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anjelicawrites · 8 months ago

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Homophrosyne

Paring: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader Synopsis: homophrosyne: a thinking and knowledge that is shared between two people. When your soulmate decides to come after you, you try to escape him. Too bad he’s Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, he’s never going to give you up. Warnings: blink and miss reference to the Baron’s abuse of Feyd, blink and miss reference to Feyd killing his mother, soulmate bonding considered as a curse, Feyd being very done and also horny, Feyd’s fascination with reader’s hair and body hair, switch!Feyd, switch!reader, attempted murder (not from Feyd to reader), murder, kissing, oral (f and m receiving), hair pulling, titty sucking, biting, blood licking, overstimulation, marking, Feyd’s pierced cock, a bit of ball torture. A/N: reader is AFAB, the only descriptor is that they have long hair. Where needed, they/them pronouns used.

You were one year old when you first learn that having a soulmate is more akin to a catastrophe, than a blessing. You shouldn’t remember the horrified gasp both your Bene Gesserit and your adoptive mother had exhaled, when they discovered your soulmate’s words on your body, yet you retrieved the memory when your Bene Gesserit mother taught you how to meditate. The two women had instilled the distrust of the bond in your heart, in hope to avoid what was unavoidable: the gravitational pull between two soulmates, before the forging of the bond.

Was the universe conspiring to realize this goal, when you felt compelled to follow your soulmate’s energy, the dark thread that pulled you towards him during that fateful afternoon you were meditating all alone? How could that sad, bald boy be a curse? He looked so alone in the big, dark room: how could you not go to him, when you felt him so strongly within yourself, for the first time?

All your parents, both biological and adoptive seemed keen in convincing you that stunting the newborn bond was the safest way for you to live: you couldn’t break you adoptive father’s heart when you had seen how ashen his face had become as soon as you told him the name of your destiny. You were but a child of six, still learning the ways of the world and put all your energies in forging a wall between you and him, learning to ignore the tug of your soul towards him, until you could pretend you never visited him. It was a fool’s errand, a wall made of feathers, not bricks, the one you, so desperately, crafted to make your family happy. Through the cracks, tendrils of the bond had, slowly, made way for themselves, as you deluded yourself with believing you were safe, that you could escape your destiny. You were a fool, your whole family was. He was biding his time, patiently waiting for the tendrils to envelop the bricks of your defenses and destroy them: if his uncle had taught him something, was the patience of the spider that weaves its web and you, little fly, were going to be ensnared. It was destiny, after all.

You haven’t seen him since that fateful encounter. Stupidly your brain expected him to still be a child of five, sad and alone the way you first met him, you struggle to recognize him in the grown man observing you like a predator would its prey.

“Found you.” He says, his voice a gravelly drawl that makes goosebumps explode on your dream skin.

He’s grown, dream you thinks, of course he’s an adult now.

“You are a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” He deadpans.

There’s a sort of tenderness in his blue eyes, in the way he assess you from his perch. The irony doesn’t escape you, your first meeting had happened in his bedchambers, your positions the same: him sitting on the bed, you standing in front of him, two curious children who had been playing with forces beyond their understanding.

You want to look everywhere but at him, yet your eyes are drawn to his naked form under the black bed sheets, the strong planes of his hairless chest and the raw, masculine energy you feel coming from him in waves. Even though this is a dream, you can feel your dream body react to his non-presence, your nipples stiffen under the soft cotton of your nightgown and your cunt pulsates with the need to be filled by him.

“You have no idea.” You growl back.

His dark gaze travels down your body, clad only by the soft material of your nightgown and you have to steer yourself from covering your skin from the hunger in his gaze.

“Join me.” He says, beckoning you with one hand. “You know you want to.” “You’ll soon realize how little you know about me.” You spat back, disgusted by the desire coursing through your dream body.

You know that, if you were to follow the desperate howl of need you feel, the pleasure he’ll give you will be unparalleled, it will ruin anyone else for you. There will be no escaping.

With a speed that only exists in a dream, he stands in front of you, glorious body naked, pierced cock erect and straining towards you.

“Why make this harder than it should be? You’re made for me and I am made for you. It’s no use fighting this.” He drawls, the sound a low rumble you feel in your bones. “Because I forge my own path. And I have no use for a fool.”

You’re surprised by how firm your voice is, all the training kicking in without you even thinking about it; he laughs, a deep, rich sound that reverberates through you.

“I’m coming for you, soulmate.” He says, his voice calm, his tone final and sure. “If you can find me.” “I always know where you are.”

You force yourself to wake up, body sweaty and aroused under the soft cotton of your own sheets; you’re ashamed by the desire that burns your body, and by the fact that you have to bury your fingers in your wet cunt, forcing yourself to come again and again, biting your pillow to stifle the desperate moans of his name: Feyd.

To leave both your biological and adopted family is the only solution you have, not when you have to tell your mothers and fathers that Feyd coming for you is not an ‘If’ anymore, but a ‘When’.

“It is too slim a chance that he will not come after you, in the end.” Your mentat father repeats you in the vain hope to stop you. “I’d rather seize that, than wait like a sitting duck!” “You can’t run forever.” Your adoptive father puts his big hands on your shoulders, stopping you from packing. “You’re safer here, where guards are.”

You stare at him, your trained eye sees the stunted micro expressions and the way he’s trying to hide his anxiety from you.

“I’m not sacrificing our people’s on his blade, he will stop once he’ll realize that I have no interest in him and that he can’t reach me; Harkonnen care more about power than anything else. And then I will be able to come home.”

You have to keep yourself awake, swallowing pills after pills, using all your training to force your exhausted body to endure the never ending trip to the furthest limit of the Imperium, jumping from a smuggler vessel to another, hiding your true path from Feyd by trying to use the bond to manipulate him into going on a wild goose chase.

Sometimes you can hear the low rumble of his voice like an echo in your mind, his fleeting image randomly appears in your mirror, his dark eyes pools of desire that have you tremble in the deepest recess of your core; you're so tired now that you don’t know if it’s the bond becoming stronger, or your exhausted brain running on fumes that makes you feel the fleeting warmth of his touch on your skin or his presence by your side. It is torture not to follow what your body wants: just let yourself become one with your soulmate, and rest in the safety of his presence. You are too stubborn to surrender yourself to biology, and to Feyd, so you soldier on, blocking him out as much as you can as the bond erodes the last, frayed, defenses you have left.

Hidden under a false name you wait to set sail to the last leg of your journey and you have to bundle yourself into thick layers of clothes to survive the frigid weather of this small planet, as you force yourself get a breath of fresh air whenever the walls of your rented room seem to become smaller and smaller. It’s paranoia, yet you seem to feel the eyes of the owner of the inn scan you every time you go out, weighting you against the other patrons and finding you too different to truly blend in: when is the vessel coming? You ask yourself again and again, as you navigate the crowded market, vibrating with the need to simply go and finish this demented trip.

You walk aimlessly, pressed in the crowd that protects and smothers you at the same time, trying to interest yourself in the trinkets sold while you study your surroundings, feeling the power you have on the simulflow slip: as much as the Bene Gesserit have total and utter control on their body and its functions, there’s still a limit, and you know you are reaching it at full force.

When you see him, for a second you think that’s your brain playing tricks on you: he can’t be here, not without you feeling him through the bond. Have you finally lost your mind? You can’t truly analyze what’s happening that your body seizes, torn between the extreme stress you’ve put it under for weeks, and feeling the bond finally snap and settle; you faint on the cobbled road, all your muscles trembling violently, your head banging against the pavement as the people make room around you, your ears deaf to their horrified screams, or to Feyd calling your name.

Finally you can rest.

You open your eyes to a dull ache in the back of your head, your eyes focusing slowly on the rustic woodwork of the ceiling above you as you feel your mind assess your memories, and block Feyd from knowing you’re awake, out of sheer instinct, knowing full well this is going to work partially: you will need to face the man, not now though, you’re not ready. You want to assess the bond, understand it: what you haven’t done in your entire life. Escaping is not in the cards anymore, now that Feyd knows where you are, you just need some more time, before you can face him. You’re still surprised he’s been apt enough to manipulate the bond to this extent: you thought he was wasting time in a wide goose chase! This level of deviousness leaves you speechless and, if the circumstances were different, you’d be happy to take Feyd as your lawfully wedded husband; but you can’t.

You have no idea how long you’ve been out, probably long enough to feel your strength and clarity being restored, albeit partially. Quick and silent you bundle yourself up in your warmest clothes and throw the survival kits you have in the backpack, before opening the window and use your mentat training to assess the best route to escape the village, using the roofs as your route. Feyd will realize soon enough that you’re gone again and you need to cover as much ground as you can manage. This planet is so backward, even compared to the standards of this side of the galaxy, that the only mode of transportation is on horseback; for a split second you consider stealing one form one of the stables of the inn, but that would bring too much attention to yourself, and you don’t need that.

Feyd reaches you when you’ve arrived at the high cliffs, the only known feature of this small planet. You knew he’d be on your tracks as soon as he’d realize you weren’t asleep anymore, the block on the bond only partially shielding you from his awareness: you have to confront him, finally, but on your own terms, not his.

“Stay where you are!” You shout over the howling of the wind, as soon as he dismounts from the horse. “If you come any closer I’m chucking myself off this cliff!”

You see Feyd stop on his tracks immediately, and you know he knows, through the bond, that you’re not lying.

“This is the moment you turn around and go back to your home planet!” You shout. “You know I can't do that.” “No one is forcing your hand!”

Your foot slips a little but you manage to regain your balance; a shot of pure, unadulterated fear courses through the bond: it's Feyd’s and it takes your breath away.

“Come closer!” He shouts over the violent wind. “I don't trust you, Harkonnen!”

Frustration, anger, sadness all explode through the bond and you know he's forcing himself not to jump at you and drag you off the cliff, kicking and screaming, even risking you jumping backwards; with the bond having settled, the connection is unavoidable, thus keeping him out completely will never work, there will always be a part of him linked to your soul.

“I'm not going to hurt you!” “You’d never be able to! Not even in a million years!”

Frustration again, and a hint of amusement: he believes his swordsmanship to be better than yours. You fight back, focusing all your anger on him, the strength of it pushing him backwards.

“You can try to best me!” He shouts.

He's positively amused now, despite the situation, he finds you amusing! You're so incensed you’d carve his eyes out! And you’d do so, if fat drops of rain didn't start pelting the two of you, drenching the two of you to the bone in seconds. The sky has turned black and the wind is so violent that you have to abandon your perch on the cliff and get closer to Feyd.

“There's…” You try to make yourself heard over the brutal howling. “Caves!” You shout, pointing to the point where the cliffs fall directly into the ocean. “Go back!” He shouts back. “Too far!”

The crack of a too close thunder scares the horse. The animal rears violently on his hind legs, forcing you and Feyd to move aside before it runs away, mad with fear. You elect to ignore that Feyd has put himself between you and the scared horse.

“We need to go!” You shout, pulling the hood tighter over your head.

You're drenched to the bone and so cold that it's only thanks to the prana-bindu training that you're not trembling like a leaf. Feyd doesn't look any better than you do: his black clothes have absorbed all the water possible and are sticking to his long body; it's the light shade of blue of his lips that’s concerning: without the horse, going back to the village is impossible in this weather: you two need to find refuge as soon as possible!

You don't need to tell him, you simply start walking, trying to orient yourself under the wall of rain that's still pouring over you two to find the cave system you know exists in the cliff that slopes into the ocean.

The wind makes walking a feat, you have to bend forward and push against the violence of the element. Through the bond you feel Feyd and the strain his own body is put under to follow your path, how cold he feels; and it’s affecting you as well. A full grown bond between soulmates it’s not that different from the Other Memory, yet it’s deeper. It’s not simply sharing one’s ego, it’s fusing two cores, while maintaining one’s consciousness: the most deep connection of two people’s experiences, lives and feelings, the biological need to help and protect the other side of the bond. What you’re desperately trying to fight. On a genetic level you want to share your prana-bindu control over to Feyd, to protect him from the chill in his bones, your rational mind stops you from doing so and you’re torn between those two needs battling in your chest.

You two stumble inside the first opening you see and keep walking until you two are away enough from the draft coming from the mouth of the cave; you two quickly scope it, and you finally let your back rest against the cold stones when it is apparent that there’s only one way in and out.

“What is this place?” Feyd’s voice is even lower, raspy with tiredness. “Bandit’s cove. The ruling House of this constellation has eliminated the threat years ago and never went through the hassle of emptying the whole cave system. Some reports say that no planetologist ever studied it as a whole.”

All around the two of you lay broken pieces of furniture and even older equipment, perhaps you two can even find some dry blankets to add to what you have in your survival kits.

The slap of Feyd’s over layers of clothes being thrown on the floor snaps you out of your thoughts: another side effect of being in the presence of one’s soulmate is the instinctual fall of every self-protection response, and you didn’t even realize it’s happening to you!

“We need to start a fire.” Feyd tells you.

You force yourself to ignore the way the remaining layers of wet clothes cling to his long body, enhancing the strong muscles as he moves around to break the furniture into smaller pieces; you know he knows you’re watching, and he likes it. Hurriedly you open your backpack, looking for matchsticks, hoping they are all still dry in the deepest pocket of the survival kit, electing to ignore his smugness again: you don’t know what will happen between you two, one thing is certain, you will slap that smirk off his face, probably sooner than later.

“You shouldn’t threaten me with the promise of a good time, if you’re not going to deliver.” He drawls, and you feel warmth explode in your body.

You throw the matchsticks at him, who grabs it blindly, too focused on creating a small pile of wood to look towards you; despite the shaking of his hands he manages to start the fire. You get closer to the small flames and let your palms hover for a moment, knowing full well you have to change into the dry clothes in your pack; Feyd doesn't seem to care that you're there, he simply removes the remaining layers covering his torso, before rummaging through his own backpack. You can't help yourself, you stare, almost transfixed, at the way his muscles move and play under his white skin, the tight control he has on his movements scream of the training he had subjected himself to: he is so powerful and a part of you wonders how sheathing him within yourself would feel, how would your body manage the feat; you turn around as quickly as you can when he stares at you, embarrassed by having let your mind wonder.

“Are we still playing this game?”

Again, amusement floods from his side of the bond, surprising you.

“It's common decency.” “Was it when you were ogling me?” “I wasn't. I was thinking and you were in the way. Now will you turn around?” “You are weird.” He says, cocking his head to the side.

He talks! You think. Has he ever looked at himself in a mirror? Do they even have mirrors on Giedi Prime?

“We do have mirrors. It would surprise you how common those are back home.”

You jump at his answer, not being used to having someone else camping in your head.

“Stay out of my mind!” “Easier to say than to do.”

He's right and you know it. You know he's not watching as you undress and unpack the dry clothes from their protective layers, yet you feel his presence, his warmth, as if he were touching you; you shiver, you can't help it, the deeper, the baser triggers of your biology taking over a lifetime of training. It is strange, having to manage the rapidly growth of his soul inside of you, find a balance between yourself and him: you can alter your body functions all you want, yet you can't stop yourself from feeling what Feyd does, his tiredness, the warmth seeping back in his bones, his hunger and not only for food.

Now you understand why the Bene Gesserit are so wary of marked sisters.

You try to focus on your body, the flow of your breath and the movements of every single muscle as you change clothes and then eat. You had thought you could have simply shelved the bond in one of the planes of the simulflow, but it encompasses everything and slithers in your every thought. You are not sure how you're supposed to be still yourself and house Feyd inside of you, manage his presence and the layers of your being: is this tiredness in your bones yours? A leftover from having abused pills for too long, or is it him?

“I’ll stand guard, you sleep.” He tells you after you both have finished eating. “I'm not sleeping with you awake.” “Afraid I might steal you away?” “Would you?” “I don't know. Would I?”

His eyes focus on yours as you feel him poke you through the bond.

“How come you're so apt at this?” You ask, needing to change the subject and fishing for information. “I reckon one of us has to, after you blocked me out. It came handy in the long run.” His full lips twist in a smirk and you can see he hasn't the black pain on his teeth; isn’t the na Baron supposed to wear that? “Both of us sleeping is dangerous. If I truly wanted to take you, I would have done so when you fainted in the middle of the street.” “This planet is safe, all the reports say so.” You retort back. “And you know because you’ve read all of them.” He answers, sarcasm tinging his voice.

So he doesn't know, you realize. Even though he knows how to manipulate the bond better than you do, what you are hasn't seeped through, yet.

He will, though, soon enough.

“If you're tired, I am tired. It's irritating.”

It's more than that, it fucks with both your rogue mentat and Bene Gesserit training: it’s harder to understand how to live with another’s soul inside of yours when you feel like you’re battling running on fumes. You know he knows you're not telling the truth, not the whole of it, but the sharing between you two is still happening: you two aren't completely barren to one another.

“We sleep with our backs to the stone and I am laying in front of you. That's not negotiable.” “Don't tell me an Harkonnen has developed the ability to care.” You bark. “I trust my knives more than any report.” He answers.

He's not lying, you realize, he’s not being a gentleman, he simply believes more in his swordsmanship, than he does anything else.

You huff and busy yourself with creating an insulation layer, by putting on the stone floor the ancient blankets stored in one of the trunks Feyd used to feed the fire, before opening your sleeping bag.

Before laying down, you hang all your wet clothes on a small trunk, as close to the fire as possible, hoping they will dry through the night. Feyd does the same and you can't help but notice the stark difference between your earthly tones and his solid black. He then lays the blankets from your survival packs, and his, over the sleeping bags, hoping to ward the cold and humidity away; it’s not ideal but it’s just for one night, back home he’ll shower you will the comforts that come with being his spouse, because you’re going back to Geidi Prime with him.

Uneasy you slither inside your sleeping bag. Hiding a small dagger under the pillow you turn to face Feyd, who is lying on his back; you’d rather sleep on your other side, but you still don’t trust him.

Despite all odds, you fall asleep, a deep, dreamless slumber that envelops you in darkness and quiet; beside you Feyd sleeps the sleep of the hunter, light and ready to be awoken by the gentlest of sounds. He has to force himself not to follow you into the deep sea of unconsciousness, has to fight the natural soulmate instinct to lose all survival instinct, because one’s other half is finally by their side.

The sudden stop of the rainfall is what awakens him. In the darkness he can make out your features, slackened with the relaxation of sleep. A stray lock of hair has escaped the loose plait you braided to help dry them; he longs to move it out of your face, feel the actual texture and not the phantom he does through the bond, but then you would wake and he just wants to observe you. You are beautiful to him in the way nothing is permitted to be on Giedi Prime, you’re also a headache and a half, trying to send him on a wild goose chase and still rejecting him. It would have almost worked, if he hadn’t gone through the pains of learning the ways of the bond, while you had been rejecting it ever since you two were children. He had to be devious about it, hiding from his uncle, pretending to ignore it to not incur in his wrath again and he had to do it all on his own, alone and abandoned by you, who never visited him again. He’ll know soon enough if your family had punished you for having a soulmate, for wearing his words on your skin, the way his uncle did when he first saw the words hidden in the crease of his right thigh.

You become restless in your sleep at this thought, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do.

The long years you left him alone in navigating the bond, he had hated that you left him to his own devices, had imagined to hurt you as punishment for the wall you had built between you two, had longed for you and punished himself for it. When he saw you again, in that too short dream, he felt like he had received a personality transplant: all his rage gone, substituted by this array of feelings foreign to him, that he couldn’t name, and lust for your body. There’s no love, nor gentleness on Giedi Prime, or in the Harkonnen family, yet all he could think was that his daggers existed to protect you, that he would never raise his hand in anger against you. Even on that cliff, where he was ready to just drag you by the hair away from danger, it wasn’t because he wanted to hurt you, just protect you; and you’re making everything so difficult, stubborn little thing that you are.

