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novaursa · 9 months ago

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Where Honor Burns

- Summary: After the tragedy Above the God's Eye, you decided to go to King's Landing, in hope to prevent more bloodshed. Even if it means your death.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Gwanye Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Chains We Break. To read all parts in chronological order visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Also, in this AU Rhaenyra never sized King's Landing.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 017

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs @sachaa-ff

- A/N: you guys liked this so much I've decided to push next part out early again, since I have the entire thing finnished already for some time and I feel unfair to keep it from you, as it's very well recived series. There will be one more part of this posted, then it's done. Enjoy. ❤️

The day dawns with gray skies, heavy with the weight of impending rain, as if the gods themselves mourn what has been lost. You stand at the edge of Dragonstone’s cliffs, fingers tightening around the rough parchment in your hand. The inked words smudge slightly from the salt in the air—or perhaps it is the tears you refuse to shed.

Daemon is dead.

The news is sharp and bitter on your tongue, like ashes. You should feel grief, yet what blooms in your chest is nothing more than an emptiness edged with relief. Daemon’s death severs the last frayed threads binding you to him, a marriage that was doomed from the moment it began. The years of ambition, control, and quiet disdain have left scars deeper than any sword could carve. The day you and Rhaenyra agreed to release Gwayne to Otto—sealed your doom as Daemon’s wife. He never forgave you for that.

The sound of footsteps draws you from your thoughts. Vaeron approaches, his brow furrowed, his usually confident stride hesitant. He’s grown into a fine young man—strong and determined, the fire of Old Valyria running hot in his veins, a fire that no doubt still confused him, born as he was not of Daemon’s blood but of Gwayne’s. The tension between them had only worsened in recent months, yet Vaeron was still the same boy Daemon had taken under his wing, raising him as his own.

“Mother,” Vaeron’s voice is tight, the pain behind it unmistakable. “Is it true?”

You nod, unable to bring yourself to repeat the words. “Daemon and Aemond both perished above the Gods Eye.”

He inhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, full with the silver of his true heritage. “He was a fool to challenge Aemond alone,” he murmurs, but there is no triumph in his voice, only a deep-seated sorrow. Despite everything, Vaeron still sought Daemon’s approval, still yearned for some semblance of affection from the man who had twisted the role of father into something cruel and cold.

You reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his skin. “He made his choice, just as we all have,” you say, your voice soft yet firm. “This war has gone on long enough. Too much blood has been spilled, and more will be if we do nothing.”

Vaeron’s gaze sharpens as he looks at you, the young warrior ready for battle in his eyes, but beneath it lies uncertainty. “What are you planning, Mother?”

You straighten your back, steel in your voice as you declare, “I’m going to King’s Landing.”

The words hang in the air like a thunderclap. Vaeron’s eyes widen in shock, a flicker of fear quickly masked by anger. “You can’t! They’ll kill you the moment you set foot near the Red Keep. You’re the one who crippled Aegon at Rook’s Rest! They’ll flay you alive for that alone!”

A bitter smile touches your lips. “Perhaps. But we cannot keep hiding behind dragons and armies, waiting for a decisive blow that may never come. Rhaenyra has the right to the throne, but we cannot burn the realm to the ground for it. Someone must act before there’s nothing left to rule.”

“Mother, please,” Vaeron’s voice breaks with desperation now. “If not for yourself, then for me. You’re all I have left.”

You feel the sting of tears prickling at the edges of your vision, but you blink them away. You’ve made your choice, and there is no room for doubt. You cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm, and see the boy you once cradled as a babe, a child of love born in secret. “I am doing this for you, Vaeron. For you, and for the realm. The bloodshed must end, and if it is my life that brings peace, then so be it.”

He looks at you, eyes shining with unshed tears, his jaw clenched. “You can’t do this alone.”

“No,” you agree, your voice softening. “But I must be the one to start it.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The wind howls around you, the sea crashing violently against the rocks below. Vaeron pulls away, shaking his head as if trying to ward off the inevitability of it all. “I’ll go with you,” he finally says, determination hardening in his voice.

You shake your head gently. “No, my son. You’re needed here. If things go wrong, Rhaenyra will need someone she can trust—someone with a clear head. You must protect your family, no matter what happens.”

He clenches his fists, trembling as he battles between wanting to protect you and knowing you’re right. “I hate this,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I hate all of it.”

“So do I,” you reply, your voice breaking. “But sometimes, we must do what is necessary, even if it costs us everything.”

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his brow, and for a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to hold him close, the way you did when he was small, and the world was far simpler. When you pull back, his face is set in a mask of determination, so much like yours when you were younger, filled with dreams and desires that have long since turned to ash.

“Stay strong, Vaeron. For our family. For the future.”

With that, you turn and walk back toward the fortress, your steps heavy with the weight of what you must do. Behind you, the wind carries the sound of your son’s quiet sobs, a painful reminder of all that this war has taken and what it will still demand before it is over.

You do not look back. You cannot afford to.

You have a realm to save.

King’s Landing reeks of decay, the stench of rot clinging to every breath. Gwayne Hightower stands on one of the parapets overlooking the city, the once-proud banners of the Greens fluttering lifelessly in the breeze. His gaze is fixed on the distant horizon, where storm clouds gather ominously, but his thoughts are elsewhere—always elsewhere. No matter how far he tries to distance himself from the past, it haunts him relentlessly, like a ghost that refuses to be exorcised.

It has been months since his return to the capital, and yet every corner, every shadow in this city, reminds him of her. Of Y/N. His beloved, and the sister of the woman the Greens have fought so bitterly to keep from the throne. He grips the stone ledge tightly, knuckles white as he remembers the day he was brought back, humiliated and paraded like a traitor, a stain upon his family’s honor.

He had expected death. He would have welcomed it if it meant sparing him from the hollow gaze of Ser Criston Cole, who had demanded his execution for treason. The memory of Cole’s cold sneer, his self-righteous fury, still makes Gwayne’s blood simmer. The man had practically salivated at the thought of executing him, of making an example out of the “traitorous” Hightower who had saved Rhaenyra’s sister from the flames at Rook’s Rest. He would never regret that decision. Not for all the power, gold, or prestige in the world.

But it was not Cole who held Gwayne’s fate. It was his father, Otto, and his sister, the Dowager Queen Alicent, who intervened, silencing Cole’s demands with a forceful refusal. Yet, they had not been merciful. No, they had allowed the rotting head of Silverwing to be mounted for all to see, a cruel display meant to drive a wedge deeper into Gwayne’s heart. Silverwing, Y/N’s dragon, who had died protecting her—left to wither and decay like a forgotten relic. It was an injustice that Gwayne bore like a festering wound, a humiliation barely concealed beneath the mask of duty.

He shuts his eyes, and her face comes to him unbidden—the softness in her eyes that had never wavered, not even in the face of Daemon’s cold disdain, or the harsh realities of war. He remembers the warmth of her hand in his, the way her voice had soothed the fear in his heart, even when the world around them was crumbling. How could he not have saved her that day? How could anyone expect him to do anything less when it was her life at stake?

The rustle of skirts and the subtle scent of lavender and rosemary pulls him from his reverie. Gwayne opens his eyes, finding his sister standing beside him, her expression unreadable. Dowager Queen Alicent still carries herself with the grace of a woman who has shouldered too much, yet refuses to break beneath the weight. Her once fiery determination has dulled into a cold resolve, a woman shaped by grief and loss, and the endless machinations of court.

“Brother,” she greets softly, her voice carrying the echoes of weariness. “It’s been too long since we spoke.”

He offers her a tight nod, forcing the tension from his jaw. “It has, Your Grace.” The formality is deliberate, a barrier between them. Though they share blood, the distance between them has grown insurmountable over the years.

Alicent’s eyes flicker with something—regret, perhaps?—before she turns her gaze to the city below. “I’ve heard whispers that you’ve been restless of late. The men say you spend too much time brooding alone, staring into the distance as if searching for answers the gods have hidden from us.”

“I am where I am needed, as you and Father commanded,” he replies curtly, unwilling to entertain her probing. He knows what she’s doing. She’s always been good at drawing out what’s hidden beneath the surface, even when he wishes she wouldn’t.

She sighs softly, a sound filled with unspoken words. “You blame us for what was done to Silverwing.”

Gwayne’s grip tightens on the stone again. He doesn’t deny it. “It was a needless cruelty. She was a noble creature who died protecting her rider. Displaying her head like that—it was an insult to the memory of what she represented.”

“An insult, perhaps,” Alicent admits, her tone carefully measured. “But it was necessary. The people needed a symbol, something to remind them of the cost of defiance.”

He scoffs, bitterness curling his lips. “Defiance? Is that what you call saving someone I love?”

The admission slips out before he can stop it, the rawness of his emotions slicing through the air between them. Alicent’s eyes widen slightly, surprise momentarily breaking through her composed mask. But she recovers quickly, her gaze softening as she studies him. “You still think of her.”

“Every day,” Gwayne says quietly, the ache in his chest tightening. “I think of her every godsdamned day, and I regret nothing. You can have me stripped of titles, cast me into the black cells, and I would still choose to save her.”

For a long moment, there is silence between them, broken only by the distant clamor of the city below. Alicent’s eyes are misty as she watches him, her lips parting as if she’s searching for words that won’t come.

Finally, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Love makes fools of us all, Gwayne. It blinds us to what is prudent, to what is wise. I once knew a man who would have risked everything for love, but time and circumstance have a way of teaching us that such devotion often leads to ruin.”

Gwayne meets her gaze, defiance burning in his eyes. “Then let me be a fool, Sister. I would rather be a fool than a coward who sacrifices what is right for what is safe.”

A flicker of pain crosses Alicent’s face at his words, but she doesn’t flinch. “I pray that the choices you’ve made do not bring you to ruin, Gwayne. We’re all caught in this web of power and bloodshed, each of us trying to hold onto what little we have left.”

Her words linger, heavy with the weight of their shared burdens. Gwayne looks away, his heart still tethered to thoughts of Y/N, of what might have been had the world been kinder, had fate been less cruel.

But the world is what it is—a place of suffering, where even the most noble acts are punished and love is a weakness to be exploited. Yet, even knowing that, he would still choose her. Every time.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now,” Gwayne says after a long pause, his voice thick with resignation. “Daemon and Aemond are dead. The game we’ve all played has grown cold, and soon it will be Rhaenyra or Aegon who claims the last move.”

“Perhaps,” Alicent murmurs, though her eyes are distant, as if she’s looking at something far beyond this moment. “But war has a way of devouring everything in its path. Whatever happens next, we must be ready.”

Gwayne doesn’t reply. His thoughts drift back to Y/N, to her strength and the resolve she must be clinging to now. He wonders where she is, if she’s safe, and if she ever thinks of him the way he thinks of her.

But such thoughts are a luxury he cannot afford. He is here, bound by duty, trapped in a city where his only solace is the memory of what once was—and the unshakable knowledge that he would do it all over again, consequences be damned.

The clouds overhead break, and the first droplets of rain begin to fall. As the chill seeps into his bones, Gwayne turns away from the edge, leaving the ghosts of what might have been behind, even if they’ll never truly leave him.

The streets of King’s Landing are thick with discord, and the air hums with the whispers of the crowds. The cobblestones are slick with grime and spilled wine as people press closer to watch, their eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. The moment you arrived at the city gates, there was no ceremony, no dignity—only the iron grip of Ser Criston Cole’s men as they dragged you from your mount, jeering insults trailing in their wake.

“Look at the whore! Just like her sister!”

The words sting like poisoned arrows, yet you hold your head high, refusing to break. The crowd surges, pressing closer, feeding on the spectacle of your humiliation. You’ve been paraded through the streets like a common criminal, Cole’s grip never loosening as he drags you closer to the Red Keep, his eyes alight with vindictive satisfaction. It’s clear he’s been waiting for this moment, to claim victory over the woman —Rhaenyra— who once defied him and the family he serves so devoutly.

He stops abruptly before the gates of the Red Keep, turning to the gathered throng with a sneer curling his lips. “Behold! The dragon’s whore, sister to the pretender queen, come to grovel for mercy she does not deserve!” His voice carries, cold and mocking, inciting the crowd further. They howl their approval, eager for blood—yours or anyone else’s. It makes no difference to them.

But you do not bow your head. You meet Cole’s gaze with icy defiance, refusing to let him see how your heart hammers in your chest. The memories of Silverwing’s rotting head flash in your mind, a stark reminder of the cruelty that awaits you here. But you force yourself to stand tall. You’ve faced worse than this.

You’re brought into the throne room, where Alicent Hightower and her father, Otto, wait. Aegon’s absence is notable, but you know the reason. The rumors speak of his broken body, of his delirious cries as the milk of the poppy steals his sanity away. The once-proud king is now nothing more than a husk, a shadow of the tyrant he once was.

Alicent’s expression is tight with a mixture of weariness and caution, her eyes flicking between you and Cole as if assessing the weight of this confrontation. Otto stands beside her, his face carved from stone, every line etched with ambition and ruthlessness. It’s clear they intend to wring every ounce of leverage from this moment.

“You have a great deal of nerve coming here,” Otto begins, his voice clipped, “knowing the crimes you’ve committed against this family and this realm. You crippled the king, threw the Greens into disarray, and now you slink back like a beggar, expecting what? Mercy? Forgiveness?”

You square your shoulders, refusing to cower. “I came to end the bloodshed. How many more sons, brothers, and fathers must die before you realize that this war has no victors? Only ashes.”

Alicent’s eyes darken, the mention of sons clearly striking a nerve. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, the doors burst open, and Gwayne strides in, his face a mask of barely-contained fury.

“Enough of this!” he bellows, his voice reverberating through the chamber. He moves to rush toward you, but Cole steps forward, his hand already on the hilt of his sword, blocking Gwayne’s path.

“Stay back, Ser Gwayne. This is not your concern,” Cole snaps, his disdain for Gwayne evident in every word.

Gwayne’s eyes blaze as he turns his glare on Cole. “Not my concern? You dare speak to me of what concerns me when you’ve dragged the mother of my son through the streets like some common criminal? You’ve no right to degrade her like this!”

Otto’s eyes narrow at his son, but his voice remains calm, almost condescending. “You forget your place, Gwayne. This is not a matter for your heart to decide. The woman stands accused of treason, of crimes against the Crown.”

“I care nothing for your accusations, Father!” Gwayne’s voice cracks with the intensity of his emotions. “I will not stand by while you humiliate the woman I love—while you let her suffer when this war has already taken too much from all of us!”

There is a silence that follows his words, thick with the weight of what he’s just confessed. Alicent’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, her gaze softening with a flicker of sympathy as she studies her brother’s desperate expression. She’s lost so much—Aemond to the skies above the Gods Eye, Daeron at Tumbleton, and Aegon reduced to a broken shell. For a moment, her mask of cold resolve cracks.

“What would you have me do, Gwayne?” she asks quietly, almost pleading. “What resolution is there, when every path leads to more bloodshed?”

Gwayne takes a step forward, his voice gentler now, imploring. “Let me marry her. Let Viserys’ refusal be buried with him. If we end this cycle of vengeance, perhaps—just perhaps—we can stop this madness. Rhaenyra’s forces are strong, but even she tires of the bloodshed. The realm cannot survive more of this conflict.”

Alicent’s lips press into a thin line, uncertainty warring with her long-held beliefs. “Marrying her would be an insult to the Greens, to everything we’ve fought for. How can you ask me to allow such a union?”

“Because you’ve already lost two sons,” Gwayne says, his voice raw with pain. “Daemon is dead, and so is Aemond. Aegon is no longer fit to rule. You know it, Alicent. We’re fighting a war for a crown that no one truly wants anymore—not in the way it once mattered. The people starve, the dragons die, and for what? The Iron Throne is a curse, not a prize. Let there be peace. Let us find some measure of hope before it all crumbles to dust.”

His words hang heavy in the air, each one a plea, not just for your freedom, but for an end to the suffering that has stained this realm. Alicent looks away, tears glistening in her eyes as the truth of his words gnaws at her heart.

Otto, however, is unmoved. “You would throw away every gain we’ve made for the whims of your heart? This woman’s marriage to Daemon was a slight to our family’s honor from the beginning. To accept her now would be to admit defeat.”

But before Gwayne can respond, Alicent raises a hand, silencing them both. Her voice is quiet, but it carries the full weight of her authority. “No, Father. Perhaps Gwayne is right. How much more can we lose before there is nothing left worth protecting?” Her gaze turns back to you, and for the first time, you see not just a queen, but a mother who has lost almost everything. “If there is a chance to end this, to save what remains of our families, then we must take it.”

Gwayne exhales shakily, relief flooding his features as he steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Let me marry her, Alicent. Let this be the beginning of something better—something that might actually last.”

Alicent stares at you for a long, agonizing moment, weighing the choice before her. Then, finally, she nods, her voice laced with exhaustion. “Very well. The marriage will be sanctioned. But know this—if this decision leads to more chaos, more ruin, it will be on your head, Gwayne.”

Gwayne bows his head in gratitude, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Sister.”

Cole steps back reluctantly, anger simmering in his eyes, but he knows better than to openly defy the queen. As the tension in the room finally begins to ease, Gwayne moves to your side, his fingers brushing against yours, a touch meant to ground you both after everything that has happened.

You meet his gaze, the storm of emotions within you barely held in check. This was not the path you envisioned, nor the life you had dreamed of, but it is the one before you now. And perhaps, in this fragile truce, there is a glimmer of hope—for your son, for Gwayne, and for the future you might yet carve from the ruins of war.

