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painted-flag · 2 months ago

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BEAUTY AND THE BEAST - aemond targaryen, (Part 1/3)

Story 3 in Between the Pages: a HOTD x Fairytale Series.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader (no use of y/n) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ wordcount: 5.3k .𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: is this releasing a month after the cregan story? yes, sorry for the delay.

The sound of running water acted as a backdrop to the environment of a small and quaint village. A stream ran through the village, with little bridges allowing people to cross. Each cottage looked like the other, with shingled roofs and white walls outlined with wood beams. At the centre of the town lay its well, surrounded by small vendor stalls. Travellers passed by the town often as it was situated on a main road, but they seldom stayed longer than two days. The populace was little, as low as a hundred. Everyone knew one another, giving you very little privacy.

If you had a say, you would be living somewhere else. However, this was the place your father had chosen to settle when he met your mother. His dream was to be a well-known inventor, but so far his biggest success was modifying some farming equipment for some of the villagers. You believed in him, truly, but had hoped he would try and land a more stable job to help support the house. The only spare money you had been able to make was on account of your sewing skills by mending dresses. Customers were few, as not many people lived in your area. However, the occasional wandering traveller was far more generous in compensation for your work.

Despite the suffocation, you had no idea of where else to live. You were caught in a sort of purgatory; incredibly willing to leave your current circumstances but incapable of imagining another life. It was not a life you thought you would lead as a child. Dreams of adventure - of finding more in the world - clouded your memories. More often than not you would be caught daydreaming. Your mind would be lost in the fantasies you would conjure to distract from anything else but your reality.

Fantasies, eventually, can drown someone.

You continued in your routine, with your hands brushing the familiar spines of books in the quaint library. There were only a few shelves full and you had read each volume no less than three times, some more than others. It was the only supply of reading for what you expected was a few hundred miles. Nobody in your town shared an interest in reading except for the kind old lady who lends out her collection.

One of the spines, a blue clothbound tome, caught your attention. You had obviously read it before, but it had been a while since your last go-through. You plucked it from the shelf and added it to your wicker basket full of food from the market. You waved goodbye to the lady and exited her home. The warm breeze brushed through your linen clothes and carried further in the air. It was part of the last vestige of summer, with autumn approaching steadily. Leaves had just a wisp of darkening on their edges, growing gradually daily.

You made your way down the paths, passing each cottage and waving to the residents. You had just stepped onto the street towards your home when a presence came up behind you. The figure snatched the book from your basket and let out a sigh of disappointment. It startled you for a moment. You turned and were not surprised to see Jason Lannister holding the tome in his hands.

“Reading again? What a waste of time…” His voice, a tone which sparked a tense annoyance in your body, drolled on. You crossed your arms and gave him an unimpressed look.

Jason was a man who did not fit the status of a ‘man’. Foul is the one word you are sure perfectly encapsulates his personality. He was a hunter, though you doubted any of his kills were done with honour. He carried around a gaudy-looking spear with an oversized tassel on the end and claimed to be a fierce warrior, yet would never go against any of the strong travellers that passed through. He would pick fights with the men, but devise a surprising excuse as to why he could not fight.

‘I have honour.’

‘It would be unkind to kill a man.’

‘My skills far surpass yours, a fight is not necessary.’

‘It is not appropriate for the women in this village to see such bloodshed.’

To you, it was all a load of horseshit.

“Give it back, Jason.” You were in no mood to converse with him. For years now, he had tried tirelessly to get your attention. Time after time you had said no, yet it has all fallen on deaf ears.

“Come to the tavern with me,” he did not ask, but demanded, “My recent hunt has been added to the other trophies. I can tell you all about it.”

There was no better way to ruin your day than to be trapped in a stuffy tavern with countless mounted heads of hunted animals. You reached out and snatched your book back from his grip. The market stall next to you displayed various shiny pots and pans. An idea of escape came to mind.

“Could I finish looking at these pans, Jason?” You reached out and grabbed one, flipping it over to the flat side. You saw your reflection in the polished silver metal and you moved it to face him.

“Does this look good?” You questioned. Jason took the pot in his hands but did not seem to register your words. He held it in one hand and used to other to tousle his hair.

If there was one trait of Jason’s that could be depended upon, it is his vanity. He got caught up in adjusting his appearance and you used that distraction to quickly move away. You jogged across a small stone bridge and down a dirt path to your home.

It was only in the safety of your home, with the door shut and locked, that you felt the tension leave your shoulders. You could not keep betting on momentary distractions to continue working. Jason was relentless in his pursuit of your hand. You had lost count of the number of times you had to come up with a plan to get away from his presence, and it was beginning to weigh down on you.

The sound of falling items, clanking and clashing, startled you from your thinking. You placed your basket on the kitchen table and rushed down the stairs to the basement to see your father picking up miscellaneous fallen items. He was on his knees on the ground, mumbling with frustration.

“Father?” You questioned.

He was startled and moved with a frantic nature to turn to you, “Ah! Do not worry, everything is alright. I just knocked over some things…” He rubbed his forehead and observed the mess around him.

“Well,” You began while you reached out to help him stand up, “You seem to be in far better happiness than I today.”

“What happened, dear?” He gave you his full attention. When he read your face, he could tell it was the same expression you had made many times in the past, “It’s that Jason lad again? Oh, if only I could kick that man in the-”

“Father,” You scolded, but secretly would not mind for him to continue, “We are above that.”

“I only wish for you to be safe in my absence.” He spoke while he fiddled with one of his newer inventions. A weird wooden and metal box that served some function you were not entirely sure of.

You leaned against one of the wooden tables and raised a single eyebrow, “Absence?”

He sighed and set down a tool he was using. You could see that he closed his eyes and waited patiently for an answer. He turned around and cleaned some grease off of his hands with a discarded rag.