“Is it always going to be like this?” Your voice is a light murmur, your eyes stubbornly closed. “You think while I am asleep, thus waking me up, Feyd?”

It’s the first time you’ve used his name, still emerging from your slumber your defenses are lowered, or so you like to think.

“You’ll learn.” He says. “You could have had a head start.” “You’re such an asshole.” You growl back, opening your eyes.

His face is not fully turned towards you, mindful of the distant opening of the cave, and you can only observe his profile. He’s as handsome, his features only enhanced by the lack of hair, as much as he’s devious and smart: of course he hits all the targets with you, the universe shaped him for you, if only…

Before you let your thoughts wander anymore, you stand up abruptly and start collecting your belongings.

“And you are making this harder than it should!”

You can feel his rage through the bond, it hurts you, yet you know this is the only course of action.

“Why can’t you understand there’s no other way? I’m not coming to Giedi Prime with you, and I am not bringing you home with me!”

Now it’s his turn to stand up, his massive hand curls around your arm and even through the layers of clothing you can feel his warmth, his words on your skin burning.

“I’m not some stray puppy you found at the side of the road!” He bites back.

Before you can answer, from the darkness, countless knives fall upon you two.

The cave you two have camped in must have had another entrance, hidden, because there’s men pouring in from everywhere. Before you and Feyd can go back to back, you two are separated, forced to parry and dodge the hail of stabbing and blows. The more people you two wound and kill, the more appear; they seem to focus mainly on Feyd, who is fighting brutally, cutting through the wall of men that’s, inexorably, closing upon him, in the vain attempt to reach you and the exit from the cave. You’re backed against a wall, desperately trying to carve your way out, but more men jump you and you know you’ve been wounded.

Feyd is one of the finest fighters of the whole Imperium, fast and cunning, but he’s just one man against a never ending sea and as much strength and speed you can infuse your movements, you two outnumbered, you realize, assessing the situation with the inward calm you have been lacking these past few weeks. Knowing that there’s only one solution doesn’t scare you, perhaps it’s the key to solve this entire issue. You focus on the four men blocking you against the stone wall: you forget the daggers in your hands, forget the pain coursing through you body and simply concentrate all your energies on your vocal cords.

“Kill all your companions!” You order, knowing full well how hard it is to use the Voice on a group of people.

The four stop their advance and stare at you, confused, as if assessing your words, before turning around and attacking their own friends. The ensuing chaos is what you and Feyd need to gain the upper hand and cut through the whole host of enemies, now too stunned to pose a threat anymore, until only the four you used the Voice on are still standing.

Another person would be horrified by the look in their eyes at the realization that they have help massacre their own people, you can’t find it in your heart to care.

“Finish the job!” You bark, too busy to assess your internal damages to observe the ensuing bloodbath.

You let your body fall onto the ground, you know you have some broken ligaments in you ankle and a gaping wound on your side; and your cells proliferating hurts more than being stabbed.

You feel, more than hear, Feyd kneel by your side.

“You’re one of the witches.”

Surprise courses through the bond, a sneer tinges his deep voice; perhaps this is the way to convince him to let you go.

“My birth mother was, still is in a way. She’s just given me renegade training, ah!”

Your body tenses when a fractured rib snaps back into place.

“No Bene Gesserit can be marked by soul words.”

“That’s what they want everyone to believe.” You open your eyes and fix your gaze upon him. “Marked sisters exists, like my mother. They are a minority and are not fully trusted to follow whatever is the Bene Gesserit end goal.”

A cursory check of your injuries shows you that you’re left with minor scrapes.

“Feyd, you don’t want to associate yourself with the mess that’s my family. And I can’t let the Baron have any control over my training.”

The training your birth parents forced upon you as protection against your soulmate, the training that makes you accepting the bonding so dangerous. Idiots, all of them! And you as well!

You let your head fall back against the stone, in your mind eye you can see yourself the way Feyd does, still bloodied and covered in perspiration, the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his entire life.

“You’d really think I would let my uncle play you like a puppet on a string?” “You know you’re a pawn in his game. Everyone in your family is, and I can’t risk him using me to gain even more power.”

Sadness fills the bond, it comes from you in waves; you’re not telling him the whole truth, though, he realizes, this is but one of the reasons why you’ve been avoiding your shared destiny.

“That is not a problem anymore.”

Your eyes snap open and land on his white teeth, again.

Why isn’t he wearing the black paint? He’s the na Baron, he’s supposed to! You finally let yourself analyze this change in him. The only reason why he’s stopped…

“Yes.” The low drawl of his voice halts your rambling thoughts. “I had to follow you around the Imperium, right after my beloved uncle passed away, unexpectedly. A shame I couldn't mourn him properly.”

Flashes explode through the bond: the Emperor’s Truthsayer, the body of the old Baron on the floor, his neck broken. Feyd says ‘beloved’ but you can detect no love towards the old man.

“You passed the test. You couldn’t be accused of anything.” “Accidents happen, soulmate. Some are happier than others.” He deadpans.

Another flash: child Feyd, why is he naked? Why is his uncle there with him? You feel his pain, his shame, your words on his body. Pain! You feel like you can’t breathe when you see though his child eyes the blade, and his mother's lovely eyes. Great Mother protect us! Hate, respect, greed, hate so much of it, having to scheme every single second, knowing death and only death.

You lose control of your feelings and thoughts, flooding the bond with hate, and the images of what you would have done to the old man, for what he had put Feyd through.

“I’m glad he’s passed, I wouldn’t have been able to wait for an accident to happen.” You say. “And I wouldn’t have passed the test.”

Pride comes from him, and relief, like a warm embrace and it would be so easy to surrender to him, to your destiny.

“Why are you still trying to run?”

Feyd’s voice is so low, you feel his words more than hear them, warm they settle in your lower belly and you want nothing more than to let yourself go.

“Because having a soulmate is a curse, don’t you understand?”.

Gently you take his hand. His palm is so big and warm, with your fingers you trace the callouses his training left behind; you don’t trust yourself to share this memory without skin on skin contact.

Now it’s Feyd’s turn to see through your eyes and, at the same time, from the outside, like a spectator, you as a child of one year old and two women fussing around you, he knows it’s your mothers, one biological, the other adopted. He feels your panic when your biological one brushes your hair and sees the newly formed words hidden by your thick locks, the wail that leaves the two women’s mouths: what have you done wrong?

“My Bene Gesserit mother had a goal, all of them do.” You say, your hand still holding his. “She wanted to show the sisterhood she could be trusted, even with the soul words on her skin, that a marked sister could be as trustworthy as an unmarked one. Then she met my father.” “The heir to his House.” “His mentat.” You smile at his surprise. “I told you my family is a mess. They forgot their training, their loyalties, only their bond existed. It was only the sheer respect my adoptive parents held for my father, that saved them. They couldn’t even raise me as their own, and I have to believe having a soulmate is a blessing?” “It is not. But I’d rather work with it, than against it. Think of what we could achieve together.”

Oh, his cunning brain. You were bought up reciting the Litany Against Fear, but he had been the one truly growing up following it and you have been acting like a fool for your entire life: you can’t inherit your adoptive father’s dukedom, you will have to take a husband to share the power, as the laws of the Imperium force you to. Would you rather marry a stranger, maybe stupid and short sighted, or someone as cunning and ruthless as Feyd is? Why did your whole family never thought of this? Your adopted parents were terrible at their jobs, they were so painfully short sighted, thus crippling you!

“Enjoy this moment because I will never say this again: you’re right.”

Feyd grimaces at your words and his pain takes hold of the bond, he can’t keep it under control anymore.

Your hands cup his face and you push your forehead against his: you’re not sure you’re doing this right, not without feeling him under your palms.

“What are you doing?” He manages to say. “I’m trying to assess your internal damages, shut up.”

Your nails embed themselves in the soft skin covering his skull as you feel every cell of his body as if they were yours: strained muscles and ligaments, one shoulder hurts and edema is forming, what else? You pinpoint the stray point of a broken rib that has ruptured his spleen: he’s bleeding on the inside!

“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry.”

Your lips connect with his to force his body to heal, his muscles to move the stray point of the rib back where it is supposed to be and mold itself to the stump, his spleen to close the wound and reabsorb the non clotted blood. Under your hands his body twists and you have to use your prana-bindu strength to keep him in place, until you’re done and every injury has healed.

“What was that?” He asks against your lips, his breath coming out harsh and fast. “A witch never explains their tricks.”

Amidst the dead bodies and the blood, Feyd kisses you, his tongue in your mouth eager, your soft breasts against the solid planes of his chest: you taste better than anything he’s ever eaten, the metallic tang of your own blood only enhances his need to absorb you within himself. You straddle him and you feel his cock, hard and thick, you can’t help but grind against him, reveling in the pleasure and the pain he feels: battling the bond and your desire towards him is impossible now.

“Not here.” You manage to moan when he releases your mouth. “Dangerous.” “Still bossing me around.” He groans when you don’t stop grinding against his erection. “I thought you liked it.”

Disengaging from one another is hard, it’s a miracle you two manage, drunk as the two of you are on post-fight adrenaline, murder and lust.

“No bandits, eradicated.”

You feel his eyes on your body, the heath behind his words: he’s not mad at you, he’s hungry. He’d have you in this mass grave, if he knew no more assailant would come.

“Who would have come and check? No one cares about this planet.” You answer.

You two make a quick work of all your belongings and head back to the village you came from.

The sky is still dark, covered by clouds that promise rain, the thick forest that surrounds the path looms on you and Feyd; perhaps there’s more enemies hidden and ready to attack. Through the bond you feel Feyd’s readiness for a fight, he’s also ashamed of having almost lost in front of you. What should you do? How does one comfort a Giedi Prime native? Would he even accept your words?

You jump out of your skin when the horse appears from the forest. The poor animal looks worse for wear, having hidden from the storm somewhere, yet it lets you grab the reins and caress his mane, before it allows you and Feyd to mount his back and rush back to the village.

You hug Feyd from behind, your arms as tight as possible around the bloody backpack and his torso as wind and rain whip your face. Despite the awkwardness of your temporary position, you feel lust grow in your belly, now that you’re not fighting the bond. You know that a part of it comes from Feyd, from having wanted you for years, from having tried to quench his thirst in the arena and with concubines who, he imagined, looked like you. The rest is all you. No lover you had ever managed to satisfy you: none of them was truly built for you the way he is and now that your know what he tastes like, you know you’re hooked and lost forever. How stupid you had been in letting the fears of your family dictate your actions, depriving yourself of him and chipping at your own strength: so much time lost!

The horse almost collapses in front of the inn, tired and foaming at the mouth it drinks from the waterhole in front of the building and ignores you and Feyd dismounting.

The owner of the inn pales when he sees you two, you can only imagine the ways Feyd might have threaten him, while you were out of commission; you don’t feel sorry though, you will, but not now, all you care is climb back to your room and fuck your soulmate until you both collapse. You feel Feyd’s eyes burn holes in your back, his lust for you clouding his senses; it spills trough the bond and you almost choke on your own saliva with the force of it. In your entire life you’ve never wanted someone as bad as you do Feyd right now, only decency stops you from taking him on the creaky stairs.

The door locking behind is final: you have nowhere else to run and hide.

You throw your backpack on the floor and turn around to truly observe your soulmate. He’s imposing in the small room, impossibly tall and hulking, he blocks your way out; only now you notice the freckles scattered on his cheekbones and you think how out of character that is: he’s Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the psychotic Baron of Giedi Prime, his name puts the fear of the Gods, old and new in the hearts of men, and he has freckles so light you can barely see them.

Slowly you walk towards him and lift the tip of your finger to trace them, creating constellations on his skin; Feyd lets a low groan of pleasure escape his lips at your soft touch. One day your words on his skin will stop pulsating when you touch him, his cock will not stand into attention immediately, just because he’s got a sniff of your smell; one day, in the distant future, now he moves his head to capture your fingers with his lips, sucking the digits in with a low moan. Your mouth finds his pulse point and latches there, your teeth worry the soft skin, your tongue licks his heady taste: you want to devour this man, mark him as yours for everyone to see.

“I might need a quick shower.” You murmur in his ear.

Fast, faster than what you would have expected, one of his hands grabs your hair (God the way he groans at the touch), the other lands possessively on your hip.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He growls, menacingly.

You find yourself slammed against the wall, unceremoniously, his hand the only protection for your head. You feel the recoil in your whole body, you want to cuss him, but his mouth is on yours, hungry, his teeth ready to draw blood from your lower lip. You plaster yourself against him, grab at his back with desperate hands as you reciprocate the kiss, blindly following his taste, deaf to the sound of your teeth clumsily clashing against his: you’ve kissed many, but no one had felt like him, tasted the way he does.

You try to push the two of you away from the wall and towards the bed, but your strength liquefies when Feyd simply stands his ground and plasters himself better against your writhing body.

“I should let you hang like this as punishment, soulmate. Tease you until you cry.”

You let your eyes roll for a moment at the heath in his words, then your teeth snap again on the soft skin of his neck and the moan that leaves his lips tells you that there’s more to this man, than his harsh exterior and his reputation.

You pull at the soft skin with jerky movements, clenching your teeth with as much strength as you dare use; Feyd snaps his hips against your clothed core: you can feel his raging erection through the layers of clothes you two are wearing, his lust flashes through the bond and you think you’re going to come by the sheer strength of it. When you taste blood, Feyd knows and moans, a rich, deep sound of pleasure that shakes you: no other lover has accepted your need for pain and violence the way Feyd is doing right now.

He kisses you savagely when he sees his own blood on your lips and you moan at his pleasure, your hands fly to his shoulders to brace yourself against the onslaught of his teeth on your mouth, of his tongue seeking his own taste inside of you; you don’t even realize you can, yet you’re chanting his name through the bond, your lust only enhancing his. He needs to be inside of you, yet he can’t stop kissing you, feeling your needs meld in the bond: it’s heady and better than any sex he’s ever had in his entire life.

“Bed.” You moan when he releases your lips, only to bite your neck like an animal. “Make me.” He growls back.

You have to center yourself against the pleasure and the torment he’s giving you, his hands mold themselves around your breasts, only to squeeze your tender flesh to the point of pain, his hips jackhammer against yours and you know the right angle will make you come like a horny teenager; desperate you focus inward, on your muscles and nerves, willing the pleasure to fade in the background of your conscience and your attention to be on your body, to move you two away from the wall.

Not feeling Feyd through the bond is almost worse: pulling the broadcasting of his pleasure in the background makes you hear his moans and groans even better. He’s unabashed in his lust and knowing that’s you causing all of this makes breathing difficult, yet you manage to push against his bigger frame, forcing him to walk backwards a few steps, before you let one leg fall on the floor and propel the two of you more; he digs his heels against you, effectively stopping the two of you from moving.

“Seems like we are not going anywhere.” He drawls and you feel the amusement through the bond. “And there I thought you wanted to taste me.” You murmur in his ear. “I was told I am delicious.”

A flare of jealousy courses through the bond, his hands grab at your body with such a strength you know you’ll wear his marks for days. Unceremoniously he throws you on the bed, his hands on your knees stop you from closing your legs.

“Who are those who have already taste you?” “Many.” You shrug. “I couldn’t always be good and proper, could I?”

The growl his dangerous and you can’t find in your heart to be afraid: you want him charged up, want to feel the full force of his passion; you laugh in his face as he cuts and rips the clothes away from your body, until you’re naked and ready, your own hidden weapons fallen and forgotten on the floor. The dagger he’s used to cut your clothes, now travels from your neck to your torso, the sharp edge almost touching your skin, but not really.

“Taste my blood, Feyd.” You moan. “It’s something else I’m thirsty for, soulmate.” It’s his dark answer.

He drives the knife through the mattress, next where your head is in a show of dominance that has your hole clench around nothing.

Feyd dives between your legs, he leaves you no chance to speak when his lips curl around your clit and suck, harsh and fast, with filthy moans of pleasure that reverberate through your whole being. Your hips try to push up, stopped by his big hands, your tights clench around his head as you try to escape the pleasure, escape him, pitiful whines flow from your lips as he pushes you higher and higher, until you come with a scream. Dazed by pleasure you expected Feyd to stop, to give you respite; his tongue in your hole forces your body in overdrive, his nose is pure torture against your puffy clit. With horror you realize that you have no purchase against his onslaught, no way to control his movements, but with the clenching of your legs around his head. You try to leverage against his body and his hands shoot out to grab yours, the risk of you snapping his neck enhances his lust, the lack of oxygen only spurs him on to fuck you faster, harder with his long tongue until you explode, breathless and desperate.

“Feyd! Feyd! Let go!”

A harsh bite on your thigh is your only answer, followed by a low growl, like a rabid animal that's finally found food. Through the bond you can feel his pleasure, his hunger, his lust: everything enhances your own reactions, your own blind need for his body. You’re panting now, almost no oxygen enters your lungs, because Feyd’s long tongue is licking you, with clockwise motions he explores your wet heath, only to nibble at your clit, forcing your body to squirm under his weight; the kick of your heels against his back only spurs him on: he can feel how overstimulated you are and it only amps up his own libido, the pain you’re causing him blanks his mind and he almost comes untouched in his trousers when your pleasure becomes painful and your body is shaking wildly under his.

One of his arms falls on your tummy to block you, three fingers of his other hand are already inside of you seek that spongy part that has you jump under him when he finally finds it. You start crying when his lips suck your abused clit: there’s no mercy in the way he’s handling you, just a mindless focus on pleasure. He’s canting his hips against nothing, needing your taste and, at the same time, to be buried inside of you; the way you’re trying to escape spurs him on, his fingers fuck you faster, rougher they scissor your clenching muscles as you kick and scream wildly, almost as if possessed when his soft lips suck following the rough rhythm of his fingers inside of you. You tense under him and arch, the tears falling from your eyes blind you, wail like moans choke in your throat as you feel your body reaching your end, your nerves burn where he’s pleasuring you, so much pleasure, too much! You squirt all over his face, and almost pass out when his fingers don’t stop fucking you a his tongue leisurely licks your essence with obscene moans of appreciation at your taste.

“You truly taste delicious.” He murmurs against one of the bruise on your tight. “Too bad I will have to hunt down every single person who’s had you.”

You can’t answer immediately, your brain is still tying to come down from the barrage of orgasms he forced you to go through, your skin feels oversensitive to the soft touch of his lips.

“Who are those people?” You ask, breathless. “I only remember you.”

Through the bond he knows you’re telling the truth: your past lovers, however many they were, don’t exist anymore, in your mind there’s only him and all the pleasure he’s given you.

You try to find purchase on his slick skin, until you reach the neckline of his jumper to use it to pull him up for a long kiss. You moan when you taste yourself on his lips, your taste and his mingle when his tongue massages yours slowly, his only goal is to savor you, until you are the only thing he can taste for the rest of his life.

“You’re overdressed.” You moan against his full lips.

You don’t leave him the chance to answer. As tired as you are, already, you grab a fistful of his thick jumper and pull upwards, forcing him to remove it, or be choked, leaving him with the other layers of thinner jumpers and thermal shirts. Through the bond you send the image of his knife slicing through his clothing, he laughs but undresses hastily, leaving clothing and weapons on the floor: he’s overheating and sweaty, moreover, why denying himself the feeling of your skin under his?

You’ve managed to push yourself backwards to enjoy the view of his powerful body being revealed: the thick cords of muscles and the pink nipples, his raging erection and the piercing running horizontally, through the shiny head of his cock.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, concerned. “Not anymore. It enhances everything.” He answers.

