#fierce protector of her mans | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

demoniofleur10 · 2 months ago

Text

Anonymous request: Hi! Would you be willing to write reader having first time with Gyomei and also a separate one for Kyojuro? I love them so much!’ Thank you!

And here it is!

Warnings: nsfw content ahead

Gyomei

Gyomei smiled softly to himself, feeling the gentle touch of the girl who had captured his heart. He had never imagined that someone could care for him in such a tender way, but she had shown him that he was deserving of love, too. The memory of their first encounter was still vivid in his mind. He had been on a mission in her town when he witnessed her stand bravely against a demon, protecting a group of children despite being just a civilian. Her courage had struck him deeply. After the battle, Gyomei had made it his priority to ensure she received proper care. During his stay in the village, he found himself drawn to her side more often than he expected. Though blind, he could sense the kindness and compassion that radiated from her, qualities that mirrored his own. She was soft-spoken, yet fiercely protective of those she loved. As he spent more time with her, he began to realize that she had become more than just someone he admired. Her presence brought him a sense of peace and connection that he hadn’t felt in years. She had a way of making him feel whole, as if the darkness he fought daily could never touch him when she was near. Gyomei had always seen himself as a protector, but with her, he discovered the warmth of being cared for, of being loved.

Gyomei's deep voice rumbled softly as he murmured, "Cum for me, love," while his thick fingers delved deeper into her slick heat. Y/n's body quivered, her breath hitching as a wave of pleasure crashed over her. She arched her back, surrendering to the intensity of her orgasm, her walls fluttering around his skilled fingers. It was overwhelming—the sensations were unlike anything she'd ever experienced. It was her first time, and she hadn’t known that something so intense could feel so exquisite, especially with a man like Gyomei bringing her to the edge.

His fingers lingered inside her, feeling the aftershocks of her climax. He gently stroked her sensitive walls a few more times, savoring the way her body responded to him before slowly withdrawing. Her juices coated his fingers, glistening in the low light, evidence of her release. Y/n felt a mix of awe and nervousness as she looked down at herself, her core still pulsing from the aftermath. The thought of taking someone as massive as Gyomei seemed daunting, yet the tenderness in his touch reassured her.

Sensing her unease, Gyomei wrapped a protective arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his broad chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, his breath warm against her skin. "I’ll never hurt you," he whispered, his voice a vow of care and devotion. His words, combined with the gentleness of his touch, eased the trembling in her limbs, replacing her anxiety with a growing sense of trust and anticipation. She knew that with Gyomei, she was safe—cherished, even—and that he would guide her through this new experience with all the patience and care she needed.

He positioned himself at her entrance, teasingly brushing the tip of his length along her swollen, sensitive folds, pausing just long enough to let the anticipation build. His touch was gentle but deliberate, as he traced the slick path from her puffy lips to her aching clit, eliciting soft gasps from her. Slowly, he began to push inside, easing his way in to ensure she felt nothing but pleasure. He was well aware of his size, the way he could stretch her to her limits, but the last thing he wanted was to cause her pain.

As he gradually filled her, he felt her body tense, her walls gripping him tightly, and the soft, stifled cries that escaped her lips tugged at his heart. Immediately, he paused, leaning forward to cradle her face in his hands. His lips found her forehead, peppering it with tender kisses, while his thumb gently brushed away the tears that had begun to spill.

"I'm here, my love," he whispered, his voice soothing as he gazed into her eyes. "I won't hurt you. Just breathe with me."

He waited, giving her time to adjust, to relax around him, before moving again, each thrust slow and measured. He was attuned to every sound, every shiver that ran through her body, ensuring she felt safe and cherished. As he continued, the tension in her muscles gradually eased, and her hushed cries turned into soft moans of pleasure, a sound that only encouraged him to go deeper, but still with the utmost care.

___

RENGOKU

It was deeply ironic to Rengoku that he had fallen in love with the very woman standing before him now, dressed in a resplendent wedding kimono, her hand warmly clasped in his as they sealed their bond. She was a simple florist, yet the moment he first laid eyes on her, everything changed. He had originally walked into her shop to buy a bouquet for his late mother, seeking something beautiful to honor her memory. But as he browsed the flowers, his gaze fell upon the woman who would soon become his wife.There was something captivating about the way she spoke—her gentle voice weaving stories about each bloom, explaining their meanings with such passion and knowledge that he found himself utterly intrigued. Every flower had a tale, a symbolism she unraveled with ease, making even the most ordinary bouquet feel like a work of art. Rengoku was drawn to her, not just by her beauty, but by the warmth and sincerity she exuded, her deep connection to the flowers reflecting the kindness in her soul. What began as occasional visits to purchase bouquets for his mother’s grave turned into something more. He found himself returning to her shop time and time again, not just for the flowers, but to see her, to hear her speak and to feel the gentle joy she brought into his life. Now, as he stood beside her, looking into her eyes, Rengoku couldn’t help but marvel at the path that had led them to this moment. The woman who once handed him a bouquet had now given him her heart, and in return, he had offered his own. Their love had blossomed quietly, nurtured by small, tender moments, and now it was in full bloom, ready to withstand any storm.

"I'll take care of you," he whispered, his voice low and husky, lacking his usual enthusiasm but filled with a deep, simmering intensity. The words lingered in the air between them, a promise spoken with reverence as he leaned down to continue his affectionate assault on her body. His lips found their way to her soft mound, and he took one of her tender peaks into his mouth, expertly licking and biting her hardened bud. Each touch sent shivers through her, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation that left her breathless.

As he worked, his hand remained entwined with hers on the futon, a grounding connection in the midst of their passion. His thumb traced soothing circles on her palm, a stark contrast to the heated, deliberate motions of his mouth. It was as if he was two different men—one gentle and protective, the other bold and unapologetically passionate. The duality of his actions left her overwhelmed, her senses tingling with the contradictory sensations of his tender caresses and the sinful ministrations that followed. Every movement was calculated, every touch a testament to his desire to both worship and consume her, leaving no part of her untouched by his love.

"I'll be gentle," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of reassurance and desire. Slowly, he shifted his weight, lifting himself from her just enough to kneel above her, taking in the sight before him. She lay sprawled out beneath him, vulnerable and completely exposed, her skin flushed with the warmth of their shared passion. Her eyes met his, a blend of trust and anticipation reflecting back at him, and he felt a deep surge of emotion knowing how much she was giving herself to him in this moment.

He allowed himself a brief moment to admire her, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the way her body seemed to glow in the soft light of the room. She was a vision of beauty and innocence, and the sight of her laid bare like this, just for him, stirred something primal within him.

Leaning down, he returned to her, his movements slow and deliberate as he positioned himself between her legs. His hands caressed her sides, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his fingers, before he gently aligned himself with her entrance. He paused for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers, wanting to make sure she was ready, that she was comfortable.

With a deep breath, he began to press into her, moving with painstaking slowness, allowing her body to adjust to the new sensation. His heart pounded in his chest, every inch he moved forward a reminder of the deep connection they were forging. As he filled her, he could feel the tension in her body, and he whispered soothing words of encouragement, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet room. "You're doing so well, love," he breathed, his lips brushing against her ear. "I'm right here with you."

#demon slayer rengoku #rengoku x reader #anime smut #kny smut #anime x reader #kny x reader #gyomei x reader #gyomei smut #rengoku smut #anime requests

180 notes · View notes

pumpkinfyre · 2 months ago

Text

The Realms Pearl

note: just a ramble on how I think the yandere! hotd cast would be with a darling who is daeron's twin sister ♡

warnings: yandere content, platonic and romantic relationships, darling is religious like her mommy, incest mentioned, aegon and helaena have the hots for their sister, lol, this is based on my oc daenys but is a reader insert for inclusiveness, spoilers for s2

Viserys and Alicent are very similar in the way they treat her. In the books, we know that Viserys was very close with both of his daughters. He was a girl dad! He adores his youngest daughter, and she often reminds him of how Rhaenyra was when she was a child. He spends long hours in (Name)'s company, letting her read to him as he fiddles with his duplicate of Old Valyria. Once he gets much sicker, close to his death, she'll remain by her father's bedside, speaking of old stories.

Alicent, on the other hand, is fiercely protective of her youngest daughter. She adores both Helaena and (Name), so she keeps them both close to her. Daeron is sent away to Oldtown at a very young age, but Alicent chooses to keep her daughter in Kings Landing. Having her sweet girl sent away would destroy Alicent. As the youngest of her children, (Name) is kept safely away and rarely makes public appearances in court. It's her parents' way of making sure that she isn't corrupted by the politics of Kings Landing.

Her two older brothers, Aegon and Aemond, are tasked with keeping an eye on her when Alicent has things to attend to. Aegon is the more fun brother, always helping his little sister to sneak in the kitchens to steal a piece of cake. He's especially funny, never failing to make (Name) laugh. As they all grow older and mature, Aegon becomes very dependent on his sister. His relationship with their mother is strained, and after being married to Helaena, he feels isolated and odd. Aegon turns to his youngest sister for comfort and companionship. His feelings for her perhaps go deeper than a sibling bond, but it never goes farther than that. Aemond is similar, but he's more of a stick-in-the-mud. He's less inclined to give in to games, like his elder brother. He absolutely adores his baby sister, of course, but he focuses more on her protection than her happiness. Once the Dance begins, she's locked in the Keep and not allowed to mount her dragon, Grey Ghost. Aemond takes on the role as her protector, and in doing so, he is less kind.

Helaena is the closest with her sister. Helaena is the second oldest of Alicent’s children, and as such, (Name) often goes to her older sister for advice. Once the twins are born, (Name) spends even more time with Helaena, as she absolutely adores her niece and nephew. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are always with her if they're not with their mother. Helaena loves her sister. I think her feelings would be similar to those of Daemon and how he felt about Viserys. Helaena sometimes wishes that she were born a man, so their mother would allow she and (Name) to marry each other. Helaena daydreams about living a quiet and peaceful life with (Name), and even after the death of Jaehaerys, she keeps her sister very close, fearing that someone will kill her darling.

(Name)'s twin brother, Daeron, sends her letters from Oldtown on a constant basis. While they were separated when they were very young, she sometimes travels to Oldtown on Grey Ghost to visit her brother and uncle Gwayne. The letters often consist of how Tessarion is growing and how he wishes they could be together. Gwayne tries to convince Alicent to let his niece stay in Oldtown for the benefit of Daeron. Gwayne and Daeron plan to move (Name) to their home once the war is over.

Kings Landing obviously isn't safe!

this is such a ramble, but my mind is reeling from s2

who else is super excited for daeron and tessarion ♡♡♡

masterlist ᡣ𐭩

#yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #yandere viserys targaryen #yandere alicent hightower #yandere aegon ii targaryen #yandere aemond targaryen #yandere helaena targaryen #yandere daeron targaryen #yandere gwayne hightower #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere #pumpkin writes ☆

297 notes · View notes

nightingale-the-lurker · 7 months ago

Text

Hic est nihilum

[DEMO] Last update: 19/04/2024 | [ROMANCE OPTIONS]

SYNOPSIS

Hic est nihilum is a 16+ fantasy story set in a desolate, post-apocalyptic wasteland. Assume the mantle of the Omen, a rebel who endured a harrowing betrayal. Embarking on a perilous journey through the lifeless Abysm, you must rescue your allies from the clutches those who'd sooner see you dead and stop two loving, loathing gods from taking control of your mind.