“There is a fair a few towns over. I will be going over to see what I can sell.” He informed you. You nodded and looked at the ground. While you were proud of his work and encouraged him as much as you could, there was still a big burden on your shoulders. The majority of the financials fell on you, as your meagre funds raised through sewing still surpassed his. Money had never mattered to you, but its burden has.

“How long will you be gone?” You asked him.

“A few days at most,” He approached and patted you on the shoulder. You returned a tired smile and dismissed yourself from the room to begin making dinner.

That night was quieter than usual. Your father and you ate in relative silence, only occasionally muttering short topics between one another. It was awkward and undercut by tension. Your father was largely oblivious to it, his mind too focused on the upcoming fair. You pushed the meat around on your plate with your fork while your other hand was propped up and holding your chin.

After the two of you ate, you cleaned up while he packed his things onto his wagon and prepped his horse. You exited your home and walked down the steps to your father. In your hands was a basket of food of some baked goods that would keep him fed during his short travel. You placed it up on the bench at the front of the wagon, making sure the cover was on tight.

Your father had hugged you goodbye and cheerfully gotten on his horse. He waved to you before pulling on the reins to get the horse to move. You stood outside for a while, watching as his figure slowly disappeared in the distance. When he was out of sight and the sun had begun to set, you made your way back inside and got ready for bed.

Despite the frustration of your father's abrupt leaving, you had managed to go to bed with little strife.

⋅───⊱༺ 📚༻⊰───⋅

Sunlight streamed in from the windows and hit you as you sat perched in a plush chair in your living space. The morning had been uneventful as you worked on some recent sewing projects and returned fixed clothes to some customers. It earned you a meagre amount of coins, but you supposed it was better than nothing.

You had taken a break and curled up on the chair with some tea and biscuits. Truthfully, these moments were your only moments of reprieve before you would go back to scouring for more sewing projects from those in the village. You had just reached a pivotal moment in the book, one which you knew well because you had read every book there at least once. It was your favourite moment, yet you had to resist slamming it closed after the echoes of someone pounding on your doors shook through the space.

The book had been placed on the small table next to you and you shrugged off the blanket you had been under. You got up from the seat and walked across the creaking floorboards. The iron hand on your front door was cool as you gripped it. When you opened the door, the grating presence of Jason greeted you.

Immediately, you wondered if it was too late to close the door and ignore him, however now he knew you were home and would not stop knocking until he got your attention. You kept the door only slightly open, enough so that you could see him.

“What is it, Jason?” You did not attempt to disguise your displeasure. A few years ago, when he began making his advances, you had tried to be civil. Yet his relentless pursuit had soured you over the years. Even when being foul, it was as if he did not notice or had some weird case of selective hearing.

He wore a sleazy smile, “You know, I was up all night thinking.”

“You were thinking?” You did not know he could do that. Jason did not indicate picking up on your casual insult.

“Of my future. I picture a house, with children running around and my wife taking care of them. I would come home from hunting to dinner and watch the children as they played in front of the hearth. My wife would be there to aid me after a long day.” Jason went on his tangent. You did not look at him and chose to peek past him. It was a wonder how he never noticed how little you cared. Perhaps he did but chose to ignore it. Either way, there was no possible scenario where he was a good hunter with observational skills like that.

“Sounds like quite the picture.” You spoke with a tone of disbelief.

“Yes, that is why I am here.” Jason stepped forward and you moved to close the door more but his hand reached up and stopped you. You grunted slightly as your strength was not enough to rival his.

He left no time to respond, “You are to be my wife.”

Those words, those dreaded words cut through your ears like a sharp knife. You winced and took a step back. Jason took that as an invitation to come in, so he opened the door more and stepped just past the threshold. You were stuck in a moment of frozen horror. That fear soon melted into anger, largely posed by his sheer audacity.

“Jason, in what bloody realm does that make sense?” You scolded him. He then finally caught on to your attitude and put a hand up to his chest as if he were the one offended in this situation.

“Well, obviously, you will be my wife.” He reiterated.

“Well, obviously you have misread this situation. I mean, for years I have insulted you endlessly, yet I am ceaselessly tormented by your presence.” You were exasperated but also had an inkling of fear. Your father was not here to defend you. This house was positioned further from the other in the village and you worried that nobody would hear and come to your aid.

“What do you mean?” Jason was still clueless. You did not know if it was intentional, but regardless it managed to anger you further.

“What do I mean?” You begin to push on his chest, moving his body across the threshold and back outside. “I mean that you are a foul, uncharismatic, and downright vile being with enough patience and perception to fill a thimble!” You grabbed the door and went to slam it, but stopped it to leave a sliver of space.

“And by the way, there is no force in this realm to ever get me to consider your offer. I’d sooner jump into a boiling cauldron. Now leave me alone before I get the town guard!” You slammed the door in his face and locked it quickly; both the bolt of the handle and a wooden plank to block it.

Yet Jason did not seem done and yelled through the door, “You worked today and I assume your womanly mind is overwhelmed. I’ll let this slide.” He then stomped away. His words angered you further. If it was not an egregious crime, you would surely open the door, grab the nearest solid metal object, and give his head a good thwack.

For a long time after he left, you ruminated on your words. You were so caught up in the moment, that you had no control over your speach. You wished you had been harsher, perhaps thrown in a few curses to drive home your points. Nevertheless, you had managed to get him off of your trail for the day.

This home felt too stifling and you needed to leave. A hill just outside of the village boundaries, with a tree on top, was calling to you. It had been a particularly favourite spot of yours, as most people did not wander there. So you grabbed the book you had been reading, donned a cloak to protect from the approaching cool of the late day, and marched out of your house.

Through the village, past the baker's house, over a hill and across the stones of a shallow stream was the place you always gravitated towards. It was calm. The light breeze shook the willow branches. The leaves brushed against one another, providing a relaxing soundscape for you to read with.