Slowly he lays on you, his weight strangely familiar as he kisses you again, slowly, feeling every inch of your body with his, savoring the way your full breasts cushion his sturdy chest and how your hips are the perfect cradle for his. He’s surprised to find himself on his back, when you use his distraction to switch your positions; not that he’s complaining, you’re towering over him, giving him a nice view of your full breasts and perky nipples, while his cock is cradled between your lips, warm and drenched. His eyes fixate on the patch of hair between your legs, focused as he was on tasting you to your core, his brain has bypassed everything else and now he’s fascinated by the soft, wet curls he can feel against his body.

“Is it strange?” You gently ask. “Everyone on Giedi Prime is hairless. It’s not bad, just peculiar.” He answers with a shrug.

His long fingers tentatively touch your lips and you shudder, still so sensitive, and you haven’t had his cock yet.

“I’m not shaving, anywhere.” “I didn’t ordered you to, and I will not let you bare yourself like that.”

You pinch his nipple as punishment for his answer and his cock swells under you.

“I don’t need your permission.” You growl back. “I wanted to ride you, now I have to postpone that, and it’s all you fault!” You add, with a wicked smile.

With as much speed your tired muscles let you, you turn around and hover your cunt over his face; you smirk at his satisfied growl and the way his hands go to your hips: it’s cute he believes you’re letting him have a taste again. You flick his reddened head when he tries to pull you down to his lips, he yelps in pain and you don’t miss the beads of precome that appear immediately: he’s truly made for you, and you only.

“You’ve had your taste, now it’s my turn.”

You ignore your hunger when you slowly lick his head and moan at the taste, heady and masculine on your tongue, and envelope his head in your lips, sucking gently, taking your time to have more until you hear his groans and his desperation through the bond, only then you take more, and more, ignoring the way his hips try to push upwards, simply blocking his movements using your prana-bindu strength, reveling in the curses and in the pain he feels. When his head hits the back of your throat he shudders, his muscles shake with the need to move and fuck your face; perhaps if he behaves you’ll let him, one day, but now he is to suffer. You relax your muscles and swallow him with a moan that reverberates through the whole of him, tortured by your lips and the sight of your hole clenching over his face. He desperately tries not to come when the velvety muscles of your throat start massaging his erection and your hand caresses his heavy balls; he arches with a howl of pain when you squeeze them cruelly, and pull at them viciously, until he comes, tears streaming down his cheeks.

You swallow what you can and lick what escapes your ravenous hunger, until it pools on your tongue and you can turn around to kiss him, making him swallow his own essence, his pleasure heady in the bond.

You abandon your body over his, feeling his satisfaction and the warmth of his body; you nuzzle his long neck, so smooth and marked by your teeth. You could almost fall asleep: you feel finally sated and happy after sex, like never before. Through the bond you feel Feyd purr his satisfaction, his big hand caresses your back, following the knobs of your spine leisurely.

“Don't fall asleep. I'm not done with you.” He growls. “Hmm, yes please.”

You feel his cock stir between your bodies and prop one leg over his hip, spreading yourself for him and letting his half hard member between your lower lips. You should feel embarrassed by the renewed wetness, all you can think of is sheathing Feyd's thick cock inside of you.

“You're coming to Geidi Prime with me.” He says, cupping your cheek. “I need to go home, lest fathers believe you’ve kidnapped me and are keeping me there against my will.” “As if.” “You forget this communication goes both ways. Drag me by my hair?” “From the cliff.” He rolls his eyes. “I had it under control!” “You almost fell, I felt it!” “Don't mention it. To my family, I mean.” “The cliff or the hair?”

You're surprised by how amused Feyd feels through the bond or that he has a sense of humor.

“We have that too, on Geidi Prime, as well as mirrors. Incredible, I know.”

You know you’ve dehumanized him in your head for all your life: he was your personal boogeyman, not a man, albeit volatile, not someone with feelings and needs, not your soulmate, but your nightmare. You shouldn't be surprised that he's more than the warrior, and the heir to his family's name: who has been the monster, between you two, for all this time?

You cuddle closer to his warmth, your eyes falling on your spidery handwriting almost hidden by the crease of his tight; you follow the words with the tip of your finger, and cringe at how ill behaved you had been from the start.

“I should have known you’d be hard to pin down, just from that.” “‘Are you sad because you have no hair?’ Great Mother, what a heinous bitch I was! You should have kept me at arm’s length!” “Show me my words.” He asks.

There's a heath in his voice you don't understand, but know it's not because you constantly moving means his cock gets stimulated into full hardness.

Gently you start parting your hair and he finishes the work from you. He enjoys the foreign feeling of your hair on his fingers, almost ticklish but not really, soft and rough at the end of the strands, strangely fascinating since none of his past lays had hair, he's not sure what he is supposed to do with yours.

“You can pull.” You say with a shudder when he touches his words on you. “You need to be gentle, though. You can caress and play with it, I can teach you how to braid, if you want.”.

Feyd’s hand finds home in the roots and pulls, tentatively at first, only to use more strength when you softly moan.

“I think I’ll stick to this.” He growls and you know he’s unlocked a new kink.

He uses his hold to pull you closer to his face and kiss you, his tongue languid in your mouth explores you, taking his time to commit your taste to memory; you scratch his neck in the attempt to gain control back, you liked having him at your mercy too much to let go and he simply tightens his hold on you, drinking down your moans of pleasure.

You straddle him, making sure your warm cunt envelopes his erection and start grinding slowly, letting him feel how wet you are, and ready for his cock; he turns you two, towering over you and you simply arch your back towards him, feeling his eyes on your breasts and perky nipples when you start massaging them, keening and moaning with need. His control snaps, his teeth find your soft flesh to nibble, his lips to suck marks as your legs curl around his frame to cradle him as close as possible to yourself, your nails stretching and raking down his long back in retaliation: the more you hurt him, the savager he becomes, in a cycle only enhanced by your shared brain.

“Now! Now!” You squeal after a particularly harsh bite, feeling your cunt clench painfully around nothing.

Feyd releases your breast with a pop, observing his handiwork with pride: you’re covered with his teeth marks and your cunt is so puffy and leaking sweet cream, only because he’s hurt you, and you him.

His hard cock is exquisite torture, so heavy between his legs he’s in agony when your hand starts jacking him, making sure he’s wet and beyond ready for your cunt, to the point he has to slap your hand away, or he’ll come all over your tummy; he can’t have that, not when your hole is clenching and wet and ready. You arch your back when he breaches you, his head is fat and the piercing only enhances the feeling of him against your wall; through the bond you feel his pleasure, how hard it is for him to control himself and not come, it all amplifies your own lust and need, your hips snapping upwards to take him faster and it’s the sweetest pain, being stretched too early, having your cunt pummeled open and molded to fit his thick cock, until he’s fully seated inside of you, with a long groan of pleasure.

Feyd has to keep his eyes closed, the thin thread of his control almost snapping with every breath he takes: he’s imagined this, he’s spilled in his own hands countless times to the fantasy of you sheathing him inside yourself, and reality can’t compare. Your insides are the softest velvet, your muscles the cruelest of vices around his cock that he can barely grind against you when you start whining. His strength deserts him and he falls on you, managing to catch his weight on his bent arm when your cunt tries to suck him; he can barely breathe your scent in, his body almost in overdrive with pleasure when your hands grab his buttocks to push him in deeper, desperate to feel him in every crevice of your body.

You lock your feet on his tailbone, forcing him to grind against your puffy clit, battered muscles as tight as possible around him in the desperate quest to fuse him with yourself, the piercing pure torture against your G spot. You scratch his back savagely when your orgasm starts to crest, your body squirms under him, clutches his tighter as the band in your belly tightens and tightens, your shared pleasure only enhancing his own need to lose himself inside of you. It hurts to grind against you, it hurts to wait for your pleasure to explode and he can barely contain himself when you sob your pleasure as if he’s hurting you, your nails stabbing him when you come, howling and crying, him following you with guttural, animal sounds he can barely suppress against your skin.

You caress his back and hug him as close as possible as he keeps coming inside of you, his orgasm almost never ending fills you to the brink with his thick cum, his whines of painful pleasure cause a smaller orgasm to rip through you torturing him even more, until all his strength is lost and he’s trembling in your arms, skin so sensitive your caresses feel like lashings.

You feel all of it through the bond, along with his unwillingness to stop touching you through the torment your skin is for him now. Awkwardly you try to send soothing feelings to him, helping him to calm down from the incredible high that the coupling had been for him. You know, because he remembers disjointed memories of his dreams of you, of him waking up hard and desperate and alone, needing your soft touch and having to settle for his own hand. He had hated you in those moments, his body shaken by those painful orgasms that tasted like ashes, that were never truly satisfactory. With a stab of jealousy you see the people he fucked, brutal and fast, imaging you in their stead, and even that wasn’t enough to sate his hunger, now? Now he’s in heaven, having felt pleasure like never before in his life.

You have to use all your prana-bindu strength to roll you two on the side, Feyd is basically dead weight in your arms, before you hug him as tight as possible, only wishing to have a knife at hand to protect you two in this unfamiliar environment, the one embedded on the bed has fallen and you can’t reach it.

“The owner would rather kill himself than dare disturb us.”

Feyd’s voice is tired and low, a rumble you feel in your whole body.

“What did you do?”

You can feel Feyd’s wicked smile against your throat.

“Nothing. Just exchanged a few friendly words after you fainted.” “I’m electing to ignore whatever has happened.” You say. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come around.” You add, awkwardly

You feel how tired he is, moving his head away from the crook of your neck is almost impossible for him.

“You have all the time to make up for it. Now sleep, you’re going to need it, that I can promise.”

You shiver against him. Neither of you are going home any time soon and there’s all the time in the world to negotiate the route back.

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x y/n #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x y/n #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen

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animelovelover123 · 8 months ago

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V's Yandere Alphabet v2.0

Synopsis: An updated and improved version of my original with more content. For those who have read the original, the big changes can be seen in entries L, P, Q, V, X, and Y.

Author's Note: I wrote the original during a troubling time and it resulted in the project taking 6 months and me hatting it by the end. However, after being encouraged by someone asking me if I would write for the other guys and my completionist side being bugged by how the original alphabet was not complete, I went back in and felt more motivated. I actually kind of want to write for the other guys now! Still no promises though.

The yandere alphabet I am using is an edited version of one made by no gender bee on tumblr. I added missing letters, changed some of the letters/descriptions, and altered some of the grammar (like using Canadian spelling).

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction for personal entertainment. If you are reading this, please understand that drawing/writing/reading/imagining things of this nature does NOT equate to desiring or supporting real-world assault.

Abuse = Could they ever hurt you physically or mentally? What would be the reason?

Physically? No. Mentally, kind of. He would not do it with the intent of causing harm, but some of V’s mental manipulation can hurt. He’ll pull at your heartstrings, saddle you with guilt, and talk in circles to get you to comply with his wishes all while using flowery language to mask the manipulative web he is weaving.

A big one, and the most common form of mental strain he gives you, is when he is desperate for attention and at the end of his rope. He will plead for it, reminding you that neither of you knows how long he has left to live and that he only wants to spend it with you. He does this to show you how much you mean to him, but he is also aware that he is inciting guilt in you. He does not realize how deeply and long it can affect you though until you tell/show him.

Both = You are a Yandere too, what’s their reaction?

V is intrigued and finds it amusing at first. His obsessive tendencies take longer to form, and he also does not believe he will live long so he sees your invasive and manipulative actions as entertaining with no fear of long-term repercussions. Even if you think you are being sneaky, he sees everything you are doing and he enjoys watching your reactions as he either plays along with your schemes or effortlessly evades them.

But once he finds himself falling for you in return, he gets rather depressed. He sees how desperately you want him, yet he knows, no matter how much he wants you as well, that all of your attempts to show your love will be in vain. He’ll try to pull away from you, but the more you chase, the more he wants you.

Then he finds out a way to live longer and his restraints are finally broken. You and he revel in your shared obsession, happily lavishing each other with love and attention. He sees your quirks and views them as romantic gestures. He finds out you have been stealing his things? How it warms his heart to know you want him close at all times even when home alone. Why don’t we move in together darling to save you the trouble? You’ve cancelled his plans with others behind his back? Well, why didn’t you tell him you wanted a night alone? He would love nothing more. You’ve killed a supposed love rival? Snuffing out another's life just because they threatened to take his love, though not necessary as you already have his heart, is such a beautiful display of adoration that he just has to give you a reward~

Crazy = How easy do they enter crazy mode? How do they act when they are in it?

It takes a lot for this man to snap. He is the essence of calm and collected, able to keep his composure in circumstances where most would panic and/or become angry. You could rage at him before walking out the door claiming you will never return, and though he will put up a bit of a fight, he knows deep down that you are just lashing out. After you have time to calm down you will be back in his arms soon enough. Whether by your own means or his, that was yet to be seen. This man could be in the middle of getting arrested and he would comply because he knows that this is not the end. He could easily escape prison and find his way back to you. The only true end is death, and that is what will cause him to snap.

Not his own death per se as that mental break will be directed and contained to himself. If his plan for extended life starts failing, he will fight tooth and nail to survive while rushing through the stages of grief. The most this will affect you is that he will disappear for a while as he tries to find a solution before returning when he realizes there is no hope for him and begs you to stay with him until his last breath.

The true snapping point would be a result of your life almost being lost, particularly if you try to take your own. Knowing or, worse, catching you trying to end your life flips a switch in him. He already had a lot of stress from trying to preserve his own life, but when he realizes that he could lose the primary reason he fought so hard to live all of that effort, panic, and stress gets funneled into caring for you. Now that he perceives a proverbial ticking clock for both of your lives, he will no longer allow a single second to go by without you. He will lock you up in his home and become your caretaker, tying you up so you can’t hurt yourself and taking care of all of your needs himself like feeding you and bathing you. You are his everything, and he will not let a second of both of your possibly short lives not be spent together. (see Kidnapped)

Difference = When can you notice a difference in behaviour in them? What are the first signs that their love for you is unhealthy?

At first V’s yandere tendencies were subdued and easily hidden. For the first couple months of knowing you he was under the belief that he was not long for this world. His body was actively deteriorating and soon he would have to return to Vergil.

But then he found a way that he could continue living as his own person. Maybe through killing and absorbing Urizen’s life force rather than merging with it or by somehow stealing it from others. Either way, there was a chance for him to survive and pursue a relationship with you. That is when he changed and that is when you start noticing his obsession with you.

He won't totally indulge in his attraction to you until he has proof that this lead is viable, but he will suddenly become more affectionate. Where he once kept any compliments and flirtatious remarks shrouded in flowery language so that you could not quite tell if he meant it that way became more direct and regular. The few feet he always put between you two was shorted as much as you would allow.

When he does gain evidence that his plan for a longer life is working, all restraints are off. He immediately goes to you and confesses his love. He may even tell you right then his true origins, why they resulted in him being distant at first, and how now that he has a long life ahead of him he is excited to spend it with you.

Enjoy = Do they enjoy what they’re doing to you, your life and the people around you? Do they show it?

V does worry about how some of his actions affect you. He is a bit of a philosopher type, often getting lost in thoughts or conversations about the deeper meanings and effects things have on people and the world as a whole. He is also introspective so he will occasionally worry himself over what he is doing. This line of thought doesn’t only trigger when you show hints of discomfort or hesitation. You could be perfectly happy, but he is privy to the manipulation and trickery of his that you are falling for. He considers and speculates on how his actions could warp your mind in the long run. And when he pictures the worst-case scenario, he might just guilt himself into admitting to, and apologizing for, a recent misconception he gave you.

He did not say those things with malicious intent, he just wanted to protect you from the cruel world and keep you loving him.

Force = What, if any, kinds of things will they force on you? Isolating from friends and family? Going on dates? Physical affection and/or sexual acts?

If you are a demon, to any extent, V will force you into a contract with him, assuming he is unsuccessful in his initial attempt at convincing you to join willingly. Depending on your battle prowess he will even call you to (relatively easy) fights along with his other familiars. Seeing you in battle is just as beautiful as seeing you dance to him so he will gladly do it as long as the risk of permanent harm is practically nonexistent. No matter how skilled you are in combat though, your primary duty as one of his demons is as a companion. With you being bound to him he can call you to him whenever he wishes to be with you, which is most of the time. He’ll try to offer you space and as much free will as he can, but the more obsessed he becomes the more he will abuse this power over you. One thing to note though is that he will not force you into romantic or sexual acts, even if he technically could through your contract. No matter how much he desired you, he would never hurt you in that way.

Alternatively, say you were a human. He would force you, again assuming you don’t fall for his flowery words, to take on a demon familiar. Not just any demon though. Specifically, he wants you to bond with one of his familiars. If you want more than that that is your prerogative, the more safety you have and empowerment you feel is only a boon, but being partially bonded to one of his familiars is his requirement. He tells you that he wants to keep you safe by giving you access to one, or more, of his demons for protection, and this is true. Though V is their primary master, V will willingly put himself at a disadvantage in battle by allowing you to call one of his familiars for protection. And if you don’t call them V will send them to you. He also advertises the practical benefits of having creatures at your beck and call. One aspect that he does not fully disclose though is how being bonded to a demon under his command also acts as a tracking device for when you try to run. (See Hide)

Gross = What is something they think is really romantic/sweet but is actually horrifying?

He writes letters and notes to you using his blood as ink. Sometimes it is just his signature coloured burgundy, and other times you find whole notes or poems scrawled in thin, inconsistently faded cursive which he delivers to your home or work with a bandaged arm.

He already puts his heart and soul into these letters. To him, offering part of his body with them shows you his complete devotion.

Hide = How easy is it to hide from them?

Depends on if he has bound you to one of his familiars yet.

First, let's assume he hasn't. Then, honestly, it’s pretty easy as he is but one man with not a lot of connections. He can send out his familiars to scan the area for you, but they can not go too far from V. That is only if he works alone though because the few connections he does have are with people who hunt down living creatures as their profession. Sure, hunting a demon is not quite the same as hunting a person down and his friends will initially question why you would run off, but V just has to string together a tail of how you are being influenced by a denizen of hell and that they must find you before it is too late. Sure enough, he will convince the morally just crew of demon hunters to find his love and now half a dozen people are calling in favours and travelling the country looking for you. And when they do find you, even if you try to tell them that you ran away from V willingly, V’s story has already cemented itself in their brains so they will drag you back anyway. A caveat to this plan is that the crew will get more and more suspicious if you run away multiple times and V keeps asking them for their help.

One of the benefits of binding you to one of his demons is that he won't have to risk growing doubt within his friends. With you bound to one of his demons (see Force), no matter where in the world you run V can track your location by getting his familiar to appear around you, scan the area to gather information, and relay it to him. And when he is close enough, the familiar can just pin you down and call out like a siren so V can easily find you.

Improve = Will they be willing to recover from this psychotic state for their lover?

Working off of E for Enjoy, V can find the conviction to be better for you. The problem is that he does not really know how to be better. He has only existed as his own entity for a relatively short time and has no experience with having a healthy relationship. He has only ever had you and the, sometimes maddening, urges to be with you. But because of his overwhelming love for you and the fear that his actions risk harming you, he will work towards being better.

He has to look to healthier relationships, like Nero and Kyrie’s and what little memories of Sparda and Eva’s he retains from Vergil, to understand what they look like and how he himself is failing. And if he can’t make the headway he wishes, being unable to stop himself from telling you subtle lies and trying to monopolize your attention, he will talk to someone about his feelings and urges. He understands that he does not yet really understand how to be human and is not above asking for aid in learning, for his own well-being yes, but mostly for yours.

Justification = Why are they acting like this? When and how did it start?

Upon being created, V knew that he did not have long to live. Soon he would join with Urizen and become Vergil once more. When he first started to fall for you, he knew it would not last due to his minuscule lifespan so would not pursue a romantic relationship. He could not, however, stay away from you. You were like a work of art, so utterly perfect that it was a miracle you even existed in such a cold and cruel world. He tried to accept the brief moments of connection you shared as enough to have him return to Vergil without regrets, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

His body was failing though, crumbling away. Perhaps when he becomes whole again Vergil will be able to be with you. But that would not be the same for you or V, and he knew that.