PLOT

After a lifetime of enduring the Matriarch's iron grip, you dared to defy her tyranny. Empowered by the enigmatic Sud the Time's End, the smiling harbinger of death, you led your forces to reclaim a portion of the desolate, lifeless wastes of the Abysm. Victory seemed within reach, until betrayal shattered your ambitions.

Left for dead in the unforgiving desert, your survival now hinges on an ambiguous mission from your divine benefactor. As you navigate this treacherous path, the fate of your allies hangs in the balance, while the Matriarch's dominion remains unchallenged.

Yet, amidst the chaos, whispers of alternative powers echo through the Abysm, offering salvation at a steep price. Will you bend to the will of fate, or forge your own path to freedom? The choice is yours, but in this land of turmoil, nothing comes without sacrifice.

FEATURES

Play as a male, female, or non-binary character and choose your sexuality.

Customize your appearance and personality.

Decide on your skills, weapon, and fighting style.

Gather a patchwork group to rebel against the Matriarch.

Interact with two gods who want to take you as an ally, servant, and saint: Erichea the Drowned Maiden and Sud the Time's End.

Decide how you'll lead your rebellion: Will you be a ruthless rulebreaker, an idealistic liberator, or a pragmatic diplomat?

Don't lose your mind. Or do.

ROMANCE OPTIONS

Faz Sharaan is a tech expert who mysteriously appeared at your doorstep, offering his expertise. Though invaluable to your cause and a man with a heart of gold, his past remained a tightly guarded secret. It's as if he emerged fully formed from the desert sands.

Yuan Lixue is your steadfast ally and fierce protector. From the outset, she dedicated herself wholeheartedly to your cause, her loyalty to freedom unwavering. Yet, the crucible of battle has left its mark, turning her into a hardened warrior with an appetite for blood.

Rhys Dariann is exactly what he says: A flesh-eating demon. Yet he seamlessly transitions into kind town doctor and devoted chaplain. His reasons for aiding you are veiled in secrecy, but one thing is clear: an old hatred towards the Matriarch fuels his every action.

The Angel is an enigmatic and inhuman celestial being sworn to your cause without explanation. Their price? To never again take a life under your command. You've always wondered, however, if they're fallen from grace or merely overlooked by the gods of the Abysm.

#interactive fiction #cyoa #interactive game #twine #if wip #twine game #twine if #if intro #fantasy #post apocalyptic

344 notes · View notes

icarusignite · 3 months ago

Text

For Whom the Bell Tolls Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Strong! Reader

Tropes: World War 2 HOTD AU, nurse x soldier, trauma bonding, childhood sweethearts, star-crossed lovers

Wattpad / AO3

Summary:

"The tragic hero is complete. You can call him unhappy (miserable, utterly broken) even before he is dead. For an instant, he is something divine, and then he dies, because there's nothing else left to do. The center of every tragedy is the image of a human being who has already died but keeps talking, someone whose face is a mask."

In the years preceding the inferno of the Second World War, the world dances precariously on the edge of destruction, teetering between disintegrating old empires and the looming dawn of new ones. In the heart of this volatile era, the Targaryen family rises to power through the might of their ironclad empire, the Targaryen Ammunitions Conglomerate. The story is set against a backdrop of a world torn between tradition and modernity, where the echoes of old wars linger in the corridors of power, and the spectre of new conflicts casts long shadows across the lives of those entangled in its web.

Viserys Targaryen, the Chief Executive Officer of Targaryen Ammunitions, is a man haunted by the ghosts of his past. Decades before the world would be set ablaze, he cements his legacy, but at the cost of his own soul. The death of his first wife leaves him shattered, clinging to the last vestiges of humanity through the love he bears for his only daughter, Rhaenyra, his chosen heir.

But even Viserys cannot escape the machinations of those around him. Drawn into a marriage with Alicent Hightower, his daughter's former college classmate, he finds himself ensnared in a web of deceit spun by her father. Otto Hightower's ambitions reach far beyond the bounds of mere familial ties; he seeks to control the empire itself, and the Targaryen family, once bound by blood and loyalty, begins to fracture as ambition and betrayal take root.

Rhaenyra, a woman of fierce independence and unyielding spirit, is forced into a life she never wanted. Pressured by her father and the demands of his legacy, she is coerced into a marriage of convenience with Laenor Velaryon, a man whose own struggles mirror her own. Their union is one of necessity, where neither partner truly belongs to the other, yet, in their shared discomfort and understanding, they find solace, forging a partnership that defies the world's expectations. Laenor, hiding his true nature in a society that would cast him out, finds safety in the match, while she, in turn, secures the power and stability she needs to maintain her position as her father's heir.

Years pass, and the couple's inability to have children leads them down a different path—a path that brings them to the doors of Harrenhall, where the recently deceased Harwin Strong leaves behind four orphaned children who have been disowned by his brother Larys in his greed for their fortune. Rhaenyra, with a heart as relentless as it is kind, cannot bring herself to separate the siblings, despite the dangers it may pose to her own ambitions. She adopts them all, bringing the Strong children into the fold of the Targaryen family.

As the eldest of these children, you are burdened by the weight of the world. At just ten years old, you have been forced to grow up far too quickly, stepping into the role of mother and protector to your younger siblings in the absence of your own. Your heart is a fortress, built stone by stone, your mistrust of the world as deep as the abyss. When you and your brothers are taken in by the Targaryens, your siblings find joy in the luxuries and love showered upon them by their new family, but you cannot let yourself believe in the comfort being offered, waiting for the moment when it will all be torn away.

Your fears are only compounded by the cold reception you receive from Rhaenyra's half-siblings, the children of Alicent Hightower. The second of these, Aemond Targaryen, is a boy who has grown up in the long shadow cast by his half-sister. Neglected by his father, who lavishes affection upon his new adoptive grandchildren, he harbours a deep resentment toward the Strong siblings. In his eyes, you are all usurpers, interlopers who have stolen all that should have been his and his alone.

Nevertheless, the two of you find an unlikely ally in each other. Aemond, who despises the hollow privilege of his lineage, finds in you a kindred spirit, someone who understands the bitterness that festers in his heart. You, in turn, see in him a mirror of your own disillusionment, a boy lost in a world that seems intent on breaking him.

As the world outside your gilded cage hurtles toward cataclysm, your connection blossoms into something deeper, something tender, but just as your hearts begin to entwine, calamity, as it always does, intervenes.

Tragedy strikes the family, one blow after another, as the winds of war begin to howl across the continent. The fragile alliances that Rhaenyra has built start to crumble, and as Viserys struggles to hold his empire together, the rifts within his own family threaten to destroy everything he has worked for.

It is all made worse when a terrible accident steals away two precious loved ones, and in the aftermath, guilt weaves its thorny tendrils around Aemond's heart. At the tender age of eighteen, burdened by the weight of his own self-reproach, he severs all ties with his family, abandoning the name that has become a symbol of his anguish. He takes up his mother's maiden name, hoping to cast off the shackles of his past and live free from the burdens that have haunted him.

But in his flight from the wraiths of his former life, he leaves behind the only person who has ever understood him, to pick up the fractured remnants of their family. You are left all alone, as you have been for so much of your life, to mourn in silence, and the grief that once bound the two of you together now festers into a simmering resentment. Aemond does not write, nor does he respond to the countless letters you send, each one a plea for reconciliation, a desperate attempt to reach him across the chasm that has opened between you.

Eventually, you receive word that he has been drafted into the conflict. The news shatters the fragile remnants of your dreams, the ambitions you once held of becoming a historian now buried beneath the rubble of a world on fire. You abandon everything and follow him into the inferno, earning the nursing certifications that place you at the very heart of the battlefield, where life and death are decided with every breath.

In this vast and chaotic landscape, the young lovers keep missing each other, like ships passing in the night, always just out of reach. Time and again, they come within moments of reunion, but never actually do. Until, at last, they are thrown together once more when a severely wounded and half-blind Aemond Hightower is brought into the makeshift clinic where you have been stationed.

The reunion is a storm of tears and apologies, a raw and unfiltered outpouring of the pain that has been carried for so long. For a few precious months, you have each other once more, as you tend to his injuries, nursing him back to some semblance of health. In those fleeting moments, the two of you cling to each other like drowning souls.

But fate is a fickle mistress, and there is nothing she loves more than to slit the throats of young lovers, and you are not spared the annihilation that has been written for you in the very stars, centuries before you were even born, a destiny that neither of you can escape, no matter how hard you try.

"You're going to die in your best friend's arms. And you play along because it's funny, because it's written down, you've memorized it, it's all you know."

CHAPTERS: (coming soon)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter3

Chapter 4

A/N: This isn't going to be a full-length fic. It's going to be a collection of one-shots almost, or snippets jumping around the timeline to tell the most important parts of the story, so maybe 10-12 chapters at most. This way I won't bore yall with unnecessary filler chapters and still get to tell the story I want. The summary is about as much as you'll on the background tbh, this is meant to be an AemondxReader centric story. It's inspired by Atonement and every other WW2 movie I've ever watched.

Comment to lemme know if this is something you would be interested in and if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

Alternatively, add yourself to the taglist!

112 notes · View notes

cobaltperun · 8 months ago

Text

Lost (20) - Miracle

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 4.8k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-Take a look around, it's you and me, it's here and now-

~X~ March 23rd, 2027 ~X~

It was cold, this entire place was as cold as ice for her, and it had nothing to do with the weather, or her clothing. She could put on the warmest clothes she owned, instead of her jeans and baby blue sweater, and she’d still be cold in this bare room with dull gray walls and a light that was too strong for her liking.

Truly, she should have been used to this by now, she should have known her life was going too well, that she was so happy, and that the universe wouldn’t allow that. Even after all she went through, all the horrible things that happened to her, it wasn’t enough, she had to experience true loneliness for the very first time in her life, to feel completely alone.

“I’m sorry miss L/N, we’ve been instructed not to allow any visitors,” the officer told her, and Tara had to take several deep breaths to calm down and not make a scene, though at this point she had no idea how she was controlling herself. Maybe because making a scene wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t do her any good, it wouldn’t chase away the persistent cold. You had the right to visitors, much worse people had them, but apparently no one was allowed to see you. Not her, not your lawyer, despite threats that they would be sued for this no one budged an inch. There was no way to contact you.

Her hand touched her stomach, knowing there were plenty of reasons why she shouldn’t stress too much. “I’m her wife,” she repeated, hoping there was some humanity left in this man and that he would let her through to you. She needed to see you, even if it was in this cold, dark place, even if you were locked up. Even just seeing you would be enough to, at least for a bit, make her feel warm again. “I’m carrying her child, please, just for five minutes.”

He looked down, and while Tara could still hide it, a closer look would reveal that she was, indeed, two and a half months pregnant. “Well, it’s not exactly her child, is it? Get out miss L/N, this is your last warning,” he sneered and came up to her, ignoring her glare and ready to shove her if necessary.

“We get it, we’re leaving,” Danny stepped between Tara and the officer, just to be sure nothing would happen to her. “Come on, Tara, he won’t let you see Y/N,” he pleaded, gently taking her forearm and pulling her outside.

Tara let him, she followed him, through the nearly empty halls of the prison, defeated and not paying attention to the few officers that did look at her. You’ve been locked up for three weeks and no one was allowed to see you or hear from you. And Tara? Tara only had Danny left… You were locked up, Sam was gone, her friends weren’t there, they were dealing with their own lives, and while she missed them, Tara refused to ask them to come and stay with her. She didn’t want to involve them into this, she’d find a way to reach you eventually.