For now, you allow yourself the comfort of his presence, knowing that whatever comes next, you won’t face it alone.

The room is dimly lit, the flickering light of candles casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The scent of roses and herbs wafts through the air as the servants bustle around you, their hands quick but gentle as they prepare your bath. You can barely focus on their movements; your mind is still spinning from the events of the day, from the jeers of the crowd to the cold fury in Otto’s eyes. Your body aches, the cuts and scrapes from being dragged through the streets stinging sharply with every brush of fabric against your skin.

When you finally lower yourself into the steaming water, a hiss escapes your lips as the heat bites into your wounds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out, determined not to show even the smallest sign of weakness. The water slowly works its way into your muscles, easing some of the tension, but your thoughts remain a tangled mess. You think of Vaeron, of what he must be feeling, and of Gwayne—the man who risked everything for you, who still fights for you.

The sound of the door creaking open draws your attention. You glance up, expecting one of the servants, but instead, you see Gwayne. His presence fills the room, his eyes blazing with barely-contained anger. The servants freeze, their hands mid-task, exchanging nervous glances.

“Out,” Gwayne says, his voice low and commanding.

The servants hesitate, torn between obeying their orders and respecting the strict instructions they’ve been given by Otto. But Gwayne steps forward, his gaze hardening. “I said out,” he repeats, more sharply this time.

The authority in his voice leaves no room for argument. The servants bow hastily, gathering their things and scurrying out of the room, leaving you alone with him. The door closes behind them with a resounding thud, and the room suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker.

You watch Gwayne as he strides toward you, his expression softening as he takes in the sight of you in the bath. But there’s still a dark fury simmering beneath the surface, a quiet rage barely held in check. He kneels beside the tub, his eyes raking over your body, lingering on the cuts and bruises that mar your skin. His jaw tightens as he reaches out, his fingertips grazing a particularly nasty scrape on your arm.

“They did this to you,” he murmurs, his voice trembling with barely-suppressed anger. “Cole did this to you.”

You can see the guilt in his eyes, as if he blames himself for not being there, for not stopping it before it happened. You reach out and touch his hand, trying to reassure him, but the moment your skin meets his, something shifts between you. The air grows thick with tension, a tension that has been simmering for far too long.

“Gwayne,” you whisper, but it’s all you manage to say before the words are stolen from your lips by the intensity in his gaze.

Without a word, he leans forward, cupping your face with both hands, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. His touch is soft, almost reverent, but beneath it, you feel the tremor of barely-contained desire, of need and longing that has been held back for far too long. He moves closer, and you feel his breath against your lips, warm and ragged.

“I can’t bear seeing you like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t stand knowing what they did to you, how they hurt you.” His eyes darken, his expression raw. “You deserve so much more. You deserve everything, and all they’ve ever given you is pain.”

His words are laced with a desperation that pulls at something deep within you. You’ve both suffered so much, sacrificed so much, and yet, here you are, still drawn to each other with a pull that’s stronger than duty or fear.

You don’t know who moves first—whether it’s you or him—but suddenly his lips are on yours, and the dam that’s held back your desire for so long shatters. The kiss is not soft or tentative; it’s fierce, fueled by months of longing and years of denied affection. His hands cradle your face, and you respond with equal fervor, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, turning frantic, as if you’re both afraid that if you stop, the world will tear you apart again. You can taste the salt of your own tears mingling with his as he kisses you with a passion that’s almost overwhelming. Your bodies move of their own accord, and before you know it, you’re both reaching for each other with a desperate urgency.

Gwayne pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his eyes searching yours, filled with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation. “Let me have you,” he breathes, his voice husky. “Let me show you how much I need you.”

You nod, the words caught in your throat, and he rises to his feet, his eyes never leaving yours as he sheds his cloak and begins to unlace his tunic. You watch, your heart pounding, as he strips away the layers, revealing the body you’ve longed for, the one that’s haunted your dreams. There’s no more hesitation, no more fear—only desire, raw and unbridled.

He steps closer, helping you out of the bath, his hands warm against your damp skin. You undress him as he guides you toward the bed, your hands trembling with anticipation. The kiss is reignited the moment you’re close enough, fiercer now, more demanding. There’s no gentleness this time—only a primal need to feel each other, to claim and be claimed.

When he finally presses you down onto the bed, there’s nothing slow or tender about the way he moves into you. It’s not like the times you’ve been together before, where every touch was measured, every caress deliberate. This time, it’s raw, almost rough, driven by months of pent-up desire and longing. He thrusts into you with a desperation that makes you gasp, your body arching beneath him as you cling to him, meeting each of his movements with your own.

It’s frantic, unrelenting—a tangle of limbs and fevered kisses as you both give in completely to the storm that’s been brewing between you. Every thrust is a declaration, every kiss a vow unspoken. There’s no room for words, only the sounds of your shared pleasure, the feel of his body against yours as he takes you with a hunger that has no end.

You’re both lost in it, in the release of everything you’ve held back for so long. The tension, the heartache, the desire—it all spills out in this moment, leaving you breathless, trembling with the intensity of it all. You give yourself over to him completely, letting him take you in every way you were once denied, and he meets you with the same fervor, as if he’s been starving for you.

And then, in the midst of it all, you reach your peak together, a wave of pleasure crashing over you both. The world narrows down to this single, perfect moment—where there is no war, no crowns or thrones—just the two of you, lost in each other.

Afterward, you collapse against him, both of you breathless, your hearts pounding in tandem. Gwayne wraps his arms around you, pulling you close as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He presses a lingering kiss to your hair, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your back.

“I should never have let you go,” he whispers, his voice filled with regret.

You lift your head, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the world outside seems distant and unimportant. “You didn’t let me go,” you murmur, your fingers brushing over his lips. “We were both trapped by the choices others made for us. But now… now, we have a chance.”

His grip tightens around you, a silent vow in the way he holds you close. “I won’t let them hurt you again,” he promises, his voice low and fierce. “No matter what happens, you’ll never be alone. Not anymore.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself believe in that promise, even if it’s only for this fleeting moment.

#house of the dragon #hotd gwayne #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #ser gwayne #gwayne hightower #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd #gwayne x y/n #alicent hightower #otto hightower #ser criston cole #silverwing #rhaenyra targeryan

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let-me-sleep-or-die · 1 year ago

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I’m not sure if it’s been stated whether Cassandra or Ankarna was like corrupted/killed/forgotten first but I think Ankarna went dark after losing Cas, especially after this most recent episode. Brennan saying Arkana flew into a rage and wrecked a guy who asked if she was still married? Think about this:

You marry someone, her sister is who she chooses to have represent her family, the people who have raised and loved her, at the wedding, and later on that sister, that sister who loved your wife so much?, her followers, trick your wife’s loyal devotees into forgetting her. Her sister tried to kill her.

And what’s maybe worse? She doesn’t Die. She becomes this awful thing, the worst version of herself in an effort to stay alive, she is someone you don’t know. Yeah she’s still there in a way but the person you loved? They are gone.

And you can’t even talk about her. Her name is erased from existence. Your wife is worse than dead someone else now haunts her soul and you can’t tell anyone about who she used to be.

And the world becomes angrier. And so you do too.

The moon killed the night, destroyed doubt and mystery and curiosity. And you no longer feel any control over the day, you feel no connection to your family, who have I to hold close during the winters cold, my wife is gone.

All you have left is the anger, the contempt, the conviction. You can’t be curious anymore, can’t doubt what you do, questioning anything reminds you of her. So you step forward, never looking back never questioning whether what you are doing, what you are becoming is what she would want.

You make your own warmth. Light fires that fuel your just actions. You find new magic, things you can know and be certain of. And you get angrier, and angrier and one day

The rage is all you are.

yeah, I’d try to kill anyone who brought up my wife too.

#dimension twenty #dimension 20 #dimension20 #d20 #fantasy high #d20 fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #brennan lee mulligan #d20 fhjy #fhjy spoilers #dimension 20 fhjy #Cassandra #ankarna #fantasy high sophmore year #brenan lee mulligan

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littlelovelunette · 3 months ago

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Vengeance (ft. Ambessa Medarda)

Important note: I don't write for Ambessa Medarda yet, but I WILL open the request slots and start writing fics for her soon.

~ @zthebean27 reblogged my initial post of Vengeance saying they need one like that with Ambessa, and reblogs help writers. Since you helped me, I'll help you <3

The air was thick with the scent of iron.

Your blood soaked into the silk sheets, a deep crimson stain spreading across the once-pristine fabric.

Your breaths were shallow, each one dragging fire through your lungs. You had managed to kill the assassin—his body lay crumpled on the floor, neck twisted at an unnatural angle. But not before his blade had found you.

Pain throbbed in your side, sharp and relentless, the warmth of your own life pooling beneath you.

The world swayed, the edges of your vision blurring, dark spots creeping in like shadows waiting to claim you.

The heavy stomp of boots echoed down the marble hall. Controlled. Powerful. Unhurried.

You knew that sound. "Ambessa..." You whispered the name, but your voice died before it could issue from your lips.

The doors to the private quarters were flung open with a force that made the walls tremble.

Ambessa Medarda stood in the doorway, framed by the flickering torchlight, her golden eyes burning with something dangerous. She took in the scene—the ruined bed, the dead assassin, the blood. Your blood.

Ambessa's blood ran cold.

For the first time, you saw something flicker across her face. It was gone in an instant, buried beneath years of discipline and war-forged control, but you had seen it. A crack in the unshakable foundation.

She crossed the room in three strides. The scent of steel and spice clung to her, familiar and grounding.

A gloved hand seized your chin, tilting your face up. Her thumb brushed over your cheek—soft, just for a second—before she dropped to her knees beside the bed.

"Who?" Her voice was low, dangerous.

You forced a smirk, though it felt weak. "Didn't stop to ask." You managed to gesture at the tangles of what you left of the assassin.

She huffed a breath through her nose, unimpressed. But there was something in the way her fingers flexed against your skin, like she was restraining herself from gripping too hard.

Her gaze dropped to the wound in your side. Without a word, she tore off her gloves, hands moving with practiced efficiency as she pressed down on the injury.

White-hot agony lanced through you, and you gasped, fingers curling into the sheets.

"Stay awake." A command. No room for argument.

Her grip was firm, steady, keeping pressure on the wound as she reached for the dagger at her belt.

With a swift motion, she sliced a strip of cloth from your ruined nightwear, winding it tightly around your waist. It was rough, brutal, but effective.

"Get me more later." You whispered with a small breathy giggle. "It was my favourite set." You pouted a little despite the searing pain.

"You should have been more careful."

A reprimand, but there was an edge to it—one that wasn’t entirely anger.

Your lips curled into a faint, pained smirk. "You almost sound worried."

Her jaw clenched. "You're my wife." The words were clipped, precise. Like stating an undeniable fact. "No one touches what is mine."

Ambessa lifted you effortlessly into her arms, holding you against her broad chest as if you were something fragile—something worth protecting.

Her heart beat steady beneath your ear, strong and unwavering. And for the first time since the attack, you felt safe.

Ambessa carried you like you weighed nothing, her grip unyielding but careful, as if the very idea of dropping you was inconceivable.

Her body radiated warmth, a grounding presence amid the pain and blood loss clouding your mind. You could hear the sharp commands she barked to the guards as she strode through the Medarda estate.

“Lock down the premises. Find any other threats. If they breathe wrong, kill them.”

Her voice was steel, but the way she clutched you was something else entirely.

By the time she reached the estate’s private medical wing, exhaustion threatened to pull you under. The moment she laid you down, her big hands hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before pulling away. The loss of her warmth sent a shiver through you.

The medics swarmed in, but Ambessa didn’t leave your side.

She hovered, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching every movement with the lethal focus of a warrior on the battlefield.

When the lead doctor hesitated, she snapped, "If you let her die, I will personally ensure you regret it."

The pressure of bandages, the sharp sting of antiseptic—it all blurred together. But through it all, Ambessa was there, her presence an unshakable force.

By the time the medics finished, the pain had dulled into a bearable throb. The room had emptied, leaving only you and her.

You forced your eyes open, searching for her in the dim light. She was sitting at your bedside, elbows resting on her knees, her head bowed slightly.

The usual ironclad mask she wore had cracked, just enough for you to see what lay beneath.

Concern.

Relief.

Love.

When she realized you were watching her, she exhaled slowly and leaned forward, her fingers brushing against your cheek.

It was the softest touch you had ever felt from her—warm, steady, reverent.

"You scared me," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, caught off guard. Ambessa Medarda didn’t admit weakness.

Your lips twitched into a weak grin. "You? Scared? The great warlord of Noxus?"

Her hand shifted, trailing down to cup the side of your neck, thumb brushing gently over your pulse. "I would burn the world to the ground for you."

The weight of those words settled between you, heavier than any blade, sharper than any wound.

"You’re not losing me that easily," you murmured, tilting your head into her touch.

She huffed, something like amusement flickering in her golden eyes.

"Good. Because if you had died, I would’ve had to drag you back just to scold you for being reckless."

You chuckled, wincing slightly, and she immediately pressed a kiss to your forehead—a rare, intimate gesture that sent warmth spreading through your chest.

"Rest, love" she murmured, fingers threading through your hair.

"I’ll be here when you wake."

#arcane #ambessa lol #ambessa x you #ambessa x reader #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #ambessa league of legends #ambessa x y/n #ambessa the chosen of the wolf #ambessa arcane #ambessa angst #ambessa fanfic #ambessa fluff #ambessa fic #ambessa chosen of the wolf #arcane medarda

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fancyfeathers · 4 months ago

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Always Prey But Never A Bird

Based on the Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling series

Previous Chapter <- Chapter Seven -> Next Chapter

Taglist: @jsprien213 @toast-on-dandelioms @plsfckmedxddy @lilyalone @sydneyyyya @yandere-wishes @cxcilla @nemesis-writer

You are riding your bike just across the bridge, pulling into a small and long abandoned dock which was rendered unusable due to an Arkham Asylum breakout incident two months ago. You dismounted your bike, leaving it relating against a busted up fire hydrant, the motorcycle most likely enduring a scrape on the metal. You tugged at your hair, a sharp in take of the cold air of Gotham which made a noise which was reminiscent of a hiss. You felt like you were about to cry but instead you screamed, it was guttural and painful, like you had been stabbed in the gut or like when you fell of that bridge a few weeks prior to only be saved by Dick Grayson, you wanted to actually kill yourself in this moment or at least hit something.

As it could not get any worse you could hear the roar of an engine as it slowed down in the vehicle’s approach to you.

Your father.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” You heard his voice boom from behind you following the noise of the door of the Batmobile opening, his footsteps stomping towards you. He never got this level of anger at you as a child, even when you did start dating your now fiancé without his permission or when you punched a boy in your class in the face, well punch is a light word, you beat him bloody as a ten year old. “You cannot make a scene like that, you are going to put yourself in danger!”

“Wake up, I am in this world now, are you not in danger every night? What about Dick, Tim, Cassandra, what about them?” You snapped back at him, turning around at him, looking at him with that intense pain and anger that burned within them. “You all consider them your own, hell Damian is your biological child just like me and yet you treat me as if I am an incapable, helpless, broken child, a little girl who cannot do anything without her father breathing down her neck.”

“They are trained and have been doing this for a number of years-“

“So have I! I have taught myself everything over the last four years and yet you still see me as a child even now, I have done everything they have and yet you act as if I will break my leg if I even so much as trip when walking.” You scoffed, throwing your arms up in the air, you were exasperated at this point. “I am tired of being treated like a little girl, by all of you! I am exhausted trying to prove myself to you, so much so that I have only now decided to pursue my own happiness, the engagement was not to spite you or anyone else, it was for me and my own happiness for the rest of my life and unlike you I will actually be able to put the mask when the person who loves me asks me to, I won’t have them leave me when they are pregnant because they are terrified of what life their daughter will have with her father being who he is.”

“You let your emotions get the best of you, you put a target on your back because of your behavior back there.” He scolded you, his eyes narrowing at you from beneath the cowl. “You will get yourself killed by running around like this, your brothers and sisters are able to work with their heads clear but it’s clear that you let your anger control you-“

“Is that what you said when Jason came back as Red Hood, wanting to kill the Joker? Or when Dick left the manor and stopped being Robin because he couldn’t stand being in your shadow?” You rolled your eyes, walking back to your motorcycle, swinging your leg over the motorcycle, the engine purring beneath you. “Don’t try to drag me back, I don’t need your protection and I’m not yours anymore. Try anything and you’ll never see me again, trust me a lifetime is much longer than four years.”

______________________

You say on the ledge of a building, not quite willing to go back to the penthouse where Gabriel and his parents awaited for you to return but you were not ready to patrol around the city and potentially encounter your family, not a doubt in your mind that they were out and about with the party over. You sighed, resting your head on your hands and looking out over the city as you sat on top of an apartment building downtown, you would need to get back on a daytime sleep schedule again if you wanted to move on past your vigilantism, to be able to put up your mask for good.

“I thought I told you to return to your home.” You jumped up when you heard a familiar voice speak from behind you. You turned your head around to see a figure under the dim light of Gotham streetlights, Talia Al Ghul. “And yet here you are, disobeying your father at every turn.”

“He may be my biological father, but I will not treat him as such because that is not what he deserves, and I’m not going to back down from a fight just because you asked me to.” You snapped at her, standing up from the ledge, your body tensing as your hand came to rest on your belt, more specifically on an emergency signal that would alert your team if anything remotely went south or maybe even your family depending on if Barbara got into the security system again. “What do you want? I don’t really want to see you right now.”