And then, he found a way to continue living as his own person (See Difference). Now he had a chance to have a life with you. But always lurking in the back of his mind is the fear that this means of sustaining his body and life will fail. He does not know when he will disappear or how quickly it could take him. This is why he needs to always be with you. He doesn’t know how much time he has left and he wants to spend as much of it with you as he can. You understand, don’t you darling?

Kidnap = Are they willing to kidnap you? If so, how will they do it? For how long will they keep you and where?

He will kidnap you if you make the drastic decision to try to end your own life (see Crazy). He has given you the freedom to do what you want, far more than most yanderes would, despite the dangers in the world because he trusted you and himself to keep you safe. But now that even you are a danger to yourself, that shattered any trust V had.

When he finds out what you were trying to do, whether it be through catching you in the act or finding out in the aftermath of a failed attempt, he will bring you to his home. He will tell you, and anyone else privy to your attempt, that he wanted to give you a safe place where you can be monitored, rest, and offer an ear to which you can discuss your feelings and thoughts without judgment. And with him being your partner, if other people knew of your attempt, they would trust him to watch over you and stop you from trying this again. And that was exactly what he would do.

So you spend the night with V in his home where he refuses to leave your side for more than a minute at a time. It was understandable though, right? He was just shaken from what you tried to do. But when you woke up you found your wrists belted together, as were your ankles, and were chained to the bed’s headboard and one of the bed’s end legs respectively.

“My love, you are awake.” V greets as he enters the room, a bowl of oatmeal in his hand. “How wonderful it is to see your beautiful eyes finally open.” You can ask him what is going on, but no matter if you question him in fear, anger, or confusion, he will smile sympathetically as he helps you sit up. “I know this may be a bit frightening my dear, but this is all for your safety. You have somehow come to the heartbreaking and erroneous belief that you should not live and have become a danger to yourself because of it. But worry not, for I love you unconditionally and will care for you in your stead. Now, open up~” He coos as he holds out a spoonful of oatmeal.

V keeps you bound for as long as it takes for him to trust you not to attack him. Still, whenever he leaves the house he chains you to the bed to make sure you don’t try anything. Soon enough he stops going out, instead spending every waking moment coddling you. He feeds you by hand, dresses you, bathes you, and loves you through any bout of emotions, be they positive or negative. You don’t get to step foot outside until after you are knocked out by drugs and discreetly transferred to a new home out in some forest. Once there he will be willing to take you on walks, if you can prove you can behave. Even if you do try to escape though, the forest is enchanted so any human without a demon guide will be lost to endlessly loop through the same areas.

After years of living like this and proving that you don’t intend to leave him or harm yourself, you may just be lucky enough to find out how V was able to keep you locked up and disappear without anyone coming to look for you. You see, your friends and family were devastated when they heard from V that you had killed yourself by running off into a demon nest and letting yourself be eaten. And then it was unfortunate but unsurprising when V, now without the love of his life, spiraled into depression, became a recluse, moved away from the city where he and his love spent their time together, and soon after joined you in the afterlife.

“What a tragic tale, isn’t it dear?” He asks you with a proud smile on his face as he feeds you your lunch.

Lonely = They are feeling lonely but you are busy with something else, what will they do?

V is a patient man. If you are busy with an activity or responsibility, he will wait patiently for you to finish. He has his limits though (See Non-Stop). Also, depending on how urgently the task must be done or the rules regarding it, V would like to get involved.

“What are you doing my songbird? Watching something? May I join you?” “What is that craft you are making? How fascinating… Would you do me the honour of teaching me how to do it?” “What are you so furiously researching love? I would so dearly like to hear all about it, and perhaps I can help you search.”

V wants to learn everything he can about you and be involved with your interests and hobbies. And even if you are doing something that he can not assist in, such as writing a paper for school or work, then he will still insert himself by delivering to you snacks, drinks, messages, or simply his silky voice reading out his poetry to calm you and act as white noise while you focus. As long as it does not harm you or put you in danger, then V wants to support you and uplift you in any way he can.

Moving On = If you die or escape, will they be able to move on? How easy will it be for them?

You are his light, his world, and the number one reason that he fought to stay alive. If you were to leave him, he would be devastated. With you gone so is his will to live, and so he will follow you into the beyond. However, one deciding factor for how he will come to his end is how you met yours. If it was some unforeseen tragedy then he would chase after you into the next world immediately. But if your death was in any way his doing, he would drag out his death. Whether it be through starvation or letting his body deteriorate, whichever was more painful and a fitter punishment for the sins he has committed.

Alternatively, if you were to escape and he could not find you, his will would slowly drain. He would spend more time and energy looking for you and despairing over not being able to find you, he would neglect what he needs to do to stay alive. Slowly his failing body would wither away or, if the option is still available, he may just make a last-ditch effort to become whole again. He knows that death would be an easier option than reforming, but his lingering feelings may unconsciously drive Vergil to keep looking for you and you wouldn’t hide from Vergil, right? Knowing you were at least alive would give V’s broken heart and soul some levity while it rotted away somewhere inside Vergil.

Non-Stop = How clingy will they be when you’re in a relationship? How possessive are they? And how much free space do they give you?

V will give you a great deal more space than most yandere’s. He is fine with you spending time with others, whether he is present or not. He will even allow you to go on multiple-day-long trips, like road trips or vacations, with others. Seeing you happy and hearing you excitedly recount your outings was a joy in it of itself for him. Hearing you talk with exuberance and seeing your radiant smile as you describe the event you attended, the activity you did, and the conversations you had was just enough to make missing you worth it. It also helps that he is an introvert so is more than okay with spending some time for himself.

There is a limit to this though. If you have a job or attend school then he can get by with having you in the morning and evening. He will encourage you and praise you for your hard work before and after each day while enjoying having you all to himself. But if, on top of this, you are going out with friends two or three days a week then he’ll get antsy. He won’t get in the way, but he will get a bit needy and clingy, doing things like wanting to walk you to and from places just to spend more time with you and inviting you on more dates and activities to offset how much you go out with others.

But if others try to take up more of your time than that, V will become a lot more proactive. Suddenly you start ‘forgetting’ your phone in the other room all the time, meaning you miss calls and texts. Your calendar and alarms start messing up more, giving you incorrect times and dates causing you to miss events. V seemingly becomes more worried about your well-being. Do you have a bit of a cough? Feeling warmer than usual? A bit of a headache? Well, then it is best if you stay home. Even if it seems small now, exserting yourself by going out could just make things worse. Besides, the weather report said it might rain. So just rest at home today, V will be there to care for you.

Other = Someone else speaks to or flirts with you, how will they react?

V is usually very confident and trusting of you to not betray him so does not mind when others speak to you. He doesn’t blame the person either because you are a truly fascinating person that V can’t get enough of, so others wanting to get to know you is only logical. Other’s flirting with you is usually a similar story, as he trusted you implicitly. But that does not mean he is always complicit. If you or the person give him a reason to worry, such as you seemingly reciprocating that flirtation or the person overstepping boundaries, then V will act.

It won’t be a full-on assault, physically or verbally, it will be a subtle, insidious poison that he seeps into the bothersome person. Through his words he will gracefully belittle and insult the person while showcasing his superior knowledge and sharp wit. Most of his comments don’t even immodestly register as insults, instead, they will weigh the person down bit by bit until their confidence is but dust in the wind and they realize that they have no chance in besting V in his control over your heart.

Persistent = You have rejected/ignored their first attempts at gaining your attention. How many more times will they try and how quickly will their actions ramp up in intensity?

Before discovering a means of sustaining himself, he will see your rejection or obliviousness to his signs of affection as signs and reminders to not pursue you as it will only end in heartbreak. However, if, after proving to himself that he can indeed survive his once-set expiration date and he confesses to you (See Difference), you somehow misunderstand his confession, perhaps as some kind of bout of manic joy from being able to extend his life, then he will take time to calm down so you know he is being serious and tell you honestly and blatantly. He has already waited for so long, suppressing the calling of his heart and soul, and he will not waste another moment of his life not cherishing and worshiping you as you so deserve.

Questioned = How do they react if someone catches on to their odd behaviour and questions them?

V is calm, composed, levelheaded, and a master at manipulation and the ways of the English language. If someone starts questioning his actions then he can easily lead, twist, loop, and end the conversation like a conductor to an orchestra with the other speaker left satisfied and a bit confused on the topic and point of the conversation.

Risk = How risky will they be with getting rid of rivals?

V has no intention of killing anyone. He loves you and, though you may not see it now, he knows you love him too. But if he really feels the need to dispose of someone, he has to be careful. Not so much because he fears the police or the friends and family of the victim. They could easily be tricked and manipulated into cooperating. It was his own family and friends that posed a problem. Dante, Nero, Kyrie, they would never understand. They don’t understand how deep his love is for you. If they found out he killed someone to protect his relationship with you, they would try to intervene or, worst of all, try to get you away from him. V can’t risk that.

So he carefully plans out his assassination. He can’t use his familiars because there is a chance that as soon as the police/family realize the murder was done by a demon they may call Lady or Dante’s businesses for help and they can spot Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare’s work easily. And a physical altercation, even with the aid of weapons, would cause too much of a scene. So instead, V will kill with discreet methods, such as poison, or a disposable method, such as forming a contract with a demon, sending them out on their elimination mission, and then killing the new demon familiar so it could not be traced back to V.

Sweet = Even when they’re Yandere they can be sweet. What’s their sweet Yandere side?

You are his world, his everything, and he will tell you that often. Every day he tells you and shows you how much he appreciates you and all you do, for him and others. Being able to wake up beside you, spend time with you, and hold you at night is a blessing that he will always cherish, no matter how long you are together.

Type = What type of Yandere are they?

Going off of the Yandere Fandom Wiki’s list, V would mostly be a Manipulative Yandere (Focuses on working a series of situations to prevent losing their love.) with a bit of a Submissive Yandere (Only in love with one specific person and will carry out any task asked of them.).

V has a way with words and with his ability to stay calm and collected no matter the intricate lies he is weaving, he will subtly manipulate you into things like spending more time with him and fending off anyone who seriously threatens your relationship (See Other). He won’t just have you wrapped around his finger, as he will also make others question themselves or change their mind through his poetic, complex, cryptic wording. This can range from telling your family and friends that they should not make you go to some even, claiming things like how tired and stressed you are when in reality he just wants more time alone with you, to even beneficial things like convincing your teachers or boss to treat you better because you are such an amazing student/worker.

There is also little he wouldn’t do for you. He will of course do small things if you ask like taking you to and from appointments no matter the ungodly hour it is happening and taking you on dates to all the places you are interested in. But he will do so much more if only you ask it of him. For example, if you come to him for help, telling him about some person or group that is hurting you somehow, either directly or through association, and ask him to get rid of them, he will.

Unsure = How much trust do they have in you? What happens if you break it?

V trusts you a great deal, more than most yandere. Even when you make small mistakes he will quickly forgive you and assure you that he understands that you are doing your best and don’t truly mean any harm. If you do something drastic though, that is different. There is what will happen if you try to hurt yourself (See Kidnapping), but if you do something like cheat on him he will be devastated. He will blame himself for the most part, assuming he has failed to provide you with the love and affection you desire and is determined to be better. He will follow you without being too pushy, not quite a stalker but he will reappear in your life every couple of weeks to try to win your heart back. And between each meeting, he would work on improving himself in any way he thinks he is failing you, from physical to social to financial. At times he may even consider leaving you be, letting you go free, but he can’t help but be drawn to you. In the end, he would rather give up on life rather than give up on you.

Vexation = What is the one thing that you could do to piss them off or worry them the most?

V does not really get angry, being levelheaded enough to stay calm and give you and himself some space if he is getting frustrated. As for worrying him, the thing that will unsettle and worry him the most is if you suddenly, without plausible reason, start claiming that you love him and saying overly sweet things. If you were to say ‘I love you’ without complete sincerity he would see it as the complete opposite. You must be upset and/or unhappy in some way. Though he does not want to pry, if you keep forcing words of affection out it will eat away at him until he pleads for you to stop and instead tell him what it is that is driving you to hurt him like this.

Welcome = Let’s say they’re Yandere for you but you’ve not had your first meeting. How do they initiate it?

If you two have not officially met but you have caught V’s eye, he will avoid approaching you due to the belief that he will return to Vergil soon. He does not wish to hurt you by charming you and then disappearing, though that does have a romantic air to it. So perhaps he will allow himself to be seen once or twice if the situation requires. For example, if you are attacked by demons he will jump in to save you, maybe take a moment to let his mysterious and alluring aura seep in before disappearing like a masked hero, never truly known but leaving a sense of mysticism. At least this way, when the being known as V does disappear from this world, he will live on in you to a small extent.

If/when he knows that he can prolong his life, he will search for you right away. He’ll want to keep up his dark, mysterious, romantic aura as much as possible to make a good impression. This includes not giving you all the answers right away, slipping into the shadows and reappearing for the first few meets, and not letting you meet the blabbermouth Griffon or the horrific Nightmare, at least not at first. Shadow you may meet because he trusts her to not ruin the moment and may even add to his allure as he has a powerful jungle cat at his whim.

He has read countless poems and stories of romance, and he will use that to his advantage to make your introduction to him as perfect as possible.

Xeric = What is an innocuous thing you do that hits a nerve in their twisted mind and really turns them on?

Whether it is done casually during a time when you are relaxing and holding each other or if he is in the middle of something and your wandering mind leads you to do it, having you lightly trace the patterns of his tattoos sets his body and heart on fire faster then he is able to ask you why you are doing it. Having your fingers delicately glide along his skin has him twisting, arching, and bending into your touch, trembling slightly as soft gasps that sometimes sound more like moans, slip from his lips.

Yearning = They want you but you are already with someone else. How will they win you over/steal you from your current partner?

V will not even try. He is already hesitant to get close to you with his mission of becoming Vergil again. You being in a happy relationship with another offers him a melancholy peace as he knows that once he is gone you will be taken care of. In this circumstance, he will not even bother looking for a way to extend his life and simply complete the task he was created to do.

Zealot = If everything fails, will they be able to kill their partner? For the most part, no. Even if you fight, run, reject, and abandon him over and over he will never be pushed to kill you. The only circumstance in which he would take your life is if you have been irreparably damaged, physically or mentally. If, because of a demon attack, the cruelty of the world infecting you with an incurable disease, or you have lost your mind, if your life is nothing but suffering, he will mercy kill you. And he would follow you soon after, to be able to hold you in the afterlife and watch you be free of this pain.

#devil may cry imagine #devil may cry x reader #v x reader #devil may cry #yandere v #v dmc #v devil may cry #yandere v dmc #yandere #yandere male #soft yandere #male yandere #yandere devil may cry #dmc v x reader

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itsabouttimex2 · 9 months ago

Note

In your opinion who is most likely to be scary Yandere for you? Like what is the most terrifying Yandere that you are GLAD that you are not their obsessions?

Oh, this is an interesting question! I’m happy to answer. There’s four in total to go over here- and thank you for asking!

I’ve only written twice for Huntsman, (mostly because I can’t find gifs for him) but I genuinely find him to be the scariest Lego Monkie Kid yandere. His obsession with you is based almost entirely around your skills, either as a hunter equal to him or as prey worthy of pursuit. The love present between is mutual, in a way- grindstones alike, whetting your skills in lethal pursuit and escape. You invite his predation, then struggle to escape it. It’s a perpetual, equal race to the mastery of his and your respective skills, hunting and escaping.

If Huntsman does catch you, he’ll likely end with him stuffing your body as a dinner table prop or having you for dinner outright. At least he’s got a nice recipe for you.

Then again, you might just do the same to him if you win.

Either way, neither of you will ever forget the impact that the other has made on you.

Unlike Huntsman above, Tang Sanzang (also criminally few gifs) isn’t on this list because his intention is to harm you, or because he’s willing to follow through with actual butchery of your physical being-

No, it’s because he will win. There’s no escape from the pious pilgrim. He finds you, snatches you up, snaps a golden circlet or two onto your body somewhere, then forces you along on his journey, intending to make something better of you.

And after enough tightening sutras and lectures and escape attempts that are thwarted by his loyal disciples… you break. Confidence, stubbornness and rebellion can only last so long before you are left wearied and in need of comfort.

One moment you’re sniffling and clutching at the bands that cover your wrists, the skin long worn raw from repeated punishments. You stand on shaky feet with your head bowed, trying to stay strong in your quest to abandon this long, arduous journey.

The next moment you’ve got your head in his lap, sobbing your eyes out into the pants of his cossack. You apologize for every last thing you can think of, desperate for his kind touch and forgiveness. Sanzang offers you both in plentitude, his hands stroking down your hair and rubbing at the bands that have tortured your wrists for so long.

He’ll hold you close the rest of the day and then all through the night, his gentle fingers patching your wounds with herbal paste and untangling the knots in your hair.

And you’ll wonder why you ever wanted to leave in the first place.

Power, wealth, status. Big Mama has all three in abundance. She’s got a collection of mystic baubles and magical curios as far as the eye can see. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of servants and slaves gladiators.

And she’s very, very, cunning.

The webs she weaves to deceive are more than tangible- they’re snared to achieve a position where you’re forced into submission.

Big Mama will have you.

With an arcane bibelot to tamper with your mind and leave you unsettled. Using a rather disposable servant to stage a rescue that leaves you indebted. Sending a Yōkai to demolish your workplace and leave you in desperate need of her ‘generous’ offer to sign you on to her staff.

By brute, overwhelming force, if she must personally collect you. If you fight her too much here, she’ll leave you strung up from the ceiling with web over your eyes and ears to deprive you of your senses. Only for a while, of course. It wouldn’t do to damage her new little darling too much, even if her method of procural leaves you bruised and battered.

No matter the manner, she will have you.

(I held off on writing for this guy for the longest time, because I wasn’t sure if my followers would enjoy darker content. But I got the go ahead!)

Dabi’s a monster. He’s a man who prioritizes the downfall of his father above all else, and he’s a mile-long sadistic streak to pair with it.

He enjoys hurting people. Innocent people, to boot. No regard for their friends, for their families. No regard for the snuffing of precious, fragile life.

His mind is fractured from the strain and heartbreak of being cast aside by his father, replaced by his brother, and forgotten by his family in short turn.

You’re a outlet for Dabi, not someone he loves.

I don’t think he’s capable of love anymore.

You scream when his flaming fingers jab deep into your skin. You cry when his fingernail cut into your skin and ignite. He grabs big fistfuls of your hair and burns them off, chuckling as you sob, stinking of charred keratin.

His touch is tricky, mixing torturous pain with gentle relief. His softer actions are not true kindness- he’s only patching your wounds and stroking your hair so you’ll never now exactly what his next touch will consist of. Is he going to beat you? Pat your head? Rip out your fingernails?

You can’t know, not with the deliberate duality he displays. Every time he comes close to you, you tremble and whimper, smelled of burning hair and charred flesh. And Dabi hurts you, again and again and again.

But he won’t kill you. If there’s even a single, infinitesimally small speck of love left in his heart, it is dedicated solely to not killing you.

That is not a mercy.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere LMK #Huntsman #Yandere Huntsman #Tang Sanzang #Yandere Tang Sanzang #Yandere ROTTMNT #Yandere Big Mama #Yandere MHA #Yandere Dabi #TW: Torture

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twinklecupcake · 7 months ago

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Random Spider Demon headcanons:

Spider Queen and her boys are not the last remaining Spider Demons. (Thank goodness.) Their numbers are very small compared to what they were in the past, and they’re a lot fewer than most demons, though. Instead, they’re scattered in small groups throughout China. It’s hard for them to find each other, but they’re aware of each other’s existence.