The fresh air outside the prison felt stale when you were locked up in the cold building she just exited. She got in the backseat of the taxi and Danny gave the driver his address as Tara got lost in her thoughts. Things were so much simpler and happier just a month ago, in fact, everything was going well ever since you recovered, over four years ago.

~X~ December 2022 ~X~

You were being mean, laughing at her and handing her the inhaler at the same time. Jerk… “You needed me so much you couldn’t breathe?” you dropped down unceremoniously next to her and pulled her closer the moment she returned the inhaler to the nightstand next to your bed.

Just to be slightly petty she playfully stuck her tongue out and turned her back to you, as much as her body tingled from what the two of you just did. And you just chuckled, spooning her and wrapping a strong arm around her waist. Despite your teasing she relaxed against you, enjoying the warmth and the feel of your bare skin against her back. “It’s not my fault you went crazy after I called you ‘baby’,” she sighed dramatically. She wasn’t sure she could move from the bed any time soon, not that she was complaining, besides, it was clear you got your stamina back and she was definitely no longer feeling pent-up.

You leaned closer to her, slowly kissing her just beneath her ear and Tara hummed in approval. She twisted around in your arms, baring her neck so you could keep kissing her. “I remember hearing something else as well,” you eventually reminded her, your tone low and slightly raspy and all the things Tara was weak to as she sighed when you left another mark on her neck.

She was confused for a moment, and then she turned completely red when she remembered exactly what you were talking about. “You’ll never hear that again,” she ducked down, hiding her face beneath your chin and just wrapping her arms around you.

“Whatever you say, Tara,” she could feel you smirking, she could sense it! Damn you for knowing exactly how to get her worked up, and for making her call you… no… she wouldn’t even think about that. She’d forget it! She’d make you sleep on the couch if you ever mentioned it. Or maybe not that. She needed you next to her to sleep well, so maybe she wouldn’t make you sleep on the couch. Forbid you from kissing her? No, she liked that too much to use it as punishment. She could sit somewhere other than on your lap?

Hell no!

She could take your car. Actually, that would get you to ban her from sitting on your lap.

She’d just make you play horror games without her. That’ll teach you.

She one hundred percent did not have that kink. Nope, it was a slip of a tongue, nothing more, and it would never happen again!

But then another thought popped into her head. And while there was a chance it was said in the heat of the moment, that it was just your desire and passion talking, you did kinda tell her you wanted to marry her. And while it easily could put you in a bad spot, she wanted to hear your thoughts now that you weren’t consumed by your desires. She didn’t doubt you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her, it was the actual marriage that she was wondering about, since you, somehow, never talked about your feelings on that.

Tara personally wanted to get married, she imagined how it would look when she was younger. Nowadays her imagination didn’t include big events, just something private, but she did want that with you.

“Say, Y/N, were you serious about wanting to marry me?” she asked, absentmindedly tracing random lines on your biceps. You still haven’t recovered all your muscles, but she could feel them under her touch, firm and strong, and she was sure you’d be back in shape before the end of the year. Not that you weren’t already in shape, just, you’d be back in the shape you were in before Bailey, his children, and Thomas attacked all of you.

“Completely,” you didn’t even hesitate, you just hugged her a bit tighter. “I’ll do the whole proposal thing sooner or later, but if you want to marry me, then yes, I am absolutely serious about that.”

Tara nodded, smiling brightly. “I do want to marry you,” she kissed you, from your neck, your jaw, all the way to your lips. “I want to spend my entire life with you,” the two of you haven’t even been together for a year, though it was close to a year now, your anniversary was less than a week away, but she had no doubt in her mind that what she said was exactly what she wanted. Her lips met yours and she nudged you slightly so you would get on your back, and she moved with you to straddle your abs. “I want to take your last name, to have-“ she suddenly stopped, just now realizing that was another topic the two of you never talked about.

“Tara?” you raised an eyebrow, confused by her silence.

“Do you want children?” she blurted out, because she did, she wanted at least one child, or two, maybe two would be better. Probably not more than two. She wanted to give someone a childhood she wished to have, as far as parents went. But even more than that, she wanted a family with you. Regardless of if it was just the two of you, or if there would be kids.

You kinda just… shrugged and now it was Tara’s turn to be confused. “Eventually, sure. I haven’t really thought about it, but I’m not against it,” you tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and Tara sighed in relief. “If you want kids, we’ll raise them together, if you don’t, it’ll be just the two of us,” you pulled her down for a kiss and Tara felt like melting. “It’s not a deal breaker for me, nothing is as long as I’m with you.”

She definitely didn’t want kids right away, she wanted to finish college, get a job, get married and then, eventually, when both of you felt you were ready, either adopt or get pregnant. That, however, was topic for another day. In the back of her head, she worried about Ghostface coming back, but she could only believe in you, in your ability to come back to her, and her own ability to make sure she came back to you as well.

“You know, it’s good that you called me-“ she shut you up with a kiss. She knew exactly where you were going with that, and she would not let you finish that sentence.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned you. You just grinned at her, and even though you stayed silent she knew the word was on the tip of your tongue. She’d have to make you say something embarrassing as well eventually. With that thought in mind Tara kissed you one more time.

~X~ December 13th, 2023. ~X~

This was it. This was how you were going to have your second heart attack and drop dead. All things considered your panic-filled mind wondered if this could be considered suicide, because, all of this was, after all, your own doing. It would be fine, right? Tara did want this, she said so! Granted, the one and only time the two of you talked about this was over a year ago, but surely nothing has changed since then, right?

You still felt like you’d rather run a gauntlet, fight the strongest women MMA fighters one after another right now than actually go through with this.

“I can’t,” you were pacing around the hotel room, not even daring to glance at the tiny box on the table. Oh, if a bird swooped in from the skies and grabbed it you would be the happiest woman alive, because you’d at least have an excuse to postpone this. Maybe you should go and ask for some bird seeds or something similar, just to leave them near the box and hopefully lure said birds inside.

“Y/N!” Anika grabbed your shoulders and pushed, but she couldn’t get you to move. “Sit down you… mass of muscles and ridiculous strength only Tara gets to move!” she grunted and then just threw her arms up, and sat down herself. “Fine! Stand there!” she gave up. “If you don’t do this today, you’ll have to wait until next year, remember?”

You looked to the side, annoyed that she was right. Her hair was braided, and she was wearing a nice, bright and colorful dress Mindy was going to drool over tonight. It was December thirteenth. The second anniversary of your and Tara’s relationship and you were ready to propose. Well, as far as setting everything up was concerned. You booked the restaurant in this hotel, hooray for successful business, got the ring, dressed up, everything was ready. Mentally though… you were absolutely not ready.

The proposal was also why you were on an urgent business trip, why Anika went back to her parents, and why Mindy and Chad had to visit their mom, and why Sam and Danny would be taking Tara to a restaurant so she wouldn’t feel lonely, and you’d be making up for the urgent business trip tomorrow, when Tara turns twenty-one.

Which was all one big lie, aside from Sam and Danny taking Tara to the restaurant, all so Tara wouldn’t suspect anything.

“Or maybe, hear me out, I say screw important dates, and just randomly ask her one day?” you suggested, raising your finger to make a point.

Anika got up and began jabbing her finger above your chest. “You, Y/N L/N, are one of the best women MMA fighters, you lived through being shot, stabbed, impaled on a rebar, falling from a roof and won Sam’s approval to date her sister, which is probably the most impressive accomplishment of them all,” she told you with enough conviction to make your own doubts slowly ebb away. “You are going to go downstairs, dressed in that,” she looked you up and down and just stepped back. “that… let’s just say Tara is lucky, because, well, you dressed to impress,” and you did. You went all out, finding the best clothes for the occasion.

And then the phone rang, and you saw it was Danny calling.

Afraid something happened you immediately picked up and put him on a speaker. “Yes?”

“It’s a disaster,” he opened dramatically, his voice filled with panic. “Tara won’t dress up!”

You felt the tension from all of this, all the pressure from wanting to propose to her, all the worry caused by his call, it all just vanished, and you felt like you could breathe again. “Dude, let her come in whatever she wants,” you laughed, no longer feeling nervous. This was Tara, your Tara and you suddenly felt silly for even being nervous in the first place.

“She wants to come in your damn shirt! Not even a really nice one, but a random shirt she picked out, it’s a miracle she doesn’t look like a fashion emergency!” he whisper-shouted and you watched Anika’s jaw dropping as she heard that.

You laughed a bit too loudly. “So let her! Let my girl do whatever she wants, it’s her night!” you just sat down on the bed and couldn’t wipe the grin off your face.

“It’s a five-star hotel and she wants to wear an oversized shirt that looks more like a dress on her and jeans! She didn’t even do her hair or put make-up on!” he nearly yelled while you had a dreamy look on your face knowing Tara would still look more beautiful than anyone else in this whole hotel.

“Yup, let her, just bring her here,” you sighed dreamily, your mood swinging in the exact opposite direction.

“Unbelievable, both of you,” he groaned and hung up.

You looked at Anika, still flabbergasted by what she heard, and then at your usual clothes. “You know what, Tara has a point,” you’d wear fancy clothes for some special occasion, maybe tomorrow night when you take her out not as your girlfriend, but as your fiancée for the very first time.

“No! Y/N! I won’t let you!” Anika cried out, but it was too late now.

~X~

Dressing up… as if Tara wanted to do that tonight. You weren’t there, and she was basically being a third wheel on Sam and Danny’s date, so no, she wouldn’t dress up. She wanted to stay home, watch a movie, and wear your shirt so she could feel like you were hugging her. But, Sam insisted and she couldn’t say no to Sam’s pleading gaze.

Well, she’d see you tomorrow, so that was nice. Urgent business trips have happened ever since you opened your own company. You used the money you got from your retirement and ensured you could mostly work from home, but you still needed to leave every now and then to meet up with your business partners. Did it suck that you had to leave on your anniversary? Yeah, it did. Was Tara angry? No, just a bit lonely since everyone else seemed to leave as well, but you called her plenty of times today and she couldn’t wait to see you tomorrow.

The hotel Sam and Danny took her to… well, now she felt a bit silly for being dressed so casually, especially since Danny went for a dark brown suit and black turtleneck sweater and Sam went through trouble of doing her hair and wearing a light green long coat with shirt and pants. And Sam didn’t exactly dress up that often, she preferred casual clothes she could defend herself in if needed, and while Tara became cautious after what happened last year, Sam took it to the next level, and that made Tara worried for Sam, she wasn’t letting anyone new in, no matter what, even at work she kept to herself and barely even got out unless Tara or Danny specifically asked her to.

That made Tara feel a bit guilty, because this was actually Sam’s idea, and now that they were here Tara wondered if she really should have dressed up. If for no other reason than to show Sam she appreciated that Sam wanted to go out. She wanted to apologize, but Sam still looked so happy, so Tara figured she could apologize later tonight. She didn’t want to make Sam and Danny’s date uncomfortable before it even officially began.

She walked in behind them, noticing immediately the hotel restaurant was empty, sure, it was expensive and all that, but completely empty? No celebrities at the very least? And since when did Sam and Danny want to spend this much money of a single date? And then add even more costs by inviting Tara with them? And several people greeted them and took them to the round table set up for six people, where Chad, Mindy and Anika were waiting already.

