me.

Jihyo hums softly as she drifts off, and I realize she sings in her sleep. Her voice, gentle and melodic, lulls me into one of the most peaceful rests I’ve had in months.

The next morning, I woke up feeling more rested and refreshed than I can remember. True to our plan, Jihyo and I head to the Morrigan Familia to seek answers about the changes in me.

The Morrigan Familia’s headquarters is an imposing structure, its dark stone exterior covered with intricate carvings of ravens, wings, and runes. As we step inside, an eerie stillness greets us, broken only by the occasional flutter of crows perched throughout the high rafters.

Before we can even introduce ourselves, she appears. The goddess Morrigan strides into the room, her presence immediately commanding. She is tall and lean, with striking, angular features. Her long black hair cascades around her like a cloak, shimmering faintly as if woven with starlight. Her sharp, amethyst eyes gleam with a knowing that seems to pierce through my very being. Draped in robes of deep purple and midnight blue, adorned with feathers and metallic accents, she looks both regal and otherworldly—a figure born of war and wisdom.

Her gaze falls on me first, then shifts to Jihyo. “You,” she says, her voice low and melodic, “and you.” She points at Jihyo. “Follow me.”

Jihyo and I exchange a glance but nod and follow her without hesitation. She leads us to a private examination room lined with alchemical equipment, books, and enchanted tools. Ravens perch on open shelves, their eyes gleaming with intelligence.

The Morrigan gestures for me to step forward, her eyes narrowing as she examines me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. “Have you fought any ancient dragons in the last few years?”

I blink, startled by her abruptness. “Uh…I fought a Dracolich last year. Specifically, a grey one, if that matters.”

She nods sharply, her expression unreadable. “That explains it,” she murmurs before straightening. “Good news: you are not becoming a monster. Bad news: some Familias will not be happy with what’s happening to you.”

Jihyo tenses beside me, her worry evident. “What do you mean?” she asks, glancing between the goddess and me.

The Morrigan steps closer, her hands clasped behind her back as she circles me, her tone grave. “Your future lover,” she says, her gaze flicking briefly to Jihyo with a sly smirk, “has received one of the most statistically rare drops from an ancient dragon: a True King Skill.”

“A True King Skill?” Jihyo echoes, confused.

I frown, just as lost as she is. “What does that mean?”

The Morrigan stops her pacing and fixes me with a piercing stare. “True Kings were the rulers of this world long before the gods descended. Before the giants, before the titans—there were ancient wyrms, beings of immense power and intellect. These creatures wielded godlike abilities, their magic so potent it could reshape reality itself.

“When the gods and giants came, they saw the True Kings as threats and hunted them to extinction. Or so they believed. In truth, many fled to the massive megastructures we now call dungeons, their magic warping and shaping these labyrinthine realms. Over the eons, some of their descendants—dragons aged five to ten thousand years or more—began to transform into True Kings themselves, inheriting the power of their ancestors.”

She pauses, letting her words sink in before continuing. “When one of these True Kings is defeated, their slayer may receive a fragment of their power—a skill or ability intrinsic to their being. These are incredibly rare and coveted, as they carry the essence of the True King’s might.”

She steps closer, her sharp gaze locking with mine. “You, Zen, have received not just one, but a suite of these skills. It is a fate few mortals could even dream of, and it will reshape your destiny.”

Jihyo looks at me, her concern deepening. “What does this mean for him?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly.

“It means,” Morrigan says, her voice softening ever so slightly, “that his power will grow exponentially. But with that power will come attention—from gods, from monsters, from those who would seek to claim it for themselves. The world has a way of testing those it deems extraordinary.”

She turns to Jihyo, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re smart to worry, but you’re also lucky. This one,” she gestures to me, “will need someone to remind him of who he is. Power has a way of eroding humanity—but with the right anchor, it can also elevate it.”

Jihyo reaches for my hand, her grip firm and steady. “I won’t let him lose himself,” she says with quiet determination.

The Morrigan chuckles softly, an amused glint in her eyes. “Good. Then perhaps he stands a chance.” She looks back at me, her expression turning serious again. “Your journey is only just beginning, Zen. Be ready—for both the blessings and the burdens of your newfound power.”

As Jihyo and I step out of the Morrigan Familia’s headquarters, the sunlight feels warm against my skin despite the chill in the air. I glance over at Jihyo, who looks contemplative but calm, her hand still loosely holding mine from earlier.

Before we can take more than a few steps, we hear a voice call out behind us.

“Jihyo?”

We turn to see a young woman rushing toward us, her bright, round eyes glistening with unshed tears. Her long white hair gleams in the sunlight, and the elegant cleric robes she wears—adorned with the Morrigan Familia’s emblem of a raven in flight—flutter as she runs.

Jihyo’s face lights up with recognition. “Dahyun?”

The next moment, Dahyun wraps Jihyo in a tight embrace, her emotions spilling over. “Oh my gods, it is you! I thought I’d never see you again!”

Jihyo laughs softly, hugging her back. “Dahyun, it’s been so long! Look at you—you’re all grown up now.”

“I could say the same about you!” Dahyun pulls back slightly, wiping her eyes and grinning. “I heard rumors you’d left Amaterasu Familia, but I didn’t know if you were okay. And now here you are! I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” Jihyo replies warmly, her hand moving instinctively to my arm, gripping it lightly.

Dahyun’s gaze flicks to me, her curiosity piqued. “And who’s this?” she asks, her tone teasing.

“Oh, right!” Jihyo straightens up, her hand still lingering on my arm. “This is Zen. He’s part of Izanami Familia, like me. We’ve been… adventuring together.”

“Adventuring together, huh?” Dahyun’s eyes narrow playfully as she takes in how Jihyo’s hand hasn’t moved. “That’s one way to put it.”

Jihyo blinks, looking down at her hand and then at how close we’re standing. A faint blush rises to her cheeks, but she doesn’t move away. “What? We’re teammates. He’s just…warm, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Dahyun says, smirking. “Sure, teammates.”

I scratch the back of my neck, unsure whether to laugh or defend myself. “It’s not like that,” I mumble, though I can feel Jihyo leaning slightly closer as if to silently contradict me.

Dahyun raises her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop. For now.” She grins and turns her attention back to Jihyo. “Anyway, you look amazing! What have you been up to?”

Jihyo launches into a summary of her time since leaving Amaterasu Familia, and Dahyun shares her own story. “After you left, I felt a little lost,” she admits. “But the Morrigan found me—literally. She saved me during a dungeon raid gone wrong and offered me a place in her Familia. Now I’m training as a cleric, and it’s been…incredible. Hard, but incredible.”

“That’s amazing, Dahyun,” Jihyo says, her voice brimming with pride. “I always knew you’d do great things.”

Dahyun beams at the praise. “It’s been a blessing. I’ve learned so much, and the Morrigan—she’s something else, isn’t she?” Her expression turns mischievous again as she adds, “But I’ve gotta say, I’m more interested in what you’ve been up to, Jihyo. Especially with him.”

Jihyo groans, her blush deepening as she finally releases my arm, only to cross her arms in mock annoyance. “You’re impossible.”

“I just call it like I see it,” Dahyun says with a wink. “But seriously, Jihyo, it’s good to see you happy. And Zen…” She gives me an appraising look. “Take care of her, okay? She deserves it.”

I nod, my voice steady. “Of course. I’ll do everything I can.”

Dahyun smiles, satisfied, before pulling Jihyo into another hug. “Don’t be a stranger, alright? And come visit me soon. I want to hear everything.”

Jihyo laughs and promises to stay in touch before Dahyun heads back into the Morrigan Familia.

As we walk away, Jihyo is uncharacteristically quiet, her gaze thoughtful. I nudge her gently. “What’s on your mind?”

She looks at me, her eyes soft. “Just…seeing her so happy. It reminds me that things can get better. That I can…move forward.” She hesitates, then smiles faintly. “Thanks for being here, Zen.”

I don’t know what to say, so I simply nod, letting the conversation with Dahyun and the memories it stirred simmer in my mind.

As Jihyo and I arrive back at our Familia home, the sun has started its descent, painting the sky in warm hues. The silence between us is comfortable until Jihyo breaks it, her curiosity bubbling up.

“Hey, Zen,” she starts, her voice light but inquisitive, “you said you fought a grey Dracolich about a year ago. That wasn’t the same Dracolich that was working with the lich Asteroth, was it?”

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge how much she knows. “I don’t think so,” I reply casually, though I can feel her eyes on me. “But I do remember a lich being there during the fight. Honestly, I don’t remember much—I was pushing for level five at the time.”