“It is not me who wants to speak to you this time I am afraid.” She replied, a smile playing on the corner of her lips as she takes out a piece of fabric, a scarf, a very beautiful and most likely a priceless piece, and you certainly knew fabrics and fashions, your mother had a passion for them when you were growing up with just her and she took you traveling the world, your childhood home before you two returned to Gotham was in Singapore, your mother never wanted to come back to Gotham, but that was a story for another day. Talia handed you the scarf and then guided your hand underneath the jacket you wore over your suit. “When you are willing, wear this and someone will retrieve you, do not worry you will not be harmed and you will be returned right where you were taken.”

“I don’t think I understand-“

“My own father would like to see you, nothing more than pleasant conversation, maybe a bit of tea?” Her hand trailed up your cheek, stroking it affectionately as if nothing was wrong at all. “But I would not wait forever, patience is a virtue that does not last forever, my dear.”

“Don’t call me that, and I’m not particularly fond of the idea of meeting your father, especially the idea of being kidnapped to do so.” You sighed, slipping out your hand and glancing at the scarf she gave you. “But it’s a shame really since this is a really beautiful scarf, it reminds me of the sort of thing my mother would wear back when we lived in… never mind that was a long time ago.”

“Well you can keep it, it is a gift after all. You did remind me that I should pay your mother a visit, I have a few gifts for her, such a sweet thing.”

“You know she can’t stand you, right? My father also hates the idea of you being near her especially after how you conceived Damian, I-“ You were about to finish your sentence which was already earning a scowl from her but your phone rang, tucked inside your utility belt pocket. You sighed, keeping your eyes locked on Talia as you dug out your phone from your pocket, taking a look down at the caller ID, your now fiancé. “I… I have to take this, it’s… it’s my fiancé.”

“Go ahead, I will see you soon anyway, my dearest girl.” You blinked and in a moment she was gone, disappeared out of nowhere. You only glanced around for a moment before sighing and answering the phone.

“Hey dove, are you alright? Your father ran off pretty quickly after you left, your siblings and Miss Gordon too, I think they’re worried about you… do they know you’re…”

“Yes, they do know I’m Songbird, even if I wish they didn’t.” You replied to Gabriel, assuming what he was going to ask over the phone and of course you were right. “Look I’ll be back soon, really it was just a camera malfunction in the Joker’s cell-“

“The Joker?! You were… I… this is exactly why I want you to quit, I just don’t want you hurt by crazies like him.” You heard his voice sigh from the other end of the line. “Look, just come back in one piece.”

“Don’t worry about me too much, the Batman tailed me in there and made me sit on the side lines, the man is the most paranoid person I have ever met.” You rolled your eyes at the memory of your father back there and the unsettling comments of the Joker. “Look I’ll be back before morning, don’t wait for me… I need to meet up with some people.”

“Who may that be?”

“…for lack of a better term, my aunt.”

“You have an aunt?”

“Kind of… sort of?”

______________________

You parked your bike outback, behind a high end apartment building that was your destination. You took off your suit, leaving you in your evening gown and you tucked the pin into your small handbag, alongside your lipgloss and phone. You walked up the backstairs, avoiding the lobby and the doorman and so no one would take photos of you and the gossip headline would not be about the youngest Wayne child running about the city after you disappeared for four years, which was scandal enough.

The apartment hallway was cold, the air conditioning blasting as your heels clicked against the tile. Then eventually you reached a door at the end of the hallway and it took you a moment but you eventually mustered up the courage to knock. You could hear the sound of footsteps from behind the door and the sound of the lock and the door knob turning…

“Selina… hi…” The woman before you did not look shocked at the sight of you like you expected, instead she just smiled at you. “I’d like to talk… if you have the time-“

“I’ll get some wine.” She opened the door wide for you, allowing you to step into her apartment which was far warmer than the hallway. “Make yourself at home, Kitten.”

“Thank you, Selina.” You replied to her, walking straight into her living room and sitting down on the couch and as she walked off to the kitchen to grab two wine glasses and a bottle of chardonnay. “I… I got engaged.”

“Oh I know.” You glanced back at her in the kitchen as she poured the wine into each glass and with her free hand she held something up, your engagement ring. “Snagged your ring.”

“Selina!”

“Sorry, sorry, Kitten.” She laughed, taking both wine glasses back out to her living room where you sat. “Besides Dick came by whining about it after that party at that museum, he was practically sobbing, but so have been telling them all since you left that you have moved on with your life a long time ago, probably off traveling the world, but you stayed in Gotham of all places, after all this time.”

“Ya… I guess I just wanted to prove a point to my old man, Dick, Jason, Tim- all of them really, that I can do anything they can.” You held your hand out as Selina set the glasses of wine on the coffee table and she took your hand in hers as she sat down next to you and she slipped the ring back on your finger. “Dick didn’t tell you anything about who I am engaged to, did he?”

“Only that he hated everything about that and felt as if you were dying right before his eyes.” She grabbed the glass of wine that was hers and she took a sip before looking down at your hand and engagement ring again. “But I have to say that is one hell of a stone, how much?”

“It’s an heirloom, it was his great grandmother’s ring… or was it his great great grandmother’s ring? I wish I could remember.” You looked down at the ring and smiled wide, leaning your head back on the couch. “Two million to answer your question and his name is Gabriel Christel.”

“Two million?! Kitten, you have him wrapped around your finger and lapping at every word you say.” She giggled like a little girl, before standing up from the couch and walking back to the kitchen and grabbing her laptop from the counter while one of her many cats that she took in as strays jumped up onto your lap and curled up against you. She sat down right next to you, opening her laptop. “What are you thinking about with the wedding? Colors? Flowers? Guest list?”

“I don’t know any of that yet I’m afraid… but Selina, I need to ask you a favor.” You reached over and closed her laptop, not wanting to talk about any wedding planning at the moment. “This is Songbird business and right now Songbird needs Catwoman.”

“Of course, Kitten.” She set her laptop aside and pushed it onto the coffee table next to hers and your wine glasses. “What is it? And I promise, whatever you ask, whatever you say will never reach the ears of your father.”

“Well, it will eventually….” You sighed, squeezing your brow between your thumb and forefinger. “There are many people of different organizations who may be after me, but if something happens to me, please look after my friends, they would not be able to survive in Gotham without me and I doubt my family would be keen on lending a helping hand since they helped hide me for four years.”

“You really didn’t have to ask me that, lovely.” She smiled at you, taking your hands in her own, giving them a soft squeeze as her sharpened nails ever so slightly pressed against the skin of your knuckles, not hard enough to break skin at all, no she was always gentle with you. “I will always look after you, and that includes your friends too.”

“Thank you, Selina.”

“Now, that aside, I do want to talk about wedding dresses with you.” She reached out and grabbed her computer, quickly dropping the topic as quickly as you brought it up. She opened her computer, turning it on and her sharp nails tapped against the keyboard as she typed in her password. “What is your budget?”

“…there is none.”

“Now you’re talking my kind of language, Kitten.”

______________________

Selina leaned back on her couch, your head resting on her lap, you were long fast asleep. Selina had gotten a makeup wipe and she took off your makeup along with practically doing a whole skincare routine on you, after all she cannot have the future bride to be breaking out. She slipped off your heels and set them next to your handbag on the coffee table, besides designer brands like that hardly get worn anyway.

“I knew you were going to show up, Brucie.” Selina commented, glancing over her shoulder at the figure that lingered in the shadows of her apartment, near her window that she accidentally left open to air out the food she accidentally burned not too long before you came. She held her finger up to her lips in a shushing motion as he stepped closer, just close enough to love over the couch and see you sleeping on her lap. “She practically passed out about an hour ago, the poor kitten is just so tired, probably all the family stress you put her through.”

“Hmm… she put herself in danger today.” Your father spoke, walking around the couch so Selina would not have to roll her neck about just to see him, his footsteps as quiet as a mouse as to not wake you, but then his eyes fell upon the empty glasses of wine. He picked up one of the glasses, your empty glass, he ran his finger along the rim, collecting the liquid that was left behind before shooting a glare at Selina. “You drugged her.”

“She was exhausted, I could hear how tired she sounded, again probably from the stress.” Selina sighed, scratching at your scalp, messaging your head as she ran her fingers and nails through your hair. “If you’ve come to take her back to the manor I won’t allow you to.”

“Not… not yet.” Selina watched as the Batman kneeled down on the ground next to you, brushing the hair out of your face. He looked down at your hand and the engagement ring upon your finger, he sighed and slid it off, but of course he had to return it under Selina’s watchful eye. He sighed and pried one of the smaller diamonds off of the ring with a batarang and before Selina could raise an objection he took something out of a small pouch on his utility belt, a fake diamond. “It’s a tracker, just to make sure she is okay.”

“And so you can spy on her at any hour of the day.” Selina snapped back at Bruce, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “You really are the most paranoid person I have ever met.”

“I am keeping my daughter safe.” She watched as Bruce slipped the engagement ring back onto your finger. “She is young and reckless.”

“Hm… well, may I have that loose diamond, that alone is worth a small fortune.”

“Selina.”

“Fine.”

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belit0 · 1 month ago

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How about Uchiha Madara and Indra With a female S/o who is Immune to Sharingan and Rinnegan and Stronger than them.

How Would They Deal With The S/O Don't Hesitate to Break Your Relationship With Them For refusing to follow the traditional roles of a wife who is to take care of the house, children and husband.

How would they react to seeing the S/O refuse to submit to them? How would they feel to know that the S/O wasn't the least bit shaken by the breakup? What about dating someone more powerful than them?

Sure

Indra

She stood at the edge of the veranda, the late sun gilding her shoulders, silent in a way that invited storms.

He watched her from the room beyond, arms folded, the edge of his thumb tapping against his elbow in measured rhythm—counting.

As if if he kept count, he could predict her next step.

But she wasn’t like his soldiers, his kin, his disciples.

No rhythm to her. No pattern he could bend.

-I gave you my name,- he said, the weight of it old as stone.

-And I gave you me,- she replied, calm. -One is not ownership over the other.-

The breeze stirred, catching her hair.

His eyes narrowed, pale fire glinting as something colder kindled just behind his brow.

It had always been like this with her.

Like holding the sea in his bare hands—he could admire, cup, even fight it—but never command it.

-You speak as if you would leave,- he said.

-I speak as if I already have.

A long silence.

He hated how she didn’t react to the power in his voice.

Hated more that she never had.

No flicker of submission, no faltering breath.

Immunity—pure and complete.

Her mind was her own.

Her soul, unreachable.

-Your refusal to take up the role expected of you—

-Expected by whom?- she cut in. -By men long dead and afraid of women who don’t kneel?-

Indra’s body tensed.

He wasn’t angry—no, not in the way others knew anger.

His rage was colder than that, older.

Disbelief, perhaps.

Or the sting of control slipping through fingers sharpened by gods.

-You would abandon house, children, the legacy we built—

I would abandon anything that asks me to be less,- she said, turning fully now, eyes like thunder without sound. -Even you.-

She left him standing there, lost in the echo of her footsteps.

And for once, he did not chase.

Madara

The kettle boiled over.

He didn’t move to stop it.

Just stared at the rising hiss, jaw tight, fingers curled loosely around the edge of the counter.

Somewhere behind him, she tossed her sandals before stepping in with the kind of carelessness that made his eye twitch.

-I asked you to be home earlier.

-I’m not your lieutenant,- she said, slipping off her cloak without looking his way. -You don’t get to dictate my movements.-

-I’m not asking for much. A wife who—

-Stops living?- she said flatly. -Who smiles, nods, cooks, cleans, raises the children, and waits for you at the window like a good little ghost?-

He turned, slow. -Don’t twist it.-

-I’m not twisting anything. You’re just angry I’m not afraid to walk away.

That hit.

She saw it in the way his lips parted, but no words came out.

A man like Madara didn’t hesitate in battle—but this wasn’t battle.

This was something he couldn’t seal into submission.

Couldn’t overpower.

Couldn’t silence with a glare and a legacy.

-You’d really do it?- he asked. -Leave all of this—me?-

-If it means keeping myself intact, yes.

His Sharingan sparked—briefly, instinctively.

Old habits.

They flared, met her gaze... and died out useless.

Like candles in rain.

She didn’t even blink.

That killed him more than anything.

She stepped closer, quiet now, voice like silk over steel.

-Loving you doesn’t mean I belong to you.

He stood frozen, staring.

Not because he didn’t understand—but because he did.

And it terrified him.

She walked past, hair brushing his shoulder like a warning.

And this time, he didn’t stop her. Not because he wanted to let her go—but because he knew he couldn’t make her stay.

#naruto shippuden #naruto #naruto imagines #uchiha clan #madara uchiha #uchiha madara #madara #indra otsutsuki #otsutsuki indra #indra #uchiha madara x reader #madara x reader #madara uchiha x reader #indra otstusuki x reader #otsutsuki indra x reader #indra x reader

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mehiwilldoitlater · 5 months ago

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Hi I don’t know the difference between imagine or hcs ; I was wondering can I hear your thoughts on yandere monkey king x reader who’s the white bone lady please ; love to hear your thoughts (sorry if my English isn’t good 💗)

My thoughts, uh?

My thoughts... well, my thoughts are...

Before being the Lady Bone Demon, Reader was a mere, small, iey kind of spirit, like a fairy. She wasn't anything big, just a small creature that lived in the cold, turned to water during the hotter seasons, and waited until the cold came back and snow gave her her true form.

My thought is that she once met a small monkey, an intelligent one, and they became friends.

Every winter, he liked to pass it with her, playing and learning about the fun and the joy that even winter can bring. And he learned the pain that spring brings and the longing for her return in summer.

Years pass, and he changes. He became a dangerous demon, his name now Sun Wukong, and he had learned a new trick: how to make an ice spirit never wither.

My thoughts are that, at first, you found it quite nice to enjoy the hotter season, the flowers of spring, the fruits of the summer, and the fire-colored leaves of autumn, but as time passed, you wondered how long this thing would last... You miss the waters, your sisters, and your brothers... You would like to go back.

"Back?" He snarls, "Don't you like my gift?! Is this how you treat me?! YOUR KING?!"

But he wasn't your king, and you didn't like his way of acting.

And he didn't like your defiance, so he hurt you badly.

He cured you, using water and ice, but you remembered... and you started to wonder what was happening with him. Since when did he want to control you and keep you close to him? Since when have his eyes become dark? Since when did the small and friendly monkey become the demon that declared to love you like life itself?

You didn't want to give in; you were proud enough to not fall for threats and aggression. No matter any time he hurt you and rebuilt you, you didn't lose a single grain of hope to being free.

So, when the diamond ring came to capture him, you secretly asked for your father, the cold wind of the north, to guide it against him. Your father responded, and not only him.

When the celestials founded you, the ice fairy that the great Sage cherished as his own Queen, they found someone that was overjoyed by his fall and asked nothing but for your freedom!

But the damage was too deep now. He had fed you those damn pills and peaches; now not even the sacred fire could melt you... You felt helpless, near to giving up on your hope...

But the Mother of the West gave you another chance.

"There's a mountain, not far from the gate of the west," she spoke. "Go there and act in my name. Protect people, help them, and act as a guardian. Once your work is done, you'll find your immortality revoked."

History is written by the winners. Your name wasn't about death and bones; it was one about keeping company men in their last moment, helping them pass the threshold, and being there when the Black and White Impermanence came. You were there, guiding children in their home when they were lost, fending them from the dangers of the night. You were there to take away the tears from the face of the young lady.

You saved women that wanted to take away their lives; you were a saint.

Your name was Lady of White Reverance.

But he had to come back, did he? He had to meet your gaze when you kindly offered to help his master by bringing him food and water, remembering then all the years of torture, of imprisonment, and of seclusion by him. And he was fast to attack you, claiming you were a demon that wanted to eat his master. a lie, a dirty lie; he even tried to take you away again, bring you back to Mount Huaguo, promising to finish his journey and come back for you, to his wife. But you refused, and that angered him again.

Only this time, you were strong enough to fend him off.

In the story, he had killed you, but the truth was that you got away, and he is still alive, now searching for you.

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everlastingdreams · 5 months ago

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The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 35

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: Destined.

Notes: /

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter: 35/47

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Immediately you looked back to where Lancelot had been when you fell asleep the night before. He was nowhere in sight and neither was the Sword of Power.

You grew alarmed. “What do you mean ‘gone’ ?!?”

Gawain tried to bring the news as quietly as he could, “Someone saw him leave in the dark. They are all uneasy with this, do not stray from my side.”

Finally you noticed how a lot of the group was looking at you with great suspicion. Merlin kept himself to the side, but Arthur and Red Spear were vigilant and visibly irritated.

“Did he say anything to her?” Arthur asked Gawain in a rude manner, loud and harsh.

The knight looked at you, you shook your head. Lancelot had not given you any warning and you couldn’t understand why he would have left without saying a word to you.

Arthur almost shouted at the knight, “I told you he would go back to them!”

You sprung to Lancelot’s defense, “He would never do that!”

He turned to you. “One of Red Spear’s crew saw him leave in the night and he is not back yet.”

“I know him.” You tried to be calm. “There is a good explanation for this. He wouldn’t have just left!”

Arthur did not bother to hide his anger. “Or maybe you can’t accept that your husband is a lying bastard who’s on his way back with his paladins to kill us all! You are a fool for trusting him!”

“Stop it, Arthur.” Gawain warned.

Arthur lashed out at him verbally, “Am I wrong to assume this?! You heard what Gareth said, he locked his own wife up and I doubt that was all he did, you know what paladins do to Fey! Someone like that doesn’t just change!”