They were all dressed up, and Mindy was rolling her eyes when she noticed how Tara looked. “Seriously Sam? You couldn’t get her to wear something else?” Mindy shook her head in utter disbelief.

“She’s stubborn, and well, the three of you didn’t do a better job anyway,” Sam muttered, further confusing Tara.

Several ideas were crossing her mind, but the table was set up for six people, and all thoughts of you somehow popping up were ruled out by that simple fact. Unless that was what you wanted her to think. Since it wouldn’t be that hard to just move things around a bit and make space for one more person, in fact, there was suspiciously wide open space between Chad’s chair and an empty chair next to him.

But everyone was dressed up. Anika was stunning, Mindy looked just as beautiful in that red, slightly revealing dress and Chad went for a more casual, button up shirt and suit combination, and that worried her, because he loved dressing in a more casual way.

“Still the most beautiful girl in the room though,” her jaw dropped at the sound of your voice, and she looked to the side as you came down the stairs, dressed just as casually as Tara, just simple, slightly tighter polo shirt and pants and a smile on your face as she ran up to you and jumped into your arms.

“What’s this all about? How are you here?” she wasn’t complaining, not in the slightest, she just wanted to know.

You laughed, lifting her up and carrying her bridal style to the table. “Well, I wanted to make this a bit fancier, but,” you looked down at her choice of clothing and grinned. “I think this suits us much better,” you lowered her back to her feet and guided her to the remaining free chair. She sat down, still looking at your eyes. “Tara Carpenter,” you went down to one knee and pulled out a box making Tara’s jaw drop as she saw a beautiful ring that matched the necklace you bought her for her eighteenth birthday. “Will you marry me?”

Tara refused to cry, she wasn’t going to cry, she was absolutely crying as she fell into your arms and hugged you as tightly as she could. “Yes, a hundred times yes!” she exclaimed as your friends cheered around the two of you.

You laughed at that, and got up, lifting Tara up in the process and hugging her tightly. “I love you,” you kissed her lightly, but she wasn’t having any of that as she deepened the kiss right away, her hand cupping your cheek.

“I love you too,” she whispered against your lips when you separated and you put a ring on her finger and she pulled you down for another kiss.

~X~ Present day ~X~

The two of you got married on your third anniversary, exactly a year after you proposed, and last year you decided you’d try IVF and then, when Tara and you told Sam about it… well, that’s when it all started going downhill, as Sam grew more and more irritated and angry and would leave for several days at a time. Tara tried to be patient, she tried to understand her sister, to be there for her, but it was starting to take its toll on her as well, because no matter how she approached Sam nothing seemed to be working. And then something she feared the most happened. Despite how much she tried to tell you it was fine, it happened, you snapped.

~X~ December 2026 ~X~

Getting married didn’t change anything, Sam was still living with Tara and you, and her and Danny were still not living together. They’d spend nights together occasionally, but Sam never brought up the idea of him moving in, or her moving to his place. “Sam, please, just tell me what’s going on,” Tara pleaded when Sam once again chose to ignore how worried she was making Tara be.

“Nothing is going on,” Sam shut her down, not even once looking at Tara as she sat in your shared kitchen. You were out, buying groceries for tonight’s dinner, you and Tara wanted to make this dinner feel special, since it’s been a while since Sam was home for more than a few days. And this time she actually made it through the week without disappearing. “Just make sure to take care of yourself when you get pregnant,” there was frustration in Sam’s voice that Tara immediately noticed.

“Are you angry at me?” Tara asked, not really having any ideas as to why Sam would be angry, but it just felt like she was. Surely she wasn’t angry because Tara wanted to have children, right?

“No,” and Sam refused to elaborate and in her anger and frustration reached into her pocket for her cigarettes just as you came back home. Tara knew Sam never truly quit smoking, though she tried several times, but in all the years since Sam began smoking she never smoked near Tara, and she always made sure Tara couldn’t smell the cigarettes. So, Tara was shocked, but she didn’t say anything, fearing it would make Sam leave again. Her asthma was more manageable, she could handle a cigarette, she hoped.

The doors opened at the worst possible moment and Tara watched your face twisting in anger as you realized Sam had lit a cigarette. “Drop it! Sam, drop it right now!” if there was one thing, just one thing that didn’t involve actually harming someone you loved that would make you snap instantly, it was someone who knew Tara had asthma trying to smoke near her.

“Baby, wait,” Tara got up, stopping you before you could take the cigarettes from Sam. This was already a volatile situation, Sam was frustrated, you were angry, and Tara needed to calm things down. “Let’s just go to our room, okay?” she took the groceries from your hand and placed them on the table, noticing ojo de pancha from a nearby bakery Sam loved at the top. She reached up, cradling your cheek, feeling and seeing the tension on your face. She pulled you closer, relaxing slightly when she felt you relaxing a bit. “Do it for me?” she spent her entire childhood listening to her parents arguing, then to her mother and Sam arguing, she didn’t want to listen to you and Sam arguing as well, especially for her sake.

You sighed, but nodded, ready to just let it be, until Sam spoke, not even bothering to put the cigarette out. “What are you two even thinking? What if Ghostface comes after us again?!” Sam demanded and Tara turned to look at her, at the fury in her eyes.

“Sam?” she called out, not recognizing her sister. She knew Sam was paranoid, but this much? “We weren’t attacked for over four years,” she tried to remind her as she took your hand and took a few steps back, away from Sam’s rage and from the smoke and despite knowing Sam would never hurt her you stepped between her and Sam.

“Tara has me, I won’t let anyone hurt her, or our child,” you said, for the first time in fifteen years you’ve spent as Tara’s best friend, as her protector, as the one person she could always rely on, the guard dog barked at her sister. “You included, Sam, so put that damn cigarette out before I make you,” you warned, your tone dangerously low.

You would turn twenty-six in a bit less than half a year, and for the lack of a better word, you were at your peak. Stronger than even when you fought for the title, or when you fought against Thomas. Speed, strength, skill, all of that was as high as you could take it, and it was one of the reasons why you chose to start a family now, because Tara did worry about Ghostface coming back, and so did you. So, if the two of you wanted children this was the absolute best time to do it, even if it meant starting your family at a fairly young age compared to most couples. You’d be able to maintain this peak for several years, and you’d be close to it well into your thirties if you kept training the way you did now.

Sam scoffed and walked out, and despite Tara’s pleas, she didn’t come back for a week. And Tara? She just cried in your arms, feeling like she was once again losing her sister.

~X~

Looking back now, it was like Tara was looking at herself from back when you first came to New York, only Sam was almost thirty and angrier than Tara ever was. When Tara found out she was pregnant, she wanted to have you and Sam there, but Sam just… left… abandoned Tara again, and no one, not her, not you, not Danny, no one could reach her. For nearly three months now, Tara had no idea where Sam was. And she felt as if her life had fallen apart completely.

Chad, Mindy and Anika left New York a while ago, Chad pursuing his football career, which took him to Miami last year, while Anika and Mindy formed a rising star duo, directing horror movies all over the country for the past two years. So, her group was scattered, and while they all stayed in touch, Tara was only left with you as her constant. Danny was there as well, trying to be supportive while Sam was going through whatever she was going through, but it really was just you and her.

And then, three weeks ago you got arrested, framed for murder you didn’t commit. And the victim? Your own father? He was stabbed, and despite her best efforts, Tara had no idea why you even went there in the first place, she just knew you didn’t do it.

A/N: Right, Tara is pregnant. I’m sure that won’t raise the stakes at all. Anyway, this is my Scream 7, I'm not watching anything unless Melissa and Jenna are back. Have fun with Lost season 2!

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

#tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #scream #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #x female reader

171 notes · View notes

novaursa · 2 months ago

Text

Arthur Dayne Masterlist

main list

- A Star's Final Light - You thought how your life was bound to the man who had your heart. But fate hears no wishes whispered by love. - mild 13+

Works (targ!reader/Arthur Dayne) below are listed in chronological order:

- The Price of Fire (1) - In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all. - explicit 18+

- The Price of Fire (2) - explicit 18+

- The Price of Fire (3) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (4) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (5) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (6) - explicit 18+

- The Price of Fire (7) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (8) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (9) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (10) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (11) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (12) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (13) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (14) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (15) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (16) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (17) - mature 16+

- The Price of Fire (18) - mature 18+

- The Price of Fire (Final Chapter) - mature 16+

#game of thrones #got x y/n #got x you #got x reader #got #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #arthur dayne x y/n #arthut dayne x you #arthur dayne x you #arthur dayne x reader #arthur dayne

104 notes · View notes

syoddeye · 4 months ago

Text

bespoke

ghost x transmasc!reader | 1k words tags: brief, mild mentions of transphobic experiences. simon riley's terrible and dirty jokes. brief scene at the end with makeshift restraints. otherwise, fluff. a/n: got hit with a wave of dysphoria. wrote this. bon appétit. 💀

He ties your tie. Insists.

It’s not like you don’t know how. You do. You walked a tightrope for years. Lived through the height of twee and dapper, collected and wore neckties and bowties unironically. Tried and suffered through all types of aesthetics and accessories to find your style. But this is the first big to-do since you hard launched your ‘new’ identity. The first time you’ll wear such an outfit where you don’t force a laugh or tightly smile as others call it a gimmick or costume. Where your family isn’t around to call it the ‘offbeat’ fashion of a quirky niece or an eccentric daughter.

When you dressed, hands shaking with excitement, perhaps you messed up the knot. It looked passable. You weren’t about to ask him to check it. A lifetime of teasing and backhanded compliments led to a fierce independent streak. Nobody could pester you if they couldn’t get close. ‘Course, nobody could help, either.

But because it’s him, you allow it.

It’s been a long, lonely road. Worth it, though, in the end. To find and carve out your path. To meet the man who’s served as your most steadfast support, confidant, and protector. Whose hands smooth your lapels and straighten the knot. Whose eyes catch you staring and soften when he sees how glassy yours look.

“We don’t have to go.”

“I want to.”

“You’re upset.”

“Believe me, I’m not. Far from it.”

You wipe a pesky tear and survey yourself in the mirror. The secondhand suit fits like a glove, modified to perfection. The result of someone’s pestering. An indulgence difficult to accept when originally agreed upon but a triumph in the moment. It pays its dividends in confidence, making you stand straighter and feel as though you might float.

Simon bends, tucking his chin over your shoulder. The silk mask obscuring his face matches his suit, pure black, of course. His eyes drag down your reflections as his arms thread under yours, tugging you backward into his chest.

“We clean up nice.”

“One of us does.” You smile, a bit pained from his continued sweetness. “I look like I raided my dad’s wardrobe.”

You regret it the moment you say it because you know how stupid it sounds. Hours of tailoring and craft adorn you. Enough care and attention to detail for it to appear completely bespoke and custom—not stolen or borrowed.

A big hand skirts up, fingers and thumb slotting over your face. He gently squeezes your cheeks. A habit when he thinks you’re acting foolish or chirping incessantly. He presses until your lips fold in an artificial pout.

“You got a mouth tonight.”

“‘M told s’good f’kissing.” You force out, not bothering to even try and remove his hand.

Simon squishes your cheeks a moment longer, staring hard in the mirror. Studying. He lets go and presses his lips to your temple.

“Think you’re funny?”

“You usually laugh.”

“Not when you joke at your own expense.”

The pout that appears on your face is genuine this time, and so is the instinct to flee. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve tried to run away from the kindness of Simon Riley. It’s certainly not the first time he flexes his muscle, molding himself to you.