Jihyo slows her pace, her brows knitting together as if piecing together a puzzle. “Wait…did you used to wear crimson plate mail?”

I chuckle, deciding to mess with her a bit. “Nope. Crimson half plate. Plate mail’s way too stiff—makes it hard to move, you know?”

Her steps falter, and her expression shifts from curious to shocked. Her mouth falls open as realization dawns. “Oh my god,” she exclaims, nearly tripping over her own feet. “You—wait, no. Zen, you saved me from the Dracolich!”

I shrug, trying to downplay it. “Maybe. My memory’s bad, and that might’ve been the day before I was attacked by Mordred,” I reply with a nonchalant tone.

She huffs and rolls her eyes, stepping closer to jab me lightly in the ribs. “Oh, don’t be so cool about it! You’re a hero, Zen. My hero.”

Her words catch me off guard, and I blink, unsure how to respond. The sincerity in her voice is undeniable, and the small smile tugging at her lips makes my chest feel warmer than usual. “I’m no hero,” I say firmly, though my tone softens as I glance at her.

She rolls her eyes again, but the grin on her face doesn’t waver as we step through the door.

Inside, we’re greeted by the sight of Mordred and Megeara standing in the foyer. Mordred looks up, his expression shifting from mild boredom to one of polite curiosity.

“Oh, Karna and Izanami just left,” Mordred explains as he steps toward us. His armor gleams even in the dim light, and his demeanor screams practiced charm. “They had some errands to run. You must be Jihyo and Zen,” he continues, extending a hand toward us.

I stare at his outstretched hand for a beat too long before waving it off. “Look, man, I know your stories and your reputation, Reaper,” I say, my voice sharp and cutting. “I don’t want to be your friend. I barely even want to team up with you, but I’m doing this because Izanami asked me to. So here’s how this is going to go.”

Mordred’s brow furrows slightly, but he keeps his smile plastered on.

“We’re going to do a five-floor romp through the dungeon, then leave. When we come back, we’re going to tell our gods it went well, and no one gets hurt. That’s it. No bonding, no camaraderie. Just business. Clear?”

Mordred blinks, momentarily stunned, but quickly recovers, the smirk returning to his face. “Well, I’m sure—”

I cut him off, raising a hand. “Ah, ah, ah. Zip it, Blood-Man-Sword-User. We’re not friends, and we’re not going to be. Jihyo and I are going to get packed, snag our supporter, and then head out. That’s the plan. Got it?”

Megeara, who’s been silent up until now, watches the exchange with an amused glint in her eyes. Mordred, clearly unaccustomed to being dismissed so thoroughly, nods stiffly. “Understood.”

“Great,” I reply with a sharp nod, turning to Jihyo, who’s trying—and failing—to stifle a laugh.

As we walk past them toward our rooms, Mordred calls out, his voice smooth but tinged with frustration. “You know, Zen, you might find me more tolerable if you gave me a chance. We’re not so different.”

I squint my eyes and stop in my tracks, clenching my fists. The audacity of the statement grates on me like nails on a chalkboard. I turn just enough to look at him over my shoulder, my voice low and cold. “We’re nothing alike. And you’d do well to remember that.”

Jihyo tugs gently at my sleeve, pulling me away before I can say anything else. As we walk up the stairs, she leans closer, her voice soft. “You handled that better than I thought you would.”

“Better than I wanted to,” I mutter.

She laughs lightly, her warmth chasing away the tension. “You’re such a furnace, Zen—hot-blooded and all. But hey, you’re my furnace.”

I glance at her, startled by her playful tone, and find myself smiling despite everything. “Well, at least I’m good for something.”

She shakes her head with a grin, her fingers brushing against mine as we head to our rooms.

#K-pop fanfic #danmachi #danmachi fanfic #jihyo #twice jihyo #park jihyo #Jihyo fanfic

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achaotichuman · 1 month ago

Text

...or at least keep going until dawn?

For @emerieweekofficial Day Two: Soul of a warrior.

Summary:

She’d keep going. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t, she would. She'd cleave this mountain in two with her bare bloodied hands if that’s what it took.

The Blood Rite is nearly finished. With Dawn just on the horizon, and the last stretch of the Breaking out before them, victory is right within sight. But the Illyrian males behind them are faster than Gwyn, who wouldn't be able to make the last of the journey before the three Valkyrie were torn into by dozens who wanted their heads.

They're trapped between a rock and a hard place, someone needs to stay as the last defence, and someone needs to take Gwyn and make the last of the treacherous climb.

Nesta and Emerie say goodbye, and then, Emerie pushes herself beyond her limits, and conquers the Breaking.

A/N:

This fic covers the last part of the Rite from Emerie's POV when she carries Gwyn through the rest of the Rite. I've kept the first half of the fic canon compliant, however, instead of the Stone transporting Emerie and Gwyn to the River House, I had it take them to Emerie's shop to have a more in depth look into both Emerie and Gwyn's character and relationship. As I wanted to explore how they would react to the possibility of losing Nesta, and how they would support each other.

Anyway, hope yall enjoy!!!

Read on Ao3 or below the cut!

Something deep in Nesta’s chest cracked. Cracked open completely, and what lay within bloomed, full and bright and pure.

She wrapped her arms around Gwyn. Let her friend sob into her chest. “I’ll face it with you,” Gwyn whispered, over and over again. “Promise me we’ll face it together.”

Nesta couldn’t stop her tears then. The chill wind froze them on her cheeks. “I promise,” she breathed, stroking Gwyn’s matted hair. “I promise.”

Gwyn sobbed, and Nesta let herself sob with her, squeezing her tightly. Letting her stroking hand come to rest on Gwyn’s neck.

A pinch in the right spot, exactly on that pressure point Cassian has shown her, and it was done.

Gwyn went down. Unconscious.

Nesta grunted, carefully lowering Gwyn to the ground as she peered up at Emerie. Her friend’s face was grave but unsurprised.

Nesta only said, “Can you carry her the rest of the way?” It would be a feat in itself. “Or at least keep going until dawn?”

“I will.”

She would. She saw Nesta, her arms still holding their friend so tightly. Gwyn’s matted ginger hair splayed over Nesta’s bloody flesh. Silver fire burned bright as the North star in her eyes, this was resolution, a last rush of determination. Even as Emerie’s heart shattered over and over with every passing breath, she should have known that they would not make it out of this together.

But maybe, maybe at the very least, Emerie could protect one of them.

Her whole life had been spent carving out her own path. Making her way in a world that was dead-set on forcing her down another road. Then one day, a High Fae with a sort of sadness came into her shop, and a new path opened before her.

She wasn’t able to protect her mother, she had barely been able to protect herself. But now, she would protect Gwyn, and maybe, she might be able to protect Nesta, in the one way she could.

Emerie kneeled down, laying her sword across the cool snow. Her dagger. A shield. A last attempt at carving this shitty world into a better place for all of them.

“Keep the canteens,” Nesta said, gesturing to her own strapped to her side, “I’ve got enough.”

It was a lie, a lie brimming with tears that Nesta pushed back. A lump found its way into Emerie’s throat but she willed herself to believe it nonetheless.

“She’ll never forgive you for this.” Emerie said. She meant it to be light-hearted, but her voice refused. Gwyn wouldn’t forgive her for this, and Emerie didn’t want to either. She wanted to shove both Gwyn and Nesta through the last stretch of the Breaking, to the top of Ramiel, and take on each and every one of the assholes who had spent their lives making hers a living Hell.

But Nesta would never let her. She’d use everything in that deep, deep well of raw Goddess-given power to stop her.

And for that, Emerie couldn’t make herself hate Nesta for this even if she tried for a thousand years.

“I know.” Nesta said, with a voice of finality. Like the ringing call of Death itself.

The other Illyrians were getting closer, and closer. They were out of time.

Nesta didn’t speak as she picked Gwyn up and helped heft her into Emerie’s back. Sharp pain shocked through her back, a deep ache settled in her bones, pulsing through her entire being as her wings spread out farther than they ever had since they were clipped. The scars stretched and stretched until she felt the skin tear, blood flowing freely down her already sweat and crimson slick skin. Tears started to well in her eyes, but with every ounce of willpower in her soul, she blinked them away.

Nesta tied the bloody rope around them, and it began to truly sink into Emerie, that this was it. This was the last time the three of them would ever be together. After tonight, Nesta will be gone.

Her eyes filled with tears again.

“Come with us.” She begged, it was futile, this game was over before it started. Emerie didn’t know how, but she could feel it. Nesta was never meant to leave these mountains.

She shook her head, “Consider it repayment of a debt.”