You had begun to settle down when the crushing of hooves over grass disrupted your moment of peace. There was underlying worry that it was perhaps Jason, but the horse in the distance had no rider. When it got closer, you realized it was your fathers. A sinking feeling made its way into your stomach.

The horse was grunting with distress. His head swung back and forth and you had to grab the cheekpiece of the bridle and start humming gently to calm him down. You looked around the expanse of the field for any sight of your father but saw none. There was nothing but worry that coursed through you.

“What is, bud?” You questioned the horse. You decided to climb onto the saddle and get comfortable. You leaned down to his ears and whispered, “Take me to him.”

Your father's horse did not wait a second longer before immediately running off in the direction he came from. By the time you made it to the treeline, the sun had begun to set. You hugged the cloak tighter around your form. The horse did not show any signs of fatigue as he trotted carefully and skillfully through the woods.

Time passed very slowly as worry for your father grew. You were scared that something grave had happened to him. Surely this was a misunderstanding. Perhaps he had set up camp for the night and his horse got free and decided to go home. You had begun to become weary and tired. The horse had eventually slowed down and now you were riding through the woods slowly.

It was late, incredibly late, and you regret not having stopped at home to pick up food. Your stomach rumbled every few minutes and the exhaustion in your body had picked up. The trees stopped and you entered an open space at the bottom of sharp jagged mountains. You had ridden to a large wrought iron gate that had vines, mostly dead, crawling up the spokes. The ground had turned to a stone brick path that was overgrown with grass and weeds.

Just a while down the path was a large mansion that looked like a castle. It was built from the same stone as the path and appeared derelict. There was no way people lived here, as it looked as though it had been abandoned for a long time. You hopped off the horse and grabbed the reins to guide him. You walked to the gate and saw that there was no lock on it. You pushed it open and with a horrifying creak, the gate doors moved.

You walked down the path and towards the castle doors. They were large double wooden doors reinforced by the same style of iron as the gate. A knocker was located on both of the doors where a handle would be. It was iron cast and shaped like the head of a dragon. In its closed jaw sat a ring that you would use to bang against the wood. You grabbed it gingerly and banged it against the wood. The thumping sound reverberated through the door. You wanted to make sure that no person was living here in case you happened to be intruding.

“Hello? Does anybody live here?” You waited a moment, but no response came. You looked back at your horse that was tied off to a tree before braving it and pushing on the door. Surprisingly, like the iron gate, it opened.

Like prey falling into a trap, you walked into the dark corridors of the castle.

There was no source of light save the moon as it fluttered in through the stained glass windows. The faint colours of the glass cast a gossamer veil of light over the thick antique rugs that ran the length of the entryway. It was a vast entry space that had two staircases that wrapped around the outer edge of the circle room. The stairs led up to a platform and joined into one and led to the upper levels of the castle. Ahead of you, between the two stairs, was another set of double wooden doors. To the left and right were large archways leading to more areas of the castle.

“Hello?” You asked again but achieved no response. There was, by the door you had entered, a standing storage desk. You walked to it and saw the thick coat of dust that covered the top. To your luck, there was a bronze chamberstick candle holder with a candle. You looked around for anything to light it with and found two pieces of flint and steel. There was no hearth around to transfer the flame, so you struggled for a moment to light the candle with the flint and steel.

With a few nicks, you were able to light the candle. You put the tools down and picked up the handle. You felt just a little better knowing you had a source of light with you. There was no reason behind where you chose to walk other than a gut feeling. You ascended the stairwell and to the next floor, wandering through corridor after corridor. The entire castle was still decorated with elaborate furniture and interesting paintings and tapestries.

Your trip had gone across an expanse of the castle and you wondered just how large it was. You reached a tower area and decided to go up the stone steps. The dark was occasionally broken up by a stained glass window; reds, blues, greens, and yellows of all shades would be cast against the stone of the centre winding wall.

At the top of the stairs was a door. You grabbed the iron handle and pushed it open. Inside was a caged area, but it was too dark to see past it. You inched in and held the candle out in front of you. At the far wall was a figure hunched down and shaking in the cold. They moved their cloak away from their face and you instantly recognized it.

“Father?”

He looked at you for a moment before moving to the bars of the cell, “Darling, what are you doing here? You must go!” You approached where he was and knelt. The candle was placed beside you. Your hands grasped his that were on the bars. His face was pale and hair sweaty; sickness had taken hold of him.

“What do you mean? Father, why are you here?” You questioned. Your father opened his mouth to speak, but the sudden sound of the door slamming shut disrupted you two. The force from the slam blew the candle out and the room was shrouded in darkness. A small window cast a single ray of white light that hit the centre of the room. You turned around and looked into the shadows, but were unable to find anything except the sound of shuffled movements.

A voice, deep and imposing, boomed from the shadows, “Who are you? How dare you trespass on these grounds?” It sent a shiver up your spine and swirled at the base of your neck where some sweat had begun to form. You sucked in a breath for a moment and steeled yourself to answer.

You spoke your name, then hardened your voice, “Why is my father locked up?” In the darkness, you could barely see a wisp of movement, but the figure appeared tall. Their voice came out rough and did not entirely sound human.

“He trespassed on these grounds.” The figure moved about the darkness and you could hear the sounds they made on the stones.

“Surely that warrants something other than being locked up? Don't you see that he is sick?” You tried to reason. Your heart rate had shot up and you could feel the fear and adrenaline course through your veins.

“Then he should not have stepped foot on land that is not his.” The deep tones of the voice could be felt in your bones.

“But he’ll die. Please, I’ll do anything.” You turned your body away from your father to face the direction of the voice.

“There is nothing you can do to change his status as my prisoner.” It was a cold response, laced with malice. You know you should not say it, but an idea had come to your head; one that just may grant your father freedom to leave and get help for whatever sickness he contracted.

“Take me.” You were almost hesitant, but there was an underlying strength in the way you carried yourself.