“Settle. Talk t’me.”

You shake your head and try to squirm free despite knowing all the good that’ll do.

“We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

“Then we’ll be late.”

“To a wedding? Simon we can’t be the people that walk in after the bride.”

“I’ll walk her down myself if ya don’t start talkin’.”

It’s anyone’s guess how serious he is about that. Erring on the side of caution, you fuss a second more, then finally voice the fears eating you alive. The laundry list of worst-case scenarios and what-ifs. Your thoughts bend to dread like flowers track the sun.

“If anythin’ happens, we’ll handle it. Together.” Simon pinches your hips. “Or alone, in the small hours, after I drop you at home.”

That isn’t a joke. Simon doesn’t make empty threats. Not about that.

“Simon—“

“How many times do I gotta tell you, to get it through your skull, hm?” He murmurs, littering emphatic kisses over the side of your head. Nipping your neck. If he wasn’t holding you, you’d be a puddle.

“You can’t get rid of me. You got me, love. Let me worry about the hard things.” A squeak tears out when a broad hand skims down the front of your suit and cups the front of your trousers. His grip pulses over the packer, and you nearly skyrocket through the ceiling. “If you’re good and check in with me like you’re supposed to, I’ll have a nice hard thing for you later.”

To save face, as if you aren’t practically drooling at that, you shoot him a look in the mirror. Wrinkle your nose and curl your lip. The glint in your eye is unmistakable, however.

“Simon,” You groan in feigned disgust. “You’re terrible.”

“Don’t I know it. C’mon.” He releases you entirely, stepping back to adjust himself and his shirt collar in the mirror. “Price’ll kill me if we’re late.”

Hours later, back home after a night of celebration, he ties your tie.

Tight enough to keep your wrists together, loose enough to feel safe. He strips you slowly and thoughtfully. Takes his time setting each element aside. He inflicts sweet torture, showering you with praise and echoing compliments paid to you at the reception.

So handsome. Lookin’ braw. Don’t let the bride see ya.

Usually, such words would do you in. Gnaw and bite like flies, make you assume the worst. Assume people were just being polite and lying. But…Simon wouldn’t lie. As he looms over you, hooking a leg with one arm and bracketing your head with the other, he tells you to settle. Reminds you to let him worry about the hard things.

And because it’s him, you allow it.

#ghost x reader #ghost x transmasc!reader #anyway. another case of 'i wrote this for me but maybe you too'.#okay dropping this and scurrying away at max speed byeeee

86 notes · View notes

brattyfics · 21 days ago

Text

Swampbound II

Adla shot up from sleep, jolted by the sound of something heavy dragging outside. The old porch creaked under the weight, those worn boards groaning like they were telling her to stay inside. For a heartbeat, she thought it was just a remnant of a bad dream. But then it came again—slow, deliberate shuffling, as if someone was moving through the dark with purpose.

She kicked off the sheet, her bare feet gliding over the cool floorboards. Reaching for the shotgun, she crept to the window, quiet as a whisper in the night. Pulling the curtain back just a crack, she squinted into the gloom.

A figure loomed large, hunched over, moving as though it was in pain.

The wolf?

No, that shape was all wrong. Its movements were jerky, struggling to stay upright. Then she spotted it—clawed hands gripping the railing, barely managing to hold on. Her breath caught as the figure slumped, twisting and warping in a way that made her skin crawl.

The truth slammed into her, sharp and unforgiving.

This wasn’t just any wolf.

Adla tightened her grip on the shotgun, heart pounding in her chest. Every instinct told her to retreat, but something gnawed at her—a pull she couldn’t explain. The stories whispered through the town—tales of beastly protectors and vengeful spirits—had always danced at the edges of her mind, but tonight, with this strange presence lurking outside, those old myths felt like a warning.

Whatever was out there, it wasn’t just a man, and it sure as hell wasn’t just a wolf.

Fear gripped her as the shadow twisted, revealing the shape of a man. She blinked, praying to wake from a nightmare, but when her eyes opened, it was still there. The dried pool of blood pooling beneath him turned her stomach.

What kind of trouble had she stumbled into?

Piercing blue-green eyes, both wild and human, locked onto hers through the dim light. She gasped, every muscle screaming at her to run, but there was nowhere to go. The massive man raised one hand, then the other, pounding against the walls of her little house so insistently that the whole place rattled.

She flinched at the frantic banging, the noise shaking the thin window panes. It sounded desperate, but not dangerous. And then, through the chaos, she heard it—a rough voice, weak but clear enough to make her freeze in place. “Help me... please.”

Her instincts urged her to stay put, but that voice—it was broken, pleading. She bit her lip, torn between caution and compassion. She couldn’t rush headlong into a mess, but could she really turn away someone who was hurt?

Shifting her grip on the shotgun, she edged toward the door. "Who’s out there?" she called, her voice steady but low, trying to mask the tremor in her heart.

"Just need a place to catch my breath. I promise I won’t cause no trouble. I’m just trying to escape something that ain’t right. I ain’t gonna hurt you, I swear. Please, just let me in for a minute—I’m beggin’ you."

“Lord, have mercy...” Adla muttered under her breath, caught in a bind. She’d always prided herself on being sharp and cautious, but her heart? Too soft, too generous—sometimes for her own good. “What brought you all the way out here?” she asked, frustration creeping into her voice.

“A whole string of bad luck. If I had anywhere else to go, I wouldn’t be standin’ here, believe me.” She shook her head, eyes on the lock, knowing this was the dumbest thing she’d ever done. Slowly, she twisted it open, pulling the door just wide enough to peek through the screen.

There he was—wolf turned man, bigger than any person she’d ever seen. His body, thick with muscle, seemed almost sculpted from stone, hard to ignore, even with the bruises and cuts marring his skin. He was bare as the day he was born, flaccid yet exuding a raw strength. She swallowed hard, forcing her gaze upward. He had a face that was almost too beautiful, framed by full lips and those captivating eyes. A fierce, primal energy radiated from him, pulling her in and sending a shiver down her spine.

Letting in a naked stranger was easily the most reckless thing she’d ever done.

He was hunched over, leaning against the front of her house like he was too weary to stand on his own. Each second felt like a battle for him, swaying as if the ground beneath him were unsteady. His eyes, weighed down with exhaustion and pain, locked onto hers, drawing her into a tug-of-war between caution and compassion. “You best not be thinkin’ I’m a fool,” Adla warned, flipping the lock on the screen door. He reached for the door, but then jerked his hand back, hissing as if he’d been bitten by a snake.

“What now?” she asked, her brow knitting in confusion as she took a cautious step back, the tension in the air thick enough to cut.

“You gotta invite me in.” His voice was ragged, as if every word cost him. She frowned, not quite understanding—didn’t she already by opening the door?

“Come on in,” she finally said, stepping back with her shotgun still in hand, not fully trusting him yet. “Just don’t ruin my floor with all that blood.” He limped inside, his gaze never leaving hers, before collapsing clumsily into a chair in her kitchen.

“What the hell happened to you?” Adla asked, watching as his big hands explored his injuries, assessing the damage. He didn’t answer, too focused on his wounds.

“Hey!” she snapped, needing answers. If she was about to shelter some strange, naked wolf-man, she deserved to know what mess he was dragging to her door. “I asked you a question. Why are you here?” His gaze slid over her, assessing, and suddenly she felt exposed—the cool night air making her nipples pebble beneath her thin nightgown. Shifting uncomfortably, she caught his eyes snapping back to her face.

“Just passin' through. My cousin, Mike, and I ran into some trouble with the wrong crowd back in town. I got hurt, lost track of him, wandered off, and ended up here." He hissed, the twisting and turning only aggravating his injuries even more. "I'm just tryin’ to keep it together long enough to find him.”

“And what’s that gonna take? You getting yourself together?” Adla's skin prickled with unease, a warning that she had stumbled into something far beyond her understanding. She needed him out of her space and her life—pronto.

“You got any vinegar?” His voice rasped, dry as a corn husk.

“‘Course I do.” Adla replied, moving around the kitchen with purpose. Her hands worked quickly yet deliberately, keeping him in her line of sight. She set the bottle down on the table, her eyes sharp and filled with suspicion. “What’s that gonna do?”

“It’ll help me heal.” The words came out strained, frustration simmering beneath the surface, though it was clear he was in no shape to argue. She could feel his urgency, a mirror to her own��both of them itching to be rid of each other.

“What else you need?”

“Baking soda and cayenne powder.”

“That’s it?”

Adla raised an eyebrow but gathered the supplies anyway, her movements smooth but laced with tension. She reached for each item from the cupboard, swaying with practiced ease.

“Fresh garlic wouldn’t hurt, if you have it. Maybe some moonshine.”

She paused, lips pursed. Was he fixin’ to heal or cook?

In no time, her table was cluttered with mismatched items—baking soda, vinegar, garlic, cayenne. It looked more like the makings of some old root-worker’s brew than anything meant to patch up a man.

“Pour the vinegar first to clean it out,” Terry instructed, his voice steadier now despite the pain. “Then mix the soda and spices.” He reached for the garlic bulb, popping it open with one strong press, the sound cutting through the silence. She jumped at the display of casual strength. Just how strong was he?

“Please.” His tone softened, pulling her from her startled state.

Adla shot him a wary look, but something in his voice—a strange vulnerability beneath that tough exterior—made her hesitate. He wasn’t lying; she could feel it deep in her bones. Without a word, he grabbed one of the cloves and swallowed it whole.

With a slow breath, she set her shotgun by the counter, still close enough to grab if things took a turn. Her daddy would be turning in his grave if he knew she was doing this, but something about Terry had her ignoring every warning bell that usually rang loud and clear.

Standing behind him, she stared at the raw, twisted wounds crawling across his back, almost like vines. “Go on,” Terry grunted through clenched teeth.

Steadying herself, she poured the vinegar down his back, watching it stream over the jagged flesh and trickle down his long legs. Terry tensed, letting out a sharp hiss as the vinegar hit the open wounds. His skin bubbled, frothing where it met, as if fighting something deep within. Adla mixed the baking soda and cayenne in a bowl with water, then followed his instructions to spread the strange paste over his back.

She froze as she saw it—right before her eyes, the skin began pulling together, like unseen threads stitching him back together. It wasn’t fast, but it was happening, slowly mending him back to who he was.

Adla’s breath caught in her throat.

Magic wasn’t something she doubted—any Black woman raised out in the marsh knew better than to dismiss it—but seeing it unfold in her own kitchen? That was something else entirely. Her fingers twitched as she stepped back, eyes wide with awe and caution.

“Keep goin’.” Terry grit out, his voice rough but laced with urgency.

She rolled her eyes, cutting him a sharp look. “Mind how you talk to me, mister. You're in my house.”

Terry mirrored her, letting out an exasperated sigh and tapping his foot impatiently as she took another look at his injuries, making sure she hadn’t missed anything. His muscles tensed and flexed, discomfort rippling through him as the mixture worked its way into his wounds. Whatever it was doing, it sure wasn’t gentle. She caught him tilting the moonshine bottle to his lips, her eyes narrowing. So that’s what that was for. She bit her tongue, figuring now wasn’t the time to fuss about him treating her liquor like his own. He probably needed it more than she did right now.

She knelt to check his leg wounds, only to find herself face-to-face with his... package. Her heart skipped a beat as she noticed it seemed to be swelling—whether from the pain, nervousness, or something else entirely, she didn’t know. Her gaze darted away just as quickly.