Emerie stared at her for a moment, for a startling second laughter nearly bubbled from her throat, because what her friend was saying was so absurd, instead more tears slipped down her face, “For what?”

“For being my friends. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

Those words were what broke Emerie entirely.

Nesta was going to leave them tonight.

And she would leave them thinking she had owed them something.

“There is no debt, Nesta.” She didn’t know if she was laughing or crying anymore.

“There is. Let me pay it.”

Emerie forced back her tears. They were out of time. She thought she might have had the opportunity, the chance, to thank Nesta for everything she had done for her.

Instead, she couldn’t. The chance had slipped through her fingers, the time was gone, the life they all could have had been stolen, like every other damned thing that so many others had stolen from her.

She didn’t have the words, she didn’t have the time. So, she just nodded, her final salute to the warrior, the friend, the random High Fae that once showed up in her shop, that she loved with all of her damning heart. And then, she headed through the rest of the Breaking.

Emerie felt the air spark around her, viciously cold, flames that felt like ice spiked in her soul. Anger for what was done to her mother, hatred for what they had done to herself, rage for what had been done to Gwyn and worst of all pure terror, hatred, disgust and burning, burning rage for what had been done to Nesta, and what would be done to her now.

She gripped Gwyn’s thighs hugging her waist tightly and forced her burning legs towards the peak of Ramiel. Every single muscle ached, she was on fire, and it fueled her. She had come so far. Gone so far. Defied everyone, broke every rule, and she would not stop now.

She couldn’t protect Nesta, but damn the Mother, damn the Cauldron, damn the males, she would protect Gwyn. And she would live, godsfuckingdamnit, she would live to protect every daughter born like her.

The sound of steel, shouting and flesh being carved open echoed from behind her, Emerie did not look back. She felt Gwyn stir against her, fighting rest, even as blood loss pulled her in and out of unconsciousness. The very thought of rest tried to chip at Emerie’s resolve. If she stopped for even a moment, she would collapse, and more than likely, never wake up.

“Whas happening?” Gwyn slurred, exhausted, still half-gone.

“We’re almost there.” Emerie whispered, her breath clouding in front of her, she could see it, they were almost there. They were almost there.

“Where… Nesta?”

“She’s…”

The sound of a male screaming as something drove into his body. Nesta.

“She’s right behind us.” Emerie lied.

“She kept her promise.” Gwyn said.

“I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me.”

“We are Valkyrie.”

Laughter bloomed from Nesta and Gwyn, Emerie joined them as she lightly stroked the friendship bracelet around her wrist. She could feel nothing but pure, radiant joy.

They had found each other. Through the thick of the mountains, stayed together in the dark of night, hiding in that tree. Together, they had faced it. And they were gonna win this. It just meant they… they were gonna be separated now, for a little while.

“Yeah.” Emerie said, “Yeah, she kept her promise, we faced it together.” And this time, her words were not a lie.

They were so close now. The sharp tang of blood frozen by the harsh winds whipping against her face. Blood dribbled along the pure white with every shaking step. He wings felt as though they would tear at the base. Spots of black edged her vision, bile rose in her throat, Emerie was trembling so badly, she could feel every fibre of her being alight with blinding pain. Open wounds weeping as the ice biting at the raw nerves caused them to burn like fire.

She’d keep going. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t, she would. She'd cleave this mountain in two with her bare bloodied hands if that’s what it took.

For her mother.

For Gwyn.

For Nesta.

For every pair of wings turned flightless both in the past and future.

“I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me.”

This mountain would crash against her too, it would wash over her and she would be what came out the otherside.

This mountain would not break her.

This. This was what a warrior was, Emerie thought, as every muscle in her body burned and contracted. As her wounds wept blood that spilt across the floor. As her bruised face was whipped by the wild wind. She gritted her teeth, spat out the blood in her mouth, letting the pain wash over and pass through her.

Emerie barely remembered the rest of the way up, the sounds of her feet crushing the snow underneath blurred into the sounds of the battle behind them. But she remembered her heart hammering in her chest, and the brush of the stone underneath her fingertips when she made it.

The blinding light filled the world, blooming into this space of dark and death.

For a brief, blinking moment in time, Emerie saw her. A glorious streak of red and glinting silver in the world. Gwyn saw it too, but her echoing scream for Nesta, reaching out into that pocket of space, was swallowed by light and power. They were swept away into the blanket of space and time. Caressed by a never-ending sea of night.

Then the world crashed back into her, and Emerie passed out.

Someone was shaking her, yelling her name, the voice that spoke was familiar and it made her feel warm inside. But there was something that cut through that warmth, as Emerie slowly came back to consciousness. Blinking away the haze, she saw someone kneeling in front of her. It slowly occurred to her that she was laying sideways.

Finally looking up, Emerie recognised the long, ginger hair that stuck to pale, freckled skin. Those teal eyes reddened, cheeks stained with tears that continued to fall without stopping.

“-merie! Emerie thank the Goddess!” Gwyn cried when she saw her friend open her eyes.

“Gwyn.” Emerie croaked out. She was alive. They were both alive. They escaped.

No. Not escaped.

They won.

Gwyn tried to say something but it was choked out as a sob broke free from her. Racking her chest, making her shake uncontrollably, her tears were a never-ending flow, the cry that tore from her throat was animalistic, raw and grieving.

Emerie shot up, briefly caught off guard by the lack of sharp, deep pain from her injuries.

Emerie wrapped her arms around Gwyn. Pulling her into her chest. Keeping her close.

“It’s over.” Emerie whispered, “It’s over.”

“She’s gone!” Gwyn cried out.

The words hit Emerie like a blow to the gut.

Looking up, Emerie saw just the same four walls of her bedroom. The fireplace nothing but cold ash now. The curtains of her window was drawn. They sat on the hardwood floors, their sight only lit by the light of dawn pouring in from her open bedroom door, and the windows in the corridor.

It was all the same. All the exact same. Only she wore the leathers of a dead Illyrian male, and blood, most of which was not hers, clung to every pore. No bath would be able to scrub this away entirely.

In the quiet light of Dawn, the first ever Valkyrie-Carynthian, grieved the friend they loved and lost.

The Stone seemed to have simply returned them to the place they last were before entering the Blood Rite. Emerie was thankful for it. She couldn’t imagine having to hike all the way back from the boundary around Ramiel to her home.

After what felt like forever, Gwyn had passed out again in Emerie’s arms. She herself couldn’t sleep if she forced herself too. Everytime she closed her eyes, she saw Nesta, defending them with all her might for the last time. So, she picked up Gwyn and focused all her energy on making sure her friend was okay.

Her energy was renewed from the Stone. The burning in her muscles was still there, but without the injuries for the first time in the last day, the burning alone was the easiest task in the world to bear.

Emerie had hated herself for it, but she shook Gwyn awake after running her a bath. Gwyn had been in a trance of her own. Having looked at Emerie, Gwyn had seen what she was doing. Trying her best to focus on anything else. Understanding had passed over her. This was Emerie’s way of dealing with it, picking up the pieces of what was left, and trying to make something of it. The same as she had done when her mother was killed, and the same as she had done when the piece of shit who claimed to be her father had died.

It was that same mindset that gave her the strength to get through the Breaking, even as her wings had been ripped and torn under Gwyn's weight. Even as Emerie had listened to the sounds of fighting and gore behind her. Event as she had weathered the terrain and cold that tried to force her to yield. She never stopped moving.

So, Gwyn allowed Emerie to dot on her, it gave them both a sense of calm. A sense of belonging after so much loss.

After Gwyn bathed and changed, she took her clothes and put them in a basket, along with Emerie’s stolen leathers. Then she cleaned them thoroughly, till they were scrubbed of all that had happened, before putting them back in a basket outside and leaving them there. In just a half-hour, they were gone, and coincidentally, Emerie saw two young boys outside her shop window, sporting worn Illyrian leathers that were just a bit too big for them.

Gwyn helped in preparing the shop, and once the floor was swept, the fire was lit, the shelves were cleaned, the beds were made and the linen was washed and drying. They both sat at the table, and looked down at the tea Emerie didn’t remember making.

“What do we do now?” Gwyn was the one to break the silence.

Emerie didn’t have an answer for her. So, she stayed silent.

Did they grieve? Did they follow the traditions that were custom when Illyrian males were killed in the rite? Did they follow the traditions for High Fae of the Night Court? They tended to differ in Illyria vs the Hewn City.