Spindrax is Spider Queen’s niece (from her twin sister) and left the nest years ago. She’s kind of off doing her own thing/looking for another group.

Similarly, Huntsman and Goliath are her nephews from her older sister.

Spider Queen was one of the Seven Spider Sisters. She was the youngest - she had a twin sister, but said sister kept insisting she was older (her egg hatched a whole thirty seconds earlier).

All Spider Demons can produce webs, but the quality of the webbing varies depending on the demon. Spiders like Huntsman and Goliath have incredibly strong webs for weapons or shields, but others might have softer and more delicate webs because they use it for weaving.

Spider Demons carry their children everywhere in the first few months of their life. Usually in a silk bag on their back or chest.

Full Spider Demons lay eggs. But a half (or less) Spider child is a live birth. (Do not think about it too long.)

Spiders are matriarchal. If Spider Queen were to have a consort, he’d still be called the king, but she’d be the one in charge. There would be no question.

Spider Queen’s spider body is a mobility aid. She can walk and stand on her human legs, but only for so long. She also likes the added height and intimidation upgrade the mech gives her.

It took the Spiders a long time to stop eating humans. They were one of the few city-dwelling demons that still did. (You see those empty silk cocoons in ‘Noodles or Death?’ Yeah…) After being rescued from Spirit Jail by MK and crew, part of the truce was they had to stop.

Huntsman can and has taken down game several times his size. He brought down a bear.

Spider Demons absolutely cannot survive without meat. There’s no such thing as a vegetarian Spider.

All four of our Spider Demons have nightmares about the furnace, Not the Mayor, and LBD. Spider Queen’s lasted longest.

Spiders adopt ‘strays’ and orphans into their group. Any Spider who’s alone, won’t be for very long. Spiders are also very protective of anyone they deem as ‘theirs.’

Spider courtship mainly involves giving gifts of food. Huntsman had to explain that to Sandy later. It was hilarious.

Spider Queen considers all the spiders in the caves to be her children - this one is sorta canon though as it was mentioned in one of the tie-in books. Prior to her attempt of fighting LBD, she sent them all away for their safety.

Goliath looks tough and can punch a hole in stone, but he’s a big softie.

And a horrible tragic one: once, Goliath and Huntsman were looking for a new home before Silken Web Cave was relocated to the sewers. They found one cave that showed signs of Spiders having once lived there, but it clearly had not been used in centuries. Then Huntsman found old eggshells from smashed eggs. He urged himself and Goliath out fast, and was pretty messed up by it for a few days.

#q #monkie kid #silkteashipping #<- mentioned

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justadeadreaper · 1 year ago

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Hybrids between Ethereals were rare, in fact they were near nonexistent as most species tended to keep to themselves so a hybrid between an Ethereal and Angel was unheard of. A hybrid of that nature was deemed impossible as the Angels that did reproduce were nearly all outcasted an eternity ago, then you also heard the fear that also reigned over the minds of most Angels as it was not uncommon to hear rumours that if an Angel did have sex in general that they would be outcasted. But, this did not take into consideration hybrid Angels that were experiments; holy creatures made by the Almighty in an attempt to improve the powers that certain types of Angels had to make them more useful against the creatures of Hell.

That was when the first hybrid between the structure of an Ethereal and an Angel was born.

For the first one to be ever made the Almighty wanted to go all out. Even a creature such as the Almighty was sceptical as to if it would work as even in all the time that the Almighty had been alive something such as this had never been made. Once the Seraphim heard about the experiment it got to the Cherubim then the Thrones then the Dominions until all of Heaven had heard of the experiment. The elders of the Seraphim and a few other Angels disagreed with the idea saying that it was bad and could cause chaos but most of Heaven agreed with the idea which led to a competition being born. Whichever Angel could find all the parts of different Ethereals and have the Almighty agree that the parts were perfect would be blessed with a reward of their wildest dreams.

A young Angel, a simple Virtue who had grown attached to the babies that the humans cared for, came to the Almighty with the parts needed for the experiment. The pincers and legs of a spider that had been killed by a horde of Demons when it was weaving its thread and silk to form a new part of Heaven; the horn of a unicorn that had been ripped off due to the unicorn’s failure to keep their maiden a virgin; the claws of one of the wolves that had saved her from a Demon attack; the fangs and horns of the weaker Krampusse under the rule of Krampus, weird creatures of Hell that were the only Demons accepted into Heaven under the watch of Powers as their cause was seen as purer compared to other Demons that did not fully care about tormenting Angels or spreading sin on Earth. The parts were barely damaged, perfect to be used for the newest experiment that the Almighty planned. The Almighty deemed them as useful and acceptable for the experiment and in return for helping in this experiment, the Almighty blessed her with an important role that would fulfil her desire. She would be the “mother” of the hybrid as unlike the Angels that were born as adults this hybrid would be born a baby due to the unstable nature of the hybrid and as a backup plan in case anything went wrong as a weak baby that knew nothing was easier to kill than an adult.

The day or well the event itself was a spectacle. Everyone wanted to see the birth of this experiment, to see what would happen when Angels and Ethereals were brought together into one being. A perfect mix that was left to incubate until it was stable enough to be able to exist. The tension was palpable as all of Heaven gathered around the star Muscida to see the unique being that would hatch forth. It was not long before it finally hatched as if it could feel the expecting eyes watching it, waiting for it, everyone wanting to see it. The star began to glow as it slowly began to expand and expand.

Bang.

It exploded, releasing an array of colours that spread out creating a web around the remains of the shell which the new creature had hatched from. The thing was wrapped in a layer of light that even blinded the Angels, no one could see its true form as it was hidden behind the light and before the light had chance to dim that experiment had been taken away by Michael to be given to the Almighty and the awaiting mother.

The creature was raised by a caring heart but was trained as soon as it could understand commands, its only purpose was to keep the Almighty safe and kill as many demons as it could find. A Seraphim mutated by the pieces of other creatures, a monster, an abomination. Never accepted by other Seraphim or the Cherubim who had to begrudgingly tolerate it while it was praised by the masses of lower Angels for massacring any Demons that came to close or even broke into Heaven; a balance of hate and love that was enough to fuck up anyone’s mind especially an Angel that only chased after the blood of Demons like it was a source of food.

For a creature so praised that was even welcomed alongside the Powers even if it was a completely different rank, no one knew what it looked like. Yes, Angels knew the rumours that had been passed from the Seraphims in a game of telephone. It was supposed to be monstrous, horrid even compared to creatures like the Thrones, a slight against the Almighty who must have been out of mind when creating the damned thing, the epitome of the phrase ‘Do not be afraid’. Most did not believe it as they could slightly see the chiselled body which was hidden behind robes that hung loosely from its body, although some Angels believed that behind the wings and veil that covered the face was the thing that was the true horror as all they ever got glimpses of were three icey, blue eyes on the left side of the face that never blinked but instead had a red tint to it whenever light caught it.

But those who had seen it would not truly call it a monster even if it had the features of one. The only few people who had seen the true form were its “mother”, the seven Archangels, the Almighty, and other Seraphim. In her deranged state the “mother” of course accepted it, no matter the appearance she would have been accepting because that was the baby that she had dreamed of. The Archangels did not care as why would they? They were too important, too busy to care about another experiment, yes a few of them thought it was a bit horrifying but most of the higher Angels were horrifying so in their opinion it fit right in. The Almighty did not care at all, in fact pride was the only thing the Almighty felt towards the experiment even with its appearance as that was just a testament as to what it was, it was all that was dreamed of, a perfect being of destruction that at first glance would be believed to be a total failure or impossible but it was not, no not at all. It was the first and was proof that it could work, to make hybrids that had the abilities of the Ethereals that could make Angels even more powerful than they already were like how in Hell they had been making hybrids to make Demons more stronger. All it was was proof to the Almighty even if more hybrids would be weaker or mixed with only one or two Ethereal types. But for the Seraphim it depended on who was the one answering the question. Most believed it to be a horrifying abomination, an insult to their kind to have their form mutated with the parts of less holy beings, although a minority of the Seraphim were accepting as it was not their place to judge as it was the Almighty’s favourite pet out of them all.

So, what did it look like? Was it truly horrifying under the mask? Well it depends on what is deemed as horrifying which depends on the person who sees it.

Like all Seraphim it had six wings: a pair to hide the face, a pair to fly that were not hiding anything, and a pair to hide the feet. The feathers were pure white at first glance but when the light hit at certain angles or they were tilted a certain way each feather was tinted with its very own colour, no colour was the same making each one unique. Its skin was slightly tanned but riddled with scars and the freckles, the scars were golden and were mostly slash wounds from when it had fought with Demons while the freckles looked like stars had been scattered across its chest, back, and face. Its hair was long and consisted of three forms, the first where it seemed to be lines of pure gold that was fluffy like cotton candy, the second a great blaze that could be lit on command as a way form of a threat as it was a wild mess, and the third was for after the hair had been turned to fire as it was consumed in soot to the point that it looked like obsidian as it was thing and like thin branches. Most of the time loose strands of hair were in front of its face or it was held behind its horns. It had three horns, a spiralling horn that curved into a point which would change colour depending on its mood while on the side instead of ears were two ram horns either side that had a slight raised spike of a horn at the base which would be considered an extra pair of horns if they were not attached to the other horns. The mouth would stretch far wider than humanly possible to show a set of teeth mostly made of canines with a tongue could wrap around most creatures easily as two chelicerae lay at the corners of the lips ready to inject Demons with a poison that would surely kill them in a moment. Technically it had four arms, all of which ended with claws, attached to its body as pedipalps attached to its arms looked like arms while it already had two normal arms attached to a body that was chiselled but chiselled to be a tank that could withstand attacks as the muscle was hidden under a protective layer of fat. On its face was a total of five eyes, three on the left and two on the right. All were an icey blue that looked like you were staring at the ocean through ice as the main right eye had one above it as the main left eye had one above and one below. And a crooked nose that had been broken a far few times due to Seraphim that just did not like when it opened its mouth to brag. What it was most embarrassed about though was the tail due to the sensitivity of the poor appendage. A long, tapered thing which was covered in a soft, silk-like fur before near two thirds through it bushed out into a soft pillow.

Compared to most Seraphim it was large, very large. Taller than all the others except for a select few as it towered over not just the other Seraphim but most of the beings in Heaven except for the Thrones that tended to be double its height. But, it was not just its height or mutated appearance that set it apart from the others, it was also the halo. Yes it may have been made up of light and was a circular disk, acting much like it was from a painting of a Saint as if it was a golden disk attached to the back of its head, but it did not just have lines of light coming out of it, no, it was slightly more disturbing. Arms circled around the halo, then eyes circled the arms, before it was finally circled by more beams of light.

Although it was not just its appearance that had it hated but instead some others that had directly dealt with it hated it for the egotistical personality.

Now how would one deal with many conflicting emotions and what sort of creature would it create? The emotions of technically being the only one of your kind, being at the time the only hybrid and when the other hybrids were made you were the only hybrid like that and the species you belonged to as a hybrid either seemed to praise you as a saviour or hated you for just existing. That same species that rejected you were so powerful but made you feel so much smaller as they bullied and ostracised you for what you were even though you could crush them under your feet. Then due to their ostracisation you could not do the job you felt you needed to do as it was in your nature as none of them trusted you, instead you were trained to become a mindless killer like the Angels so below you in righteousness. But how did that mix with being praised and glorified by your creator for just existing and being the perfect model as everyone eyes seemed to be watching you, waiting for you to screw up to be killed as you had such higher standards put to you compared to the mindless drones of creatures that adore you and kissed at your feet for being a killer and such a holy thing.

It created a mess, an unstable mess. A volatile cocktail of a violent, insecure, paranoid, cocky thing with too much confidence while being riddled with anxiety as a God complex was filled by all the praises that it had heard its whole life causing such an inferiority and superiority complex that did nothing to help the anger issues. No being wiser to the unholy thoughts that riddled its mind and actions due to the Demon and somewhat mortal structures that affected its nature as it could get away with most of the things it wanted since who would dare attack him for taking his frustrations out on others.

It made him.

König.

The King of the Hybrids, the experiment, one of Heaven’s finest killers.

#angel!cod au #cod #angel #konig cod #könig cod #könig call of duty #konig #könig #angel könig #angel König

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spell-cleaver · 2 months ago

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Portrait of an Empire

Flufftober

Day 28: Lucky Charm

“See?”

Sheev stared at Luke’s cane. It was different, certainly. He’d had it lightly carved with swirling patterns that led the eye naturally to its base, the patterns filled in with thin filigree of a dark metal that looked familiar. The handle looked more comfortably smoothed down, jutting out at a right angle from the cane itself for his hand to rest on. The first chunk of the cane was thicker than the rest, holding more elaborate carvings, but at a glance Sheev couldn’t tell why, save for the handsome shape of it.

“A minor improvement,” he said. “But it is nice.”

Luke grinned.

His hands shifted. His left came up to grip the part of it that was thicker than the rest, while his right shifted the handle clockwise, then gripped the cane about halfway down its length.

The beam of a lightsaber shot out the top of the cane.

The plasma blade was the same length as a usual saber, but with the long, long hilt of the cane. Luke held it in front of him, stance wide, the muscles in his back shifting to accommodate.

“A lightspear,” Sheev said. He ignored what he always ignored: the fact that Luke’s lightsaber blade was not red anymore. By now, it was a very fetching pink. “Is that easier for you to fight with?”

“It hurts less.”

It was mostly true. Sheev could sense Luke was still using the Force to support himself and his back somewhat, to draw on and cancel out the pain. But he was impressed all the same.

“You are aware this will require a new duelling style.”

“I’ve fought with lightspears before.”

“You’ve always been a talented duellist,” Sheev agreed. He stood from his throne and approached so he was on the same level as Luke. “I imagine you will adapt to this one soon enough. What will you do if your opponent attempts to cut through your staff?”

Luke spun the cane in his hands. “The metal filigree is cortosis,” he said.

Sheev grinned. “I see. And what if your enemy shoots at you? It is more difficult to defend against a blaster with a lightspear than a lightsaber.”

Luke drew his lightspear up and deactivated it, then reached behind him. From his belt, he drew his other lightsaber—the shorter one he trained with when practicing dual-wielding. He flipped it in his hands a few times and lit it, weaving a small but expert web of defence.

“I can have both,” he said.

His lightsaber was a darker pink than his lightspear, yes. More rose coloured. His lightspear barely blushed. But they were both still pink.

“May they defend you well,” Sheev said gallantly, ignoring all his other problems.

#luke skywalker #random words on a page #my writing #sheev palpatine #portrait of an empire #flufftober 2024

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skyholly · 7 months ago

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The best kept secret

Summary: What if Moiraine had a baby daughter she and Siuan were forced to leave to Anvaere to raise as her own?

moiraine/siuan

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

Chapter 1. Guinevere

Ever since she was a young girl, Guinevere often found herself staring into the painting in the salon. It almost felt like looking into a mirror. The same brown hair, if anything a shade darker than her own, the same blue eyes, the same unreadable expression. She was lucky, her mother always told her, that she had taken after her aunt, for she had always been the more beautiful out of the two sisters. Yet Guinevere had no way of knowing if that was true, since she had seen her aunt but once in her nineteen years of life, and that encounter had happened so long ago they might as well be complete strangers. The only thing she held of hers was a small, sapphire stone that Moiraine had sent to Cairhien as a gift to her when she was born.

She was twelve years of age when her parents made the decision of sending her to Tár Valon, after years of showing channelling abilities. Little Guinevere had been so nervous about starting her training in the White Tower, leaving Cairhien, and her family behind.

“Do not worry sister,” her older brother, Barthanes, had told her in an attempt to calm her down, “Aunt Moiraine will be there. She’ll take care of you.”

Had Guinevere been any older, she would’ve been wise enough to doubt such promise, since her brother often found his judgement clouded by the love he held for a once present, loving aunt that was no more; but little naive Guinevere had grown up hearing his stories about their valiant, funny, immensely powerful aunt, so that unacquainted and mysterious figure she’d seen only in paintings that resembled her so much became her guardian during the years she spent within the Shining Walls, or so had Guinevere hoped. It would be an understatement to say she was disappointed.

Moiraine never set foot in the Tower during the years Guinevere spent training, as she clung to the little blue stone that reminded her she once had cared for her. Guinevere knew the Blues spent lots of time outside the Tower, gathering information and strengthening their webs, but she didn’t know of another Aes Sedai who walked the halls so infrequently as her aunt, and she never built up enough courage to ask her superiors about her.

It was by chance one day that she found out the older woman had in fact visited the Tower every couple of years, but had simply never bothered to look for her, to meet her. That revelation changed everything she used to believe about the older Aes Sedai. Guinevere didn’t allow herself to feel hurt, shut her pain away, choosing instead to match Moiraine’s indifference. She put any thoughts of her aunt aside, and focused on her studies at the White Tower. It soon became apparent she wasn’t as powerful as she was skillful and efficient, tremendously so, with an almost unmatched Talent for Healing, which managed to let her become a full Aes Sedai in under six years. By the time it came to choosing her Ajah, Moiraine was mostly out of her mind, and the only thing she looked forward to was coming back home to her family.

She didn’t feel upset when her aunt failed to show up when she predictably chose Yellow as the colour of her shawl, she expected it as much, for she had abandoned the idea of meeting her a long time ago. She spoke with the leader of her Ajah, the First Weaver, and due to her young age she was allowed to spend half the year pursuing her studies in Tár Valon and the other half in Cairhien, helping out in the Sanitarium, aiding anyone in need. That’s what she did during her first year as an Aes Sedai; and for the most of it, she was happy about it. As much as she enjoyed learning, studying the intricate weaves her superiors were able to channel, it always was a bittersweet feeling, leaving home with the prospect of spending six months within those Shining Walls, where everyone turned around for a second look at her, because they still couldn’t believe the uncanny resemblance she had to her aunt. Guinevere started to believe it was more of a curse than a blessing, as her mother wanted her to believe.

Guinevere was staring deeply into the portrait, all of her bags spread at her feet, when her mother walked into the room. The girl didn’t even hear the older woman entering the room, entranced as she was. She wasn’t staring completely in awe, as she once used to, but with a hint of resentment as well.

“The carriage is ready, darling.” Anvaere announced, stilling at the sight of the girl, who was aimlessly gazing at the painting in the wall. She ought to have gotten rid of that portrait long ago; it was too big a distraction, too big a risk for Guinevere. She should’ve threw it away the moment she started asking questions. Who is she? Why does she look so much like me? Where is she?

“I’ll be right there, mother.” Guinevere said, allowing herself one more second of staring before turning her gaze away from the picture and smiling at the woman in front of her, as Johnas picked up her bags and carried them outside. “I’ll miss you. And tell Barthanes I’ll miss him too. Dearly.”

“I’ll miss you too, dearest.” Her mother answered, embracing her, and leaving a kiss on the girl’s temple. On her daughter’s temple. That is what she had become the second Moiraine placed the whimpering baby in her arms, and that is what she would always be to her, no matter which secrets the Light forbade ever came out. Her daughter. “Don’t forget to write, regularly, alright?”

“Oh, I’ll send you so many letters you’ll get sick of them, I promise.” She giggled, stepping into the carriage. “You’ll need to get a second pair of eyes just to get through them all!”

Good weather and clear roads made for a swift and quiet travel and Guinevere found herself back in Tár Valon quicker than she would’ve imagined. She was received by Lowie, her best friend and an Aes Sedai from the Green Ajah, upon her arrival. She was a tall, charming girl with a carefree personality and eyes that exuded both braveness and kindness, and, most importantly, she was her same very young age. Some Aes Sedai found it weird, almost scandalous, that they were so close even though they were from different Ajahs, but being the two youngest ones training in the Tower had bonded them together tight enough to neglect the place’s principles.