"Would some aloe help?" she asked, curiosity edging out any pretense of concern. The fabric of her gown grazed his bare skin as she stood, the warmth of her scent wrapping around him like a blanket. He drew in a deep breath and then his eyes fluttered shut.

“Nah, this’ll do,” Terry muttered, his jaw tightening as he shifted again, turning away from her. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the soft curve of her body just inches away igniting something primal within him. Every movement coiled his muscles tighter, and he fought to keep his breathing steady, hyper-aware of her scent wafting through the air.

Finally, she stepped back, breaking the spell.

“Rest’ll heal on its own. Thank you.” There was sincerity in his tone now, softer than before, though the longing still lingered in the air between them.

“What are you?” She asked softly, testing the waters. She didn’t mean any offense; under the circumstances, it seemed like a fair question.

Terry stiffened for a moment, then met her gaze. “Terry Richmond,” he said, a faint, strained smile flickering across his lips. “But what I am... well, that’s a bit more complicated. Some call me a shifter. I just call myself a survivor.”

“Survivor, huh?” she replied, running the dishrag over her bloody palms. The image of that massive wolf flashed in her mind, and she couldn’t shake the thought that he could swallow her whole without a second thought. “Well, as long as you ain't tryin’ to survive off me, we’ll be alright.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Terry, deep and rough—an echo of a man who’d weathered too much. “Don’t worry, I’ve got enough on my plate without addin’ you to it.” He paused for a beat. “What they call you, miss?”

“Adla.”

That thing between them—the charge—was heavy and palpable, and Adla felt it coursing through the air like a summer storm, but she wasn’t about to act on it—at least, not yet. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Terry froze, his body going rigid, as if he sensed something dangerous lurking.

“Somebody’s comin’,” he muttered, forcing himself to his feet despite the visible pain.

“What are you talkin’ about? I don’t hear anything—” Adla’s voice trailed off as she moved to the window, squinting into the early dawn. Her breath caught when she saw a police cruiser creeping down the slick, muddy road. The lights were off, but the car moved deliberately, as if searching. Morning had crept up on her, the sky shifting from inky black to pale gray-blue, the sun just starting to break the horizon.

“It’s him,” Terry growled, his expression hardening with anger. He stood, wincing, but what stopped her cold was the intensity in his eyes—hungry, vengeful. “I’m gonna kill him,” he growled, his words cold and laced with hatred.

Her pulse quickened, a dozen questions racing through her mind. Who? There were plenty of officers driving cruisers like that, but the way Terry spoke made it seem like he knew, like he could smell them.

“Hold on a minute,” she snapped, stepping closer to him and placing a hand firmly against his chest. “You just got back on your feet, and you sure as hell ain’t in any shape to fightin’.” She pushed against him gently, but with enough force to drive her point home. He winced, the pain breaking through his tough exterior.

“This is my house, my land, my rules. Sit down and keep quiet. I don’t need them knowing you’re here. You can get your revenge later—on your own time.”

Terry stared her down, jaw clenched, clearly battling with his pride. He was a man used to taking charge, not letting someone else handle his problems—especially not a woman. But Adla met his glare head-on, refusing to back down. They stood at an impasse, tension thick between them like the heavy air before a storm. She didn’t flinch; his size and predatory presence didn’t shake her, not after she’d pulled him back from death’s edge.

With a quick flick of her wrist, Adla grabbed her old housecoat from the hook by the door and pulled it on, tying it tightly around her waist. She shot one last glance at Terry—his wild, dangerous eyes still trained on her—before stepping out onto the porch, her bare feet meeting the wooden planks. The door clicked shut behind her, a barrier between him and whatever came next.

She marched toward the fast approaching car, steeling herself for what was coming.

Police Chief Sandy Burne rolled down his window, a scowl carved deep into his features.

“Good mornin’, Chief,” Adla greeted with a nod. He didn’t bother to return the courtesy, his eyes narrowing as he cut straight to business. “You seen anything strange out here lately?”

Well, yes. There’s a damn wolf man in my kitchen!

“No, sir.”

“You sure, gal?” His tone dripped with skepticism. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, holding steady before speaking again, her voice calm but firm. “Yes, I’m sure.”

This was the same tired routine they played whenever their paths crossed. Her daddy had taught her to show respect for the law—not because they earned it, but because they wielded the power to make her life hell, and that was especially true now that he was gone. She was a lone woman in this world, with no safety net outside her own grit.

“Ain't nobody been by? No strangers nosin' around or passin' through?” he pressed, his voice sharper than the edge of a rusty knife.

“No, sir,” she replied, holding his gaze steady, her heart pounding like a war drum. Terry, Jesse—neither were his concern. This part of the marsh was her domain.

Burne’s eyes locked onto hers—beady and treacherous. “Take a look at these pictures. You best be sure,” he warned, passing her sheets of sketches from his window. One was definitely Terry; she recognized him instantly. The other bore a resemblance too—slimmer but sharing the same wide nose and full lips. That must be the cousin he mentioned.

“I ain't seen either of those men,” She lied with a smile, handing the papers back to him. Turning on Terry would be easy, the safest thing to do, but she wouldn’t be complicit in whatever Burne was cooking up. He’d already gotten away with too much. Doubt flickered in the grey-haired man’s eyes. He knew she was lying; she could feel it.

“Alright then. I trust you’ll give me a holler if that changes.” Irritation crossed her face before she could mask it, like a storm cloud rolling in on a clear day. “You got somethin' better to be doing, girl?” There it was again, that single word dripping with the venom of prejudice. Her fist clenched at her sides.

Low growls rumbled from her kitchen, echoing past the porch and into the yard. Adla's heart raced. There was no way that brother was turning into a beast in her kitchen.

“What’s that noise?” Burne demanded.

“A dog,” she replied, keeping her voice casual. “Found him after the storm. Crawled up on my porch and wouldn’t leave. Felt sorry for him, so I let him in. Ain’t like he’s been alone in the house yet.” She prattled on as he swung open the door of his cruiser, stepping out with the confidence of a man with something to prove.

“I thought you said you didn’t see anything.”

“Just a dog,” she insisted, her heart racing as he prowled around her. If he made it to the porch and caught sight of the blood—

“Chief, we need you.” His radio crackled to life. “Got a report of a violent altercation happening over on Flower Street. It’s Mr. Simmons; the family is requesting you personally.”

Burne narrowed his eyes, his tone sharp as he stepped closer, his breath hot against her cheek. “Watch yourself with them dogs, especially the ones you don’t know. Get too close, and you might end up with fleas. You don’t want that, Ms. Bennett.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “If I find out you’re keeping secrets from me, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

She felt her teeth clench at the threat.

The growling continued, rising in a way that sent chills down her spine.

“I’ll call if I see anything worth mentioning.”

Burne gave her one last intense look before climbing back into his cruiser, kicking up mud as he drove off down the winding road. The nerve of that man! Anger simmered in her veins as she imagined him ripped apart, piece by piece. The sensation coursing through her felt electric, tingling deep in her bones like a storm brewing on the horizon.

She marched back into the house, her voice steady but firm. “You can rest and pull yourself together, but after that, you gotta leave, and don’t even think about coming back.”

Terry nodded, understanding the finality in her tone. As much as he wanted to jump into action against Burne, he wasn’t ready. He and Mike had stumbled into this trouble by underestimating Burne. If Terry was gonna get Mike back, he had to regain his strength, and that meant he needed to rest.

“Don’t move. I’ll find you something to wear,” Adla muttered, tugging a storage bag down from the top of the closet. Her fingers sifted through the men’s clothes she hadn’t had the heart to toss—each piece a remnant of her Daddy’s spirit, lingering like a ghost in her memories. The thought alone weighed heavy on her heart.

“Here,” she said, passing him some of her Daddy’s old things, the ghost of his scent still clinging to the fabric. Terry’s fingers grazed against hers, lingering just a moment too long before she turned away from him.

With a sigh, she led Terry to her childhood bedroom, gesturing to the too-small twin bed where she once dreamed of escaping this very life. No way was she inviting him into her own bed. That was a can of worms she feared would never close if she pried it open.

“Thanks,” Terry said softly, standing too close. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine, like he was weaving an unintentional spell. She shook off the feeling. “Ain’t no thing,” she replied, her tone casual but guarded. “Just get some rest. I’ll be right out here if you need anything.”

Sinking onto the plastic-covered sectional, she felt the crinkling beneath her as her mind raced. Thoughts tumbled over one another, tangled like the Spanish moss outside. Something about Terry being a shifter tugged at her like an old tune she couldn’t quite place—more than just town legends.

One thing was for sure: she’d never seen skin behave the way his had. That was a memory she’d never shake.

Jesse’s grandmother had been a healer, claiming she could cure anything as long as the healed soul accepted the consequences. That same woman brewed her soothing teas on nights when her father was away on the fishing boat, filling the gaps her mother left behind. As a child, Adla had believed in her magic without question. But the older she got, the more it felt like a fairytale—yet perhaps it had been right there all along, hidden in plain sight.

Minutes passed before loud, unmistakable snores broke through the fog of thoughts. Terry sounded every bit like the beast she knew he could become. Rising, she moved to close the cracked bedroom door. She didn’t trust him alone in her space, but the openness felt like it was clouding her ability to think clearly.

Glancing inside, her gaze roamed over his sleeping form. He lay stretched out, exuding a readiness even in slumber. Her eyes lingered on the defined veins in his arms, the ink marking his bicep.

He was undeniably attractive.

Terry hadn’t bothered to wear any of the shirts she’d given him; the faded sheets barely covered his waist. With each breath, his abs flexed, drawing her in closer. A rush of heat flooded her skin as her mind wandered to what lay just beneath those sheets. She felt like a trespasser in her own childhood bedroom—caught between the past and a present that dared her to let go.

Terry stirred as the door creaked open, a tired smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “I don’t mind a little company while I dream.” He drawled, voice low and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he was her man, waiting for her to slip into bed beside him, not some stranger she'd only met a few hours ago.

She gasped, her face growing hot. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t tryin' to disturb you or nothin’.”

Terry sank deeper into the pillowcase that held her scent—a calming blend of saltwater and magnolias, with a hint of citrus underneath. She couldn’t deny how it felt seeing him there, laid out in her bed with his hands tucked behind his head like he belonged. And it was clear he liked it too. The thought stirred something deep inside her, intoxicating and undeniable.

“I just wanted to close the door, that’s all. You were snorin’ like a bear, and I—”

Her mouth hung open as he shifted on the bed, the sheets slipping down just enough to reveal more of his toned torso, the warm light from the window casting soft shadows across his skin.

“This here’s your house, your rules, don’t forget,” he teased, a playful edge to his tone but laced with something sharper.

The idea of climbing in beside him was oh-so-tempting. She’d never felt a heat like this pooling between her thighs, searing and intense. Adla had always feared falling in love, haunted by how losing her mother had shattered her father, but she had nothing against the thrill of hot flings. She loved the playful banter and the slow build to something deeper with a man. With Jesse, it took years to reach that point, but with Terry, the heat flared too quickly. He made her want to toss caution aside, and that sense of risk sent shivers down her spine.

“What do you take me for?” She shot back, one hand perched confidently on her hip.

He remembered how she’d pushed him earlier, bossing him around with that fierce spirit. He craved her fire, even if it meant getting burned. “A woman who knows how to take charge and go after what she wants. Ain’t nothing wrong with that, is there?”