The figure did not respond for a moment, letting a lull insert itself into your conversation, “...You would take his place?” They sounded almost surprised at your declaration; caught off guard by the unfettered love and loyalty displayed towards your father.

“Will you let him go?” You punctuated every word to get the point across. If there was a guarantee for your father’s freedom, you would make the deal in a heartbeat.

“You must stay here.” The figure affirmed.

“Come into the light.” You would not swear until you saw who you were speaking to; who would ultimately be your captor. The dark figure moved swiftly, lumbering into the stream of white moonlight.

The whole time, with the monstrous voice and lurking shadow, you believed it would be a gnarly creature, but became surprised. He was tall and had a lithe but built form shrouded in black and dark greys. His features were as sharp as the cut frames of the stained glass you saw while wandering the castle. He had high cheekbones and a sharp jaw that came down to a point. His lips were pursed into a sort of snarl.

What frightened you most of all was the jagged scar that cut through the left side of his face. His eye was covered with an eyepatch that sat on the crown of his head and brushed over the long silver hair that glowed in the moonlight. The animosity that reflected in his one eye, strangely violet, made your breath hitch.

He was not a monster, just a man.

Though, you supposed there may not have been much of a difference in those two things.

Now that you have seen your captor, you relinquished your freedom, “I’ll stay here.” At your words, your father began to protest, but you paid no mind. All you were trying to do was memorize what little of your father's face you could see and stop the tears that came running down your face, leaving the skin red and raw.

The man moved forward and pulled out a metal circle filled with countless different-sized keys. He unlocked the cage with a harsh shudder. Your father surged forward and wrapped you in a hug, both of your bodies sitting on the cold stone floor.

“Why did you do that? Darling, why?” He held your face between his hands. The man reached forth and seized the collar of your father's shirt and pulled him along. You were subsequently pushed into the cell and forced to hear the door lock.

“Wait, can’t I say goodbye?” You yelled from behind the bars. Your fingers wrapped around the cool metal and you could do nothing but watch on helplessly as you heard your father be dragged down the steps. At this point, your gentle cries had been reduced to sobs.

You did not know how much time had passed until the man came back again. You sat in the centre of the cell, barely able to move. That was the last time you would ever see your father, the last time you would be a free woman. The silver haired man came forward with a large candle, though his hand made the holder look small.

When he approached the cell, you instantly backed away. In your eyes was both apprehension and fear. You did not know what he would do next. Would he hurt you? Mock you in your permanent isolation? Or simply come to the conclusion that it was not worth keeping you and throw you from the top of the tower?

He unlocked the door and gave you an expectant look, “Are you coming or not?”

“So you could hurt me?” Your voiced was laced with venom. He rolled his eye at your attitude and moved forward to grab your upper arm. His grip was tight as he pulled you out of the cell. His back was to you and you hit it multiple times to try and get him to let you go, but his strength far surpassed yours. You gave up quickly after recognizing there would be no way out.

He led you back down a familiar path to the front entrance to the castle, but went across the landing of the stairs and to another wing. You looked around and spotted the same decor as the other wing. This time, the wing was lit with candles and looked lived in. The light provided some warmth as well since the rest of the castle retained all the cold air from outside.

“You will have your own room. You may go wherever you please, but the west wing is strictly off limits.” He informed you. This whole time you had yet to learn his name. Would you ever? He seems too elusive to offer answers to anything and in the short time you had known him, he only ever answered questions with as little words as possible. He forced them out like socializing was a heavy burden or deeply hurt.

“Why is the west wing off limits?” You asked. He stopped in his tracks and turned to you. His hold squeezed for a moment and he looked to be holding back rage. You shrinked in your spot. The two of you had stopped in front of some doors and he used his free arm to open it. He all but shoved you in.

The room was large. A four poster bed, carved from dark wood, had a canopy of sheer black silk curtains. The floor was covered in layered antique rugs, all mostly red and black; a colour theme that you had noticed littered the entire castle. A fire was roaring in the hearth, intricate stone carvings decorated the arch of it. The whole room was luxurious, but it was your prison.

“Dinner will be ready shortly.” He informed you as you stood there. Your gaze then went back to him. He stood by the door and had his forearm resting on the wood of the door and leaned against it. He was regarding you with an inquisitive gaze; analyzing your every move. He seemed content in the information he shared and went to leave.

“Wait,” You called out and he returned to watching you, “I’ve told you my name.”

“That you have,” He spoke. You nearly huffed, but it was difficult to speak or moved the muscles in your face as the crying you had done no longer hurt, but left a numb tingling feeling behind that was awkward to deal with.

“What’s yours?” You questioned. Your hands joined behind your back and you did not know why a sudden feeling of bashfullness washed over you. He judged you for a moment, as if contemplating his words.

With a tone of reluctance, he answered, “Aemond.”

He swiftly left the room and closed the door behind him. Here was where you were left and forced to stomach the reality of your situation. You looked around the room, a place you will likely be in until the moment you died. The place all looked warm and inviting, but you were full of constant fear.

This room had become the hallowed shell of your new life, but you would not sit and cry anymore; many things can grow strong in darkness. A newfound determination built within you. You would not let Aemond crush your spirit.

⋅───⊱༺ 📚༻⊰───⋅

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#hotd imagine #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #fairy tale au #fairy tale retelling

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estell-allary · 9 months ago

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APHRODITE’S BANE

Relationship:romantic

Pairing:Clarisse La Rue x fem!aphrodite!reader

Warnings:fighting,mentions of blood,reader getting injured,swearing pls tell me if I missed any<3

A/N-this is my first time writing,also this is just a fluff about Clarisse and you loving each other AND you are like the past Aphrodite the fighter and warrior that she truly is,not this soft weakling that people preseve she is just because she is the graceful goddess of love~(it is also 00:30am and this is heavily inspired by the song Salvatore by Lana)

Shocked.That’s what you would say you (and most of camp half-blood) were when you found out that your mother-Aphrodite-claimed you,especially in the middle of capture the flag! No it’s not because you’re not pretty-hell your one of the prettiest girls in chb,but because everyone was sure you would be claimed by ares or even Athena.