Emerie wasn’t sure if Velaris had its own set of customs. Or would Nesta want them to follow human traditions? She didn’t even know where she would find out what human traditions were. Her first instinct was to ask Nesta, but when she looked over at the seat where Nesta used to occupy, it was empty and cold.

It was then that Emerie noticed that she had poured a third cup of tea, and its steam wafted into the air, untouched.

“She might not be dead.” Gwyn whispered, “There’s a chance she was able to hold them off until dawn.”

“But we were transported back here by the stone. Wouldn’t she too? Dawn has long come and gone.”

“Maybe it transports us back to where we feel safest?” Gwyn suggested, “She could be back in the House of Wind with Cassian?”

Emerie just blinked at her, letting the implication of her words sink in. Gwyn continued, “Or maybe it’s only the stone that transports you. Maybe Nesta had to walk back?”

“You feel safest here?” Emerie asked.

Gwyn looked at her for a very long time, then she stared down at her tea, “I…”

The morning light shone on Gwyn’s still damp hair, gleaming like fire. The steam curled around her face. Emerie studied every part of her. High cheekbones, a smatter of tan freckles across her nose, travelling down to her collarbone. Teal eyes that glowed with emotion.

Emerie memorised it all. Every single part of her. Who would know if Gwyn was next to be taken from her? Stolen in the night, or ripped from her arms. Dying for her salvation, or being killed in crossfire. Who would know? They were Valkyrie. They were warriors. They were soldiers.

And soldiers died. Soldiers fought, and died. Warrior fought, and warriors died.

It had been the same for the Valkyries of the past, and it was the same for them.

So, Emerie looked through the stretch of space between them, capturing the glow of Gwyn's eyes, shining with tears, and kept it tucked away into the deepest parts of her heart.

This is what Nesta had fought for. What she had fought for. What she would continue to fight for. Gwyn, herself, all the others...

“I feel the safest with you.” Gwyn eventually said, lifting her eyes to see Emerie, “I feel safe with you, and her.”

Gwyn’s voice cracked at the mention of Nesta. Something splintered in Emerie’s heart, again and again, and again.

“There is still a chance she’s alive.” Emerie murmured, “There’s a chance she’s… not.”

“What do we do?” Gwyn asked again, “We are… We are Valkyrie-Carynthian now.”

“We are.” Emerie agreed, “Valkyrie-Carynthian.” She murmured the words slowly, trying to wrap her tongue around them. It still hadn’t quite set in. But it also felt so right.

“What would she want us to do?” Gwyn asked, in a voice too small for what she had accomplished the last few hours. What they had won together.

“Move on.” Emerie answered.

“How could she possibly want us to just move on-”

“She thought she owed us something.” Emerie muttered, “Her defending us, her fighting for us, in her eyes it was paying her debt.”

When Emerie found it in her too look up at Gwyn, she saw those teal eyes wide with horror, brimming with tears.

“No-” Gwyn started, her voice breaking with the force of her tears.

“She said ‘Consider it repayment of a debt. For being my friends, even when I didn’t deserve it.” Emerie remembered every word like they were burned into her mind’s eye. She didn’t think she’d ever forget them.

She just wished she’d been able to push Nesta to say something else. To say anything else. Emerie stayed at her tea, and hoped with all her might, that Gwyn was right and Nesta fought until Dawn, so that her last words were not that.

Gwyn did not answer, she just cried. Her lithe shoulders shook, she lowered herself to the table, hands clenched so tightly they were white. She trembled without stopping as she cried and cried.

Soon Emerie began to shake. Her wings trembling. Her body spasming. Even when she bit down on her tongue so hard blood filled her mouth. Blood with its horrible, horrible tang. Even as she gripped the table until her fingers were burning. She couldn’t stop it.

“You don’t owe me anything!” She wanted to scream. “I am yours because I want to be! You are mine because I need you!”

Tears burned in her eyes. They burned her cheeks. Her heart was on fire, her body was on fire, she was burning up in the memory of silver flames.

‘It’s your fault,’ Emerie thought to herself, ‘You should have pleaded with her to say anything else. You should have forced anything else from her mouth!’

We needed more time.

We deserved more time.

For every time we were left alone. For every dream we wished to the stars. Begging for what we had. The three of us. We deserved to have more time.

"Emerie," Gwyn whispered through shallow breaths, reaching her hands out between them. Holding Emerie even as her own crying was persistent.

"Yes?" Emerie managed out. Trying to hold back the onslaught of emotion she was drowning in.

"It's not your fault." Gwyn said, "You... You fought for us. For me. Alongside us. There was nothing to be done."

Emerie didn't answer. She couldn't if she tried.

The bell of the shop door rang out as it opened, Emerie just stared at her hands. She did not sob, but her tears flowed and she could not stop them.

Gwyn managed to force her body to stop its grieving. She looked up at Emerie, after a moment, she put a hand on her knuckles. Pulling them away from the edge of the table, Gwyn pressed a sweet, gentle kiss to Emerie’s fingers. Then, silently, she got up, wiped her tears, put on a blindingly sweet smile, and walked out to the shop floor.

Emerie sniffled, thanking the Goddesses, thanking The Mother, thanking her own mother’s spirit watching over her, that she had the strength to carry Gwyn through the Breaking. If she had lost Nesta and Gwyn… Emerie didn’t think she would be able to survive.

Gwyn screaming snapped Emerie entirely from her thoughts. Before she even processed what she had heard, her legs had forced her to her feet and she was running to the shop floor.

Just as she went to grab the closest blunt object to use as a weapon, Emerie stopped dead in her tracks.

There she was, gleaming in the morning light. Bright as a new moon, blooming as she looked at Gwyn.

Gwyn seemed lost in a trance, tentatively she reached out a hand and cupped her blood-stained cheek. Like she couldn’t believe she was here.

They seemed frozen in that moment. Emerie took in every detail. The silvery light that bounced off the snow outside, framing her from behind. The flicking of the fire that warmed her face from the front. Her bloody hair, braided in a crown around her head.

This was a moment Emerie would never forget, staring at Nesta once more. She was alive.

It seemed to click for Gwyn at the same time, as the redhead suddenly broke down crying as she threw her arms around Nesta pulling her into a hug so tight Nesta winced. Her injuries still present. But she ignored her own discomfort as she held Gwyn just as tightly.

“You came back.” Gwyn sobbed into Nesta’s shoulder.

“I always will.” Nesta murmured.

Eventually, Gwyn forced herself to pull away, still staring at Nesta like she couldn’t quite believe she were here. That their hopes had been answered. But she stepped back, and Emerie stepped forward.

Nesta lifted her eyes to Emerie, and for another snapshot in time, they faced each other like warriors. Fellow soldiers. Knowing something had been sealed between them on that mountain when Nesta had asked Emerie to carry Gwyn to victory.

“I-” Nesta started.

“YOU WILL NEVER OWE ME ANYTHING” Emerie screamed with all her might. The mountains might have shook. The ground might have split. The world might have shifted. And then Emerie leapt forward and grabbed Nesta into a hug that couldn’t possibly be close enough.

“How fucking dare you.” Emerie whispered, “How fucking dare you let those almost be your last words to me.”

Nesta shook with silent tears, burying her face into Emerie’s shoulder as she broke.

“Everything I do for you is because I love you.” Emerie continued, “I love you. And I love you selfishly, Nesta. You are mine. I am yours. There will never be a price.”

“I love you too.” Nesta whispered.

There was another set of arms, and Emerie simply wrapped Gwyn into the hug, pulling them both close.

Yes, something had been sealed between them on that mountain.

A deep understanding. A bond that could never be broken.

Even if one of them went through the veil to the next life first, they would always meet each other on the other side.

"I saw you." Nesta whispered into the space between them, "I saw you, when you conquered the Breaking."

"Yeah?" Emerie whispered.

Nesta lifted her eyes, pushing her forehead against Emerie's, as she murmured, "You looked like one of the Generals of Old. Like a Goddess of Battle carved from marble."

Emerie swallowed, "You were a blinding streak of steel and fire." The words rolled easily from her tongue, like she was kneeling before an altar. Presenting a sacrifice to her God.

"You have the soul of a warrior, Emerie." Nesta said, and her voice was filled with such wonder, such awe, Emerie felt heat shot through her face.

She distantly felt Gwyn's hand slip away as Nesta cupped her face with both hands. The Priestess slipped behind Emerie, wrapping her arms around her waist and burying her face into her shoulder. Like she knew what Nesta was trying to do for Emerie.

"You have no idea what you looked like then," Nesta whispered, "But I saw, and what I saw was magnificent."