He had that look about him—sure of himself, like a cat toying with a canary, or maybe a werewolf eyeing a Southern belle, ripe for the taking. "Quit playin' around with me." She turned to leave, but he caught her arm, pulling her down to the edge of the bed. She didn't fight him. "You ain’t scared, are you? Thinkin' I might just gobble you up?"

"Just caught off guard, that’s all." Her gaze lingered on his lips, like a wild cat reduced to a purring house cat. Heat pooled beneath her skin, making her feel as if she needed to shed layers. “I ain’t scared of you,” she insisted.

Terry’s soft, seductive smile shifted into a confident smirk. "You got no reason to be," he replied, leaning closer, his warmth wrapping around her. “I ain’t gon’ bite… ‘less you ask real polite.”

A deep pulse thrummed through her core, something fierce. She felt like prey, yet made no move to escape the gaze of her predator. His focus sharpened on the pulse in her neck, and he leaned in, his soft lips grazing her skin as her blood rushed to the surface. She trembled in his embrace. "Don’t you worry, Ms. Adla. You ain't asking for it... not yet."

She gasped as his warm tongue flicked out, pressing against her skin, meant to soothe, yet it sent her heart racing. “Please,” she breathed, torn between desire and confusion.

“Please what?” he asked, pulling back to meet her big brown eyes. She looked like a doll, wild curls escaping from beneath her scarf, the bright blooms of her nightgown drawing his gaze. Her soft curves were undeniable, making it nearly impossible for him to tear his eyes away.

“Don’t devour me,” she whispered, the weight of her words thick with the understanding that she wouldn’t survive if he did. Already drowning in sorrow, she struggled with the truth that the supernatural was real and had come knocking at her door. Her mind raced back to Jesse's grandmother—wait, Jesse.

In an instant, she jolted out of his arms, springing up from the bed as if it had caught fire beneath her.

Terry watched her, a mix of frustration and amusement dancing in his eyes. Her chest rose and fell in quickened breaths, and he couldn’t resist the urge to laugh, a low, rumbling sound that echoed in the quiet room. "You okay, there, sugar?"

“Yeah, I'm fine,” she replied quickly, her voice shaky. “I just... I gotta think.”

“You sure ‘bout that? You look a tad flustered to me.” Terry’s eyes danced with mischief as he grinned, leaning back against the tiny headboard like he owned the place.

Adla felt the tension crackle between them, electricity simmering in the air. “I’m not about to get caught up in whatever foolishness you’ve got goin’ on,” she declared, though her voice wavered, betraying the strength she wished she had.

“You’re already knee-deep in this swamp with me. Ain’t no runnin’ from that now.”

Chapter Three.

@nayaesworld

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@sageispunk

@megamindsecretlair

@blowmymbackout

@kindofaintrovert

@avoidthings

@zillasvilla

@insidefeelingofanadult

@theereina

@slutsareteacherstoo

@babybratzmaraj

@senajaiaspeak

@princessmakipala

@writingsbytee

@planetblaque

@liquorlaughslove

@judymfmoody

@playgurlxoxo

@theescorpiolovechile

@keyaho

@gg-trini

@vivaalenaa

@li-da-savage

@ash-ketchumzzz

#REBEL RIDGE #TERRY RICHMOND #TERRY RICHMOND X BLACK OC #TERRY RICHMOND X BLACK!OC #TERRY RICHMOND X OC #REBEL RIDGE FANFICTION #AARON PIERRE

72 notes · View notes

jcollinswrites · 1 month ago

Text

Narmer (m) is a man in his late thirties. He led several successful military campaigns to liberate and unify Egypt. For that, most people think of him as a fierce, unyielding protector of the kingdom, but his unbending attitude has earned him a lot of enemies as well. In his private moments, he tends to be a soft-spoken, gentle person. He's very tall, with a strong, muscular build, due to two decades of harsh military service. He most often shaves his light brown hair to the scalp. He has heavily freckled, golden brown skin with countless of scars, and very dark brown, almost black eyes.

Qenna (selectable gender m/f) seems to be a living enigma with their dubious role in the royal palace, and secretive background. At first glance, they look to be somewhere between thirty and forty, but it's hard to tell. They tend to talk a lot, but never about themselves. Despite their self-destructive tendencies, the king relies on them a lot, and seems to hold them in relatively high regard. They are on the shorter side of average height, with messy, dark hair. Their skin is a deep sandy brown with darker circles around their hazel eyes.

Zaia (selectable gender m/f, genderfluid) is Qenna's guardian spirit with a lightning essence. Like most spirits, Zaia is not overly social, preferring to turn invisible when they don't want being talked to. Zaia and Qenna have a bickering sibling-like relationship. Their exact age is unknown even to them. They are a shape-shifter, but they prefer to appear as a person of lean build, with average height, and caramel brown skin. Their hair reaches the middle of their back in dark, loose curls. Their eyes are matte and dark, entirely devoid of life.

Tabiry (f) is a medjay who used to serve as a royal bodyguard, but she recently gave up the position to be able to spend more time with her family. She is a dependable, hardworking woman in her late twenties. With lean, carefully built muscles, she is a force to be reckoned with. She likes to keep a manicured appearance with colorful makeup that compliments her dark skin, and she wears her long hair in jeweled braids. Off-duty, she doesn't have an intimidating presence with her above average height, but in armor, she's very hard to ignore.

Ahmose (selectable gender m/f) is Narmer's 18 year old child. They are still looking for their own path through life, especially regarding their own future. Ahmose is highly educated, very curious, and a generally cheerful person. They have a good relationship with their father despite the latter's lack of time for them, and they think of Qenna as the member of their family. They are tall in height, have a lean and athletic physique, wavy brown hair, golden skin, and a dazzling smile.

Non-romanceable main characters:

Hudjefa (m) (for priest origin only)

Hudjefa is the man that was… not exactly a father figure for you when you were a child because he's only a decade older than you, but maybe a big brother figure. He taught you most of what you know in your profession, and he also taught you how to be a much better person than what you were set out for before you came to his temple.

Petepihu 'Pihu' (f) (for child of the vizier origin only)

Ah, dear Pihu. Your older sister has always been the bane of your existence. With her delightfully arrogant personality, you two have never quite gotten along. Fortunately, ever since she moved in with her husband, the Theban governor, she has become a lot less present in your life. The distance definitely helped mellow your relationship into what you would call 'tolerance'.

Nedjemut (f) (for captain origin only)

Nedjemut is your biological mother. She is a tough, no-nonsense woman whose attitude left a mark on you as well when you were a child. Fortunately, the warmth she could never give you was compensated by her wife's nurturing and cheerful nature. When Nedjemut lost an arm in the line of duty, she was forced into an early retirement and you inherited her position as Captain of the Theban Guard.

Ramesses 'Sesi' (m) (for thief origin only)

Sesi is your childhood friend, your occasional partner-in-crime, and you two have a sibling-like relationship. You grew up on the same street with a gaggle of other children, yet he is the only one you still keep in contact with. He is around the same age as you, has short brown hair, and dark eyes. He is very thin, although he started getting a bit stronger ever since he started working as a courier.

#interactive fiction #weeping gods #characters #main characters #romance options

88 notes · View notes

merwgue · 1 month ago

Text

The Illusion of Feminism in ACOTAR: How the Series Fails Its Female Characters

Sarah J. Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses (ACOTAR) has often been hailed as a feminist fantasy, a tale filled with powerful female characters who fight, love, and rule their own destinies. But upon closer inspection, what the series delivers is an illusion of feminism—a narrative that dresses its women in superficial strength while confining them to traditional gender roles and patriarchal tropes. Maas may present her female leads as independent and powerful, but their development is constantly undercut by their relationships with men, their trauma, or their need for validation from others.

The series starts with Feyre, a young woman fighting to survive, taking on the role of provider for her destitute family. On the surface, she seems like a strong, independent character. However, her growth as a person is largely overshadowed by her relationships with male characters. Feyre’s development isn’t just about her becoming a stronger, more capable version of herself—it’s about finding a man to ‘save’ her. First, she is emotionally and physically exhausted under Tamlin's control, and then Rhysand comes along as her liberator, offering her the "true" freedom she never had. Feyre's journey, for all its twists and turns, is less about her own self-realization and more about trading one male protector for another. Her strength, while praised, only seems to materialize through the lens of her romantic relationships.

The problem with Feyre’s arc is that her identity and power are so deeply tied to the men in her life that it leaves little room for her own autonomy. Instead of choosing power or independence for herself, her development is almost always tied to how her male counterparts define her. The narrative tries to position Rhysand’s treatment of Feyre as "feminist" because he gives her choices, yet even within these choices, her journey is still deeply interwoven with romantic and sexual validation from him. The story makes it seem like Feyre’s strength is conditional on her connection to Rhys, reinforcing the very idea that a woman’s power must be connected to a man.

Then there's Nesta. Nesta’s arc could have been an opportunity to showcase a woman who refuses to be tamed or reshaped into society's expectations of her. Instead, the series turns Nesta’s rage, her trauma, and her defiance into something that needs to be 'fixed.' Her difficult personality, her inability to fall into line with her family's wishes, is portrayed as a flaw—something that needs to be softened or redeemed. And how does Maas attempt to ‘redeem’ her? Through Cassian, another male figure who becomes the anchor for her so-called transformation.

Nesta's journey is framed as a reclamation of power, but in reality, it's about her fitting into a more acceptable mold of femininity—softer, more open to love, more willing to be vulnerable. Instead of embracing her as she is—angry, hurt, and fierce—the narrative pushes her toward healing only through her relationship with Cassian, effectively turning her into another woman whose growth hinges on a man’s love and approval. Nesta’s complexity is reduced to a romance arc, undermining what could have been a far more nuanced and empowering portrayal of a woman dealing with trauma on her own terms.

Morrigan is another example of a character who could have stood as a beacon of true independence and complexity but instead falls flat. Morrigan, a warrior and a survivor of intense trauma, has been closeted about her sexuality for centuries. The idea that Mor, supposedly one of the most powerful and trusted members of the Inner Circle, can’t come out to her friends after 500 years speaks volumes about the so-called "family" dynamic Maas tries to sell. Mor’s queerness is sidelined to the point where her internal struggles with her identity are barely touched upon, and when they are, it feels like an afterthought.

In a series that prides itself on presenting complex female characters, Morrigan’s queerness is handled poorly, with little to no exploration of her struggles, relationships, or emotional depth. Instead, it seems Maas is more interested in maintaining the heteronormative love triangles and keeping Mor’s queerness in the background, where it won’t disrupt the more "marketable" relationships in the story. Mor's character could have been a ground-breaking exploration of queer identity, especially in a high-fantasy setting, but instead, she remains underdeveloped, reduced to a footnote in the larger romantic plots between her friends.

What’s truly disappointing about ACOTAR is how Maas consistently sets her female characters up as strong, independent figures only to then undermine them by tying their growth, power, and self-worth to men or romantic relationships. Even when Feyre, Nesta, and Mor display moments of agency, those moments are often framed within the context of male approval or romantic entanglements. The series pays lip service to feminism by giving these women positions of power, but Maas continually reverts to tired, patriarchal tropes by ensuring that their stories are defined by the men around them.