Everyone had no doubts to you being one of there children because you were strong,quick witted, intelligent and understanding you also had an undying loyalty towards the ones you loved, but after you were claimed people started to relate you to your mother more-or well who your mother used to be,Aphrodite Areia.

When you were unclaimed you would hang out with the ares kids and a few other people,but there was only(not even)a hand full of people you talked to in the Aphrodite cabin-them being piper,livia,Valentina and silena

I mean you were only claimed a few weeks after you arrived at camp half-blood that being in that years game of capture the flag..that’s also when you met her.Clarisse La Rue,honestly you didn’t really think of her to be all that before the incident,sure people told you to stear clear of her because she was a bully and would not hesitate to flush your head down a toilet,but you just saw her as a normal teenager who had anger issues.

You’ve only been at camp half-blood for 3 weeks and the date of capture the flag was today,everyone has been preparing and training extra hard for a few days now and you still haven’t even found out who your godly parent is yet,tho everyone’s already assumed who they are,ares or Athena,because your a natural for sword fighting and one on one combat or because you are wise and patient-most of the time.

You were placed on the blue team with the hermes cabin until your claimed same goes with the rest of the unclaimed kids,Chiron did his speach and then the red team let out this loud monstrous war cry that made you flinch,“um Luke,is that normal”you asked in a hushed voice to the black haired boy that was standing next to you “yep,they do it every year,don’t worry you’ll get used to it”he pated you on the shoulder biding you goodbye as the blue team departed.

Stumbling through the woods trying to get to your spot was..difficult to say the least let’s just say you got lost a few times,when you finally get there you lean back against a rock,it was smooth and rough at the same time,just right.You could feel the sun levitating off of your now warm skin,this was sure to give you a light tan.

‘Catch me if you can,working on my tan Salvatore’

You heard a twig snap behind you and you quickly jumped up and grabbed your sword,turning around to see no one,“hello?..”you said confused but keeping up your fighting stance “annabeth?..Luke?” You called out knowing annabeth was close by but Luke wasn’t you were just confused…that was until you got tackled to the floor by non other then..someone? it was a boy and he smelt vile but you had no time to think about that before you panicked and slashed your sword at the side of his amour and flipped him off of you before quickly getting up and taking a step back.

He lunged up and swung at you but you quickly dodged and bolted for the woods, running,in hopes he would head for the flag instead of following you,but he didn’t..it was strange he was going after you and not the flag, “ow!shit!” You cried out as you were tackled to the floor again this time with him stabbing at your amour.

You pushed yourself backwards and kicked him in the stomach sending him back a few meters,you jumped up again and so did he this time you lunged at him stabbing at his chest but he kicked your legs out from under you and pushed you back making you fall of a small ledge and land on the small,damp rocks of the beach.

‘Dying by the hand,of a foreign man,happily’

He jumped down on to you and held his sword to your neck,he was about to open his mouth to say something but you kicked him in the shin making him fall and his sword pierce your skin,not enough to properly injure you but just enough to draw blood,he yelled out as he hit the damp rocks “ah!you bitch!”you both got up again and started clashing your swords together “why the hell are you still trying to fight me!”you grunted out.

Before he could respond you heard yelling and both the blue and red team came running out the woods the blue team with the red flag,the person holding it was annabeth but she faltered for a few seconds seeing that you were is a fight.

Then you caught her eye,for the first time you both looked at each other and gods she was gorgeous.Clarisse La Rue.

But you got distracted.“HEY!”luke yelled out as the boy stabbed with full force at your chest.

‘Calling out my name in the summer rain,ciao,amore’

You huffed out a breath,gasping for air as you grabbed the end of his sword cutting your palm and two of your fingers but kept your grip on it strong,you raised your foot and kicked the boy in the stomach making him stumble and lose his grasp on the sword.You threw the sword into the water and just as he was about to punch you,you grabbed his fist and flipped over above him landing behind him (thank god for you being able to do gymnastics)

Just as annabeth got the red flag to the post you punched him in the back making him fall on his front and he stayed down..OH GOD YOU KNOCKED HIM OUT!!

You looked up panicked and everyone was staring looking shocked at yo-..wait why were they looking above you?You looked up and gasped,

“Wha-?”

Suddenly you were tackled into a hug by silena who was laughing “oh my god” you heard annabeth say,your gaze went from Silena to Annabeth to Clarisse..she was looking at you with a puzzled expression before saying the thing that everyone was thinking, “how the fuck are you a daughter of Aphrodite?”she said your eyes grew wide before you furrowed your brows “HEY!are you calling me ugly!?”you yelled out looking offended even tho you were thinking the same thing.

“Well no bu-!”Clarisse started before she was interrupted by Chiron “Aphrodite areia..you take after your mother’s original origins from being a warrior”he said with a kind smile on his face.

“Well that’s enough for today everyone go get some rest get fixed up and carry on with your day!”Chiron declared.

A/N:sorry that there was like no Clarisse x reader in this I promise there will be way more in my next one this one was just a tester btw😃

#Spotify #lana del rey #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #clarisse la rue #pjo series #clarisse x reader #aphrodite #aphrodite!reader

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mirensiart · 5 days ago

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Hey Miry what are some fun (or maybe angsty) headcanons you have for the boys, including Chain?

Hmmmm 🤔 ok let me think

Sky: I know most people headcanon Warriors as the field medic, but I feel Sky is also versed in first aids and is really good at it, he has excellent bedside manner. Like the knight academy probably taught him all about it, so the 3 medics of the gang are warriors, hyrule and him. I also believe he has an impeccable stitch technique, like barely leaves scars at all. Really dexterous with his hands too, thanks to his wood crafting and harp playing, he's really good with them hands lmao.