"Fuck, Nesta-"

"You did something so extraordinary. So... So, Godlike, I-"

"You don't owe me your compliments, Nesta. You owe me nothing. Did you not just hear me-"

"Emerie." Gwyn cut through, "What you did won us the first female Valkyrie-Carynthian title in history. Let it sink in."

"You both know it wasn't just me-"

"No, it wasn't. But..." Nesta bit her lip, like she couldn't form the words she needed to say.

She took a deep breath, a thumb caressing Emerie's cheek. A touch so warm and gentle. Emerie leaned into it, breathing in her seat. Feeling Gwyn's arms tighten around her.

"You're a warrior, Emerie. And when you made that climb," Nesta's eyes were hard like the steel she had wielded, they burned like her fire, "When you made that climb, you shouted that from the tops of the mountains, to the darkest pits of the Bog of Oorid. Now, everyone will know the name Valkyrie-Carynthian. You are powerful beyond language, and now everyone knows it."

Emerie screwed her eyes shut. It was too much. Everything was too much. Just months ago she had been nobody to anyone. Nobody's daughter, nobody's friend, nobody's anyone. And now...

"Goddess, save me. Mother hold me..." Emerie felt a sob choke out of her. She collaspsed and Nesta and Gwyn caught her. Emerie buried her face into Nesta as she cried her prayers, as she held what was hers so tightly.

"Cauldron bless, and carry our souls through the darkest nights and treacherous days." Gwyn hummed as Emerie cried and cried and cried.

They stayed like that for the Gods know how long. Gwyn whispering the prayers and songs that Emerie's mother used to sing to her when she was so, so young. It comforted her, it made everything feel a little smaller again, a little more manageable.

Eventually, when Emerie could stand without falling over again, Nesta and Gwyn took her up to her bedroom. Gwyn made them all another tea and they held each other as they cried and laughed and cried some more.

Eventually, they fell asleep, and when Emerie awoke again, the moon was high in the sky. It's light slipping through the curtains.

She slowly peeled herself away from her friends, as fear had gripped her from the memory of being stolen away from her bed the night before. Gwyn didn't wake, only pinching her brow in unconscious frustration before rolling away from where she had been clinging to Emerie's side.

Nesta, a lighter sleeper, woke easily when even slightly jostled. Her steel eyes blinked open, she yawned and sat up as well. Leaning against the headboard, silently observing Emerie through half-lidded eyes. At some point during the night, Nesta must have slipped away from Gwyn and Emerie, as she was clean and in a new change of clothes. The thick, warm shirt and sleep shorts she wore Emerie recognized as her own.

"I can't go back to sleep," Emerie eventually said, breaking the silence.

Nesta nodded, then glanced back at Gwyn, who mumbled something in her sleep, her mouth open, and a small bit of drool running from the corner of her mouth. Emerie had to bit her lip to stop her laugh.

"Let's leave her be." Nesta whispered, slipping out of the covers and padding towards the door. Emerie watched her, and when Nesta reached the threshold, she turned her head over her shoulder, lifting an eyebrow.

"You coming?"

Emerie's feet moved on her own as she followed after the High Fae.

Nesta made them both tea, her hands moving in slow, precise movements. She winced with every wrong turn, but when Emerie tried to help, she told her to sit down. So, sit she did.

Soon, Nesta was pressing a warm mug into her hands, which Emerie gladly took, then Nesta slid into the seat beside her.

"So," Nesta started, "What do you want to talk about first?"

"What happened? After I touched the stone?"

Nesta swallowed, "A lot."

"Tell me." Emerie said.

Nesta took a deep breath, then explained. She told Emerie all of her Belluis' true intentions, and the battle with Briallyn. Then of Feyre and the new Heir's early arrival. And how Nesta had made a deal with the Cauldron to give up her power.

Emerie listened intently to all of it, at some point she had rested her hand on Nesta's, when the High Fae's knuckles had gone white as she went tense, recounting the tale.

"No wonder you were late getting back then." Emerie mumbled, Nesta let out a sharp, barking laugh.

"Yeah. I was a little preoccupied." She smiled.

"That's the understatement of the year." Emerie squeezed Nesta's hand once more. Then another question came to mind.

"Why didn't you stay with Cassian?" She asked, "You could have sent word, we would have gone to you in Velaris. You didn't have to come all this way and leave your mate alone..."

Nesta shook her head, "I... the Bond was taken along with my magic. The Cauldron saw fit to remove everything. I only have a small sliver of magic now, and it is little more besides winnowing."

"Oh... Nesta, I am so sorry-"

Nesta waved her hand, "Don't be. The removal of the Bond itself didn't hurt, it felt the same as my magic being taken, it just... drifted away, as if it was never there to begin with."

"Still. I know you love him."

Nesta furrowed her brow, "I love him. I do, I really do, but... The Bond, it confused platonic and romantic love. Didn't help that I was locked in a house with him for months."

Emerie nodded slowly, "How did Cassian feel?"

Nesta shrugged, "I left as soon as I knew Feyre and the babe were safe. Cassian was occupied with ensuring everyone was unharmed, I don't think he even knew. Again, it was all painless."

Another squeeze of her hand, "What are you gonna do now?"

Nesta shrugged once more, "Same as you."

"I don't know what I'm doing." Emerie revealed.

Nesta smiled, "Exactly."

A short, quiet laugh. Emerie stared at their conjoined hands.

"It killed me, you know." Emerie murmured, "To leave you there. I think it killed me."

There was silence, Emerie couldn't bring herself to look up. She didn't have to, Nesta spoke.

"It killed me too. To know we didn't have any more time. But I couldn't have made the climb. You were the only one strong enough."

Emerie turned slightly more towards Nesta, enough so she could hold Nesta's hands with both of her own.

"I would have rathered I fight with my whole soul and body, with you two behind me, until Dawn, than see you die, Nesta. Than you leave me." Emerie's words were a whispered breath, a secret confession in the quiet of the night.

"I would have rathered I be the sacrifice-"

"I would rather fight to my dying breath than live without you. It does not frighten me to die, it frightens me to be without you. So, don't ever fucking do that me again." Emerie gripped Nesta's hands harder, "Don't ever leave me like that again."

"I won't." Nesta whispered, "I won't."

"You asked me if I could keep going until dawn." Emerie recounted, "Nesta I would have kept going until my flesh fell away from the bone."

"Thank god it didn't come to that then." Nesta murmured, staring down.

"But one day, it may. We are Valkyrie. We are warriors, and I need you to know, that for you, for Gwyn, for us, I will fight and fight and fight."

Nesta swallowed hard, "You're stronger than most, Emerie."

"I'm as a strong as you are, Nesta. I'm as strong as Gwyn. I'm strong with you two. But if I didn't have you, I would... I could not be brave without you two."

"I wouldn't be strong or brave without you two either." Nesta murmured.

Emerie lifted one hand, her fingers grazing Nesta's chin, gently tilting her head up. They were so close, they nearly shared a breath, and Emerie caught the near silent hitching gasp Nesta let out, the way her pulse began to flutter faster in her neck, the way her skin coloured a beautiful, dark red.

Emerie whispered, "Thank you, Nesta. For being you."

Tears pooled in Nesta's silver eyes, "Thank you for being strong enough to carry us through."

That night, hidden in the warm dark of Emerie's shop. Guided by the moonlight and dying embers, Emerie learned that Nesta tasted like jasmines and apple. Her skin was soft underneath her lips, and she bit her lip whenever Emerie dragged her teeth over her pulse.

They went to bed, and the next morning, there was no sign of what had been said or done that night. But there was something restless put to sleep between them. They both felt lighter, like they had been unchained after so, so long.

Emerie knew so much from her time alive, she had felt so much, seen so much, sometimes it was just too much.

But she'd always go forward. Never looking back. She'd march on, and on. Forever she go, until the break of dawn.

#acotar #emerieweek2024 #emerie of illyria #emerie #pro emerie #nesta archeron #pro nesta archeron #gwyneth berdara #pro gwyneth berdara #the valkyries acotar #acotar au #acotar fanfiction #emerie x nesta archeron #nesta archeron x emerie

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rillils · 1 year ago

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written for round 5 @stuckybingo, square I5 - Looking after each other wordcount: 1411 pairing: Steve/Bucky additional tags: fluff, kidfic, general silliness, slice of life, dorks in love, dorks in love + their baby

Steve never believed in sunscreen, no matter how many times he got the hide scorched off of him. Used to just sit there and let the sun fry his skin, seemingly content to suffer through all the pretty stages of a sunburn, the blistering and the peeling, the stinging and the itching.

The serum just gave his stubborn ass one more excuse to walk outside in all his dumb, unprotected glory.