“Winnie!” The red haired girl yelled, throwing herself onto her. Guinevere instantly stiffed at her touch, before easing into her embrace. “Hi Lowie,” she smiled back, “long time no see.”

“You have no idea of the things you’ve missed.” Lowie gasped, dramatically emphasising words, as she helped her friend carry her bags.

Guinevere held back a small smile as she followed the girl into her abandoned chambers. She didn’t really care much for the Tower’s politics and preferred to focus on her duties and studies, but she knew how much her friend loved to gossip. “Then please, fill me in,” she said with a grin, grabbing her friend’s arm and pulling her down onto the bed. A cloud of dust rose around them as they landed.

“Burn me, you really need to come here more often.”

With Lowie by her side and a thousand tasks a day to get done, Guinevere eased into her normal routine once again, and wearisome days became tedious weeks which became monotonous months. Everything was alright. That was until Lowie barged into her room one drowsy afternoon, eyes wide as plates and a hand resting on her agitated chest.

"What is it?" Guinevere asked, opening her eyes. She had a shift at the infirmary that night and was trying to get some rest, but she tensed at the sight of her friend, all the fatigue leaving her body. "Rowena?"

"They’re bringing the False Dragon into the city..." her friend said, breathing heavily.

Guinevere held back a bitter smile. “And?” She asked, about to get mad at her friend for disturbing her with such nonsense.

Lowie slowly walked towards her, and sat alongside her in the bed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “... Gwen, your aunt is here, she’s been called for an audience in the Hall.”

Guinevere’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of her aunt, but she didn’t let that show on her face. “I’m far too busy to care about any of those things, Lowie,” she remarked, with a pinch of resentment in her voice. The Light knew she had more important duties to attend to than some mad man and a woman she’s never seen in her life, “besides, I have twelve hours duties at the infirmary, starting tonight.”

Rowena stared at her friend, already used to her choosing indifference as her preferred shield against pain, but didn’t comment on it. The few times they discussed such topics, it had never ended well.

“Then at least let me accompany you to the infirmary,” Lowie begged, changing the subject, “maybe we’ll get to see Logain on our way there.”

“Fine,” Guinevere sighed, reluctantly standing up and putting on some clothes. A simple yellow dress and a comfortable, just the right amount of worn shoes. “I guess we can try that. Though I doubt we can even get a glimpse of him, the streets ought to be crammed.” But her complaints didn’t matter to Lowie, who grabbed her friend’s hand and led her outside the Tower into the busy streets of the city. Guinevere had seen the city in frenzies before, whether it was due to the Daughter-Heir visiting the tower or Queen Morgase herself, but she’d never seen the city bustling the way it did that day.

The two girls started pushing themselves toward the edge of the crowd so Lowie could get a good look at the False Dragon. “Winnie, there he is!” She squealed, but her voice got lost in a chorus of screams. Guinevere tried tiptoeing to get a better sight of him, but something else entirely caught her attention. Up there in one of the buildings facing the main street, two boys were sitting on the ledge of a window on the second floor, smiling down at all the commotion below them. They were both around her age, but it was the red-haired one who captured her eye. He seemed tall, had a lean build, and was wearing a blue shirt, with a heron-marked sword around his hips. He looked down to scan the streets and accidentally locked eyes with her.

Guinevere felt the air catch in her throat, and time seemed to stand still. Those blue eyes, the curve of his smile, the arch of his nose. She’d never met that boy, but somehow she knew him. It felt as if she’d always known him, impossible as it was. Like she had met him in a dream she’d never actually dreamt. She couldn’t draw her gaze away from him, hard as she tried, and neither could he; for a moment, it felt as if he were on the brink of jumping down to the street to get to her, and with that image alone, she felt compelled to run across the mob just to meet him. The intensity of such a thought scared her so much she turned around and hurried toward the infirmary, trying not to dwell on how the face of a stranger could somehow be so familiar to her.

The place was immersed in chaos, there were a dozen different patients in need of care, and very few yellow sisters to aid them.

“Guinevere.” She was commanded by a fellow sister, Myria, a quiet, reserved, and to the point kind of woman. “There are two who need your help, they’re in that room at the back, and be discreet about it. Come back as soon as you’re done with them, we’re expecting a particularly busy night. It’s a matter of time before all this celebration turns into trouble.”

“Discreet?” Guinevere thought, perplexed. “I will, sister.” She said nonetheless, and walked towards the almost hidden room across a series of sinuous hallways. She silently opened the door, and immediately understood the Aes Sedai’s orders. It was obvious to anyone’s eye that the two kids waiting in the room weren’t from Tár Valon, and with just a quick glance at their wounds, she could tell they had come across… an unusual kind of trouble. The girl, who she guessed was approximately her own age, had little more than bruises and some cuts around her face, but the man laying almost unconscious in the bed had some terrible lacerations all over his naked back.

“Hello, my name is Guinevere,” she introduced herself, making her way towards them, “I’ll be healing you both today. Could you tell me what happened?” She asked the girl, as she pointed with her head towards the boy.

“I-I’m Egwene,” the girl stuttered, “and this is Perrin. We had an unfortunate… encounter with some Whitecloaks I’m afraid.”

“I see.” Guinevere nodded, allowing herself to scan the girl one more time before turning her attention towards the man named Perrin, who had more urgent wounds to attend to. She kneeled beside the cot and delicately ran her fingers along his back, feeling the degree of mangling and tearing of the skin. It was the work of a blade that’d caused such abrasions. She closed her eyes and calmly filled her lungs with air, as she moved her hands in complex motions, pulling on intricate, twisting weaves that soon covered his body and began healing his injuries. The young man started grunting, his whole body shaking, as Healing could be a painful experience at times, and so Guinevere softly took him by the arm, closed her eyes, and drove his heart rate down enough so that he drifted into a peaceful, painless, slumber. That was a Talent of hers. At first everyone assumed it was Cardiac Arrest, but soon enough she found out she could not only stop a man’s heart, but manipulate heart rates up and down as she pleased.

“What did you do?!” Egwene asked, worried about her friend, and yet with a begrudging hint of curiosity in her voice, looking at her hands as if she were trying to decipher which particular movements had pulled on them.

“I just helped calm him down.” Guinevere replied, with a sober expression on her face. Using such Talent took a great deal of focus and serenity, for the consequences of using it hastily could have mortal consequences. “He’ll be alright,” she added, watching the weaves clear his back from any visible trauma, “but he’ll need lots of rest, and food, once he wakes up. Healing draws on a lot of energy.” She explained, feeling a bit lightheaded herself.

“Thank you,” the girl sighed, taking him by the hand, as if checking he was indeed away from harm, “I was so preoccupied.”

“I can imagine,” Guinevere said, finally drawing her attention towards her. There was something special about the girl, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Do you want me to heal these?” She asked her, tenderly brushing her fingers against the bruises on her face. “They seem painful. And it won’t hurt as much as it hurt him.”

Egwene stared at her for a moment, and then slowly nodded, holding back tears. Damn those barbaric, fundamentalists Whitecloacks. Attacking her sisters was already unforgivable, but torturing townspeople as well? And the worse of it, they excused all of their actions with the facade of walking in the Light. Guinevere pursed her lips, and pulled on some simpler weaves to heal her. And then it became obvious. The way her body eased into the One Power, how easy she embraced her Healing, how fast her bruising disappeared, how painless it seemed for her. She was no regular townswoman.

“You can channel.” Guinevere suddenly found herself mumbling under her breath. “Why are you here? Who brought you two here?” She asked, and she knew it was incautious of her, and that she was neglecting direct orders, but she didn’t seem able to get a hold of her tongue.

Egwene shifted uncomfortably in her place, as if deciding on whether to tell her, whether she deemed her trustworthy or not. Finally, she opted for the first one. “We’re looking for Moiraine.” She said with boldness, as if talking about an old friend, before regaining awareness of who she was talking to. “T-That is, Moiraine Sedai, of course. Is she here, in the Tower?”

Had Guinevere felt surprised by the mention of the older Aes Sedai, she didn’t let it show on her face. Of course I was asked to be discreet, they’re Moiraine’s. She couldn’t help but to leapt into an activity she thought long forgotten: trying to make sense of her aunt’s absence from the Tower. “Is this what she’s been doing this whole time? Recruiting girls with the ability to channel?” But that wouldn’t explain the boy, or the fact that she hadn’t brought any girl in the years Guinevere spent training. “How do you know Moiraine?” She inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“We travelled all the way here with her,” Egwene was quick to answer, fearing the Yellow Sister didn’t believe their connection with the elusive Aes Sedai, “she seeked us. We got separated on the way here, but if Moiraine is here she should be expecting us, and rather keenly I believe. If there’s a way for you to let her know we are here, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Mmh.” Guinevere hummed, turning to face the door. Was that bitterness showing on her face? Jealousy, perhaps? “You’ll both be fine,” she said, over her shoulder, “other sisters should come up to check on you regularly, and make sure to eat, you’ll find lots of food in the cabinet to your left.”

“T-thank you.” Egwene said, but Guinevere was halfway through the door already. She spent the rest of the night getting on with her tasks as if nothing had happened, ignoring the pain on her chest, the feeling of nausea on her stomach.

That night, the nightmare found her in her sleep once again.

Guinevere seldomly dreamt, but whenever she did, it was always the same nightmare, ever since she could remember: three little kids screaming in agony, and she couldn’t save them. In the dream they were hers, and they kept on calling for her, for their mother, but Guinevere couldn’t save them. Never.

She woke up with a scream stuck in her throat, the children’s screeches still ringing in her ears, heart pounding as if it were about to break through her chest, and immediately brought a hand to her forehead, in a clinical motion. “No fever,” she thought, “just a nightmare.” Guinevere leaned down towards her pillow once again, closing her eyes while trying to fix her breathing. “Just a nightmare.” She wished she would have her little music box by her side, it always helped calm her down, but she had always been too afraid of taking it out of Caihrien, she couldn’t risk losing it since it didn’t even belong to her.

Those nightmares were the reason she eluded sleep so much, often preferring to have Lowie remove her fatigue so she could get on with her duties. She looked up towards the window, slightly flinching her eyes at the pale ray of sunshine that peaked through the glass, and decided that if she wouldn’t fall back asleep, she might as well get ready for the day. She put on some simple clothes, combed her hair into a practical bun, and left her room. She walked across the corridor that led into the Hall of the Tower, and by the amount of both Aes Sedai and Warders that were anxiously waiting just outside the enormous door she could only assume Logain’s trial was taking place inside. She stopped for a moment, meditating on whether she wanted to stick around for the outcome or not, but the unwavering stare of one of the Warders on her made her lean for the latter.

He was a tall, brooding man, holding a guarded stance, with his long hair pulled away from his face, held back by a leather headband. His deep brown eyes and stoic face were fixed on her, which made her feel unnerved. She subtly glanced at his swords, at his clothes, at his almost royal demeanour he so obviously tried to hide, and the pieces began to fall together. There was only one warder in the world who could master such a stance, who could claim the title of Lord of the Seven Towers, the uncrowned king of Malkier. Al’Lan Mandragoran. He was Moiraine’s Warder. Which meant her aunt was most probably in there as well. The thought of Moiraine being so close, yet still so distant, gnawed at her.

The doors suddenly opened, and a figure dressed in royal blue came rushing out of them. Guinevere didn’t need to look twice to know who it was, she felt it, like a weave of electric, yet gentle power reaching her side. She was torn between turning around and forcing her eyesight steady, finally looking at her, and running as far as she could from her. Suddenly, she felt another gaze fall upon her, a much too heavy one, and she winced on the spot, as she started backing away, leaving the Tower, absentmindedly bumping against random citizens on her way towards the infirmary.

She avoided sleep that night. In fact, she took every shift available, night and day, and it wasn’t until two full days after the audience had taken place that she returned to the Tower. By that time her aunt was gone, once again.

“She’s been exiled,” Lowie explained to her, theatrically placing a hand over her heart, as Guinevere plummeted into bed, “it was awful. I wasn’t inside the Hall, but even in the corridor we all had to turn our backs to her. I don’t think she’ll ever be able to return.”

“Mmh.” Guinevere hummed, forcing her eyes shut. She couldn’t truly bring herself not to care about that, but she tried her best. “One more month, and you can get home. One month. And you can reunite with your family, your pianoforte, your paintings. One more month.” And so she endured that month, trying not to panic at the whispers of Moiraine travelling with a male channeler, of Moiraine searching for the Dragon Reborn, of Moiraine being a Darkfriend, of Moiraine presumably having died at Fal Dara.

She had already finished packing her bags, and was ready to head home, when someone knocked at her door.

“Yes?” Guinevere asked, greeting whoever was outside. To her surprise, it was the girl she’d healed some time ago, the one who had been looking for Moiraine. “Egwene?” She asked, confused.

“Guinevere Sedai,” the girl saluted her, bowing her head. Guinevere tilted her head to get a better look at her, and was happy to see her on a plain, white dress.

“I see you’ve become a Novice,” she commented, a genuine smile on her face, “that’s good. I was expecting you’d join the Tower, eventually.”

“Yes, Guinevere Sedai—

“Please, just call me Gwen.”

“Alright… Gwen,” she added, still slightly unsure, “it's been almost a month since I’ve signed the books of Novices.”

“Oh.” Guinevere lowered her gaze to her feet, ashamed. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been paying that much attention to the events of the Tower.”

Egwene directed a sympathetic smile towards her, while anxiously fidgeting with the hem of her sleeves. “Yes, anyhow,” the girl shifted uncomfortably on her spot, “I was sent here to give you a message.”

“And what could that message be?” She asked, amused.

Egwene cleared her throat, placing her hands over her skirts and then pulling them back, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. “The Amyrlin is expecting you,” she finally exhaled, “in her chambers.”

“I see.” Guinevere replied, her smile pursing into a thin line, perplexed as she wondered what could the Amyrlin possibly want to discuss with her, only that it couldn’t be good. Most of the women in the Tower were probably already commenting on it. Egwene nodded reluctantly, and turned to walk away, but Guinevere stopped her.

“Wait,” she said, delicately touching the girl’s shoulder, turning her around, “I have a question for you, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Anything.”

“What happened to your friend? And why aren’t you with Moiraine anymore? I’ve heard some rumours about the Borderlands and problems there—

Egwene held her gaze, soft and apprehensive, before lowering her head. “I don’t think I can talk about it.”

“My last name is Damodred,” Guinevere rushed to confess, grabbing the blue stone attached to her necklace from below her shirt to show it to her, as if to prove her statement, “Moiraine is my aunt. Please, I’m just concerned.” Well, that’s not entirely a lie. I am concerned for her. I am simply more concerned about what she’s been up to all this time. “And I couldn’t lie, even if I wanted to.”

“Oh, I do believe you’re her niece,” Egwene said, studying her face, “you look just like her, just younger. But I- I really think I can’t talk about it, Moiraine was very clear about that.”

“Look, Egwene” Guinevere said, approaching the girl, tenderly grabbing the girl’s hands. Had Egwene been more trained in the One Power, she would’ve been able to notice the warmth that suddenly spread through her body, easing her into Guinevere’s touch, loosening her tongue. She’d promised to never use such Talent, she’d be expelled from the Tower if anyone ever found out she did, and she truly felt terrible about doing it to Egwene, but she really was desperate. “Whatever she’s said to you, whatever you’ve done with her, whatever… secret she’s asked you to keep, it’s safe with me. I’d never do anything that hurt her.”

Egwene placidly smiled at her, “it’s a long story,” she said, timidly giggling, her cheeks flushing, but still determined not to tell her. It seems I’ve underestimated how powerful she is.

“Then it’s a good thing the Amyrlin chambers are so far away, isn’t it?” Guinevere studied Egwene's face, seeing a flicker of hesitation cross her eyes. Guinevere tightened her grip on the girl’s hand, as she finally nodded, seemingly accepting Guinevere’s faux sincerity. She intertwined their arms, and together, they walked down the long corridors of the White Tower.

“It started in the Two Rivers,” Egwene began quietly, as they passed a group of novices practising their weaves. “Moiraine came to our village. She was looking for someone... someone who could be the Dragon Reborn. There were five of us who could channel or had some connection to the One Power. Trollocs and other monsters were following us, and she said we needed to get to Tár Valon; we had some troubles getting here, but then, when we finally arrived, something changed. I don’t know… she said an opportunity to defeat the Dark One had arisen, and suddenly she was taking us to Fal Dara, to the Eye of the World.”

Guinevere kept an impassive expression on her face, impossible as it felt, as the world seemed to shift beneath her feet. Finally, she’d gotten some answers. It made so much sense. All those years… Moiraine had been looking for the Dragon Reborn. But why? Why didn’t she look for me the few times she’d return to the Tower?

“You went through the Blight?” Guinevere asked, shocked. Egwene eagerly nodded at her. “And what happened there?”

“I-I don’t know.” The girl said, eyes full of tears too stubborn to actually fall through her cheeks. “We were all supposed to face the Eye of the World together, but… I don’t know. One morning Moiraine and one of the boys had left, and then she came back alone, and refused to talk to us about what had happened there. Moiraine was… different, somehow, I couldn’t tell you what. She ordered Nynaeve and me to come here to become novices, and I don’t know exactly what she told Perrin, but he stayed at Fal Dara. She accompanied us here halfway and then parted ways, and I haven’t heard from her or Lan ever since.”

“I’m so sorry about your friend.” Guinevere said, voice laced with genuine compassion.

“Thank you, Gwen.” Egwene had stopped in her tracks, fixing her gaze on her, brushing a tear off her face. Guinevere felt terrible. One more thing. One more thing and you let her go.

“Egwene,” she said, resuming their walk, “do you happen to know why Moiraine knew she had to look for all of you?”

Egwene had opened her mouth to respond, but a voice in front of them interrupted them. “Guinevere Sedai, the Amyrlin has been expecting you.” A thin, nearly as tall as a man, very beautiful woman was standing stiffly in front of a big, resplendent pair of doors. They’d reached the Amyrlin’s chambers.

“Of course, Leane Sedai.” Guinevere said, bowing her head, showing the Keeper of the Chronicles the respect she deserved. She swiftly turned towards Egwene, finally letting go of her arm, praying the superior in front of her didn’t notice the young girl’s body limping the slightest, and confusion taking over her expression.

“Thank you, Egwene, for accompanying me here. I’ll be gone for some months now, but I’ll make sure to help in anything I can once I get back. I wish you nothing but luck on your training.”

The girl clumsily bowed to her, “I need to go, the Mistress of Novices is most probably looking for me,” and continued with her walk, disoriented. It’ll pass. She’ll be back to normal before anyone notices it. It’ll be like it never happened. I had to do it. There are no rules that prevent an Aes Sedai from lying to herself.

Guinevere turned towards the stoic looking woman standing in front of her. “The Amyrlin will see you now.”

Guinevere carefully adjusted her dress, before stepping inside the room. There, sitting on a cream coloured sofa, before a small table, was the Amyrlin Seat.

“You summoned me, Mother?” Guinevere asked, bowing deeply. She then lifted her gaze, locking eyes with the older woman. With her luminous brown eyes, sharp as ever, yet laced with a subtle hint of weakness, and nostalgia.

“Yes, Guinevere. Please, sit.” She said, gesturing towards the armchair in front of her.

Guinevere complied, noting the uncharacteristic tension in Siuan’s posture. The Amyrlin was not known for her softness, but there was something different today, something personal.

The older woman stared at her expectantly, as if waiting for the young girl to confess first, but despite Guinevere’s distaste for credo, she knew how to play the game. Speak first, lose the high ground.