Four: he's a blacksmith sure, and knows a lot about making weapons and maintaining them, but I like to believe he's also really good and making stuff out of leather. Like he knows how to make leather belts and pouches for the weapons his grandpa makes or leather clothes as protection in battle. Idk just a very crafty little guy that offers the entire deal aka a weapon and the leather belts to carry it, all in one service hehe

Time: I like to believe he lost his eye in a very mundane non heroic way, like maybe he fell off a rowdy horse and landed in the worst way possible or a farm centric accident. He makes up different stories about how he lost it, every time someone asks, he changes it, some stories are batshit insane and some others are super normal. He actually has told the real way he lost the eye in between the fake stories, but no one believes him. He thinks it's hilarious btw.

Twilight: I've mentioned before that I headcanon him to be a very sensitive guy, like small things can make him tear up aka a baby animal absolutely makes him want to start sobbing lmao. I like to believe he gossips and talks a lot with his epona as wolfie, like when you're in wolf form in twilight princess you can talk to animals and epona is so sweet with him when you talk to her, they are soulmates man. The guys do something dumb and he turns into wolfie just to walk to epona like "can u believe those guys??" Epona knows everything tbh like he tells her everything, she's the only one who truly knows his woes over losing midna.

Wind: I love to believe the little guy can legit control the winds, like the wind waker is a way for him to channel his magic, but he can control the wind unconsciously, too. When he gets really mad, the winds pick up speeds around him, or if he's happy, a gentle breeze circles around him, etc. His hair is always blowing in the breeze even when he's inside doors, and there's no wind. It just does that.

Legend: Excellent gardener, has a talent for growing plants, flowers, and trees. They flourish under his care. Extremely particular about soil and water and shadow/light for his plants, he not only has an apple orchard, but also grows veggies and rare flowers. Ravio maintains his garden under extreme rules and guidelines lmao ravio is not allowed to sell the apples or veggies from legend's garden, but legend encourages rav to use them for cooking instead.

Hyrule: disney princess aka animals love him lmao typical guy who befriends every single creature he meets, he could pacify a bear if he wants to. His fae part is what makes him have such an affinity with nature in general, I see him as the elves from LOTR who can feel and communicate with trees and they guide him. It's why he never uses maps, he doesn't need them.

Wild: using LOTR as my base for headcanons again lol but I see him like aragorn in the sense that aragorn is a human who was raised by elves so he feels a strong connection to elf culture because of it. I picture wild to be the same, but with the zoras, since he was childhood friends with mipha, we can imply he spent A LOT of time in zora's domain as a child. He is way more versed in zora customs, language, holidays, etc, than the hylian ones. It's also why I feel the older zora are so pissed off with him in botw, like they saw him as one of their own for so long, utter betrayal that he didn't protect their princess (mipha) and failed them all lol he has some zora mannerism in the sense that sometimes, he eats fish raw LMAO when he absentmindedly ate one in front of everyone the first time everyone was shocked for a while lmao

Warriors: absolute nervous wreck, always riddled with anxiety, really low self-esteem, is probably screaming 24/7 inside his head at all times, but is EXCEPTIONAL at faking it, like fake it til you make it is his way of life lmao he exudes over confidence and is always worried about his looks as a way to hide how much of a mess he truly is. Time & Wind has seen him at his worst and know that he's a great actor, which helps him cause he can stop pretending around them for a while

And now my link lmao

Chain: All bark, no bite. He is ironic and sarcastic and shows himself as a tough guy, but he's actually a sweetheart, and things get to him pretty easily. He learned pretty early on than carrying his heart on his sleeve is a really bad idea around the Bounty Hunter guild, since soft nice guys don't last long, so he replies to hurtful comments with sarcasm and a tough attitude, when in reality he's really hurt lmao he also jokes to cope, he'd rather throw a joke or two at you than really open up and talk about his feelings.

#miry's ask box #lu headcanons #+ chain #though if he is my character is he really a headcanon 🤔#more like canon then right hehe

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emo-toaster · 19 days ago

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Since some of you asked— I'll be trying to write a Beauty and the Beast fic with YN and Gyutaro . Yay (๑>◡<๑)

This post contains both prologue and chapter 1! Also, I'll try to make Y/N as gender neutral as I can!

Warning! English is my second language. If you find any errors in my writing, please understand. I used autocorrect to help me with my grammar and spelling, so I'm deeply sorry if any mistakes were made. Dyslexia + writing in a second language = challenging task (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

Anyways, enjoy!!!

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Beauty and the Beast.

Miko’s attempt at making a good fic.

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Prologue

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Once upon a time, in the heart of Japan, on the outskirts of Yoshiwara, there was a castle. In this very castle, there once was a prince. A prince with a heart so cold, cruel and petty that people’s faces twisted with disgust and fear even by hearing his name. He taxed the district that was under his rule; so he could fill his castle with only the most beautiful, expensive objects and to have only beautiful and high-ranking guests at extravagant parties he threw.

But one night, a ‘doctor’ with her assistant entered the castle; looking for shelter from the ruthless storm and bitter cold outside. In exchange for help, the doctor wanted to offer the prince a single red rose. The prince wanted to turn them away immediately, ignoring the gift, blinded by his own bitterness, but the woman warned him not to be so quick and act without thinking about his actions first. When the prince wanted to turn to violence instead, the woman revealed herself, surprisingly due to her calm nature, as a powerful demonic being. Seeing that there was no love nor compassion in the prince’s heart, she and her assistant transformed the prince into a literal demon, casting a powerful spell on the castle and all those who lived there.

The rose; a gift from the mysterious Lady, would bloom until the prince’s 26th birthday. If he could learn to love another and forget about his violent ways until the last petal of the flower fell, the spell would be broken. If not; he would be doomed to remain a bloodthirsty monster for all eternity.