“You know it’ll have healed by tomorrow anyway,” he would shrug in the face of Bucky’s reasonable worry. But oh, how he’d hiss and cuss through gritted teeth, Later That Same Day, when Bucky inevitably wound up spreading cool aloe over his poor, neon-bright shoulders, the shade of them a hot raw pink that’d probably get them both sued by Mattel sooner or later.

“Fuck. Fuck. I always forget how bad it gets. How do I always forget how bad it gets.”

And it would take a herculean effort for Bucky to refrain from saying ‘I told you so’, but refrain he would; he’d simply smooth his aloe-covered fingers down to the small of Steve’s back, where the tan line made his creamy-pale asscheeks stand out like two (somewhat flabbergasted) halves of a moon, and he’d lean over to whisper-kiss a fond, “Dumbass”, against the crown of Steve’s head.

* It was fatherhood that flipped that particular switch for Steve.

Already within the first few weeks of her life, Sarah Barnes-Rogers managed a colossal feat which several people, including her very own namesake, had been fruitlessly attempting for no less than a century: knock some sense into her father.

That summer, they brought their five-month-old baby to the beach for the first time, and suddenly Steve’s baseline shifted from a glaring zero, to at least three separate bottles of sunscreen tucked in his backpack at all times – and he wielded them as dramatically and determinedly as King Arthur pulling his sword from the Stone.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Bucky teased while Steve re-applied lotion on their daughter, and then himself, for the third time in one morning, the delicate scent of coconut wrapped around them like a gentle cloud.

“Protection is important,” retorted his husband, always 101% ready to rise to the challenge, even when it was ridiculous degrees outside and the average human felt distinctly like warm ice cream oozing, slow and tragic, towards an indecorous end on a sizzle-hot curb. Sarah wriggled excitedly in his lap, her pudgy little body slippery like a newborn dolphin.

“Important for you, too? Really? I thought you were gonna heal by tomorrow anyway.”

Steve glared at him, mouth pouting with growing intensity within the neatly groomed frame of his beard.

“We lead by example,” he said petulantly, and since he couldn’t exactly stomp away – at least not with all the dramatic flair required by such indignity as Bucky was willfully subjecting him to – he settled for looking away instead, fixing the hat over Sarah’s ears to keep his hands occupied. Stubborn, mulish smartass. Bucky was sure he’d never loved him quite so ardently as he did in that moment.

He leaned between their loungers and smacked the loudest kiss on Steve’s coconut-scented cheek, not bothering (oh, not too much) to hide his smug grin. “Good.”

Now, all things considered, it’s no wonder that Sarah’s grown to be such a sunscreen enthusiast.

The second they hit the beach, she wants nothing better than for Papa to help her get coated in the stuff, from head to wiggly toe; and once the procedure is complete, she’ll scuttle off at lightning speed, drop to the ground, and – to Bucky’s endless horror – roll about until she’s got every bit of her greased-up self nice and caked in sand. Sand which they'll still find sprinkled in every corner, crease and crinkle of every towel, bag and piece of clothing they own for a couple of months at least, but what is parenthood if not self-sacrifice?

Before she gets to that, though, Sarah has her own self-appointed job to do.

She plucks the bottle from Steve’s hand and, as per their private ritual, manhandles him into lying on his belly, announcing with her sweet, recently tooth-gapped smile, “I’ll do your back!”

Steve always indulges her with a smile of his own, and lets her climb onto the small of his back, ready to surrender himself to Sarah’s loving, if somewhat fierce ministrations.

For once, though, she doesn’t simply smear the lotion around with her usual excitement. On the contrary, she holds the bottle up and squeezes it meticulously, her brow scrunched up in concentration as she works with slow, strangely deliberate moves.

It’s only after a minute or so that Bucky really sees what she’s trying to do; and by then, her masterpiece is all but complete. The sight of it makes his heart clench with unexpected fondness.

“Daddy! Daddy, can you take a picture? I wanna show Papa, please!”

He takes one look at her hopeful little face, at the blond curls falling over her eyes, the sun-kissed freckles already crowding the bridge of her nose so early in the summer, and there’s no way in hell he’d ever even dream of saying no.

“’Course, baby,” he says, reaching for his phone with no further ado.

“Show me what?” Steve pipes up, twisting his neck to try and peek over his shoulder. “What’re you guys doing back there?”

“Nuh-uh,” Bucky tuts, pushing Steve’s head back down to rest atop his crossed arms, “you stay put for a second, doll. Can’t ruin this shot. Alright, here we go.” The camera clicks softly, once. “Hm. Nope.” Twice. “Eh– almost.” Thrice. “Ha! There. Perfect.”

He helps Sarah down from her perch on Steve’s back, very, very careful not to smudge her precious work, then hands her the smartphone. “Go ahead, baby, show Papa what a good job you did.”

In her eagerness, Sarah all but shoves the phone right in Steve’s face, with a squeal of “Pa! Look, look!”, watching him expectantly.

It’s there, on the screen, that Steve finally gets to see it. A message just for him, spanning almost his entire back, spelling, in Sarah’s wonky six-year-old handwriting, “I LOVE YOU PA ♥”, big squiggly heart included.

Steve doesn’t breathe for three whole seconds; and when he starts again, it’s with a soft, awestruck, “Oh.”

And it might be the stark light, or the warm breeze, or the scent of ocean salt in the air, but when he props himself up on his elbows to look at their daughter, his eyes have a familiar, watery shine to them. One of his strong arms wraps around Sarah’s middle and pulls her in, and he plants a kiss on her forehead, smiling all the while. “Love you too, munchkin. It’s beautiful, thank you so much.”

“Yah!”

Satisfied with the feedback, Sarah can finally run off to fulfill her destiny as a pocket-size sand monster. Steve gazes adoringly after her, then lifts his big, gleaming puppy eyes on Bucky, looking about as lovestruck as Bucky’s ever seen him in the last ninety-five years or so.

“Buck,” he says, soft and just, just on the cusp of choked up. How anyone ever thought they could teach this guy not to wear his heart on his sleeve, Bucky’ll never understand.

“Yeah, big guy. I know. I know,” he soothes, hovering close to place a sympathetic kiss on the swell of Steve’s bicep. “Listen, I’m gonna ask a dumb question here.”

Steve blinks up at him, curious.

“Do you maybe want me to fix your back for you, so you don’t actually burn to a crisp?”

And see, the truth is, he already knows the answer. He knows it with even greater certainty when Steve sinks his face in the crook of his own elbow, half laughing, half groaning, and a hundred percent utterly defeated.

Of course not. Of course he’s gonna lie directly in the nearest sunbeam, and let himself bake there until the words are branded onto his skin, pale white on Barbie-box pink, no matter how short-lived they’ll be.

“Yep. Called it.” He gives Steve’s bicep a gentle pat-pat, knowing that in about ten hours, even that will make Steve hiss with unrepentant, self-inflicted pain - and possibly loving him just that wee bit more for this tiniest of derring-do’s. “I’ll make sure to grab some more aloe on our way home.”

#stuckybingo #stucky #rillers scribbles #i like to call this one 'SCREAM SCREAM' or alternatively #'i don't know what i'm doing'#idk i looked at it for so long that eventually it stopped making sense lmao #(says lmao but is actually in despair)#i think maybe there was something else i wanted to say but i'm forgetting #in my defense i'm dizzy and sleep-deprived??#agsdjashjskdh help how do you human

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trancylovecraft · 2 years ago

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Is it ok for you to write platonic yandere with nurse bendy (she will always have a special place in my heart<3)

(MORAL OREL) YANDERE PLATONIC! NURSE BENDY x READER: HEADCANNONS

• Nurse Bendy, Probably one of the better ones in Moralton. Though I suppose that doesn’t mean much.

• Protective, Little bit Obsessive, Delusional and Loving.

• Protective in the way she just wants to shield you from the horrors of the world, The horrors she had to go through. She doesn't ever want that to happen to you, Even the thought makes her anxious.

• A little obsessive in the way how she just loves you like the child she never had (Or have met yet)

• Loving in the way she just adores showering you in affection, She likes giving you hugs or kisses on the forehead. She likes holding your hand as she walks you to school, Carefully making sure you don't trip over any rocks or stumble over any little dip in the ground.

• Delusional? We’ll get onto that later.

• There’s really only one way I see this going while platonic and that is a Maternal relationship with her.

• She sees herself as your mother, And this is where we get onto the delusional part.

• If she didn’t give birth to you it doesn't really matter, She completely believes you are her child no matter what evidence you give. She's also delusional in the way she believes you’re always going to be her child, No matter how old you get you just aren’t ready to leave the nest yet according to her.