“You must be wondering why I called you in here.” Siuan finally said, her lips turning into a gentle smile.

“I am, Mother,” she said, hesitantly nodding.

“We can lose the honorifics, for today at least,” the woman commented, crossing one leg over the other, as she reclined into the armchair’s cushions, encouraging the girl to get comfortable as well. But Guinevere was far too anxious for that. She remained still, her back straight and hands rigidly intertwined over her lap. Why am I here? “I have a favour to ask of you, Guinevere.”

She gulped. What? What could the Amyrlin Seat, a tremendously powerful Aes Sedai, who was once Blue herself, need of her? A teenage girl that avoided secrets, rumours and Tower’s politics like the plague? “A- A favour, Mother?”

“Siuan.” The woman’s smile widened, as she drew closer to her.

Guinevere blinked, still puzzled at the whole situation. “Siuan,” she echoed the older woman, “what is it that you need from me?”

“It’s not really what I need from you,” the Amyrlin explained, her pacing slow, “but what I need from your last name. I gather you’re on your way home.”

“I am, I was about to leave the Tower when you called for me.”

“Cairhien, that’s right?”

“Yes.”

Siuan Sanche pursed her lips, staring intensely into her, and opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it, as if she wasn’t sure she actually wanted to ask such a question. “Have you heard from Moiraine this past month?” She then asked, bluntly.

Guinevere felt the temperature of the room drop, her eyes slightly narrowing at the mention of her aunt. “No.” She replied, dryly, as she lowered her gaze towards the rug.

Her sudden change in demeanour didn’t go unnoticed by the older woman, who studied Guinevere’s face intensely, searching for what lay underneath. “You are angry at her.” She commented, sadness suddenly pouring into her eyes.

Guinevere cleared her throat. “My feelings towards Moiraine Sedai are unbiased.”

“You shouldn’t resent your aunt for her absence, Guinevere.”

“And yet you exiled her for it.” How weird. She knew Siuan’s position as the Amyrlin grew weaker each day, but she couldn’t possibly imagine her feeling compelled into doing something she didn’t feel was right. She didn’t choose to exile Moiraine?. Maybe she was overrating her power. She was, after all, asking a teenage girl for help.

Siuan started blinking in rapid motions, awkwardly resting her back against the armchair’s splat. She knew when she had been led into a corner. She’s so much like her mother, the woman thought, not being able to stop her mouth from turning into a sly grin, stubborn, and modestly yet fiercely witty. “I have a task for you.”

“Whatever you need, Mother.”

“If you hear from Moiraine, let me know.”

Guinevere smirked back at the woman. “Shouldn’t Moiraine be the one expecting to hear from you?” She found her mouth saying, acting quicker than her brain, something that happened more often than she liked. The young girl knew she was crossing a line, she knew as much, but something told her the older woman wouldn’t reprimand her. As a matter of fact, she suspected she actually enjoyed it. But perhaps she had underestimated Siuan’s temper.

She drew her smile back, and pursed her lips into a thin line. “That’ll be all, Daughter.”

Guinevere hastily stood up, and bowed her head. “Mother.” She turned to leave, and as she was reaching for the doorknob, she heard the Amyrlin’s voice speak to her.

“Oh, and Guinevere? Trust no one else. No intermediates.”

A flicker of diversion crossed Guinevere’s eyes. Oh, did she have some puzzles to put together. “Of course, Mother.”

Guinevere let out a sigh of relief when Johnas opened the door to her, and finally she was back home. She shook the older man’s hand, as she made her way inside the house. “It’s good to have you back, little lady.”

“Gwen?” She heard a man’s voice come from across the hall. “Barthanes?” She asked, breaking into a run. She hastily opened the door to the dining room, and couldn’t help but to squeal in excitement. “Oh, it’s been so long, brother.” She smiled, as he embraced her.

“I’ve missed you too, little sister.” He agreed, with a laugh. “Would you care for some tea? I’m afraid I have some business to attend to, letters and whatnot, but I can manage them while getting on with you.” He said, sitting back down at the breakfast table. “I trust your journey was uneventful?”

“Uneventful and rapid,” Guinevere replied, taking a seat opposite him. She watched as he deftly opened a letter, his eyes scanning the contents before setting it aside. “How have things been here?”

“Quiet,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Mother has been busy with her social circles, and the city remains as it always has—full of whispers.”

Guinevere nodded, her thoughts drifting back to the Tower, to the unfamiliar faces she had healed, and the fleeting encounters that had stirred something within her. “And what of the Sun Palace? Any news from the court?”

Barthanes paused, folding his hands over the table. “Rumors, mostly. There's talk of unrest in the Borderlands, and whispers of the Dragon Reborn.” At the mention of such a character, he sent a curious look her way. “Nothing you haven’t most probably heard of already within the Tower.”

She had indeed, but nonetheless the mention of the Dragon Reborn sent a shiver down her spine. The face of that boy she’d seen on Tár Valon suddenly popped into her mind. “Do you believe it?” she asked quietly, meeting her brother's gaze. “That the Dragon has been reborn?”

Her brother shifted uneasily on his seat, wetting his lips. “I truly don’t have time to dwell on such matters, sister.” He forced his lips into a stiff smile, as he started handling another envelope. “But what do you believe?” He inquired, with seeming indifference, but she could tell it was only a facade. She could sense his heart rate getting higher and higher. “What is it being said in the Tower anyway?” He added, shrugging his shoulders.

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied, rather dryly, uncomfortable with where the conversation had led them, “I don’t like involving myself in such talks. Besides, even if I did know something, I wouldn’t be allowed to talk to you about it.”

“Not even to your dear older brother?” He grinned, sending a charming smile her way, but she remained serious. “Anyway,” Barthanes stood up, picking up a stack of letters, “I’m afraid I must go, sister. Planning a wedding is much more work than you’d ever imagine.”

She directed her brother a little smile before he left the room, leaving her alone, a waterfall of thoughts pouring into her mind. That’s the thing about Cairhien. Hard as you might try to avoid them, whispers and rumours always find a way of getting to you.

Guinevere woke up early the next morning, had a quick breakfast, and ran towards the Sanatorium. She rushed through the Cairhien streets swiftly and with ease, her hometown’s display burned into her memory.

She entered the structure, joyfully greeting the guard standing before the door, and started making her way through the halls. That’s when she saw him.

The boy from Tár Valon.

His hair was as red as she remembered, but short almost to his scalp. He stood taller than she’d imagined, at least a foot taller than her. And his face… the same face that had both tormented and bewitched her ever since she saw him, months ago.

They locked gazes, eyes widening in surprise at finding each other, the same intense feeling flooding through their veins, but this time, no one ran away, quite the contrary. Guinevere started trotting towards him, and he did the same, until they were but inches away from each other.

“You’re the girl from Tár Valon,” he gasped, out of breath.

“I-I guess I am.” She stuttered, finding herself suddenly overwhelmed by his presence. It felt so weird, meeting someone you’ve somehow known all your life for the first time.

“I’m Rand.” He said, introducing himself, as he extended a hand towards her.

“I’m Guinevere.” She replied, carefully slipping her hand into his.

He gently closed his palm over hers, his skin warm and soft under his touch. “Hello, Guinevere.” He murmured, a tender smile on his face.

“Hello, Rand.” She replied, shyly returning his smile. They remained like that, hands locked into each other, until she stepped a foot back, clearing her throat.

“What are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Guinevere inquired, furrowing her brows. She’d never seen him in Cairhien before, she was sure of that.

“I work here.” He explained, letting his arms fall against his body. “It was a last-minute decision.”

“Oh.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve lived in Cairhien my whole life.” She replied, placing a hand against her chest.

He softly laughed at that. “I meant in the Sanatorium.”

“Ah,” she giggled, feeling her cheeks flush, “I work here as well. I mean, I help here,” she added, raising her left hand, where a ring with a small yellow stone rested in her middle finger, “I heal people. Or at least, I try my best.”

Slight and wary as it was, Guinevere noticed the hint of anger, and fright, that crossed the boy’s eyes at the sight of her ring. “You don’t like Aes Sedai?”

Rand hesitated. “I respect Aes Sedai.”

“That wasn’t my question.” She smiled.

“I’m just cautious of them.”

Guinevere stood straight, and folded her hands over her chest, as her smile turned into a grimace. “I’m afraid I’d be lying if I said you shouldn’t be.”

They spent the following weeks working in the same place, and everyday their bond both grew stronger, and a genuine, and amusing friendship started to flourish between the two. Guinevere always had a witty, lively response to all of his foolish, friendly banter. He’d made a habit out of walking her home every day after their duties were done, and the journey always fell short for their discussions, so much so that sometimes they walked straight past her house, and made some more rounds, just so they could keep on each other’s company. He always talked about his home, his family, his friends, but for some reason he never mentioned names.Still, she never commented on it. She talked about her hobbies in music and painting, and her job as a healer, her duty towards the Tower.

“I enjoy it, for the most of it.” She explained one day, as they made their way towards her house. “I love the healing part, at least, I like helping people. It’s all the current principles, and politics I despise— not that I think them inconsequential, it’s simply… out of my understanding. All this rivalry between the different Ajah, it makes no sense to me. I know they’re due to historical conflicts, but why do we let the past control us that much? I don’t know, I just think the Tower would work better without all the secrecy. To both our sisters and regular townsfolk, of course.”

“Most regular townsfolk despise the lot of you,” he commented, “Cairhien is like another world, too close to Tár Valon to notice it, but the farther you get from the city, the stronger the fear of Aes Sedai becomes.”

“And that’s terrible!” Guinevere explained, aggrieved. “We should be the servants of all. The ones who help the world become a better place, for everyone alike. And yet it seems that as of lately we serve no one but ourselves.” She sighed, as they reached her house. Guinevere stopped in front of the door, expectantly looking at him. Everyday he accompanied her home, and yet he always refused to stay for a cup of tea.

She knew he lived in the Foregate, and she knew firsthand how harsh it could get there, as she often liked to wander around it, aiding anyone who accepted her help, and so she had often offered Rand a warm bath, a warm meal, a warm bed, if he needed. But he had always refused all of it. That day he looked particularly shabby, and she could see traces of ash on parts of his skin and clothes.

“Well,” he said, pursing his lips into a thin smile, “have a good night, Gwen.”

“Wait!” She exclaimed, grabbing him from his arm before he could turn around. A splash of red started to paint her cheeks a burgundy colour, as she hadn’t planned on being so abrupt. She moved backwards, rising to his height as she settled on the first step of the stairs that led to her door. “Just… Why don’t you come in, for a cup of tea? I could lend you that book we were talking about.”

He hesitated, lowering his gaze, and yet not letting go of her arm. “I-I can’t, Gwen.”

“Why?” She breathed out. “If it’s my family you’re concerned about— they’re perfectly pleasant to be around. And my mother would be thrilled to have you over, maybe offer you a better place to stay—

“There’s someone else, Gwen.” He interrupted her, finally meeting her eyes, as sadness and regret took over his. “There’s this woman—

“Oh.” She couldn’t help but sigh, angry at her voice for betraying her by sounding so disappointed. Of course there’s another girl. She motioned to take her hand away, but that only caused to tighten his grip on hers. He took a step closer to her, mouths one breath away from one another.

“It’s not like that,” he muttered, cursing under his breath, “burn me, it’s difficult to explain, I-I just owe her so much, I-I can’t… you…

“It’s fine, Rand.” Guinevere murmured, as she softly caressed the palm of his hand. “I understand.”

“You do?” He asked, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Of course I do. Rand, I like being your friend,” she admitted, as a smile forced dimples into her cheeks, “and I’d still love for you to come one afternoon. I could show you our library and music room.”

He grimaced, a sad smile taking over his demeanour. “I’d like that,” he confessed, “very much indeed, but it’ll have to wait. I’ll be gone for a couple of days.”

“Gone where?” She asked, and the look on his face, of pain, shame, sadness, made her realise she shouldn’t have done so. “You can’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You needn't, Rand.” She said, offering the most genuine smile she could muster under the circumstances. “I’ll be happy to have you over once you come back.” She lightly tapped his hand, and he finally let her away from his gentle, yet firm grip. “I hope you have a nice trip, Rand.”

“Thank you, Gwen.” He replied, gloomily.

That night, the nightmare visited her again. It had done so every night since she had met Rand at the Sanatorium. Guinevere jerked upright in her bed, her whole body had broken into a sweat, and she felt feverish. It’d been a long time since a nightmare had affected her that much. She bolted towards her desk, and grabbed a little music box with a ballerina inside. She laid on her bed once again, and placed the music box in the nightstand beside her. She closed her eyes, her breathing steading, as the music lulled her back to sleep.

Next time she woke up, soft beams of sunshine were tickling her face. It’d be a sunny day. That always managed to get her out and about quickly. She jumped out of bed, put on some clothes, had a small breakfast, and made her bag for the day, a pouch sitting firmly over her hips.

Just as she was about to leave for the Sanitorium, she heard a knock on the door. She knew her mother would scold her for answering herself instead of having Johnas greet the guest, but she paid no mind to it, she already was on her way out after all.

Guinevere opened the door, and was greeted by a pair of weary, yet somehow sparkly, blue eyes. Her whole body went stiff, a gasp caught in her throat, heart pounding in her chest. The paintings didn’t do it justice. It truly was like looking into a mirror. A mirror that reflected a somehow older version of herself, once she wouldn’t have found in the paintings around her house, of course. The same midnight shade of blue on their eyes, where Guinevere’s were gleaming and doe-like, hers were sunken and hollow, surrounded by lines of weariness. The same cheeks, but where Guinevere’s were full and rosy, hers were angular and dull, skin sagging a little around them.

Guinevere saw the older woman match her own staggered expression for a moment, before composing herself, and clearing her throat. That managed to get the girl’s mind attached to the rest of her body once again.

“M-Moiraine,” she stuttered, still in shock, “I mean, Moiraine Sedai.” She added, with a slight tilt of her head, stepping aside as to let the older woman in.

“There’s no need for such formalities, child.” The Aes Sedai said, hastily getting inside and closing the door behind her. She got a quick glimpse at her, and then started scanning the room, her eyes as calculating and stern as she had imagined.

Guinevere remained still for a moment, before regaining awareness of herself, and the situation. Of course, she probably has no idea who I am. “I’m sorry, my name is—

“Guinevere, I know.” The woman said, finally setting her eyes on her. Guinevere looked at her, and was surprised to see her eyes gleaming, as if she were holding back tears, which managed to upset her. She was the one who should be sad, the one who deserved to feel neglected. “You’ve grown. Last time I saw you, you were as tall as this table.” She added, gesturing towards the furniture on her left. Guinevere tilted her head to meet the woman’s gaze, and noticed a flicker of sadness on them, the exact same one she’d seen on Siuan’s.

“I wouldn’t remember.”

“No,” she sighed, her lips almost quivering, unwillingly drawing her stare away from her, “I guess you wouldn’t.”

They remained in awkward silence, not knowing what else to say, until Johnas walked across the hall. He abruptly came to a halt, not believing his eyes. “Am I so very old I’ve started seeing double, or is that you, Lady Moiraine?”

Moiraine was about to respond, but Guinevere interrupted her. “Johnas, please tell my mother her sister is here. It’s still quite early, I’m afraid she ought to be in the painting room.”

“Of course, little lady.” The man bowed towards the both of them, and left the room.

Guinevere turned her gaze towards her aunt, and started to subtly examine her. She wasn’t the once-in a lifetime hero her brother had made her out to be. She seemed tired, weary, and overly aged for an Aes Sedai. And her power… if she was as powerful as everyone said, she couldn’t feel it. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t feel anything within her. She turned her face upwards, and noticed the older woman studying her just as she had been doing as well. Moiraine took one step closer to her, softly placing hand on Guinevere’s head and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Guinevere, I—

“Little lady, my lady,” Johnas interrupted them, as he barged into the room, “your sister is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

Moiraine suddenly drew her hand to herself, casting a glance of guilt to the younger girl, as if she had been on the brink of doing something she’d later regret. She cleared her throat as she turned around, following the butler into the next room, and leaving Guinevere all by herself in the hall. I was wrong. If Moiraine wasn’t as powerful with the One Power, then how could she explain the electrifying, almost burning feeling that ran through her body when she’d touched her?

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

This was written so quickly and I still have yet to proofread it, so please, comment if you've enjoyed it and would like another part and if there's anything you'd like to see! Thank you for reading

Chapter 2 here!

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c-e-d-dreamer · 2 years ago

Text

Falling For Your Fools Gold: Chapter 13

A/N: Can y'all believe there's only one more chapter and then the epilogue remaining of this story? Wild. But I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! The ending is dedicated especially to @dustjacketmusings who said she'd only forgive me for the last chapter if there was murder. Which is a great segue into TW: murder, blood/violence, and attempted execution.

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Nesta stares at her window, at the sheer curtains blowing gently in the breeze that pours into her room. She can see the blue sky that stretches far and wide beyond the window, the sun as it begins its steady climb high above. It’s clearly going to be a perfect, late summer day, but all Nesta feels is cold numbness. It settles like ice in her gaping chest, her heart a throbbing and aching thing between her ribs.

Nesta tilts her head just enough that she can bury her nose in the fabric at her collar. She takes a shaky breath in, the scent of pine and burning embers flooding her senses and seeping beneath her skin. If she closes her eyes tight, she swears that she can almost feel the rocking of the sea beneath her, swears she can almost hear the sound of crashing waves against a wooden hull. And if she really concentrates, she swears she can almost feel a warm body pressed along her spine, strong arms holding her close, and slow, sleepy breaths fanning across her cheek.

She lets out a soft snort, barely a derisive laugh, as her eyes snap back open and reveal the truth of her situation. She never thought there’d be a day when she’d feel like a stranger in her own room, but then again, Nesta supposes she never thought she’d fall in love with a pirate captain either.

A whimper tears its way free past Nesta lips at that thought, at the thought of never seeing Cassian again, and she lifts her hands to press the heels against her eyes, determined to stop any more tears from falling. She takes a deep, steadying breath, and allows determination to settle like steel through her bones. She can’t let this get to her, won’t let this get to her. She’s stronger than this.

She just needs a plan.

Perhaps she can use everything that’s happened as an excuse to stall her father and Tomas, to delay the wedding while she “recovers.” It will give her the time to secure passage out of Adriata. All she needs to do is find someone with a ship, someone willing to take her to one of the port cities that Cassian and his crew are likely to stop in at some point.

“Nesta?”

Nesta turns her head over her shoulder, finding Feyre peeking her head through the bedroom door. Her youngest sister offers a small, tentative smile when Nesta meets her gaze, and then she’s stepping fully into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

“Father said you arrived late last night and to let you rest, but I wanted to see you,” Feyre explains, clambering up onto the bed as though they’re children again. “Are you wearing a man’s shirt?”

The sudden question and subject change has a genuine smile tugging at Nesta’s lip as she sits up properly. “You haven’t seen me in how long and that’s the first thing you ask?”

Feyre rolls her eyes, but she slips under the blankets beside Nesta, and when she meets her oldest sister’s eyes again, her face has gone serious. “Are you alright?”

Nesta drops her own eyes to her hands, fingers curling and twisting within the blankets. She considers lying. It would be so easy for the words to tumble past her lips, to weave the web about Tomas saving her and being happy to be back in Adriata. But though she, Elain, and Feyre had been through so much, though they had sometimes grown too long of claws through the years, they never lied. Not to each other.

“I will be,” Nesta finally answers.

Feyre offers a small, sympathetic smile at the response. She opens her mouth as though to say something more, but the opening of Nesta’s bedroom door again draws both women’s attention. They turn their heads just in time to watch Elain slip inside, the middle Archeron blinking a few times in surprise before a small smile takes over her face.