Days bled into years, and the prince and his servants were forgotten by the world... The powerful castle, claimed by the deep, snowy forest around it, became cut off from the rest of the world. With every passing day, the prince fell into despair and lost all of his hope.

For who could ever learn to love a beast?

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Chapter 1: One single rose

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”Good morning!”

There was silence for a moment, before at least ten different voices repeated the greeting. Little town, a small, quiet village; every day was like the one before. People rushed to the market, buying eggs, rice and vegetables. Merchants walked through the main streets, selling coal, wood, fabrics or such. Children played around, running, singing songs or fighting each other with long sticks, pretending to be mighty warriors. Your basket was slowly filled up with groceries; fish, fruit, vegetables. There was the merchant with his rice as always, the same old things to sell. Every day was just the same, since the day that you and your father came to this small, safe town. People talked, laughed, or even gossiped. Every second, a new voice was audible in the crowd.

“Ah, good morning there! ” A sweet voice called to you before a sweet maiden came over.

“Good morning. Miss Koyuki! Have you lost something again?” You called back with a smile as the girl approached.

“I’m not sure…oh well, I’ll hopefully find it one day. Where are you off to?” She asked with a sweet smile, looking over at you with those big, warm eyes.

“I’m going home…with a new book; it’s about two lovers who lived in the west”

“Sounds so sweet! Hm— I feel like I'm missing something again, forgive me!” Koyuki answered before waving goodbye and going back to her own problems. It was always like this, something seemed to escape her mind every time you saw that sweet damsel. As if something was there once, but then suddenly disappeared.

It was another day, like dozens of other days here. The same people, same routine and same town over and over again. You were never a permanent part of any crowd, maybe because sometimes your head was stuck on some cloud, and people saw you as the funny one. Father said that it was safe, that it was good, that it was just how things were everywhere. But how can this be compared to all the stories you saw written on paper? Brave warriors, beautiful women, curses, battles, monsters and so much more were right there, in the books you managed to collect over the years. Even if it wasn’t much, it had to do. How many times have you dreamt of leaving this place, of just seeking something more out there? This place wasn’t bad of course, but you had a feeling, a small voice inside your head was telling you that something way greater was waiting out there just to be discovered, seen, understood. There had to be more than this simple life.

You seemed so peculiar to all those around you, like a puzzle to be solved, but all those things could just fade away when a book was opened by you. Oh, it was so amazing. And this exact book had your favorite part in it; the one where the protagonist meets their prince charming, but they don’t discover that it’s him until chapter 6.

The town lived its own life, but there was one person focused on you at that moment. Kaigaku. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked in your direction after finishing his spare with Zenitsu.

“Look there, my future spouse. They're the fairest of them all in this little shithole. When I become a great samurai, they will be right at my side, all sweet and all.”

Kaigaku hummed before tossing the wooden katana away, before Zenitsu picked it up.

“True, but they're more into— you know. Doesn't grandpa say it's good to share interests?”

Zenitsu answered meekly before looking up at Kaigaku while they both stared at you passing through the market.

“I don't really care, but I feel like I'm missing something…and they give me this thrill”

Kaigaku hummed before walking towards the market as Zenitsu followed along. From the moment Kaigaku met you, saw you, he thought you're gorgeous and he fell. So he had been making plans to woo and marry you for a while now. It was like chasing something so rare and unobtainable, it always gave him those chills that he slowly grew to like more and more.

You slowly moved through the streets, looking into one of the books belonging to you, moving towards your house.

In the exact same moment, a hand snatched the book out of your hands. A familiar face showed up with a small grin on his lips. Kaigaku. And Zenitsu not far away from him, of course. Their master, or rather ’Gramps’, as they both called him, really wanted them to get along, so they were spending a lot of time together. Even when Kaigaku showed clear displeasure in that.

“I thought we lost you there for a second. How can you read this crap, there are no pictures at all… I thought they’re making books more interesting now, but this is just disappointing. Absolutely nothing to focus your eye on. Funny how you can even read all this...”

He muttered before the book came back into your hands. Funny; that’s your role around here. You seemed to be the only person who wasn’t able to get used to the very boring reality. People thought you were daydreaming too much, it was harmless of course, but there was always an excuse that there were more important things to do instead.

“Well, I guess you could always use your imagination when reading a book” You answered before Kaigaku raised his eyebrows and huffed softly

“Well, it’s a waste of time anyway, I focused just on my training and the world around me, and I’m turning out just fine.”

He answered before making an angry face as Zenitsu was about to say something in protest. The yellow haired boy then looked away, not bothering to say anything, clearly intimidated by Kaigaku and the possibility of getting punched for saying anything.

“Well, I was thinking that you could come, watch me train, maybe I’d inspire you like I did to many other people already...” Kaigaku added with a smug look on his face, trying to show off.

“I’m afraid I can’t, I’m sorry.”You answered, getting ready to leave, yet his hand stopped you.

“You’re busy?”He asked quickly before you yanked your hand away and moved away.

“No, not really.”

Those were the last words leaving your lips before you walked away. Zenitsu just waved you goodbye before Kaigaku scowled at him and punched him on the arm, making Zenitsu whine in slight pain afterwards.

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The door opened quietly as you walked into your house. A soft sound of tools being used while soft muttering started being audible as well.

“Hello, father.” You said softly, gently putting the grocery basket next to the door. As you stepped out of your geta, your father turned towards you, noticing that you entered due to the door leading into his working room being open.

“Welcome back— uh…could you pass me the…” The old man didn't get to finish before you passed him the right tool and he immediately started working. With western culture slowly entering Japan, many new items became popular, like music boxes. You felt lucky that your father quickly picked up on making simple and then complicated mechanisms, and soon enough began creating music boxes, just like those from the western countries! Maybe one day he would sell enough and that would help in getting a new house in a new place where something new could be already waiting for you? Who knows…

While father was working, you wandered off into the kitchen, taking out some of the groceries you got from the market. The sounds of water boiling soon enough filled the room as breakfast was being prepared. Miso soup was poured into two bowls, steamed rice was put into others as you chopped down some veggies and fried some eggs into tamagoyaki.