"You’re right.”

The familiar voice came from behind you, there Lancelot stood with Goliath’s reins in hand, and Bear’s reins tied to them.

“Locking her in a room was the least of my crimes against her.” he said coolly. “When her and I met, I was cruel. She was a threat to my life only because she is of the same clan, if anyone of the Church saw her marks it would have meant my death.”

“Lancelot-” you wanted him to stop before it escalated.

“He wants honesty and he shall have it.” Lancelot said, stepping forward, trusting that Goliath remained on the spot he was at. He faced Arthur, heavily insulted by what he must have overheard. “You want the truth of it all.”

Arthur gave a sharp nod. “It’s about time.”

He rolled his tense jaw. “Father Carden ordered me to gain her trust, to forge her into a weapon as I was forged. And as time passed I indeed gained her trust, but I never expected her to gain mine. I betrayed her, I lied to her, I thought I could have her love and Father Carden’s, and I was wrong. She fled when she found out the truth, I saw her run from me, the hatred in her eyes…”

A pause fell and he reluctantly broke his eyes away from Arthur. Gawain was ready to step in.

“You wanted it all. Greed.” Arthur stated.

Merlin looked upon the scene, as if he had lived through a similar matter once long ago, he did not interrupt and watched it happen with interest.

Lancelot felt the stares on him. “I lost everything, including my faith. I was beaten to my knees and the only thing that made me rise to my feet again was Percival standing against the Trinity Guard to help me. My loyalty lies with him and her, I’d sink my sword into myself before I would be so careless to risk being shunned by them. As to answer your doubts, when we were in Ravenwick I saw-” he pointed at Bear, “the horse I had once given her standing among those of the paladins. Last night I went to retrieve it.”

“You went all the way back there for a horse?” Arthur blurted out.

Pym smacked Arthur’s arm, mumbling, “Shut up, it’s sweet, he got her her horse back…”

Lancelot appeared quite proud of the fact. “They were too drunk to notice they had five horses instead of four. I doubt one of them could count in their state.”

“See.” Gawain said to Arthur.

Arthur was starting to come around. “I guess he wouldn’t tell me about all those bad things if he wanted to trick us… It would be stupid.”

For Lancelot the matter was not fully settled yet. A low warning followed, “Your grievance is with me. You do not cast down your frustrations upon my wife. I accept your hatred for me, but I will not accept it towards her. I advise you not to use that sort of tone with her again.”

Hearing him defend you in that low voice with those sharp darkened eyes had your heart racing.

Arthur swallowed his pride, barely, “I did not mean to offend.”

“You called me a fool.” you reminded him.

Pym chimed in, telling Arthur a very snotty sounding, “You did.”

Gawain was thoroughly amused by Pym involving herself, especially because he could see the Manblood start to falter.

Arthur finally apologized to you. “I’m sorry. I was too quick to judge.”

“You promised Lancelot a chance, and we have done nothing to make you doubt our intentions. I led you to that coin because I did not want anyone here to starve.” you said. “We are here to help.”

Arthur yielded, giving a nod in Lancelot’s direction.

“I trust them.” Merlin suddenly spoke. “He rode off with the sword both Uther and the Church desire. Instead of giving it to one of them for clemency, wealth or power, he returned with it. Not many would not be tempted.”

Lancelot was appreciative of the support that the magician showed him, it was what made the others of the group leave him alone. All returned to their own tasks, some started a bonfire to prepare a meal and of course Percival went to see if he could be of help with that. Gawain had a short firm word with Lancelot about taking this sort of risk and why it was foolish. You were petting Bear, telling him how much you had missed him. One of Red Spear’s crew was quick to offer looking after the other horse you had been riding before Bear’s return, which you agreed to.

After undergoing Gawain’s scolding, Lancelot walked over to you. “Are you happy with Bear?”

“Of course I am.” You arched a brow in suspicion, “Was that all you did last night, steal Bear back?”

That small flicker of his gaze spoke volumes. “What?”

Your stance changed as you confronted him. “You were gone for quite some time. I love having Bear back. What I don’t love is waking up to find out that my husband left in the middle of the night without so much as a word to me.”

Was he being reprimanded? Your stern tone made his gaze drop to your lips to view the slight pout. That ribbon of irritation that had laced itself through your voice somehow captured and drew him in. He felt warm, somehow bothered, and it was a mixture he recognized from the night in Gramaire. But now that feeling presented itself in him at the wrong time and place, and still he loved how it felt. It was quite confusing.

You noticed how distracted he looked, “Are you listening?”

He hummed, blinking twice before lifting his gaze up to your eyes and seeing the building irritation in them.

“Lancelot.” you said his name in a scolding manner. “Did anything else happen last night?”

“No.” he said.

Your expression fell, he was lying, you could just feel it. “No?”

Again, he stayed with his answer. “Nothing else.”

You could not hide your disappointment. Why couldn’t he just say it? Had he done something that he knew would upset you, is that why?

Your tone was coolly. “I’m going to the river to freshen up.”

Instantly his expression changed, he knew his answer had upset you.

“I believe we will have a meal soon.” he tried to call you back.

“I’m not hungry.” you walked away, through the trees and towards the river. It was necessary to calm down before it could lead to an argument all would witness, it would make matters worse if they saw you angry at him after last night.

There was little time to spend alone, you caught his scent before even hearing him approach. You splashed water in your face, hoping it would cool your rising temper. He stopped right beside you, watching how you remained on your knees by the river.

This time he was quick to confess. “Last night I have stopped by the manor again. It was not my intent, my only wish was to take Bear back, but I acted impulsive.”

“Why?” You frowned up at him.

There was a hint of shame in his features while he spoke of it. “After seeing how you were, how that place affected you, I wished to see it burn.”

There was no anger in your tone, “That was not your decision to make.”

He agreed. “I realized that when I was there and did not follow through with my plan.” For a second it appeared that he wanted to reach down and touch you, but he decided against it. “While I was there, I could not stop thinking about how I was serving the Church while you lived that torment.”

Your hand grazed his own. “We both suffered, Lancelot. You shouldn’t diminish your own experience by comparing it to mine.”

He exhaled a deep quiet breath. “I found some matters there that I had wanted to discuss with you in private, not in front of others.”

“That’s why you didn’t tell me?” you realized.

He gave a nod. “In the wall where Red Spear found the chest, two letters were hidden. One your mother wrote but Aldith must have intercepted it, my father was meant to be the recipient.”

Your interest was piqued. “Your father? You mean Ban?”

“Yes.” he said. “And the other letter was one that my parents wrote to your mother.” He took two small rolled up pieces of parchment from where he had stored them near a dagger, handing them over for you to read. “As my parents were of royal blood, they intended to seek others of higher standing to be a match for their future children. Your mother became a Lady by marrying Aldith and therefore she was requested to notify Ban should she come to be with child. I like to believe that we were betrothed before either of us were even born.”

In the letters, you could find all he was telling you about. His parents had wished to plan ahead for the future. It was common within royal families to arrange and discuss such manners long before the child was even born, a promise of marriage to strengthen claims to land and power.

You couldn’t believe it, what were the odds that they would have picked you as a match? “Our parents were going to arrange for a joining between us… Well, maybe they would have chosen someone else for you.”

He reached down, letting his index finger caress your cheek whilst you looked up at him. “They would have chosen you, I have no doubt on the matter.”

“Why the flattery?” you playfully pushed his hand away and rose to your feet. “What else did you find?”

His small smile fell and he took back the letters to keep as they involved his parents. “I also found a letter addressed to Father Carden, written by Aldith but he must not have been able to send it before having to flee Ravenwick. I left the letter there.”

By the change in his tone, you could already guess nothing good was in that letter. “What was in that letter?”

He was visibly uncomfortable with the topic. “Aldith wished to attempt to try and ruin your reputation in the hope that Father would bend to his will.”

You persisted. “What was in the letter, Lancelot?”

He was deliberately vague. “It spoke of your past in regards to your… chastity.”

Your brow arched. “You mean he called me a whore. How many people did he claim I shared my bed with?”

He had not expected the blunt response, he was far more stressed to speak of it than you were. “One.”

“Oh? I did not expect him to be honest about that.” you scoffed. “Does it bother you to know?”

“No.” He was fidgeting with his fingers.

You saw right through him. “You can tell me.”

He breached the subject carefully. “You never told me about that part of your past.”

That was true. You got up from the ground. “It was a man I met, someone who was known to be experienced and I was curious.”

Lancelot tried not to think too much of it, but you could see him struggle with it.

But the truth was what he deserved and you did not want to keep it from him. “I slept with him. He taught me things. But I didn’t like how it meant nothing. I meant nothing to him, and he meant nothing to me.”

He couldn’t manage to look at your face, you prayed it wasn’t because of how the scriptures forbade such behavior.

You tried to be open about it, even though your different upbringings made it difficult. “I prefer to sleep with someone that I actually love and care about.”

His upbringing came to light again when he readjusted his stance because the word had made him uncomfortable. “He was… ‘experienced’?”

You never wanted him to think he could not match a past experience. “Don’t do that, Lancelot. It is not the same.”

He looked away, a pensive look in his eyes.

You put those fears in him to rest before they could grow. “He was. But he wasn’t so good that I craved him everyday like I do you.” His eyes snapped to you. “You big oaf. I’d rather argue with you for the rest of my life than spend one more second in that man’s bed.”

“You crave me?” Was what he chose to put his attention on.

It was something you had wanted to keep for yourself, but by trying to build up the self-esteem he deserved to have you had spilled the secret.

“Uhm…” your voice wavered. “Ugh. I wasn’t going to say that, I do not want you to think that I’m not happy with the way things are between us now. It is enough for me, I am content.”

He saw no insult or fault in it. “But you would be open to more.”

It was a statement, and you found comfort in how calm and collected he was while saying it. “Only when you’re ready.”

He took a step to the side, nodding to himself. For a moment he watched the river’s stream, the topics of conversation must have been flying through his head.

You got closer, standing at his side, and wrapped a hand around his arm. “Whenever you get quiet I believe your thoughts are the loudest.”

The small curve at the corner of his mouth confirmed it. “It would calm them if I knew that you were not upset with me for going back there.”

Your forehead brushed against his arm affectionately. “I’m not. And I love that you brought Bear back to me.”

He turned, moving an arm around your waist and suddenly pulling you against him. “I gave him to you. I always told myself that I would retrieve him when I could.” His forehead rested to yours, his hands came up to knead at your upper arms.

“Just don’t risk your life to do these things.” you said.

He breathed out, “It is worth it.”

You leaned back, warning him with your eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

That stubborn man was holding back on arguing over this.

Your hand came to his chest and slowly made it’s way up. “I should remember to reward you for being so thoughtful. You forfeited your sleep to bring back Bear.”

He declined. “I need no reward.”

You caressed his jaw, then brushed your thumb over the corner of his mouth and teased it over his bottom lip. “Oh, I can think of a reward you will not wish to refuse.”

He swallowed hard. His gaze dropped. Not a second later he tried to kiss you, you leaned back further and broke away. With a cheeky smile you took a couple of steps back and saw how he was quick to go from confusion to understanding your intent to tease him.

After a moment of thought to find something to distract, you held up your wrist with the bangle. “We could use this time to help me learn how to read it’s inscription instead of filling it with sin.”

A chuckle tumbled out of him. “Very well.”

He picked up a thin branch from the ground, knelt down and began to draw symbols in the soil with it. “Come closer.”

That mischievous smile he gave did not make you reluctant to do so, you stepped closer to see what he was drawing.

He was detailed in the drawings. “To learn the language of the Ash Folk, it is best to start with that of the Fey. The Ash Folk had knowledge of older symbols and their meaning, knowledge that apparently was not passed down to many others.”

A small circle shape with swirls on the inside, a hexagon with lines connecting each of it’s corners on the inside.

“Little.” he pointed to the circle shaped one, then to the hexagon, “Ember.”

You looked into the bangle, seeing how the engraving matched the symbols on the soil. He proceeded to draw more symbols, the basis of the Fey language, to show what they meant. After some minutes, he asked you to draw one of the symbols to test if you were paying attention. You began, a circle and some line inside of it. He clicked his tongue, looking dawn and seeing a flaw that you then managed to correct.

“Well done.” The praise fell. “Symbols that are used for directions are made in such a way that the Fey can simply make them with rope and branches and hide them in the forest for other Fey to find. This is one of them.”

“This means ‘South’, right?” you hoped it was correct.

It made him smile. “Yes.”

“You were truthful when you said you would help me learn this.” You rose from the ground, he did as well. “You also promised me that you would teach me to wield a sword as well as you.”

There was a hint of a smirk on his lips. “That may have been too confident of me to say.”

“Do you doubt your skill as a tutor?” you inquired.

With a wicked grin he fired the jest. “I doubt your skill as an apprentice.”

You gawked at him. “You arrogant twit!”

He sounded overly confident on purpose. “You heard how well those Trinity Guards fared against me.”

You parroted his words childishly in a mocking tone to let him hear how arrogant it was. He snorted a quiet laugh that he could not prevent, covering his mouth a little with his hand.

There was soil on your trousers that you brushed off. “Fine. If you don’t think I can improve to your standard, I will just ask someone else to help me learn.”

It amused him to rile you up a little. “Which unfortunate soul?”

A glare was send his way. “Gawain. I heard Arthur is good with a sword too. And if they refuse, I might ask Gareth when I see him again, I doubt he will refuse. Even one of Red Spear’s crew will be kind enough to help.”

That smug smile faltered, and when you were about to walk past him you heard steel being drawn, the flat of his sword was one step in front of your torso to halt you.

The idea alone that another would be using a sword to tutor you, while you were still in the early stages of learning… the risk it posed chilled him to the bone.

You looked to the side, making eye-contact. “What?”

The icy tone made that smug smirk return to his face. “I do not enjoy the idea of you being at the end of a sword that is not mine.”

Your gaze swept over him. “Are you being metaphorical?”

He clearly had not expected the bawdy tease and swallowed down the surge of nervousness it caused in him. “I mean it. I do not trust another to tutor you, I will not see you hurt.”

You kept teasing, too amused by how his expression changed when he was subjected to it. “Alright. Then I hope you keep your promise. I prefer your ‘sword’, and your skill.”

The flat side of his sword came to rest on your chest as he stepped closer. “Do you hope to shock me with your lascivious speech?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Your innocent reaction tempts me to do it. Maybe my desire to corrupt your innocence comes from how attractive I find your responses.”

“Oh?” he said smugly, a tempting smile graced his lips. Then he reached down with his free hand, sliding it over your waist and hip before drawing out your sword from it’s sheath. “Spar with me.”

Your chest shuddered under that tone he had used, his mouth said ‘spar’ but his eyes told different.

He handed you your sword and bumped into you on purpose when taking place a few steps away from you. “Attack.”

It was nothing short of a command, a successful one as you did exactly what he asked. You charged and lunged at him, he did not even lift his sword to block, he just moved aside and gave your shoulder blade a light push when moving just past him. Almost did you lose your balance because of his arrogant way of sparring. It was mildly infuriating to see how long it took for him to actually use his sword to block your attacks, he was fast and every move you made he must have seen a hundred times already in battle with others. It was what made you impatient and reckless, and when you tried to disarm him he simply grabbed you by the waist and with one strong tug he had your back against his chest.

He hushed you, hot breath in your ear, “Do not let frustration cloud your instinct, you can do better than this. I have seen it.”

“You’ve never taught me how to react when someone grabs me like this.” You broke free from him, spun around, and held the tip of your sword at his chest. “You are not playing fair.”

You knew that look, that darkening of his eyes because they could not take enough of you in all at once. The sly smirk, the lick on his lips to wet them, and the flow of his gaze over you.

Another sweep of his eyes over your form. “I made no such promise.”

You lunged at him, he moved his body swiftly to the side and grabbed hold of your arm, allowing him to send you stumbling forward and away from him. But you tripped and landed on all fours on the ground, an array of profanities flew out.

He tried to hide his chuckle under a false cough and came to offer you a hand to stand up. You swatted it away. He tapped the flat of his sword against your thigh, close to your rear and got tossed a handful of fallen leaves up at him. You were on your feet seconds later.

“You… you-” you barely held back.

“What?” He dared you to say it.

His eyes sparked with amusement when you clenched your fists shut to keep yourself from saying it.

“Go on.” he persuaded alluringly. “Let us hear if you have any insult for me that I have not yet heard.”

You swallowed the words down, feeling too prideful to resort to harsh profanity against him.

He tilted his head a little, grinning, “No?”

You rolled your eyes and went to move past him, he stopped you by grabbing your elbow.

“I do enjoy that haughty look in your eyes now.” He did not let you take another step. “The arrogance one would expect from a Lady.”

Was he truly bringing up that title you often forgot you even had? That made you try and pry his hand from your elbow, but his hold didn’t loosen. Instead he took some steps to the left with you, dragging you along whilst ignoring how you were trying to get his grip on you to weaken. With one firm tug, he nearly tossed you with your back against a tree. One could so easily forget that many had tried to fight him off, and many had failed. He held you against the tree, the hold on your arm had only moved not lessened.

“I am not some spoiled noble ‘Lady’ !” you nearly snapped it at him.

“I know.” His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Not yet.”

What?… “I beg your pardon?”

“I assure you, you will be spoiled.” He pinned you against the tree with his body, firm and warm against you. “So spoiled…” He teased your jaw with his lips. You felt him make a rolling movement into you, only once and it was very likely just an innocent move, still your body was tricked into believing more was to be expected. His scent was too close, he was too close, and it was making your head spin. Tempting. But you wanted the lesson you were promised. With a push you made him stop, a second push made him step back. He looked like a whelp being denied attention.