Ultimately, Maas reinforces traditional gender roles under the guise of progressive feminism. Women like Feyre and Nesta are lauded for their strength, but their stories hinge on the approval or influence of male characters. Mor’s queerness is sidelined, never given the space it deserves in a series that is already too focused on heteronormative dynamics. And all the while, the series frames this as empowerment, as though these women are truly independent when, in reality, they are just filling the same roles women have always been forced into: defined by the men around them, by their trauma, and by their relationships.

In conclusion, ACOTAR may present itself as a feminist narrative, but it ultimately falls short by reinforcing patriarchal ideas through its characters’ development. Sarah J. Maas creates the illusion of feminism by giving her female leads positions of power, only to reduce their stories to romantic entanglements and male validation. True independence for these women is never achieved, and until that changes, ACOTAR remains a series that fails its female characters under the guise of feminist storytelling.

#acotar #anti rhysand #pro tamlin #anti ic #anti rhys #anti feyre #pro nesta #anti mor #pro mor #maybe?#meh #anti sjm #anti inner circle #anti ryhsand

57 notes · View notes

vympirestake · 1 year ago

Note

Hello, could I please request head cannons for: Veronica Sawyer, poly Billy and stu, brahms heelshire, and marko from the lost boys where their s/O is very insecure about how they look and always wear a mask and maybe their reaction to seeing their face for the first time.

— Insecure Masked S/O

— Various x GN!Reader, just fluff, headcanons

— Mentions of insecurity, a little bit of bullying maybe

═════════════════════════════

— Veronica Sawyer

Veronica is your knight in shining armor, your protector and biggest supporter

Her alliance with the Heathers makes it so, if she so chose, she could squash anyone who dare try to shun you either for your mask or (this bring a semi small town) your actual face if they've seen it

She's always quick to your defence, whether or not you were going to defend yourself she is chewing everyone out and moving you to where she can check up on you

Literally starstruck when she sees your face

She's more gentle than the others, opting to gently brush her fingertips along your cheeks, across your jaw, smoothing your hair down if the mask had covered it

She is really just in awe, wanting to make you feel wholly loved and appreciated for everything you are

If anything, she gets more protective of you. Feeling as though, because you entrusted her with the barest part of you, she needs to keep it safe

For a complete sidenote, I think in this AU instead of thirsting for Veronica, JD sees himself in her fierce passion for you (and he just thinks you're neat, probably always talking down society and norms to encourage you) so he ropes her into killing in your name

═════════════════════════════

— Poly Ghostface

In a couple words, the general idea is that these boys would kill and be killed for you

This goes for really just in general, mask or no mask, but the fact that you are so insecure almost seems to triple this instinct

You can bet they're shoved right into your sides whenever you're in public, staring down and threatening anyone who even looks at you funny

When you finally decide to show them your face they both sit in their anxious anticipation

They'll love you no matter what, don't get me wrong, but they don't want to mess this up and make you more uncomfortable

When you actually show them they both just sit there like :0, literally in the gif just wide eyed with their mouths slightly agape

Stu giving a quiet whisper of "woah, man" before diving in to finally kiss your face for the first time

Billy (lowkey pissed Stu beat him to it) moves the blonde out of the way so he can get his smooch too, both assuring you beyond a shadow of a doubt that they love you masked or not

Billy especially gets almost a power thrill from seeing your face, knowing he's one of a very select few to actually see you which, in his mind, makes you all the more his

═════════════════════════════

— Brahms Heelshire

Of anyone, Brahms is going to understand your insecurities the best

Your mask is probably what made him comfortable in his choice to finally reveal himself

He knew that you wouldn't judge or be afraid of him purely because of his face or his way of hiding it

When you do finally reveal your face to Brahms, he is filled with nothing but pure adoration

He knows that taking off your mask, removing that layer of security, and being so very vulnerable around him makes Brahms fall that much deeper in love with you

Unfortunately, this probably means he would end up staring for an uncomfortably long amount of time, nearly making you regret removing the mask in the first place

Before you could fathom apologizing Brahms, in turn, removes his own mask

It's such a gentle moment, quietly and with so much care exploring the newly revealed skin of the other

═════════════════════════════

— Marko

While Marko doesn't necessarily understand your insecurity, he nontheless tries his hardest to make sure you're more or less as comfortable as possible

He strives to make you as comfortable in your own skin as he can

He's always right by your side, offering a comforting hand or a moment alone

You know the other boys are always checking back on you two, especially looking out for Marko flagging down their newest meal who thought being disrespectful towards you would be ok

Marko has an interesting opinion on it, knowing that his "human" face is really only a mask for the vampiric one but it makes him not as serious as the others might be

Not to say he doesn't understand the importance of this! But more that he feels the removal of the "mask" is empowering and therefore should be celebrated

So when you remove the mask for the first time, he's whooping and hollering

"yeah! that's my s/o" while he bounds up to kiss you

probably immediately shows you his vampire face (if you haven't seen it already) so you can finally see each other bare

481 notes · View notes

sapphicseasapphire · 10 months ago

Text

There are many tales and legends that follow Hyrule’s history.

These legends are passed down amongst mortals, told to generation after generation. Whispered my mortals to their children, turned to ballads sung around campfires, carved into stone to last lifetimes.

Mortals tell stories of the creation of their world: of Golden Goddesses. Din, who formed the rock, the physical structure of the earth. She crafted mountains out of hardening lava, canyons carved from shifting stone. And then there was Nayru, who placed laws upon the land. Not petty mortal laws in place to measure morality, but universal laws that must be followed. Things like time or gravity. Finally, there was Farore, who breathed life into the newly formed world. She covered the earth in blankets of lush green, populated forests and rivers with wildlife, placed people upon the fresh surface.

The Golden Three then left their completed world to create another, as was their purpose. But they didn’t leave it alone. For left behind was a fourth Goddess, Hylia, tasked with protecting the realm. Hylia had great power, and with it, she created minor deities, lesser Gods with specialized tasks in order to ease her own burdens.

And that, it would seem, is where the story begins.

. . .

In every era, in every time line, the God of Time is known by a different name. Throughout history, these names take on new meanings, tall tales are woven by the chattering of mortals.

In his own era, he is Link. A hero. It is a name spoken with gratitude, with admiration, with appreciation. He’s a Godling walking amongst mortals, mingling with them. Bonding with them. Becoming involved in a way that most deities wouldn’t dare. Then again, he used to be one of them.

As years pass, centuries lost to the relentless flow of time, his status grows. He learns. He evolves. He is no Godling anymore. Some know him as the Fierce Deity, a powerful Protection God not unlike Hylia. Though his methods are more… direct. He’s a warrior, he cuts down his enemies without hesitation. He will stop at nothing to keep his people safe… even if that means becoming lost to his own power.

(Members of the Hyrulean Army, royalty, and those training in the ways of battle will pray for his protection during conflicts.)

To others, he is known as Father Time: a minor deity with dominion over the flow of time. He cannot see the future, but he can change the it by changing the past. With the ability to rewind and create new timelines, he remains a Protector God. Most of the folklore here comes as an explanation for dejavú. It is said that if an action or place feels familiar to you even if you have no recollection of being there or doing it before, that’s Father Time rewriting history for you. He’s watching over your shoulder, creating a timeline for the best version of your future. It’s familiar because you HAVE done it before, he’s giving you a chance to do it over. Don’t miss that chance.

(People from all corners of Hyrule pray to him for luck)

To others, he is the Man of Many Faces. He’s said to be able to change shape at will, walking among mortals and acting as a messenger for the Gods. He relays information that he’s gathered among the land of Hyrule and relays it the deities who cannot- or will not- show themselves. He’s less of a protector in these legends, often depicted as a young man. Maybe even a child. Some accounts paint him out to be stoic, while others view him more as a trickster god. It is said that if you encounter a stranger while on the road, silent and nameless, that the Man of Many Faces is paying you a visit. Treat them with kindness, you never know who’s watching.

(Travelers pray to him for safety on the road and in the wilds, though a lot of prayers are just asking for forgiveness or asking for specific messages to be relayed)

. . .

Time wasn’t always a God.

Hylia had been quiet for centuries, having divided her duties among so many minor deities. These deities kept the balance, though they weren’t involved in mortals’ lives. However, a certain Hylian child quickly caught their attention. Young Link had broken Nayru’s laws so carelessly during the course of his quest to save his world from Ganondorf’s malice. So often. So recklessly. It made more work for the Gods, and they watched him closely, gauging his competency, his resourcefulness, his willingness to succeed.

They were pleased with his skills.

And so, when his quest was over, they thrust him into another.

The land of Termina wasn’t real- kind of Koholint style but also Silent Realm style. It was one big trail to test child Link, baby Time, to see if he’d be able to handle being a God.

Link has no idea that it’s an illusion when he stumbles into the strange land, when he’s faced into a vicious three day cycle, staring down a malicious moon. Countless lives are at stake, people rely on him without even knowing the power he wields. He is a child, he is a grown man, he is no one, and he is the only person who is real.

Throughout this trail, he’s given the ability to use masks to change his shape, including the mask of the Fierce Deity, who he would eventually become. This trail nearly kills him. In fact, it does kill him. The moon crashes into the earth, cleansing this imaginary land in Din’s flames… only for it to be brought back again, for Link to be revived.

Until he gets it right.

There’s no escape. If he fails, he cannot walk away and return to Hyrule. No, he can only retry. Again and again. Until he succeeds and is rewarded with the Godly mantle thrust upon him. The point of the trail was to simulate a world that needed saving, to teach him the fragility of mortal lives, to force him to use time as a weapon, as a tool, to his advantage. Training grounds for a young God.

When he finally succeeds, he comes face to face with the Gods who have forsaken him, and he does not get to deny their plans for him. He can do nothing to fight against the searing pain behind his eyelid as sacred light pours out from him. He cannot escape his fate as he is Marked.

Link spent years in Termina. Depending on who you ask, he never returned at all.

. . .

Some notes!

• He’s kind of the ‘other.’ The newest God, barely considered to be anything of note by those who have existed for millennia. He’s met Hylia. Nayru, Din, and Farore are gone but he can still sense them. Hear them. Sometimes he can speak to them. He knows every deity from every era. He knows legends that have been lost to time, legends amongst Gods. Legends that mortals have forgotten.

• He knows the Legend of the Godkiller. He’s. Terrified of Sky, actually.

• His relationship with other Gods isn’t so great (this man’s so good at holding grudges). And his connection with mortals is what makes him so special! He interacts with them literally all the time, he’s married to one, and some day, he will have mortal children. Or else Twilight wouldn’t exist.

• “You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?”

• He plays his silly little Song of Time, but really, he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t rewind time often since it just makes new timelines for him to keep track of (and there’s already too many, thank you very much). He only does so when it’s life or death. And by that I mean, he only does so when someone dies and he has to bring them back.

• HE CANNOT DIE. If he gets mortally wounded, time flows as usual up until he takes his last breath, then it automatically rewinds to the moment before he sustained the injury. He does not get sick. He does not age. He is the only member of the group that is actually 100% immortal

• This is not a good thing.

• He knows A LOT. More than he lets on, more than he’d ever hope to be able to explain. More than I could ever explain to you, dear reader, as I myself am not a God.

Original Character Sheets!

Sky’s Origin!

Wild’s Origin!

#the legend of zelda #my art #fanart #chain as cryptids au #fierce deity #ocarina of time #majoras mask #CAC origins #look I posted it at 11:58 #I told you I’d get it posted by the end of the day #cryptid time #links meet au

264 notes · View notes