• She’s extremely doting towards you, She always checks up on your health and brings you little snacks throughout the day.

• If you weren't her biological child then there’s a few ways I can see this going

• One: You could be a kid at the school who goes in for a Check-up, Bendy gets attached. Two: You’re a little bit older (Teenage years) and get a part time job at the hospital and again, She gets attached.

• We’ll go with option 2

• So when you come into the reception and talk to her so politely with full respect she takes a great liking to you as she directs you to your destination.

• Over the next few days the cycle continues, And her care for you just grows more and more.

• She begins to fret about your health. She asks if you’ve been eating well, If you dare say you’ve forgotten your lunch she’ll be coming in with a homemade packed lunch the next day. She often checks up on you to make sure you're alright, She cares you know

• Eventually her pretend bear family back home gets neglected. She doesn't need them anymore, You're here now. You settle the familial craving inside her.

• Soon enough she starts seeing herself as your mother, Then enough she believes it. Memories suddenly form inside her head: The day you were born, your first steps, The time you fell off your bike and she took you out to get ice-cream. All the way up to how she helped you get the job at the hospital she worked at.

• Of course, All these memories are completely fake and never happened. But Bendy doesn't know, Or at least pushes the thought out her mind.

• If any love interests or other parental figures arise then Bendy wont kill them. Not Outright.

• Bendy may be delusional. But that does not by any means make her stupid.

• She’s an opportunistic killer, She wont seek them out to kill them specifically (Despite how much she may have wanted to) But will wait until they might catch a bug or a cold. And maybe then she would switch out their cough medicine for cyanide and just let tragedy strike her sword.

• Bendy would also find a way to rid of your parents and other family members if they're around, Either by opportunity or a little manipulation it doesn't matter.

• She views your family as a threat to your safety and just cannot handle that. Besides, why are you staying with them when your dear mother is right here?

• If your parents and family do get out of the picture she will be there to pick you up and sign the adoption papers, Which after how long you’d known her and saw her as a mentor you took no issue to.

• The domestic life of Bendy as your mother is extremely sweet.

• She makes your lunches and helps you out with your homework once you finally move into her newly renovated apartment.

• She buys you little snacks and often comes along to make sure you're okay.

• If you ever do meet joe, Bendy fully expects you two to become quick siblings

• However, The con is her Protective tendencies are now at max.

• She doesn't let you go out with friends often, and on the off chance that she does every thirty minutes she sends a text to ask if you're okay. If you don't answer within ten minutes of the text she will file a missing child report.

• She wants to keep your innocence and wants to completely avoid any conversation about adult topics.

• If you ever do find out about what she may have done to your family you would be completely unable to do anything about it, There is no evidence, Bendy made sure to destroy it, If it ever existed in the first place that is.

• You can run and leave home, She wont stop you. But it won't stop the constant figure in the corner of your eye from appearing. It won't stop the random care packages appearing on your front door, Nor will it stop the little letters appearing on your dining room table describing how much your mother misses you and how bad the real world is, Begging for you to come home.

• Overall, A caring parent yet extremely paranoid

#yandere #yandere x reader #tw yandere #moodboard #yandere x you #moral orel #moral orel fanart #moral orel x reader #female yandere #nurse bendy x reader #nurse bendy #yandere nurse bendy #platonic yandere #yandere platonic bendy #platonic yandere bendy #yandere moral orel x reader #yandere moral orel #moral orel fanfic

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kankuroplease · 8 months ago

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What are your best headcanons for KisaSaku?

These will be all sorts of random because why not? Tw: mentions of violence, age gap relationship, sexual themes, and my own brainrot ✨

Getting the obvious out the way, Sakura would be a young adult meeting Kisame in an alternative timeline au. Age gap still intact, but she’s not a kid

How they meet?

Totally by chance

The worlds falling apart in a totally different way than anyone ever expected, but at least they found questionable company in each other

Sakura’s guard is up with him, but she finds herself smiling along his infectious smile after a short time

Kisame hasn’t had a partner since Itachi and little miss konoha is a difference vibe

She talks a lot, maybe too much. But he doesn’t mind it, it’s made getting to know her easier and feels his day with something other than his own assumptions and disillusionment

Her life up until now was a lot more sheltered than his, so he would feel that she needed to prove herself a bit

She’s trained under the notorious copycat ninja and a hokage, so he has no doubt she is capable

Because of this, Kisame does not baby Sakura when it comes to fighting. It’s so or die, pinkie pie

like, girl he’s seen you level a building with a well placed punch. You got this (also he’s not going to let her die unlike how he acts as if he would)

Because of this, Sakura learns to trust her own strength and train harder in her free time

Which, tbh is probably would be what attracts him to her the most

Pretty faces are a dime a dozen, but this girl won’t quit trying to keep up and improve herself

Samehada lowkey likes to steal a little chakra from Sakura, but she can feel it and lectures the sword because who does it think it is

Kisame thinks this is SO funny/cute and will cackle about it

You like her, Same? He thinks he does too

Occasionally Kisame will merge with Samehada when they’re near the ocean for training and a little special sea food dinner for two

If Sakura gets in the water with him, he’ll playfully circle her while she’s floating. Just to keep her on her toes before swimming back off

Sakura has tried to deep dive with him before but that didn’t end so well for her 💀

Sakura becomes enamored with the swords of the swordsmen of the mist and Kisame figures why not retrieve one with her

He can see what she’s made of while welding a blade and there’s a few he will mull over that might be a good fit for cherry girl

First that comes to mind would be The Kabutowari. She’s definitely strong enough to wield it, but it’s size and training may be burdensome

Then there is the Kubikiribocho, it’s another powerful sword that she could easily wield. There’s only the problem of Suigetsu. She might be able to seduce it of him or just beat him up

The sleeper one would be the Nuibari; small but extremely effective and brutal with wielded correctly. Just imagining her tossing it like a javelin through their opponents repeatedly making that dreaded knot of corpses would be quite a thrill.

But the choice is hers, just know she’ll have to earn the right to wield them

Sakura wouldn’t see him in a sexual attraction way at first, but training to wield swords with him and seeing his more, albeit subtle, caring side would have her thinking about it

blue and gilly, he is charmingly unique. Plus his body looks amazing despite not being in his prime and she’s seen the print of what he’s working with in his pants… my the sage, Ino would be slack jawed if she heard her thinking like this

When did she become a pervert? It must be her period talking💀

Speaking of, he totally let her use his hand as a make shift heating pad for her lower abdomen and that melted her heart a bit

After a year of being called every cutesy nickname in the book by him, she’d hit him with a “don’t hurt yourselves now, handsome” after pulling him up by his wrist off a crumbled cliff side

He’s confused. He’s usually the one poking fun at her

This leads to a bunch of not so subtle flirting between the two, testing each other’s interest and limits

Lots of stolen glances between before one of them (Sakura) cracks and slides into the others sleeping bag

Finally saying “fuck it” and crossing that line they’ve both been standing at the edge of dating each other to make a move

Yeah, Ino would definitely faint if she knew. Especially about the double dicks

But that’s Sakura’s little secret in her new life 🤫

#ask #kisasaku #tw suggestive #tw.age gap

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wonilye · 8 months ago

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kingmaker | p.sh

prev | masterlist | next

CHAPTER V

As an assassin working for the Hwangs, you have proven your loyalty to your benefactors for more than a decade. But when Lady Hwang's plans for a rebellion land you in a bride selection for the Crown Prince, you find yourself at a loss. Unfamiliar with the ways of the gentry, your reliance on a previously unknown informant is your only source of hope. And yet, you learn very quickly that no one in high society can be trusted, including yourself. Because who else but you is there to assassinate the King?

WARNING: mentions of blood, killing and death in this chapter (no one dies here). please do check the masterlist for potential triggers/themes you feel uncomfortable with!

You rise early the next morning - if you ever slept at all, that is. Your slumber was anything but peaceful, your troubling thoughts keeping your eyes open long past the ungodly hours.

But how could you fall asleep, with an iron scent lingering in your nose, and the jagged cut in your hand still stinging? Park Sunghoon, your only ally. Simultaneously the one person who could destroy every single one of your plans up till now with only a word to the prince.

So it is today that you rise with dark circles deep enough to startle the maids that come in, only to find you already milling about your room (it’s a wonder they haven’t spotted that knife hidden behind the vanity mirror). You hadn’t even known there would be maids catering to you, but you suppose you should’ve seen it coming. No noble lady lives without being waited on hand and foot in high society, not unless they’re from a house falling into ruin.