“My lesson?” you reminded him.

He mistook it for rejection, you could see it in his eyes.

You got closer to him, giving him your sweetest smile. “You promised me you’d teach me.” Whispering, “Keep your promise.”

“I am distracted.” He felt somewhat ashamed to admit it. “Forgive me.”

You grew worried, “What is distracting you?”

A quiet confession, “Your presence.”

It got clear what sort of distraction was bothering him, you should have known after noticing the way he had been looking at you. A former monk, one who had only just begun to explore the pleasures freedom outside the clergy had to offer. And with the way he was acting, it was obvious that he struggled to hide and contain the desire he was harboring.

“Do you need me to leave you alone for a while?” you asked.

A tilt of his head. “The opposite.”

Well then. “Then let’s continue sparring.”

He gave a small favor. “I will go slower.”

Your pride was worth denting if it kept you from breaking a limb. “Perhaps for the better.”

This time he attacked first, you parried just in time and he gave you only a second to gain some distance. He proceeded to test your ability to defend yourself and ward off the attacks. Only once did you stumble over a branch on the ground but luckily kept your footing.

“Very good.” he noted. “Be aware of your surroundings.”

A good advice with the many small branches scattered around the place. Slowly you eased into the spar, your movements grew more fluent. He praised your successes and tried to correct your flaws. Your confidence grew and you got faster. He did not move as fast as he normally would, allowing you to be more at ease.

You attacked once, twice… wondering if you had imagined that he had looked surprised when you did. You tried other ways of moving, ways he may not expect and one of those ways took him off-guard. He had to take a step back to parry your attack, his boot hit a larger rock and down to the ground he went.

You had never seen him so inelegant and barely held in a laugh. “You alright?”

With his back on the grass he groaned, having to pick his pride up from where it had crashed down with him.

You moved to his side, put your hands on his shoulders and straddled him on the ground, holding him down with a little effort. “I won.”

There was this stupid arrogant smirk on his face, like he wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. Like you were a pup barking down at a wolf.

“Don’t do that.” you scolded.

The smirk grew. “Do what?”

That smugness shouldn’t have suited him so well. It wasn’t fair. “I can read it off of your face that you are not that impressed.”

“I am impressed.” he countered. “However, you have seated yourself on me and I find it impossible not to have my attention drawn to that instead.”

You chuckled at how matter-of-factually he had sounded, but went quiet when he put his hands on the sides of your waist and slid them down over you until they landed on your hips.

He hummed quietly with a rather timid smile. “You do have a tendency to put yourself in my lap…”

You fired back a risky jest, “I heard no complaints from you the last time. I did hear you sound very relieved when I brought you to your release. I wasn’t sure if you were actually going to let me move on you like that.”

He shifted a little under you, swallowing hard, gaze unmistakably sweeping over you. His voice sounded deeper, warmer, “You made me feel fulfilled.”

You had to have known what it did to him to be reminded of it, whilst sitting in his lap and looking down at him in the way you had done that night. He wanted to touch, to close his hands over the curves you had let him hold and fondle, but the risk of being seen was too high. Still, he could not resist letting this continue and let it build up his need for you.

He sat up all of a sudden, letting a hand go to your thigh to give it a squeeze, then let his thumb dip into your inner thigh. “I keep thinking of you.”

A playful grin. “Of me, or of what we did together?”

“Both.” he gave an honest answer.

Having him touch your inner thigh was awakening your desire for him, but you were very aware that this was too close to where the group was probably eating their breakfast of the day. He kept caressing your thigh, letting his thumb draw circles in your soft flesh.

One look was shared and he got up off the ground with you, taking you by the hand and leading you further away from the river. There were large rocks not far away and the ground descended between them into a narrow path, above your head the roots of a large tree growing over the rock formation covered the place well. There was little time to be in awe over how beautifully the roots had grown over the rocks, he moved you with your back against the rocks and muffled your surprised gasp by kissing you hard. There was a certain urgency in him, as if he wanted to steal all he could before it was too late, it was an urgency you shared. You pulled him close, kissing him back with the same fervor. Your jacket was moved open, he caressed your abdomen before going higher, his intention was clear.

You sped up his slow and careful process by taking his hand and putting it on your chest where he had been making his way up to. “Touch me.”

A sound rumbled through his chest, he took that offer without questions. As he kissed you, he fondled and kneaded to his leisure, your body curled into him, melted into his hands. It was titillating to know that this was all so new to him, that he battled between that timidness and that growing lust. His mouth wandered to your neck, his hand to your thigh. By his own initiative he dared to touch your rear and took hold. You jolted in surprise, made eye-contact, and saw how his eyes had darkened. There was not a speck of regret on his face, on the contrary, he kneaded at your rear after seeing that flustered state it got you in. You began to kiss his neck, feeling free to touch him too, snaking a hand under the hem of his shirt and feeling the tensing of his abdomen. He slid your jacket down from your shoulders, getting it out of the way by letting it drop to the ground. He made a guttural groan and it send your heartbeat up the hills, a gasp fled your lips.

You only noticed that he had begun to undo the cords of your bodice when he was at the fourth loop. “Lancelot…”

He brushed his mouth just below your ear, the palpable urgency was growing in him. His hot breath past by your ear and your knees threatened to buckle. You could feel your markings rise to the surface, as if they came at his beck and call.

You heard a voice calling out Lancelot’s name and broke away from him, quickly you grabbed your jacket from the ground and put it back on. It was a difficult task to lace the bodice back up again so fast, even if he only managed to loosen half of it.

Lancelot was not as hasty. “It is Arthur.”

You grew anxious. “He will ask why we are so far away.”

He was nonchalant about it. “Pay him no mind when he asks, I will handle it.”

The lack of haste in him increased your nervousness. “Come on, we shouldn’t wait until he finds us here.”

With a light chuckle he followed you out of the narrow path back towards where the group was at.

Arthur met you half-way. “Where have you gone?”

The suspicion in his tone was obvious, you struggled to reply. Lancelot took you by the elbow and continued his path like nothing was the matter.

“We are wed.” he told him whilst walking by Arthur. “Must we inform you of what we do whenever we are alone?”

Arthur had a look of recognition, suddenly stumbling over his words. “Oh. Well. No. I… that’s…”

You gawked at the bold way Lancelot had silenced that suspicion in Arthur again, this time you were the one who wanted to hide from sight.

Upon arriving back to the group no one else really seemed to have noticed your absence, no one except for Arthur, Red Spear and Gawain. Arthur went right to Gawain, undoubtedly to tell him about it. You walked away from Lancelot’s side to go and see if there was still something left to eat, Percival had kept some bread and roasted potatoes aside for you. As you sat down beside the boy and ate, you kept catching Lancelot look your way and how Gawain rolled his eyes when he noticed him doing it. He had gotten some things to eat from Gawain, clearly in the hope of putting his attention on something else. You tried to focus on your meal, appreciating the fact that Percival was considerate enough to even keep some aside. When Lancelot came over to speak to you and Percival, Merlin walked over to him before he could.

“Those who chase the sword cannot handle it’s power. But those who let the sword come to them…” Merlin told him. “You have the sword that many go to war for, yet you leave it behind to walk the forest with your wife.”

“Yes.” Was all Lancelot replied to that, not bothering to deny the implication under Merlin’s statement.

“It’s corruption seems to have no power over you.” Merlin was pleased. “And between us, your attention is where it should be.” He nodded down to you and Percival. “I made the mistake of letting power consume me, and I lost those I loved.”

Lancelot went to Percival’s side, touching the back of the boy’s head lightly. “I have no desire for power. I have all I need.”

Merlin smiled, seemingly lost in the memory of his past life. He tilted his head, and with a respectful nod he walked away.

Lancelot knelt down beside Percival. “I purchased a scarf in Ravenwick last night for you, and a blanket should we need to sleep in the forest again.”

The boy had not expected a gift, let alone two. “Really?”

“They are in her horse’s saddle bag.” He told him.

Percival was up on his feet and quick as a fox to run to Bear to see his gifts.

“That was sweet.” Your heart warmed at the sight of Percival smiling widely as he put on the scarf.

Lancelot whispered, “He is a clever boy, impatient and disobedient. Brave and kind. A joy to be near.”

That was an accurate description of the boy. You wiped your hands on the grass and stood up. “Be sure to tell him that, he was struggling with everything going on. He lost so much, we need to be there to help him.”

He spoke quietly, while watching the boy show his scarf to Pym, “And we will be. I won’t let him have the past I had, Percival will know that others care about him.”

You suddenly recalled something of the night before, it had happened while you were half-asleep. “Last night, I heard him say ‘Nimue’ in his sleep.”

It visibly pained him to hear it. “He is mourning. I fear he hides his suffering often.”

With a soft smile, you asked, “Spoken from experience?”

He hummed quietly. “I find it difficult to mourn while my conscience reminds me of the wrong Father Carden has done.”

It was something you knew he struggled with. “As long as you know that mourning him is normal, you knew him well.”

Whilst trying to offer some words of comfort, you noticed how his attention had drifted away. His eyes were fixed on the trees behind you, something had caught his eye.

Red, moving slowly at a distance, circling the group who was unaware. Just as he had once taught them.

He spoke, “Go to Percival, walk normal, take him to the rocks where we were earlier.”

“What-… why?”

He took you by the arm and started walking. “We’re under attack. Paladins are here. Remain calm, let them believe that we are not aware they are here.” He let go. “Go. Now. There is not much time.”

You quickly nodded and went to fetch Percival. When you reached him, Lancelot was already informing Gawain and the knight whistled towards Arthur. Gawain gave a discreet signal that told both Arthur and the Red Spear that trouble was coming.

You were walking when Pym passed by and stopped her. “Pym, can you fight?”

She began to ramble, believing you were questioning her bravery. “Of course I can fight. I can fight really well. I’ve fought a lot-”

It caused you to doubt her claims. “Otherwise you need to come with us. There’s paladins about to attack.”

“What?” She was alarmed. “Well… I’ve not really fought yet…”

Just as you’d assumed to be the case. “We’re going to take shelter by the rocks not far from here so we don’t get caught in between Red’s crew and them.”

After saying that, she did not waste time joining you and Percival to get to a safer place. The sound of steel being drawn came from all around you and signaled that it was too late. A rain of arrows descended upon the area, you were just in time to pull Pym out of the way of one. Chaos erupted as paladins charged from between the trees to attack, and to your great dismay they were accompanied by four of the Trinity Guard on horseback who looked to be in charge of them. Within seconds you were in the midst of a battlefield, clutching at Percival’s jacket to not lose track of him.

“What do we do?!?” Pym was understandably panicking and drew her sword.

You drew your sword as well. “We ward them off as long as we can.”

And that was exactly what you had to do, forming a shield with Pym to ensure no one was able to get close to Percival. Pym’s skill with the sword could be summed up with her swinging it and hoping for the best outcome, not many would be brave enough to even try and most would choose to flee. She acted as a set of eyes to watch your back, letting you know what was behind you. You used all you had been taught and managed to ward off the attacks from paladins long enough for some of Red’s crew to come and help. Two paladins had been badly wounded by your blade, and one of them fatally. But it was hard to fight when your focus was on keeping two other people safe. Red’s crew was the most uncoordinated, reckless group of fighters you’d ever seen and somehow they were winning. Three of the Trinity Guard left alive were fighting against Red Spear, Arthur and Lancelot. And when the paladins came to outnumber them, Arthur was distracted by Red Spear being pushed to the ground. It was a distraction that would have proved him fatal if Lancelot had not gotten in between him and the Trinity Guard about to strike him with a flail. The flail missed Lancelot, but the fist of another struck his jaw, the ring sitting over the guards glove cut through his skin. Arthur had gotten Red Spear up off the ground in mere seconds, and in those mere seconds Lancelot dealt with the guards who had believed him to be an easy victim without the help of the others. Blood stained his face, dripped down his sword and covered the top of his hand. Even from a distance one could see the stunned reaction on Arthur and Red Spear’s faces. They acknowledged his part in their survival, for the first time seeing just how brutally he could fight. This time for them, for the right people, for the Fey.

Red Spear’s crew, along with Gawain and Merlin, stood their ground against the paladins, their skill in battle formed the deciding factor. The few paladins who were still alive tried to flee, apart from one.

A paladin had noticed the sword on the saddle of his former leader, a sword that matched the description him and his red brothers were given. He hastily approached Goliath and started to try and take the sword. The stallion turned, bit down on the paladin’s robe at the shoulder, and proceeded to toss him to the ground. After dragging the paladin for a couple of feet along the ground, you had to shout to Lancelot to make him notice.

He went over to his loyal horse and gave the order. “Goliath. Loose.”

Goliath let the paladin drop to the ground and watched how his rider grabbed the man by the neck of his robe.

“Broth-” The paladin choked on the word at the force of Lancelot lifting him up a little.

“How did you find us?” He pressed his sword against the paladin’s neck. “Speak!”

The paladin struggled to talk. “We were on our way to Ravenwick.”

They had not followed him last night, this happening was mere coincidence. It was fortunate that the others were near to hear it, or they could have blamed him for leading the enemy here by accident.

“Are there more of you coming?” Arthur asked the paladin.

Lancelot pressed the blade just enough against the skin that it drew some blood. “Answer him.”

The paladin winced. “No! We were to replenish our necessities in Ravenwick and travel to the Holy Father.”

A few seconds passed as Lancelot determined whether or not he believed that answer. “He’s telling the truth.”

Without warning, he cut the paladin’s throat and offered his former red brother a quick death. A choice that Arthur met with dismay.

Lancelot noticed the appalled expression aimed at him. “We cannot take the risk that he goes to warn others. Do you wish us to be chased to our graves?”

“We could have discussed this first!” Arthur protested.

“He would have returned with others. I know them.” Lancelot reminded him. “And if Red Spear’s crew does not find the other ones who have fled, they will return with larger numbers. You cannot trust them.”

Gawain spoke up about the situation. “You know that he is right, Arthur.”

Arthur struggled, an understandable reaction to have.

“Look around you.” Lancelot put his attention to those of the crew that had fallen. “Under the command of the Trinity Guard they will not show anyone mercy. Their task is to wipe the Fey, and all who oppose the Church, out of existence. Arthur,-”

“I understand that.” Arthur stopped him. “I just wish we didn’t have to resort to this.”

Lancelot showed his sympathy. “Unfortunately, we do. Let us hope we see the day were this seizes to be necessary.”

The Manblood fixed his eyes on Goliath. “Say, how did you train your horse how to do that?”

He followed Arthur’s gaze. “Do what?”

“What he did…” Arthur gestured to Goliath. “He stopped that paladin from stealing the sword.”

“He just does that.” Was the short answer he gave, as if it was completely normal behavior for a horse.

A drop of blood fell from the cut on Lancelot’s jaw, drawing your attention. You quickly took out a small piece of rag from your satchel to use and gingerly dabbed at his jaw with it. It took you a few seconds to realize his cheeks had tinted and what the reason for it was, Gawain was giving him this smirk that told he would tease the Ash Man about it later. It didn’t make you stop and you went ahead to try and wipe some of the blood from his hands too.

Lancelot cleared his throat to draw your attention. Your eyes snapped up to his and realized he was crumbling under the stares others aimed at him.

“Thank you.” he whispered.

Merlin was visibly entertained to see someone like the former Weeping Monk so self-conscious by the small act. He asked you, “Would you happen to have another one of those?”

You saw Merlin point at the rag, and reached into your satchel for a clean one that you handed to him. “Of course.”

Merlin looked at every single one near him. “Never feel embarrassed to be on the receiving end of your lover’s gentleness in front of others. Take advice from this old man.”

Merlin thanked you and walked away. Percival came to your side, looking a bit shaken by the passed battle and Lancelot quickly placed a hand on his shoulder for comfort.

“My crew is hunting the last two down. We we wait here until they return.” Red Spear came to inform.

“Is that wise?” Arthur asked. It earned him a very nasty glare from her, it had not been a request, he understood that now.

Whilst the others conversed about the next course of action to take, Lancelot came to see if you and Percival were unharmed.

There was a drop of blood on the boy’s cheek that he noticed, he wiped it away with his thumb. “Are you wounded?”

Percival shook his head. “No. Yuck, that had to be from those paladins.”

He wiped the blood on the rag you had given him to use. “You fought?”

The boy pointed at you. “She cut one near his neck and blood went everywhere.”

Percival went ahead and acted out how the blood had sprayed from the paladin’s neck, you could barely make eye-contact with Lancelot as the boy spoke so enthusiastically about your actions. He gently squeezed Percival’s shoulder, it made the boy slow his talking down to a slow halt.

“I am glad you are unharmed.” Lancelot gave his shoulder another squeeze.

He had said it with such warmth that Percival almost couldn’t believe it was meant for his ears. The boy’s eyes were filled with a mixture of emotions, they harbored admiration towards the Ash Man. And maybe, just maybe, Lancelot knew that the boy saw him as the example of the person he would grow up to be like.

Percival had a timid sweet smile, then caught himself and redirected the attention elsewhere. “Your sword’s filthy.”

He looked down at the sword still in his hands, blood was still slowly rolling off of it down to the grass, with the rag he tried to clean most of it off.

Then, the boy let some of that true empathy shine. “Did they hurt… you?”

To hear a child concerned for his well-being surely stunned him. “I’m alright.” A smile. “Just some bruises and small cuts. It will heal.”

You knew that he was still healing from the fight in Morrowstead. “You should see a healer when you can.”