“I see we both had the same idea,” Elain tells Feyre as she too clambers up onto the bed to join her sisters. Once she’s settled on Nesta’s other side, she reaches a hand out, curling her fingers around her older sister’s. “I’m so glad that you’re home safe now. We were so worried.”

Shame claws its way through Nesta’s throat at her sister’s words, at the sincerity shining in her brown eyes, and she ducks her head and chokes out, “thanks.”

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like,” Elain continues, frowning as she shakes her head. “Taken by pirates? That must have been terrifying.”

“Surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as you think,” Nesta answers honestly, barely swallowing down the emotions threatening to spill over, the lump trying to form in her throat, as memories of the crew, of Cassian, are forcefully pulled back to the front of her mind.

“Speaking of pirates,” Feyre jumps in to say, leaning forward and dropping her voice. “I snuck off to the market square the other day, and I overheard some of the fishermen talking. Apparently, there’s a new pirate sailing the waters. A female. They called her Lady Death.”

It takes everything within Nesta to keep down her amused laugh, and she has to press her lips together firmly to stop from smirking. She can already imagine how Gwyn, Emerie, and Cresseida would react to stories of her being spread, to her name making it back to Adriata before she did.

“That’s absurd,” Elain scoffs, with a roll of her eyes. “There would never be ladies on a pirate ship.”

“The pirate crew I was with had women,” Nesta corrects, suddenly feeling offended on Cassian’s behalf.

“Really?” Feyre asks excitedly.

“You can’t run off and join a pirate crew, Feyre,” Elain teases lightly, laughter coloring her tone.

“Well, obviously. I don’t even know where I’d find a pirate crew,” Feyre grumbles before her face lights up again and her head snaps back toward Nesta with a smirk. “Unless Nesta can tell us the secrets to finding one.”

“Feyre,” Elain scolds, giving her younger sister a firm yet outraged look. She turns back to Nesta with a sympathetic smile, squeezing her hand again. “Don’t worry, Nesta. You don’t have to worry anymore about that Lord of Bloodshed or any more pirates. I’m sure that Lady Death will be brought to justice soon too.”

Nesta opens her mouth, ready to thank her sister for her concern, however misplaced it may be, before Elain’s words fully snag in Nesta’s mind. “How did you know I was with the Lord of Bloodshed?”

Elain and Feyre both frown at the question, sharing a look between them before Elain answers, “they brought the pirate captain back to Adriata with you. He’s going to be punished for his crimes.”

The world falls away from beneath Nesta’s feet, and for a moment, she feels like she’s free falling. Her head spins, all the air sucked out of her lungs, out of the room, as the walls press in around her. She tries to breathe around the pain flaring through her chest, through the black spots threatening to press into her vision, and somehow is able to squeeze words out again.

“What?”

“I thought you knew that Tomas had captured him when he rescued you. He’s going to hang for his piracy and for kidnapping you.”

“When?” Nesta demands, her heart already starting to pound an erratic beat.

“The hanging is scheduled for noon, just like always,” Feyre explains slowly, tilting her head curiously. “Nesta, are you alright?”

Nesta wants to scream. She wants to scream at her sisters that no, she is decidedly not alright. Nothing is alright. This can’t be happening. The crew was meant to be safe. That was why Nesta left with Tomas and came back to Adriata. That was why she walked away from the life she’d built on that ship, from the happiness she had found. She did it all so that the crew would be safe, and that includes Cassian.

He can’t die, not because of her. Losing him when she stepped off that ship was hard enough, but this? And it being all her fault? No. She refuses to let that happen. She’ll use every trick and honeyed word in her arsenal. She’ll plead and promise Tomas whatever he wants if she has to.

She will not let Cassian die.

Nesta snaps her head back toward the window, eying how high the sun has already climbed in the sky. It can’t be long now. She needs to hurry. Without another word, she throws the blankets off her legs and clambers off the bed, rushing toward her wardrobe and the dresses hanging there.

“I need you to help me dress,” Nesta requests, although the tone of her voice leaves it sounding more like a demand. She can’t find it within herself to care.

“Nesta, what's wrong?” Elain asks, decidedly not moving from her spot on the bed.

“I don't have time to explain,” Nesta snaps, pulling out one of her dresses and yanking it on over her shirt.

Elain looks less than impressed by the non-response, her face practically exasperated, but at least, Feyre clambers up off the bed. She steps up behind Nesta and helps tug the dress into place, working through the laces with deft fingers. Elain lets out a soft sigh, but she too climbs off the bed. She grabs Nesta's brush and golden pins off her vanity table, and starts to help Nesta get her hair into a semblance of order.

With her sisters' help, Nesta is ready in record time. She barely waits for Elain to slide the last pin into place before she's picking her skirts up and rushing for the door. She's half aware of Elain exclaiming her name in shock, of Feyre's footfalls following her through the winding corridors, but all Nesta can think about is Cassian.

As she bursts out the front door of the manor house and runs through the streets of Adriata, she swears her heart starts to beat in time with his name. A steady thrum of Cassian Cassian Cassian. And with every step closer to the Fort, every slap of her feet against the cobblestone, that beat grows louder, grows faster, grows desperate, urging her to keep moving.

Nesta's chest is heaving by the time she reaches the entrance to the Fort. The soldiers guarding either side eye her curiously, but Nesta refuses to let it faze her, determination blazing too hot, too bright, through her veins. She takes a moment to take a deep breath, to finally slow her steps. Then, with her spine straight, shoulders back, and head held high, Nesta walks through the large, stone archway and into the Fort.

“Nesta!” Feyre's voice calls before her youngest sister is settling into step beside her and looping their arms together. “Since when have you been able to run so fast?”

“I've been training,” Nesta explains simply, leading them both through the corridor until they step back into the sun and the main square of the Fort.

“Training for what?”

Nesta doesn't have time to deal with answering her sister's pestering questions. A wooden platform has been erected at the center of the main square, the executioner already standing atop it and waiting with cold indifference. Above the platform, a rope hangs down, a threat and a promise of what's to come. A decent sized crowd has already formed around the platform, from Adriata townsfolk taking time away from their shops and market stalls to the soldiers standing at attention and scattered along the inner walls of the Fort. Nesta's eyes scan the crowd, trying to spot her father or Tomas. She's sure that wherever they're standing, they are most likely together, and once she finds them, she can begin pleading her case for sparing Cassian.

A cacophony of cheers and jeers rise from the crowd, and Nesta snaps her head toward the sound just in time to watch the sea of bodies part and create a path. Two guards step forward, and walking in between them is Cassian. His hands are bound behind his back, his head hanging low over his shoulders and his loose hair obscuring his face.

Nesta feels like she can’t breathe watching him get closer and closer to that platform. The urge to call out his name claws at her throat, but when she parts her lips, no sound comes out. If she thought her heart was pounding before, it’s beating double time now, twisting and squeezing until Nesta’s whole chest seems to radiate pain.

Urgency prickles along Nesta’s skin now more than ever. She can’t handle watching Cassian take those final steps up onto the platform. Can’t stand the sight of his shoulders slumped and hunched as though in defeat. Doesn’t even want to think about the look on his face as they settle that rope around his neck. She just has to find Tomas. Or perhaps, if she makes a big enough scene—

“Lady Nesta.”

Nesta turns to find a man now standing in front of her. He’s dressed in dark finery, a coat of rich, black fabric and silver thread. A hat hides most of the dark strands of his hair, the wide brim of it casting a shadow across his face and leaving his eyes looking almost violet. Nesta is sure that she’s never seen this man in her life, but with the way his eyes flicker, the way the corner of his mouth twitches up in the barest hint of a smirk, it’s clear that he knows her. Even more so when the man sketches into a bow.

“My lord,” Nesta answers politely, dipping into a curtsey.

“And who might this absolutely lovely woman with you be?” the man asks, turning his attention to Nesta’s left.

Nesta frowns slightly at the question. “My youngest sister, Feyre.”

“Feyre darling,” the man all but purrs, taking Feyre’s hand in his and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “A pleasure.”

“You as well, my lord,” Feyre offers, pink spilling across her cheeks.

“I must say, as much as I’d love to stay and speak with such beautiful women,” the man continues, daring to wink at Feyre. “I hope you ladies can excuse me.”

Another bow, and the man steps away from them and toward the crowd. Nesta watches curiously as instead of merely joining the onlookers, the man actively makes his way through the sea of bodies. Even more curious is that Nesta spots another man doing the same a little further away. Much like the first man, he’s dressed in all black, a hat hiding his face as he moves through the crowd and around the bodies gathered like a shadow.

Both men seem set on reaching the platform where Cassian is standing, and it hits Nesta suddenly who they must be, how the first man must have known her name. His brothers. Nesta’s attention snaps to the pirate captain up on the platform at last, and she almost wants to laugh. Despite the rope currently hanging around his neck, despite the bruise purpling the skin of his temple and cheek, despite the literal verdict decree being read aloud to a jeering crowd, Cassian is currently wearing that cocksure smirk of his.

“You now have the opportunity to speak any final words,” the executioner informs him.

“The only words I have are for the Commodore,” Cassian declares, his gaze darting to where Nesta assumes Tomas must be standing. “I want to commend you on your attempt at bringing me to justice, but I regret to inform you that you’ve once again failed.”

A confused murmur breaks out from the crowd before Tomas’ voice rings out above them all, “just hang the bastard already!”

The executioner listens to Tomas’ demand, the platform beneath Cassian’s feet suddenly falling away. At the same moment, a dagger goes flying through the air. It cuts clean through the rope, embedding deep into the wooden pole of the platform and sending Cassian tumbling to the ground. For a moment, there’s only stunned silence, and then all chaos breaks loose.

Nesta doesn’t waste another second. She lunges for the soldier closest to her, reaching for his sword and yanking it free. The soldier whips his attention toward her, eyes wide in surprise, but Nesta is swinging the sword with ease, cutting him down where he stands.

“Nesta!” Feyre exclaims.

Knowing that her sister can take care of herself, Nesta doesn’t look back and rushes into the fray. Shouts and the sounds of metal on metal echo off the stone walls surrounding the main square of the Fort. The crowd has started to disperse, everyone rushing toward the safety of the inner walls of the Fort and away from the fighting, and Nesta shoulders her way against the current of bodies, striking down soldiers as she gets closer and closer to the center of the square.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Cassian’s brothers distracted and engaged in their own fights, so she continues to push forward until she reaches the platform. Cassian is still sprawled across the ground; although, he’s worked his arms around so they’re bound across his front rather than behind his back. Nesta releases a relieved breath at seeing him alright, the sight a soothing balm that calms her thrumming heart. Cassian raises his head away from where he was focused on getting his hands free and meets her gaze as she steps closer. A wide, slow smirk starts to pull across his face, but then his attention dances over Nesta’s shoulders, eyes widening.

“Nes,” Cassian warns.

Nesta whirls around just in time to watch a soldier rush toward them. She resets her stance and lifts her sword, readying for a fight, but the soldier’s steps stutter to a stop. The soldier’s jaw slackens, his mouth open and closing as he merely stares at Nesta, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. With a scoff, Nesta rolls her eyes and swings her sword, easily disarming the soldier. With a twist of her wrist, she brings the hilt of her sword across his temple, and the soldier crumbles against the cobblestones unconscious.

Nesta moves to turn back to Cassian, but calluses sliding against the skin of her ankle have her jolting in surprise. She snaps her attention down only to find Cassian at her feet. With his still bound hands, he lifts the skirts of her dress up higher, not even bothering to meet her gaze.

“What are you doing?” Nesta demands, kicking her leg out to dislodge his grip.

“Where is your dagger?” Cassian shoots back, his tone almost exasperated.

“I left it on your ship.”

“Have I taught you nothing, princess?”

With another roll of her eyes, Nesta leans down. She slides the blade of her sword between Cassian’s hands, tugging until the rope tears. Cassian untangles the remaining rope from around his wrists, tossing it aside, before finally clambering up to his feet. He steps over to the unconscious soldier, picking up the discarded sword.

Cassian opens his mouth, as though he plans to say something more, but before he can, more soldiers rush toward them, none of the hesitation from the earlier soldier about fighting a woman to be seen. Nesta and Cassian settle back to back, moving in tandem and around one another as they fight off the onslaught. It’s like a dance known only to the two of them, each step, each swing of their swords, in time with a melody heard only between their souls.

Nesta ducks under an arching sword, spinning to swipe at the offending soldier’s legs. The sound of metal on metal echoes especially close to her ear, and when she turns her head to the right, she finds someone has blocked a sword that was careening straight for her shoulder. Her eyes follow along the blade that saved her until she meets a pair of hazel eyes, different yet so similar to the pair she’s come to love.

“You must be Nesta,” Cassian’s brother offers, using his free hand to pull a dagger from his belt and sinking it into the soldier’s gut. “Azriel.”

Nesta blinks a few times in surprise, at Azriel’s cool calmness despite the chaos around them, before she shakes herself back to the moment. She kicks at the soldier until he goes crumbling to the ground, clutching at his gut where the dagger went in. She stands back to her full height, rolling her shoulders and readying for the next soldier to step forward.

It seems that both of Cassian’s brothers have been pushed closer, the brother that spoke to her earlier, Rhysand Nesta realizes he must be, now swinging his sword with flare on Cassian’s other side. It has Nesta’s hackles rising as her eyes dart between the soldiers pressing in around them, at the way they’re being all but herded. Even worse, the only thing at their backs is the outward facing wall of the Fort, the raging sea and the cliffs just below.

“Please tell me you have a plan,” Nesta hisses, gaze darting between Cassian’s two brothers. “Or are we to fight our way out of the Fort and hope for the best?”

“Fight our way out of the Fort?” Rhysand parrots, taking a moment to finish off the soldier squaring off against him before brushing a hand against his sleeve like he’s merely discarding some lint rather than the soldier’s blood from the fabric. “There’s a ship waiting in the bay. We merely need to jump.”

Nesta snaps her head toward Rhysand, her jaw slackening as she asks dryly, “jump? That’s your big plan? And what of the rocks below?”

“Don’t hit the rocks,” Rhysand shoots back as if it’s obvious. He steps over to the ledge of the Fort, between the large, stone pillars there, and jumps, clearly trying to prove his point.

Despite the fact he can no longer see her, Nesta still can’t stop her scoff or her eye roll. Azriel smirks at the reaction, as he too shifts closer to the edge of the Fort. He shares some sort of knowing look with Cassian, tossing one last dagger with perfect aim, and vanishes below. Cassian inches closer to the edge next, and Nesta keeps one eye on him while still eying the remaining soldiers around them.

She knows that once he squeezes through and jumps, it will be her turn. Knows that there really will be no going back once she takes that leap. Everyone in this Fort will have seen her fighting alongside the pirates, will watch her as she flees with them. There will be no denying, no pretending that she was taken against her will. It’s a firm line in the sand, and Nesta knows that she should feel trepidation about crossing it. She knows that she should feel anxious about leaving her sisters, her life, and Adriata behind for good, but she doesn’t.

Instead, Nesta feels excitement thrum through her veins, her soul feeling almost entirely at peace at the prospect. The sea below seems to call her name, a whisper of Nesta Nesta Nesta as the waves crash along the cliff face and rocks. Already, Nesta imagines stepping foot onto the deck again, imagines the sounds of the wind billowing through the sails, imagines the feel of the salty breeze kissing her skin. She thinks of her Valkyries, of Baz and the rest of the crew. She thinks of the safety and happiness she found in the captain’s cabin, and her heart swells deep between her ribs at the thought of returning there, some invisible string tugging until she’s stepping back and back closer to Cassian and that ledge.

“Nesta.”

Nesta turns her head to find that Tomas has finally deemed to join the fray, to join his men that have already fallen. His eyes sweep over Nesta’s frame, taking in her raised sword, the blood now staining the skirts of her dress. He looks shocked for a moment at the state of her, but then his face is morphing, an almost pitying smile taking over his face.

“Nesta,” Tomas repeats, holding out an expectant hand toward her.

The way he says her name is patronizing, condescending, like he’s scolding a child. Like she has no idea what she’s doing. Like she’s just some silly girl making some silly mistake, and he’s disappointed in her. It ignites her blood, makes it boil until there’s no stopping the scowl that takes over her face.

“It’s Lady Death now,” Nesta declares, raising her sword between them with no hesitation, the threat clear in her tone, in her stance.

Cassian lets out a dark chuckle behind her, and Nesta can already picture the way the pirate captain must be staring Tomas down, all smug pride. All at once, the niceties drop away from Tomas’s expression. That cold cruelty bleeds back into his eyes, his bottom lip curling up as he sneers.

“Why am I not surprised?” Tomas asks derisively. “I should have known when we found you in the captain’s cabin. Should have known that you’d lower yourself to a bastard pirate’s whore. Did you enjoy yourself? Keeping a criminal’s bed warm?”

“What did you just say to her?” Cassian growls, stepping around Nesta with his own sword raised, a dangerous glint to his hazel eyes.

“Cassian, don’t.”

Cassian turns his head back toward Nesta, the confusion clear in his expression, but then his gaze dances over Nesta’s face. Understanding floods his eyes, a smirk tugging up his lips. He tosses his stolen sword aside, no longer needing it. Tomas raises an eyebrow at the gesture, smirking himself, his face the picture perfect of male arrogance, but when Cassian steps around him, pulling the Commodore’s arms back and holding him in place, that smile starts to slip.

Tomas tries to shift, tries to pull free from the grasp, but Cassian is too strong. His attention snaps back to Nesta, and while he clearly looks confused, it’s the anger simmering just beneath, the anger and cruelty Nesta knows all too well, that drives her to step forward. She twists her wrist so she can press the blade of her own sword against Tomas’ throat. His eyes widen, the color draining from his face, and Nesta relishes in it. All the things he’s said to her, all the things he’s done and tried to do, and now here he stands. Afraid.

“Do you remember the ball the Beddors hosted? When you cornered me out in the gardens?” Nesta asks lowly, pressing her blade tighter until blood starts to trickle down Tomas’ skin. “I asked you to stop, and you told me to beg. Well now, I want to hear you beg. Beg for your life, Tomas.”

Tomas swallows hard, the movement causing the sword to dig just a bit deeper. “Nesta…”

Nesta doesn’t even let him finish speaking, slicing the sword clean across his throat. Tomas splutters for a moment, but when Cassian releases his hold, the Commodore goes crumbling to the cobblestone, his eyes unblinking. Nesta can feel his blood on her cheeks, and her chest heaves along with her pounding heart as she stares down at him, but it’s pure relief that pours through her veins.

Fingers beneath her chin have Nesta’s gaze rising and meeting a pair of hazel eyes, the gold of them practically burning beneath the afternoon sun. Cassian’s hand shifts to cradle her cheek, his thumb wiping gently at the blood still marring her skin. Nesta expects him to say something, to ask if she’s alright just like that day back in Windhaven, but instead Cassian crashes his mouth against hers. Nesta clutches at his arms, pressing up onto her toes to meet the kiss with the same fervor. She pours every emotion, every word unsaid between them into that kiss, feeling the way Cassian does the same.

Too soon, the pirate captain is pulling away. He reaches down and squeezes Nesta’s hand, stepping around her to slip through the opening between the pillars and jumping over the ledge. Nesta’s gaze sweeps across the few remaining people still in the Fort, finding where her sister is sheltering. She tries to express everything, tries to offer an explanation through her expression, and she swears she can see understanding flicker in Feyre’s blue eyes. Swears the smallest hint of a smile tugs up Feyre’s lips. It’s enough.

With that, Nesta tosses her own sword down, the blade skittering along the cobblestones. She turns toward the Fort’s wall, stepping between the gap and eying the water and the rocks below. She takes a deep breath, her eyes falling shut as she sends one final prayer up to the Mother, and then Nesta jumps.

—

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