All the same, it feels odd as their rough hands glide across your bare skin, gently rubbing away any sleepiness with warm water.. It’s strange to think that had you not shown potential with the sword, this would have been your life - serving as Lady Yeji’s lady-in-waiting, her most trusted servant in a different way.

You hope the maids don’t notice how your hands are even more calloused than their own.

They clothe you in the palace’s finery, every layer of fabric even silkier than the last. Today, it’s a drape-sleeved tiered gown, dyed in the colours of the Hwangs’ flag - a rich mauve. The soft, loose fabric conceals the ripple of muscle in your arms, neckline exposing your collarbones. And of course, a glass violet woven into your hair. It cuts a poised, demure figure, something unachievable by your own means. But the swathes of fabric carry an uncomfortable burn every time they slide over your skin. A reminder that you are an inferior replacement in royalty’s garb.

Pressing your palm to the hidden garter around your thigh, you feel the faint outline of an envelope. A message, left by your door at the break of dawn. You’ve read it, but you can’t help the inkling of suspicion in the back of your mind. Imprinted on the seal is a pattern of forget-me-nots, a mark of a specific family — that of Kim Minji’s.

To be honest, she’s a good companion to have, if trust is what you’re looking for. Based on your intel, Minji’s a fairly gentle, fresh soul, new to the social world. Debuting fairly young, the girl's innocence is more or less intact, preserved by a loving family who doted on their eldest daughter. Of all the candidates, she must be the most naive. She’ll be a prime target of the other girls, no doubt. She’d be the easiest to send home.

At least she’s not inexperienced enough to approach you directly. She’s arranged to meet shortly before breakfast. Two left turns and a right, as per the instructions in the letter, and you’re face to face with the girl herself, reclining in an empty sitting room. Despite her furrowed brows and tense gaze, she exudes an innocent beauty that’s truly worthy of being a part of the crown prince’s entourage. No doubt, she would be his choice if a future queen of an empire needed to be an angel on earth.

As she spots you, her eyes light up, and she pats the seat next to her. Trying not to trip over her billowing teal-coloured skirt, you muster up your most polite smile, gingerly lowering yourself beside her. “Lady Minji, a pleasure. I believe we have not formally met just yet.”

She chuckles, a soft sound that blends perfectly with the pale morning sunlight filtering in through the windows. She is a breath of fresh air, youth incarnate. “It is wonderful to meet you, Lady Hwang. You are kind, to agree to meet me despite not knowing my intentions. I imagine you feared the worst. We are truly in cutthroat times.” Her expression turns solemn as she fiddles with the fingertips of her silk gloves. You imagine she must be nervous, her family undoubtedly warning her of the competition’s aptitude for scheming. “I am fully aware it’s a gamble to throw my lot in with you, but there is a kindness in you I am inclined to trust. Will you tell me I have misplaced my faith?”

The confession startles you. Kindness? You? Either you’ve played your role a little too well, or Kim Minji is seeing only what she wishes to. But this works well in your favour. Kim Minji is likely to be a court favourite, provided the crown prince is looking for true love. And if that is the case, Prince Jay will look upon her and her associated with favour and trust, a good combination that will serve you well in your mission.

“Well,” you muse, playing as though you have the upper hand like you see Yeji do. “Every gamble has its risks. Whether or not I am a worthy risk to take is your choice.”

She swallows. “Companionship. Protection. That is what I seek from you. You’re stronger than I ever will be, in both mind and body. Accept my offer, and the Kims and Hwangs will provide each other with aid whenever necessary.”

She says it so bravely that you almost feel sorry that such a young girl is propositioning you. But all is fair in war. “Lady Kim, what I want isn’t your support. Something much, much simpler will suffice.”

“A-and what would that be?”

You smirk. “Information, my lady.”

Sunghoon thinks he’s going to faint.

He’s never been good at wrapping wounds, much less his own. With the amount of blood he lost wrangling with the bandages that girl gave him, it’s no wonder he’s a little lightheaded. Still, the night is young.

As if trying to mock him, the first light of dawn peeks through the curtains.

Sighing, he rises from his slumped position against the door, stumbling into Jay’s office with more grace than he’d expected of himself. With the flickering light of the candle illuminating the darkened room, Jay’s sleeping figure is cast in an odd glow. Beneath his head is a stack of paperwork and a quill dangling from his fingertips, each stained with dark ink. He’s worked hard today. A miracle, really, that he didn’t get indigestion from that sorry excuse of a meal. The king has never been a very good dinner guest.

Sunghoon shrugs his coat off, draping it across a chair in the corner. He’s guessing it’s about six in the morning, with the dimmest sunlight bleeding through the thick curtains. Jay really hasn't moved since Sunghoon left him where he was to find their new ally.

The memory of the quick spar sends an ache through every muscle. She (was that shadowy figure even a she?) was stronger than he’d anticipated, each calculated movement both efficient and lethal. After that, it was clear to see how someone like her survived for so long as an assassin despite her existence being common knowledge in the line of work.

The fact that he’s even managed to walk out alive from an encounter with an assassin with a hundred percent success rate is a mercy on her part.

With a sigh, Sunghoon squeezes his liege’s shoulder. “Get up already, your harem awaits.”

Jay groans as he rouses, puffy eyes blinking rapidly as he shoves Sunghoon off. “They’re not my harem.”

“Is that all you’re concerned with, your royal highness? Other than the fact that you’ve got hundreds more tasks to complete, not to mention the backlog from yesterday, and the day before, last week, last year-”

“Oh, be quiet,” Jay scoffs, not unkindly as he fixes his collar. “How long more do I have before I have to sit through another meal with the candidates?”

Sunghoon checks his pocket watch, the other hand reaching over to flatten Jay’s unruly hair.

“What’s with the bandages?”

“Fell in the bath. To answer your earlier question, you have approximately two hours and forty-nine minutes. Breakfast will be served in the second dining room today. Their Majesties will not be joining us today.”

“Thank heavens. Last night was a nightmare. All those girls, tense to the point it hurt to even look at them. Did you see how Lady Shin barely touched her plate?”

“Never mind that, I have news for you.” Sunghoon leans in, certain he looks crazed with glee in Jay’s eyes. “I met a very interesting someone tonight - well, more like they found me.”

“Who-”

“Take a guess.”

Their eyes meet, and Sunghoon knows his dear friend understands the moment a conspiratorial glint enters Jay’s eyes. “Impossible,” he breathes out, rummaging around his drawers. “That quick?”

“Have a little more faith in your beloved courtier, won’t you?”

“Then our plans…”

“Are falling right into place. The right hand of the Hwangs is now a player in the game,” Sunghoon finishes. “The Hwangs have thrown their lot. Their stance is clear to us now. Their rebellion has begun.”

Jay chews his lip, deep in thought. “No, I do believe their rebellion has been years in the making. Possibly since the Hwang children lost the previous Duke and Duchess Hwang. No doubt, they’ve harboured a grudge against Father for years now.” He swallows, and Sunghoon can see the gears in his head turning. “The Hwangs are to be feared. And now that we’ve made contact with their assassin, the stakes are infinitely higher.”

“Not that we haven’t anticipated it.”

“Indeed, not that we haven’t. Any guesses on their identity?”

It’s here that Sunghoon freezes. On one hand, it would be wise to tell Jay to wait for the second meeting, or start investigating immediately. But the sting of his palm settles in, as if that girl’s reminding him of the alliance he swore to. True, he might end up working against her. The likelihood is there, especially if her mission turns out to actually be killing the king to-be. So why is he so reluctant to promise Jay anything?

“Not sure. We’ll have to see.”

Jay’s disappointment is evident. “Right then, we’ll work with what we have. Continue to communicate with her, we’ll find out what the Hwangs are planning.”

Right. Sunghoon shakes his head, shelving away his traitorous thoughts. Any plans the Hwangs’ assassin has could never overshadow the ones he’d made with Jay. Plans that have been years in the making, built upon trust like no other. No one can possibly distract him, much less an assassin.

There’s a moment of silence that falls between the two. Sunghoon, with all his heart, wants - no, needs - their plans to work. It’s a matter of life and death for the prince, no matter how selfish the outcomes might be. Jay cannot die at the hands of the Hwangs.

Because maybe, just maybe, this is his only shot at atonement.

a/n — guess who…ahahahahhhaa pookies i’m a mess this is a super short chapter but don’t mistake it for filler! because it isn’t /srs (no really) but ok i am really really sorry this came so late, next chapter’s already in the works! show some love for the girlies named throughout the story, they’re much lovelier than i depict them lololol

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