He teased, “Both of you are concerned for my health?”

“Listen to her.” Percival was stern. “She’s clever.”

“And I am not?” he cocked a brow.

The boy blurted out, “Not always.”

He rolled his eyes at the jest and the boy grinned in mischief.

Gawain came to speak to the three of you. “We pass through Onsdell tonight. Red Spear wishes to have her wounded helped by the healers there. We have agreed to pay for a room in the inn there for the night. What say you?”

“Will it be safe?” Was what Lancelot wanted to know.

“Onsdell remains neutral to the Fey. But I suggested being discreet about our kind.” Gawain answered. “We will rent a room in the inn just outside of the city, it is less visited then the ones in the midst of Onsdell. It will be calmer and we can simply travel back into the city tomorrow to visit the market.”

Lancelot gave a nod. “Very well. These healers in Onsdell, I have heard of them. They live in what used to be an abbey, do they not?”

The knight confirmed, “That is correct. But they are not of the Church.”

He crossed his arms. “You believe they will receive us there?”

“All are welcome there.” Gawain said. “As long as we are respectful, they shall be as well.”

“And what with him?” Lancelot discreetly dropped his gaze to Percival. “The city is frowned upon by the Church, it is no place for one so young.”

Percival was quick to voice his demand, “Oi! I’m coming with you!”

Gawain send Lancelot a knowing look. “You are worried to expose him to it.”

“Why does the Church frown upon Onsdell?” you asked.

The knight offered no help to explain, and simply tried not to grin while looking at Lancelot who struggled to find the right way to answer that question.

With a deep sigh, Lancelot explained it to you, “It is considered a place of perversion and degeneracy by them. The scent of ale is seeped into it’s soil. Even Father ignored it’s existence, to him it was nothing more than the place where the lost souls would spend the last of their days in exile. A place to be forgotten about until after the war, it was one of their least concerns.”

Gawain reasoned about it, “But the city’s reputation is highly influenced by those who follow the Church. We will be safe there simply because the inhabitants are used to the presence of strangers like us. And the paladins prefer not to show their faces in such a place.”

“That may be right.” Lancelot concurred.

Gawain reached out and patted Percival on the shoulder. “And our young knight here has seen things much worse than he might see in Onsdell. It will be alright.” He saw the worry in the Ash Man’s eyes. “It will be alright, brother.”

The trust Lancelot had in Gawain was palpable. “Very well then.”

“Can we go visit the market there?” Percival carefully asked.

“What is there you wish to purchase?” Gawain wondered out loud.

“Anything that stills his hunger.” Lancelot blurted out, earning a small glare from the boy, but Percival would not deny that it was true.

Pym approached you, tapping you on the shoulder, “Do you know how to sew a wound shut?”

You turned to her. “Yes, why?”

“Can you help him while I help the others?” she asked.

A young man stopped beside her and she gestured to him, it was one of Red’s crew and blood was dripping down from a gash on his lower arm.

“Gods…” you hastily went to help him, shocked that he was so calm as if it were just a small scratch.

While you helped him, Pym told you about how the crew often got the strangest injuries and walked around with them as if it were nothing. A few tankards of ale and chests of gold were what the crew considered medicine, much to Pym’s utter disbelief. And still, you could tell that she had grown attached to the rowdy bunch. It only proved that kindred spirits could find each other even in the most unexpected ways.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @crystallizedtime @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart @5am-cigarette @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream

@coloursforyourportrait @koressecretidentity @nike90 @n1ghtlux @rachlovesactors @luckyzipperscissorsbat @morena-doing-stuff @the-fangirl-diaries @gipsydanger17 @heavenly1927 @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies @stclairesplace @katjusja @isla-bell-blog @beebeerockknot @sahvlren @lancedoncrimsonwings @weird123abc @elizabeth-holland24 @kissingandromeda @timeshiptraveler

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

#the weeping monk #weeping monk x you #lancelot x reader #weeping monk x reader #cursed #cursed netflix #weeping monk #cursed lancelot #the weeping monk x reader #lancelot

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veryripebanana · 1 year ago

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Yall know like "the indominable human spirit trend"? But like this one is from human perspective.

"Fuck... "

Wrath, Pain, Agony, Fear.

"Fuck this..."

My vision blurred, my leg limping, i feel blood crawling down my body from head to toe, mine and theirs. They kidnapped my family and I, and while i was sitting there, locked in forced paralysis but conscious enough to hear, see, and feel their pain as these fucking bastards do their wretched experiments on my family. My wife, FORCED TO BREED AND CARRY OUT SEVERAL DIFFRENT LIFEFORMS WITHING MINUTESALL WITHOUT EVEN A DROP OF ANESTHESIA! My children forced to live several thousand, even MILLIONS OF DIFFERENT LIVES in a short span of time just to see how it CHANGES THEIR MENTALITY...

EVERY NIGHT, THEY WERE CAGED IN WITH ME, I HEAR THEIR CRIES, THEIR WAILS, BEGGING, ASKING, TELLING ME TO HELP! But how can i? These demons injected something in my spine that rendered my entire body immovable...

"WHY? WHY ONLY ME? Why was i disregarded in these torture trials that my family had to go through? Put me in there instead! Let them go... please... i beg of you..."

I can't talk, but i hope my thoughs can go through to them all...

...

Days later, my family were killed. I guess the stress was too much for them... my children had their brains explode from the inside, my wife had her body so messed up she mutated and barely even looked human at the end...

The doors of the cage open.

It's my turn.

They dragged me out and put me in a chair, injected something in my spine again and moments later i gained control of my body once more. But i was restrained. Locked in place with braces on my hands and feet in the chair.

"The fuck is this shit? Medieval interrogation? All these goddamn tech you used to torture my family and now just this?! I didn't know even a superior lifeform's tech can only last a pathetic amount of time."

I wanted to anger them. I wanted them to want to kill me.

"Human, you are now named no.4 as the fourth and final testing on human species limitations and biology. In our next experime-"

i spat on its face.

"No.4, coordinate without resistance."

"Bitch please motherfucker, kill me. Do your best shot." Kill me.

"Precisely, your testing will revolve around the fragility of bare human body without external armour."

Fuck. Well, i wanted this.

Several carts go in the room, with racks filled with diffrent types of artillery, blunt weapons, and spears, all with diffrent abilities ranging from medieval spears to modern guns, from heat that can go against the core of a star to absolute zero temperatures, from bombs that condenses matter into nothingness to bombs that delivers an impact close to a meteor strike. All were tested and all wounds were healed.

Every. Single. Day.

I lasted for weeks, months even. In agony, hoping that they one day make a mistake and target my brain.

Unfortunately for me, they did, but i did not die. And fortunately for me, the shakles that bind me from the chair came loose, now i can stand.

Beaten, and tired, i tried to go for one of the guns and shoot myself on my own. When i finally got one, one of them saw, and they opened fire.

Lasers, or bullets, or projectiles i don't even know at this point peirce through my body one by one, i fell.

But i did not die, my body is littered with holes and blood gushing throughout them.

And i had a gun.

One thing i learned after all these time was, their weapons wasn't easy to reload and it takes time to fix 1 magazine into one artillery weapon. But mine is loaded, so i opened fire.

I shot one in their "head", they got up.

I shot one near the area of their "heart", they got up.

I shot one near the area of the neck, gotcha bitch.

One by one, i went through all 20 of them in the room, one shot kills to their "necks". Some finished reloading their guns and shot me and some managed to break one of my legs and arms but then again, it is only I who walked out of that room, alive.

And i took another reloaded gun just in case.

Now i wander this ship, it looks barren but I do not think so, there were 24 diffrent aliens here based from them all taking turns trying on the experiment with me and especially my family. And i took note of one, one special alien, one with the most colored garments out of them all. I assume it's the captain.

I wandered the ship for a few minuites before...

A message, on repeat, i couldn't understand hut i assume they already know where i am.

...

I walked for a few more minuites and hear footsteps, fuck yes.

I see one of them, a scout i presume being guarded, alert and alone.

It engages fire and i fire back in return, after a lengthy exchange we were both out of ammo, but now it's wounded. I rushed into it with my hand clenched into a fist, but i was fainting, loosing my hold on my body.

I was drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Finally" i thought to myself...

So what the fuck is this? Why am i engaging in brutal hand to hand wild fight with this bastard using both my arms and legs. My broken appendages flopping around but i do not feel pain from any of them. I fight, and in the end, i grabbed my gun and stabbed it into the fucker's neck.

"let me die"

Toughts racing through my head, begging, yearning for my demise. Yet my very own mind cages me in this flesh, for what?

it says "to fight."

I reach an open room, i went around and look what i saw, the last three motherfuckers hiding in the dark. Too bad my eyes have already adjusted to it.

1 of them attempt to shoot me, 1 of them rush to me, and the last, well it just sat there.

Again i was shot, grazed by bullets, beaten with the other one, but fuck, if i can't feel shit i will let them express pain for me.

I grabbed a nearby glass and shattered it, then stabbed the one near me with a piece of glass and used it'sbody as temporary shield as i walked towards the last two...

The other? Well it just ran out of bullets.

I stabbed it again in the "neck", i was now panting, i start to feel everything again, it's like something is wearing off...

I slowly dropped the glass and the alien to the ground, but i will not let the last one go.

I walked, to the best of my ability and through the pain of many broken bones, i walked.

Nearer and nearer i can see that shit shivering.

I slowly go near it, and it pushed something near its "head".

-translator on-

"Please, i am sorry. I beg of you let me go..." it said.

"Fucking cliché bitch", well we all know what the fuck I should do right?

But this time without breaking eye contact, in fact i widen them, let this shivering little cunt look into my bloodied unyielding eyes as i slowly, very very fucking slowly push that shard of glass into it's "neck" as i watch the light from its eyes wash away in blood.

"Finally..."

It only took a few steps away but, as expected i too fell and enjoyed my peace at last, in this drifting, lost, and soulless spacecraft that i pray never reach the sight of any living organism ever again.

#the indomitable human spirit #tiktok trend #short story #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #space

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 months ago

Text

25 to Life: Part Three

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Summary: You and Derek are responsible for determining if a man in prison is going to be released after twenty-five years. When he turns and kills someone just two days after being released, it's up to you and your team to figure out why he did what he did and if there is anything more about his situation.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

Since the Sandersons got into an argument on the night of the murders, Penelope did a background check on the couple. There is no history of abuse, domestic calls, or therapy. From the outside, it seemed like they were the perfect family. They were married right out of college, going to medical school with two kids, a house on the hill, and a dog. Perfect is pretty damn close.

That night, they argue and Don takes the couch, leaving his wife and kids upstairs. He claims the offenders broke in through the basement. Despite there being security bars on the window, they were old and broken so anyone could bypass them if they wanted to. It's such an obscure fact that only someone with an intimate knowledge of the house would suggest that as an entry point.

If that's the case, then three people walked past Sanderson while he was sleeping on the couch. Why didn't he wake up? Spencer is a light sleeper and will wake to anything but you're not. You can sleep through the apartment being demolished. Some people are heavy sleepers which is what Don must be. Though, it doesn't make sense why the three people would walk right past him without subduing him. Their goal must have been whoever was upstairs.

Mrs. Sanderson. The overkill was on her. The kids were collateral damage. Most importantly, the unsubs were sending a message.

They're in control and have all the power... and they hate her.

You and Derek leave the interrogation room where Rossi is waiting since he wanted to watch it.

"I want to take him back to his house," Derek says.

"Are you serious?"

"If he can't figure out who else was there that night, there's no way to prove his story," you say.

Rossi knows better than to not take your word for it. "Alright. Let's clean him up first."

Rossi leaves and you're about to follow him when Derek stops you with one word. Your name.

"Y/N."

His voice sounds sorrowful which means he feels guilty about how he's been treating you.

"No, Derek." You turn to face him. "After everything I've done for this team... for you? You blamed me for Don killing Tom because I convinced you that he was good enough to release? No, that is on you. Do not blame me for your guilt and anger. I can't believe after all this time, this is how I get treated by you. You."

You leave with a scoff making Derek feel even more guilty than before. He knows he shouldn't have lashed out at you. He was hurt and did the first thing he thought of.

After Don is cleaned up, he is taken back to his home where his wife and daughter died. The only ones with him are you, Derek, and Rossi. The others are at the BAU to continue working on the case and finding the unsubs.

"This used to be a great place to live," Don sighs when he gets out of the car.

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah." Don walks into the abandoned home. It was put up for sale by the past owners. They were only there for maybe a year, so the house is completely empty. "No one stays here long, do they?"

"So, you were asleep on the cough?"

"In front of the fire."

"So, it was cold?"

"Yeah, and pouring down rain. The TV was on. I was watching reruns. I'd been on rotation for thirty-six hours. Between that and the rain, it took me about just a minute to fall asleep."

Despite that the murders happened twenty-five years ago, you're able to connect with the energies left behind by the dead. The entire house is filled with the furniture that Don and his wife had on the night of the murders. You turn to the couch and see Don lying on it with his eyes closed. You turn away from Don and walk up the stairs knowing the unsubs are already there.

You feel Don before you see him, and you turn to see him run up the stairs in a panic. Something must have woken him up, and you can only guess it's the screams of his family. You follow him into the bedroom where he is struck over the head. You step over his body and see three people inside the room. His daughter is on the floor crying and his wife is in bed with two of the unsubs.

She's naked.

The wife and daughter are killed but the son is fine. One of the unsubs, the female, has him in her arms with the intent to take him. One of the male unsubs forces her to leave the son behind and all three of them escape after stabbing Don multiple times. You jerk your head to the right and you realize you walked upstairs away from Rossi and Derek. The bedroom is empty but the trauma hasn't left.

"What wakes you?" you hear Rossi ask from downstairs.

"Their screams for me. I went upstairs and... he's hurting them."

"Who is? Tom?"

"No, the one in the hood." You walk back downstairs and rejoin the others. "Tom's saying, 'That's enough!' My little girl... She shouldn't be seeing this. I can't get to her. There's a woman."

"What does she look like?"

"I don't know. It's blurry. She gave Abby her hippo. My son. She had my son."

"What is she saying?"

"She's saying, 'Stop it', and Tom is saying, 'That's enough'. The other one won't stop. He keeps holding me down. He's laughing. They're fighting. She wants to take my son. He won't let her. They could have taken my son."

"She didn't take your son. He's safe."

You leave the house to call the rest of the team to inform them of the new information, and Rossi follows you. Emily answers the call and you explain to her what you saw and what Don said.

"They must have trusted one another. We need to figure out who Tom's friends were back then."

"The woman is the key. She wanted to take his son. Keep us posted."

You hang up but you don't return to the house. You take a few seconds to yourself and when you turn, you see Rossi standing there.

"How are you doing?"

"You mean besides feeling betrayed? Everyone says they have my back but no one actually does." You sigh. "Do you?"

"You know I do. It's just hard sometimes when we can't see what you can see or feel. We go based on facts, and the fact is that Don killed someone after getting released. You just have it harder than most because you're constantly trying to prove yourself."

"Will it ever get easier?"

"I don't think so, kid."

The crazy thing about this entire thing is that no matter what, nobody turned on one another. That means they have a bond. Tom didn't have any siblings so maybe they were childhood friends. The only marks on his record are from his time in juvie. He cleaned up after that. He was arrested for petty things like credit card schemes and retail robbery, which was really big in the eighties. One person would work in the store and the other person would use stolen credit cards.

Penelope couldn't find anyone underaged who was arrested with him or involved with any of his arrests. The woman who wanted to keep Don's son couldn't have been a teenager. She had to have been older, so Penelope cross-references the date of Tom's arrest with others made on the same day. Shoplifting was very big at the time, so she looks for someone who was arrested from the same department store as Tom, and she comes up with a single hit.

Mary Rutka who was twenty-two at the time. She was born and raised in DC and has a nineteen-year-old son.

Don is taken back to the BAU and you and Derek head over to Mary's last known address. You're still pissed at Derek but that's not going to stop you from doing your job. You get to her floor and notice her door slightly ajar. You and Derek take your guns out as preparation for anything that might be inside. You push the door open and gasp at the state of the apartment.

Everything is turned over like there was a struggle. The place isn't that big so you spot Mary quickly on the kitchen floor with blood everywhere.

"Mary!"

You rush to her while Derek continues to look around the apartment. There is a noise coming from the living room, and you turn to see a man trying to escape from the fire escape.

"He's going down the fire escape!"

"Go!"

Derek jumps through the window and starts chasing the man while you stay with Mary. You take out your phone and call 911.

"I need an ambulance and backup at 751 Hindry Street, northeast, apartment 402." You put the phone down and turn to Mary. "It's okay. Just hold on."

By the time the ambulance comes, Mary is dead. The detective that is assigned to Don's case, Bill, comes over with his squad immediately.

"It looks like she fought him."

"So, some guy breaks in, kills her, then runs away? That's risky."

"He's hiding something and she was a witness to it. He's cleaning up loose ends."

"It looks like he made a mess to me. How'd you track her down?"

"She was arrested with Tom a long time ago. Sanderson gets out, Whitman is killed, and now Mary is. This unsub had gotten away with murder for over twenty years. He's not about to get caught now." Derek comes back empty-handed. The man he was chasing must have gotten away. "Any leads?"

"Nothing more than we saw."

"He knows you're onto him. What do you think he's gonna do now?" Bill asks.

"I don't think he'd trash the place for the hell of it. I think he was looking for something and we interrupted him," you answer.

"It makes sense why she survived until now."

"What are you two talking about?" Bill asks.

"Three people got away with murder. How do you make sure no one rats the other out?"

"Blackmail."

You three search Mary's house from top to bottom and end up finding pictures of her and her son. She clearly didn't want people finding them because they were hidden which means she knew if she got out of line, the alpha unsub would find him and hurt him to get to her. He doesn't have a bedroom here but she does have all of his things as if he was living here with her.

She's sentimental.

You're looking through the kitchen when you notice a shadow on the ceiling. Something is on top of the cabinets. You drag a chair over and stand on it to see what's there. You grab a black VHS tape with a gloved hand and look at Derek.

"Derek, check this out."

He walks over to you. "We need to get this to Garcia."

You do that as soon as you're done at Mary's apartment, and she gets the tape ready for viewing. The video starts with Don's wife and her two children in bed. There is a tray of breakfast foods in front of her, and Don is the one who is filming them.

"Did Daddy help you make them? Yeah? Did Josh help you make them?"

"Yeah, he got the blueberries," the little girl says.

"Well, thank you very much." She smiles at Don. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Don says.

The video statics and something dark replace the video. It's of the unsubs walking into Don's house at night. Penelope takes off her glasses and turns so she doesn't have to see what's about to happen. She also puts her fingers in her ears so she doesn't have to hear it.

"Welcome to the Sanderson home," Tom says.

"Don't forget the view. They look down on everybody," the unknown man says. "Let's do this."

"Shh, you'll wake them," Mary whispers.

"Garcia, can you isolate these images?" Emily asks.

"Yeah, which one?"

"The one in the hood."

Penelope turns, she rewinds the tape, and pauses it on the man in the hood. She tries to lighten it as much as she can without distorting the image.

"You think it's him?"

"That could be a thousand guys," you sigh.

You and Derek walk back to Don and inform him of the video, and he becomes eager to see it.

"I want to see them."

"No, I don't think that's a good idea."

"I wasn't allowed to have pictures. For twenty-five years. They thought that looking at them would get me off. I don't want to forget my family. See, they're... They're here," he points to his head, "and they're in flashes, but I can feel them slipping away. Please."

"Derek," you whisper, and he nods in agreement.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds series rewrite

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queen-of-deans-booty · 9 months ago

Text

Halt & Catch Fire: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: You're done being a puppet in their plans. You're done letting them control you. You're finally going to take back your life by becoming something you didn't know was possible. your eyes are opened to something better and God forbid anyone who disrespects you.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

Where is the damn thing? There are only so many places one can hide a remote. God, you could have sworn Dean had it here. You yank the mattress of the bed and haphazardly let it fall back onto the box spring. You open his dresser drawers and start flinging clothes out of it. I'm gonna fucking kill him. I'm going to fucking KILL HIM. Where is the damn thing?!

For the past month, you've made sure to be on your best behavior in hopes he would give up the remote for the thing on your neck. They're both still on edge with you being around but that's not your problem anymore. Your hands are itching to break something so you grab the first thing you can reach which just so happens to be a picture of you and Dean on your wedding day.

You pause to look at the picture and allow the memories to come flooding back.

"Do you, Dean Winchester, take Y/N Singer to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," he said.

He took your engagement ring and slid it onto your left ring finger, and you admired how it shined brightly as if it were meant to be there.

"Do you, Y/N Singer, take Dean Winchester to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," you sniffled.

You took out John Winchester's wedding ring and slid it onto Dean's left ring finger.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Dean pulled you in by your waist, and you met him halfway. Your lips molded together, fitting perfectly together. There are no two people better suited for each other than you and Dean. Your minds, bodies, and souls melded together so that you're one. There was no one else you wanted to spend the rest of your life with than Dean.

Now you can't think of anything worse than being his wife. You toss the picture onto the bed just as the bedroom door opens.

"What the hell did you do to my room?"

"I've been nothing but good this entire month. Get this damn thing off my neck."

"Not until your soul is back."

You take two deep breaths to calm yourself otherwise you'll strangle him.

"Baby, I'm fine. I'm okay now. I'll be good."

You slither up to his side and grab the sides of his face gently. You pull him down and kiss him to prove to him you'll do what you say you're gonna do. Dean knows this is a ploy but he can't help but kiss you back. Damn, he misses kissing you. You feel so good against him and he momentarily forgets what you're asking of him.

As your lips move against him, your hands roam his body. You make it seem like you just want to touch him when you're really looking for the damn remote. Something snaps in Dean's brain and he pulls away from you slightly.

"It's not on me."

You huff out in anger, push him away from you, and storm out of his bedroom. Dean starts cleaning his room when he spots the picture of you two at your wedding. Seeing that causes a headache to form. The headache gets so bad that he sinks to the ground with his head in his hands.

"Hello?! Dean!" you yell. "Anyone??"

The room you're in is pitch black but there is a white hue of it that isn't quite breaking into the room. You can barely see one foot in front of you so you have to walk around with your hands out in front of you. You hit the wall and feel around for a door or a window. Maybe a light switch if you're lucky.

All four corners and nothing. You're trapped inside of this box with nowhere to go and no one to talk to. Blue magic swirls around your hands with the hope of lighting your way. There is nothing in this room. Nothing to do. No one to talk to. No Dean. No Sam. You're completely alone.

"Please let me out, someone," you cry. You slide down the wall in tears. "I just want to go home."

A single tear leaves Dean's eye and he snaps out of this trance he's in. He shakes his head and wipes his tear in confusion. He gets off the floor and continues to clean his room. Once done, he leaves his room and finds Sam in the library.

"Hey, where's Y/N?"

"Kitchen. Cas got back to me. Good news and bad news. The bad news is that he discovered riverboat gambling. The good news is he thinks he's closing in on Cain."

"He thinks?"

"Yeah, just east of the Mississippi River in Illinois."

"So, what do you suppose we do when we find Cain?"

"We get him to tell us how to get rid of the Mark."

"Don't you think that if Cain knew how to remove the mark, he would have done it like centuries ago?"

"We won't know until we try."

"You're right. I think Y/N is getting worse. We need to figure out a way soon."

"We will," Sam nods. "On another note, I found us a case in Iowa. A teen claims possessed pickup truck killed the driver."

You cry out in pain from the kitchen and the brothers immediately head in there to see what you're doing. You have a knife to your neck to try and dig the device out. Sam snatches the knife away from you at the same time Dean grabs you so you don't go anywhere.

"Come on!"

"Not gonna happen. Come on. We have a case."

"Like I care about saving some stupid people."

"I don't care. You're going."

Ah, college. To be that young again. All of these students don't think anything bad can happen to them. Dean keeps his eyes to himself but Sam checks out a few of the girls who seem older than the rest. You don't hide how much you're checking out some of the young men walking around. Dean sees two girls walking outside with bookbags slung over their shoulders and approaches them.

"Which one of you is Janet Novoselic?"

"I am," the brunette says.

"Agents Grohl, Cobain, and Channing."

The blonde girl Janet is with says goodbye and leaves so Janet can be alone.

"I already talked to the police like nine times," Janet sighs.

"Yeah, this is just a follow-up."

"I have finals tomorrow."

"Then we'll make it fast. I promise," Sam smiles.

Janet takes you three to the library so you can talk in semi-private. You're browsing the books because you have no interest in hearing what she has to say while the brothers sit with Janet at a table nearby. Maybe one of these books will have something to do with getting this damn thing off your neck. One can hope, right?

"It's like I told the detective. I was drunk but I wasn't hallucinating. The truck had a mind of its own."

"How so?"

Dean looks at you in thought. You take a book off the shelf and flip through the pages. When you're not satisfied with it, you slam the book back on the shelf angrily. You scratch at the device on your neck and continue looking. What is he going to do with you? Sooner or later, you're going to fight back. He doesn't want to be on the receiving end because you'll fight to kill.

"Like the air went full blast even though it wasn't on, and Trini and the radio went crazy"

"Who is Trini?" Dean asks.

"You'll have to excuse my partner," Sam chuckles. "When it comes to technology, he's a little behind. He just learned how to poke on Facebook. "

"Okay. Trini is the navigation app we were using. It's this talking map. Look, I don't expect you to believe me, but I swear that truck was hell-bent on killing Billy."

"Did Billy have any enemies? Anybody who might have had a beef with him?"

"Maybe his brother Joey. They fought all the time. It's so sad. They never got to set it right."

"Because Billy died?"

"No, Joey did in Afghanistan."

"Do you know where he's buried?"

"He's not. Poor guy never came home. IED."

"Did Billy happen to have anything of his brother's on him when he died? Dog tags, a hat, something?" Dean asks.

"Just his pickup. The truck belonged to Joey. Billy got it when he died."

Dean looks back at you and locks eyes with you. Something sparks between you two and he's suddenly watching a movie of your entire life together.

You open the door and see the broken young boy by the bathtub. Upon seeing you, he tried to get himself to stop crying even though his tears wouldn't stop flowing. His eyes have a broken look in them that leads to a broken soul. You get tears yourself because you hate seeing him like this.

You close the door and join him on the floor.

"Why are you crying?" He shakes his head but keeps eye contact with you. "Come on, Dean, you can tell me. I'm good at keeping secrets. I even brought Legos with me so we could play with them."

"It's my mommy," he whispers.

At the mention of his mom, he sobs. You overheard John talk about how his wife died recently to your mother. You don't know how she died but you know how much Dean loves her. You reach out to Dean with a tiny hand and place it on his even tinier shoulder.

"Don't cry."

"I just miss her so much."

You're not sure how to help so you do the only thing you can think of. You pull him into you and place his head on your chest. Even at five years old, you know how to comfort someone when they're sad.

"It's okay, Dean. I can share my mommy. She's great. She makes my lunch and reads me bedtime stories and sings with me. She can come over here and she can help you. I promise I won't be sad. I don't want you to be sad so I'll share my mommy with you."

Dean sniffles and looks at you with the tiniest of smiles on his face. He nods after a moment and wipes his tears.

"You can come over again and you can even sleep there. We can share my bed! It's very comfy and I'll even let you hold my blankie. I can share my toys and you can have half my sandwich."

Dean gives you a real smile, feeling much better now that you are with him.

"You said you brought Legos with you?"

You put the bag of Legos in front of him. If he wants to play in the bathroom, then that's what you'll do. You like seeing him smile.

You walk into the freezing cold bedroom knowing that is a sign the spirit is occupying the room. Before Dean can follow you in, the door slams shut, locking you in. You scream and jump back from the door with your gun out in front of you.

"Y/N! Stay calm! I'm going to get you out!"

The room is silent except for the sounds of your heavy breathing. God, it's so cold in here. Suddenly, the closet door creaks open and you turn with wide eyes and a pounding heart. You make the stupid decision and walk into the closet. It slams shut causing you to turn around and face the spirit you're haunting.

The spirit throws you against the wall and your gun goes flying out of your hands. You aren't fast enough to grab it and the spirit grabs you by your throat. He slashes your ribs with his sharp claws and you scream out in pain. Well, the scream is strangled due to the ghost holding you up by your throat.

"DEAN!" you manage to scream.

The closet door busts open and the spirit drops you to the ground to face the other hunter. Dean shoots the spirit and rushes over to you. He lifts your shirt to see the damage the spirit did. Three long and deep gashes run across your abdomen that are oozing blood. He sheds his jacket and places it over your wounds to stop the bleeding.

"I don't want to die," you cry.

"You're not going to die. I will protect you. I will take care of you."

The spirit appears behind Dean with an evil look. Before you have a chance to say something, the spirit goes up in flames. John must have burned the thing it's attached to. You need to get this wound sewn up quickly. As much as you love Dean, you don't trust him with a needle yet.

"I won't let anything happen to you. You're going to be okay." Dean says, brushing his thumb against your cheek.

John and Dean help you out to the car but instead of sitting in the front like he always does, Dean joins you in the back. You lean against Dean's chest as he holds you, and you look down at his ruined jacket.

"Sorry about your jacket," you grunt.

"Forget the jacket. You're more important," he says and kisses the side of your head.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester angst #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural angst #spn #supernatural series rewrite #supernatural season 10

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fanartka · 1 year ago

Text

It seems that you are holding on, that all the pain that surrounds you is permeating you, under control. And then you see the pain of a person from your country, but from another city, and it is felt as personal, as general, it is too much and it becomes impossible to contain it.

Here I usually don’t publish anything from my life, from the horror in which we live. Here for me is a place where I can get distracted, live a normal, ordinary life, discuss what I like, share what I want to share. It's so easy to be a little happy here. Warm, friendly place. It’s a pity, I haven’t had much strength to draw lately, I feel exhausted.

We are almost used to it, it has become such a part of life, a routine. As it seems. But someone experiences grief and you realize how many wounds there are in your soul, because they all start to bleed.

I live in Odesa, Ukraine. It's a beautiful coastal city and I'm not leaving no matter what. This is my home. And it is being shelled very heavily because we have a port through which huge reserves of Ukrainian grain sailed to all countries of the world. And to this day our grain, which farmers grow under fire, die while collecting it, feeds a huge number of people. Who knows, maybe the bread on your table has traveled this path.

russian occupiers fired at granaries, at our residential buildings, at civilian facilities, at power plants. They deliberately terrorize civilians to force them to surrender or leave.

A few weeks ago, a shell hit a residential building. The entire part of a residential building from the ninth floor to the first ceased to exist.

It’s good that yesterday I had almost no electricity, no Internet, and no water either due to the fact that the russians again shelled the city power plant, depriving the residents of my city of normal life for some time, because massive shelling of Zaporozhye and other the cities of my country have stirred up too much grief in me and what I could have published yesterday, I’d rather keep to myself. Too much pain and anger.

I will only say that over the past few weeks in my dear Odesa there have been several tragic events that are painfully felt.

In early March, a shell hit a residential building with sleeping people. It seems that this was one of the Iranian "Shaheds" that iran so generously sells to russia. The entire part of house from floor 9 to floor 1 was crushed, many people, many children died. A wife and newborn baby were killed by the ceiling, while her husband and eldest daughter slept in another room and escaped. In this photo, this poor man still hopes that he is still a husband and not a widower, and that he is the father of two children, not one. Do you know what the occupiers do in the comments with such news? They laugh and mock.

A whole family - husband and wife and three children died there. Only the eldest boy, who was visiting his grandmother, survived, and I don’t want to imagine what it’s like to lose two parents and all brothers and sisters.

This house is of a standard construction, there are dozens of them in the city, and at first I thought it was my mother’s house.

I knew about the dead children and it was painful, but yesterday I saw a photo of one of the children killed by the russians and that was the last straw that simply tore me apart. I saw the photo without blur, but if anyone is interested, here is the blurred photo.

My little son sleeps the same way sometimes, curled up. And many kids around the world have such pajamas with Batman. And all mothers try to do everything to protect their children. But I won’t be able to protect my child from an iranian piece of iron launched by russian monsters that can destroy 9 floors. There is no metro in my city, and it is impossible to dig such deep and fortified shelters in a built-up city. All we can do is hide in the corridor so that we are not cut down by glass fragments or shrapnel shells, as happened on March 15th, when these orcs first hit one house, waited for rescuers and emergency services to arrive and then hit him. Terrorists.

I want to say thank you to everyone who supports us, because without your help, they would have destroyed all our cities, as they have already destroyed many on the border with them, along with their inhabitants. I want to say that the UN is the most useless organization in the world, but ordinary people from all countries have shown us what compassion and support is, thank you. And I know several residents of the russian federation who are very pure in soul and are themselves horrified by what is happening, but why the majority of russians so happily supported the war and the next genocide that they are again committing here is a mystery to me. And I’m not interested in solving it, just as it wouldn’t be interesting to sort out the psychological problems of orcs. They do not spare their inhabitants, and destroy their neighbors with pleasure.

I didn’t want to spoil this weekend for you with my grief, my plans were to show some sketches, discuss ideas stored up during the week, show some great screenshots and very beautiful or funny AI generations. But I just can't do it yet. Because sometimes you feel as if most of the time you continue to try to enjoy life, despite everything that happens, as if you are splashing on the very surface of the ocean in warm water under the sun in a cheerful company, and you can temporarily forget about the dark waters in the depths and all the monsters below until they grab you and drag you down.

Our vanished cities

youtube

So I think I need to catch my breath a little. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

#stand with Ukraine #Thanks to everyone who supports us #Ukraine #Odesa #Odesa is Ukraine #death and destructions #that's what russia brings #support Ukraine #without you we will be dead #our pain #sorry if upset you my dears #український tumblr #український тамблр

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gatheredfates · 1 year ago

Note

17. — audience (Elandervier)

ONE WORD WRITING PROMPTS. Funnily enough, I was playing with a concept similar to this that hasn't amounted (yet). Consider this a prelude of sorts if I end up writing it. CONTENT WARNINGS. This fic deals with mature themes including, but not limited to: pregnancy, childbirth, mentions of abortion and women's bodily autonomy, misogyny and my personal interpretation of a woman's place in Ishgardian high-society. Please do not read if any of these are personal triggers. I have done my due diligence to warn ahead of time.

i'm glad i met the devil because he showed me i was weak, and a little piece of him is in a little piece of me.

The rage of the girl banged on the bones of the woman, all bared teeth and frothing anger. She knew her well, this outraged daughter — kicking, screaming, wailing in her hysteria, ungovernable and unknowable.

Unsightly. Unbecoming. Fifteen years on and her mother's words were ever the knife she dug into her breastbone as if to sever a rib and deliver it to the daughter. 'Yes, we are ugly. Bide your time,' it said, 'There will be deliverance soon, be still. These lessons will be useful to us.'

"I didn't know where else to go."

Elandervier didn't like that she recognised the girl's name — that she watched stony-faced and set-gazed her deliverance onto the marital bed, the third daughter in a line of women and still-born sons. The babe was passed haphazardly to her, a hiss to bathe and swaddle while the lord of the house screamed and tore down the nearby torchères like he intended to deliver them to the Hells himself. "The gods themselves fuck with me!" He declared while his wife cried and consoled him from his bed, "Of the duties you perform, you give me useless fucking women!"

This useless woman was a pragmatic woman for making it this far. The bobbin lace on her cuffs were bare and browned now, hanging by single threads in some places, but it did not waste in the snow gnawed at by the wolves. She was thin but not emaciated, the vigour in her gaze undercut only by the hand that pressed to the swell of her belly, and she looked to the witch with her mother's brown eyes — the very same which plucked her from her arms all those years ago, soothing her that she would be loved.

She would be safe.

The first lie in a thread woven by Ishgardian society, another falsehood added to the tapestry of violation — white, in that it was pure and born from a fervent wish — but would not stay when the blood was doused over the frame.

The lordlings were never pragmatic. When their sons were killed by fire, famine and fatigue they fought over the scraps of their lineage like carrion birds — all to the machine. But never their daughters. A daughter who fought was a daughter of the Brume, she lived and died destitute, but their daughters? Pretty girls waged wars on their wombs and the hearth of their houses; they were too empathic, too gentlehearted, too emotionally intelligent for the field. Ratatoskr was but a woman killed by men for seeing through the propaganda.

Control the womb, control the war.

"Whose?" Elandervier did not bother with a proper introduction, ink-dyed fingers gesturing to the pregnancy. The girl looked down and pet her skin so tenderly, even as her voice warbled with her rage.

"My lord husband's," bitterly replied, "That I should give him the pleasure."

The girl in her bones banged painfully on the filaments. That this should be what she was known for; devourer of children, the witch in the dark, the last bastion for desperate women choosing between three kinds of death; the man, the tundra or the severing of the soul. El sighed and rose to her feet, sliding a knife free from the belt on her waist as she stepped towards the girl. When she recoiled the witch shook her head and gestured for her to open her palms.

"You have choice to make," she said, settling the blade on her skin, "A sacrifice must be made."

Six months later two lords lay dead in their beds — eviscerated at the abdomen, disembowelled as if something was trying to tear it away. 'What a travesty!' the gentry declared, looking at the hysterical girl, 'That she should be delivered from the wilds by Halone's grace mere weeks after their death! What savagery, what witchcraft!'

The void knew its kin better than most: the all-consuming hunger, the revel in wild panic. Imbued in an animal and fed the blood of the babe, parricide was a indulgent taboo that fed its aether and stole their souls for the witch.

A little boy was discovered on the doorstep of a peasant house desperate for a child. After the war, they were funded by a wealthy noblewoman who kept her distance, wishing only the best for the babe. In her home, the skull of a wolf bared teeth over her fireplace where she told stories of how she fended off the wilds with naught but a knife.

One soul distilled into raw aether, given to a 'useless' girl to help her survive. The other Elandervier fed to Gobnip.

After all, she told the girl inside her bones, these lessons were useful to us.

#｡･ﾟﾟ･ — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 : elandervier #my writing #I'M NOT SORRY FOR THISSSS #ishgard is messed! up!#thank you for coming to my ted talk!#i will not stop #no beta read i read this aloud to my partner we die like men #get it #i'll see myself out #｡･ﾟﾟ･ — sea answers things

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the-iconic-euijoo · 16 days ago

Text

Bloodlines & Betrayals

Chapter 3 - Part 1

The Queen with the Hidden Blade

Three days.

That’s how long it had been since you snuck into his underground sanctum. Since you clawed fire into his back and moaned into his mouth and let him worship you like a heathen starved of salvation.

Three days since he touched you like a man possessed—then left like nothing happened.

And in those three days?

Not. A. Word.

No summons.

No glances.

No power-hungry husband sneaking into your chambers like a demon needing another fix.

And you? You weren’t going to chase him.

But you were going to break his kingdom.

You spent those days watching. Listening.

And what you learned?

This palace ran on whispers and poison.

Ladies with venom in their lipstick. Servants who sold secrets for coin. Ministers who smiled at the crown but worshipped the man beneath it—the one who ran both a kingdom of gold and a kingdom of blood.

And none of them expected anything from you.

Perfect.

They thought you were a trophy. A body. A mouth stitched shut by a royal veil.

But behind every smile you gave, you were cutting strings. Following trails. Digging into every locked drawer, every loose stone, every corridor no one dared walk after dark.

And last night?

You found the first crack.

A ledger—hidden in the royal library, inside a hollowed-out history book. On the surface? It looked like trade logs.

But you recognized the cipher.

Each “shipment” was code.

Weapons. Smuggling routes. Names of towns not on any map.

And at the bottom of the list?

A name. A target.

Yours.

Your blood ran cold.

You weren’t just bait for a treaty.

You were a trap.

A decoy.

And there was something planned—something massive, something hidden even from the palace—set in motion the moment your signature stained that marriage scroll.

He knew.

He always knew.

You stood before the mirror that evening dressed like a blade:

Black silk, slit high. Crimson embroidery across your chest like blood on armor. Anklets that jingled softly—like warning bells. Hair pinned up, exposing the soft curve of your throat. A queen’s look.

But not a gentle one.

He wouldn’t see submission.

He’d see a threat.

And tonight—you’d make sure of it.

You found him in the war room.

Candles flickered across maps and documents and ancient steel. His cloak was off, sleeves rolled, hands ink-stained from writing commands no one dared question.

He didn’t look up.

"Queen," he said low, like a warning.

You walked in without waiting for permission. Without bowing.

"I found your little book," you said.

His pen paused mid-line.

"And I hope," you added with a slow, venom-laced smile, "you’re not planning to kill me just yet."

That got his attention.

He raised his eyes. And gods—they burned.

Not in anger.

In something worse.

Amusement.

"You went digging," he said.

"Did you expect anything else?"

He stood.

“You don’t understand what you’ve walked into.”

“No,” you replied coolly. “You don’t understand what you married.”

He moved toward you with slow, controlled steps—like a beast testing the limits of its chain.

"You’re playing with fire, wife."

"I am the fire."

He was in front of you now. So close. His breath ghosted over your lips. His hands hovered at your waist but didn’t touch.

“You want to know the truth?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

“Yes,” you breathed. “All of it.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

"Then kiss me like you mean it."

You did.

You pulled him to you like hunger. Bit his bottom lip. Let your fingers curl into his shirt and drag him close until your bodies met and your kiss turned wild—twisted with frustration, lust, rage, need.

He growled into your mouth. Gripped your thighs. Lifted you onto the war table and spread your legs with a knee between them.

“Still spying, little queen?” he murmured against your throat.

"Still lying, my King?"

He slid your dress up. “Then let’s both be very, very bad.”

He didn’t undress you gently.

He tore the fabric.

Threw maps to the floor.

Lifted you onto the table like an offering and buried himself between your thighs like you were his last taste of heaven before hell swallowed him whole.

You moaned his name—over and over—until it no longer sounded like a title.

It sounded like a confession.

He didn’t speak as he took you.

Didn’t promise anything.

But the way he held your face after… the way his forehead pressed to yours like a silent vow…

It felt like one.

And for the first time, the lines between king and killer… wife and enemy… burned into something you couldn’t name.

Something real.

Later, as you lay across his chest, you whispered:

“Why was I on that list?”

He went still.

Then, without looking at you, he said:

“Because the war hasn’t started yet. And when it does… they’ll try to take you from me.”

You tilted your head up.

“And what will you do?”

He looked down at you.

Dark. Lethal.

“Burn the world.”

#smut #thriller #betrayal #gangster #plot #royalty #21+#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #bts jungkook #v #bangtan #bts jimin #bts jin #bts rm #romance #&team #seventeen #bts suga #bts jhope

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scribeofskyrim · 2 months ago

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Tirdas, 30th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 201

We barely made it out of Riften before we ran into trouble, so I'm on watch again. We're spending the night in a good-sized keep called Faldar's Tooth, and I'm dead tired!

This morning we got up a bit later than usual and had a nice, leisurely breakfast. Ivarstead isn't that far, especially if you just follow the water's edge, so I didn't think we had to hurry.

Erandur wanted to pray a bit more at the Temple before we left, and Lydia reminded me about that bounty we needed to look into for taking care of those bandits at the Dwarven ruin.

I'd forgotten about that, so Lydia and I went to the Jarl's keep while Valdimar and Erandur went to the Temple.

Mistveil Keep is an impressive stone building with high walls and up several flights of steps. Inside is no less impressive, with a huge great hall with a fire in the center, surrounded by tables. It has a high ceiling, with about a half dozen long Riften banners hanging from the rafters. At the far end, on a dais in the more well-lit part, is Jarl Laila Law-Giver's throne.

It's not as grand as Dragonsreach, but it's still really nice.

Before we went in, Lydia told me that the Black-Briars are the ones who really control Riften. Laila considers Maven Black-Briar, the head of the family, to be a close personal friend and so important to the city that she'd bend over backwards to keep her happy.

I'll keep that in mind if I ever run in to Maven.

We went in, and a guard directed us to a Bosmer woman, Laila's steward. Her name is Anuriel, and I explained how we killed most of the bandits, but another group got their leader. She said that since we were the first ones to inquire, we were entitled to the bounty. Besides, the first group had plenty of time to collect!

We walked out 500 gold richer, and went to the Temple to find the others.

Erandur and Valdimar were at the bottom of the steps with Maramal, and Dinya was up top, just going back inside. Maramal gave us a little nod, smiling, but once the door was closed and his wife was out of view, he glared at Erandur.

He said that while he's thankful Mara sent one of her own to help them deal with the troubled romance in Ivarstead, he still wished that Erandur looked like a priest. "At least wear an amulet on your belt," he said.

"What, next to the swords?" Erandur quipped, which only made Maramal angrier.

He got mean after that. I've heard people make insults like what he said, and until the others explained to me how courtship here worked, I didn't understand them, but it was low. He sneered and said, "Like you could ever hope to wear one around your neck."

Erandur just flinched, but I could tell it cut deep. He was about to say something (probably something he'd regret) when Valdimar cut in. He pointed out that not once had anyone ever doubted Erandur's priesthood. They hadn't even blinked, it was that obvious. He said he didn't need all that.

He was right, but Maramal was clearly unconvinced. He stared to say something more when Erandur cursed under his breath and pulled off his gauntlets. I had a good idea what he was doing, and I was right! Valdimar took the armor from him, and Erandur pulled up his cuff just enough to show Maramal the love knot tattoo on his arm.

"She reminds me to never move my hand in anger," he said, then he pulled off his scarf. He just held it out and I took it without a word.

He unhooked the high collar of his shirt, and managed to pull the front of his armor down just enough so that he could show him the amulet over his heart. I saw the gold of it and the surrounding flames reflect a bit on Maramal's face.

Maramal looked shocked, and Erandur said, "I carry Her with me, every hour of every day."

As he got his gear back on, he said that he might not wear a sign of his priesthood where everyone could see, or hold services, or preach in the streets, but he knew his deeds were enough.

Maramal quickly got back on his high horse and said that he hoped Temple funds didn't pay for Erandur's scribe-metal tattoos.

Erandur smirked and asked, as he pulled his hood back up, how exactly did Maramal know the price of scribe-metal tattoos?

We all laughed as we set off, and left Maramal seething at the foot of the steps.

We followed the water's edge towards Ivarstead once we were out of Riften, and passed through a small farm and some trees before we found a road.

The weather was beautiful, and we chatted as we walked. Not far along the road there was a keep with four towers, two of which are half-ruined. As we passed by, a loud voice called out to "Give 'em the dogs!" or something like that, and the front gate opened up and let loose two wolves!

They weren't hard to fight off at all, but there were bandits all over the walls and the towers of the keep, and they were doing their best to turn us into pincushions with their arrows!

Of course, I put a Flame Atronach up on the walls with them, and that was a good enough distraction that the others could pick them off with arrows and magic while I made sure they didn't take too much damage.

When things quieted down, we took a moment to pull the arrows out of each other.

Gods, I'll never get used to that feeling! Erandur has some potions that dull the pain, but the sensation of the arrowheads being worked out of my skin… Ugh, it gives me the shivers thinking about it!

At least we have plenty of spells and potions to close the wounds.

We decided to see what else the place had to offer, and could see that there was more movement in the remaining towers, including a flash of armor at the very top of the tallest one.

So, I took what I could find off the dead bandits that fell off the walls, and started to look for a way up. I knew there had to be one, because Septim had somehow gotten up there, and was barking down at us!

There was a door to the inside of the keep in the small courtyard, but that couldn't have been it. We decided to circle the building, and soon enough we found an archway that led into a little store room, with a stairway going up.

Septim came down the steps to greet us, and I gave him a bit of meat while I healed his cuts. He'd clearly done just as good a job at distracting the archers as the Flame Atronach.

He's such a good boy! I know I'll miss having him around, but he deserves to be snoring by a warm fire and playing Fetch, not roughing it out here and getting cut up every other day.

I'll have to ask Lydia later if we have enough gold for Proudspire. She keeps better track of it than I do.

Anyway, I did some more looting while the others looked around, and they found a door leading into the shorter of the two towers. It looked like if we went up the steps inside, we could reach the tallest level to get into the big tower in the back.

Of course, there were more bandits hiding in there, and once we were past those, we made our way to the big tower.

The big tower is a bit ruined, with a wooden cabin partially built into the topmost level in place of a wall. It's sort of like a separate apartment! There we found a big man dressed in fine Nordic armor, obviously their leader.

I'm not afraid to admit he did a number on me before the others got there. He was as big as Valdimar!

Once he was taken care of, we took a minute to loot what was obviously his quarters. I found some gold and useful potions, and his armor should fetch a good price, too.

It was past noon at this point, and we were all feeling a bit hungry. The man had a table and some chairs up there on the landing that looked out over the landscape, so we set up there to eat. As we enjoyed our late lunch, I learned that the islands in the middle of the lake are home to the Goldenglow Estate, the beekeepers who supply the honey for Black-Briar Mead.

On the other side of the lake I could see what looked like another keep, and some ruins farther up the mountainside.

It was actually really nice up there. The guy had a good spot!

As much as I wanted to keep going on to Ivarstead, as we talked it became obvious that we wouldn't make it there before nightfall. It was already mid-afternoon by the time we got up from our meal, so we decided to go into the keep and see what we could find.

By the NINE! It's so much bigger that it looks! I'm sure it's partially dug into the hillside, it has to be.

Anyway, we found a door to the inside, and almost immediately ran into trouble. There were bandits, and cages with wolves in them. As we worked our way through the passages, we kept coming up on more caged wolves. It felt bad to kill them with them trapped in here, but what else could we do? There was no way to release them outside, and if we let them be, they'd starve.

It didn't take long to see why the bandits had so many of them. We came upon a circular room, an arena, with a fighting pit in the center. There were bandits there, betting on the wolf fight happening in the pit. They were distracted enough that they didn't see us come in behind them.

Just like with the skeever fights at Fort Dunstad, the whole thing just makes me sick. Knowing what was going on here, I'm glad we decided to clear the place out.

Once we'd cleared out the arena and the cashier's cage - THAT was a HAUL! - we kept going to see what else we could find. We found a few other rooms, including some that were semi-flooded, and past that, the kitchen.

There was a cook in there and a helper, but the cook was armed just as heavily as the rest of them, and swung at us like we were next on the menu!

I found the man's journal, and he complained that all the people there ever wanted was meat, despite his best efforts. It looks like he was solving that problem by serving up dog.

The dining area was next, with yet more bandits, and past that, a sleeping quarters.

I figured we had to be done, but there was even more after that! We found another room that looked like a general living area (with some bandits) then more corridors that led to a smithy (also with bandits). Past that was a strange, half-flooded area with (surprise!) a bandit in it, checking the bear traps he'd set to catch the skeevers that ran at us.

Guess how I knew he was checking traps.

In all, the place wasn't much different from other forts we've cleared out, but it was a chore getting through it all! It's just really big and there were so many of them. That's before you take into account the wolves and skeevers, too! I think we found at least a dozen people in here? I know I stopped counting before we got to the kitchen.

Anyway, it was well past nightfall by the time we finished up, and we came here to the dining room to eat before bed.

It was my turn to make dinner, and luckily I found plenty to cook that wasn't dog meat.

The door was open, and I heard Erandur complain that it was too late to wash up. Valdimar offered to help him if he was too tired, and Erandur must have made a face or something because Lydia cackled so hard she snorted!

Even though it was late, we took our time with dinner. We mostly talked about Maramal and Dinya, and wondered what in Oblivion she saw in him. She seems really devout herself, but not in that peachy way he is.

I told them how I'd noticed that people actually smiled and talked with her while we were walking around, as opposed to how they reacted seeing Maramal. They were polite, but they just nodded and gave him those tight, "polite" smiles you give people you're not happy to see. You know the ones.

They're all in bed now, and it's just me and Septim. He's been thrilled with all the bones in here, and made himself a little pile. He'll have to pick one to take with him tomorrow.

I found a book on archery while we were wandering around, so I'm going to read that until it's time to wake Lydia.

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#skyrim #writing #journal #the elder scrolls #fiction #tesblr #fanfic #bronwens journal #skyrim fanfiction #riften #faldar's tooth #mistveil keep #finally figured out a name for the metallic fantasy tattoos #maramal was out for blood #luckily erandur can sass right back

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