Once you sat down by the table, father joined you as you both ate. The old man swallowed his meal rather quickly, but how can you blame him? Your dear father was a busy man who constantly worked to try and make your lives better. He was really passionate about assembling his music boxes and other gizmos he produced in his room all day. That's how it just was, just you and your father trying to reach out for the stars.

“Is it the last one?” You asked as your father carefully packed the finished music box. As it joined the others, also beautifully packed, your father nodded, slowly turning to face you.

“Let's hope I can sell those to very wealthy people. Next time, maybe I'll take you to sell the music boxes with me? You've always wanted to see some new places, so once I figure out where to sell my creations, we'll be able to go together.” Your father smiled, slowly walking towards the cart outside to put his creations inside it.

“Are you sure you can pull this cart all on your own?” You asked, slowly leaving the house alongside your father as he prepared for his journey.

“Of course. I'm not that old! I'll manage, I can work on my own just fine.” The old man answered with a smile as he finally got ready.

“I'll be passing through bigger towns and districts, would you like me to bring you something? Maybe a fan, or a new haori…perhaps a whole new kimono if I find one with a nice price.” Your father chuckled, waiting for your answer.

“Oh, that's too much. I don't need anything right now so…I just wish for a safe journey for you. As for any souvenirs— a single rise will do, really.” You answered, feeling the soft rays of sun hitting your and your father's faces.

“A single rise? Oh well, I can't argue with you about it, especially if you truly want it, even if it's so little.”He answered, chuckling quietly once more, before starting to walk down the path that would lead him out of the village.

You waved your father goodbye, hoping his journey would be safe and that he would hit the market with his handmade music boxes. With this on your mind, you couldn't help but wish that everything would go as planned, that your dear father would earn as much money as possible and that your life could perhaps change for the better? There had to be something waiting for you in the great, wide somewhere. Something was waiting, yearning, screaming to be seen. Hidden away deep in the darkness just to be discovered. When you couldn't see your father anymore, you just peacefully walked back into the house. There were still some things to be managed, and once father returns, he'll be happy to see everything done. Once father returns, everything can get only better, right? Father will return, and everything will be good, wonderful even.

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Okay! Here we are with the prologue and the first chapter! I hope I did good, since this is literally the first fanfiction I ever published for everyone and not just my friends— ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #fanfic #beauty and the beast #beauty and the beast au #gyutaro x reader #kny au #kny x reader #x reader

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doomed-era · 9 months ago

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GBoH Link's pre-calamity backstory, part 1

Link was the first child of two knights of Hyrule, born about four months before the crown princess sometime in late fall. His parents were knights, both from military families and in the military, which wasn't technically a requirement for knighthood, but it was very common. Once they had Link they ended up moving from Hateno to Rauru Settlement. It was a sizable village that had a lot of retired soldiers, along with a few families who wanted to be near Castle Town while still enjoying country life. His mother, Grith, was a devout worshiper of Hylia, and taught Link how to pray to her as soon as he had the attention span for it.

Hylia, watching over her worshipers as she tended to do, was happy with Grith. She didn't usually take it upon herself to choose a hero, but she wanted to reward Grith's loyalty and decided to watch over the boy and maybe pull a few strings so it was more likely for him to take on that role. The boy had a good lineage, was healthy and able-bodied, seemed to be taking to knighthood like a duck to water, was about the same age as the current Hyrulean princess…things looked like they were going to fall into place. When he was about four years old he told Grith he had a dream about a shining woman with a sweet voice and golden hair telling him he was special. Grith and Link's father Conter were baffled by this, but took it as a sign.

A few other unusual things also happened around that time. Conter was ordered to do a sort of diplomatic mission where he would take some skilled soldiers from the Hyrulean Army and let them demonstrate their abilities to the Zora, while the Zora would exchange their knowledge of weaponry and spearmanship. This ended up backfiring because Conter took Link. Half of the soldiers under his command adored the little boy who would always ask them what they were doing and demand he fight them for "knight practice," so they'd stage mock battles for Link. The Zora had very different cultural practices concerning children, so most of them thought it was a genuine battle and that Link was beating grown Hylians specifically sent because they were good at fighting. Mipha was absolutely enchanted by this, but when a Zora warrior asked to fight Link and easily defeated him, Dorephan was not so impressed.

After the Zora incident Link had a fairly normal childhood up until he was around twelve. He got along with his younger sister Nell and made friends with other children in Rauru. During the winter and fall his parents sent him and Nell to a school in Castle Town and he scraped by in his studies. Many students thought he was awkward and fidgety, and he would get in trouble frequently for having outbursts or picking fights. He was a formidable foe to anyone who went up against him—some kids swore he could move faster than lightning. The people who didn't mind his faults liked him, and his mischievous attitude made him a bit of a class clown. When he wasn't in school he often wandered into the woods near his home with Nell. They both could see Koroks, and loved playing pranks on the forest spirits.

One summer day, Nell and Link wandered further into the forest than they ever had. They had found a Korok near their house hiding Grith's boots, and started chasing after it until they were deep in the Lost Woods. Nell wanted to turn back, but Link pulled her along as they went even deeper. He heard something calling to him. She wondered if they were going to be lost forever by the time they entered a bright clearing with a sword pedestal in the center. The deep voice of the Great Deku Tree welcomed them to his grove, and told Link that he had been expecting the boy. He had been chosen by the Master Sword. Though it was a great deal of responsibility, he should take it and fight back the coming calamity.

When Grith and Conter saw their boy dragging the Master Sword behind him as he left the Lost Woods with Nell, they were thrilled, repeating the story of his dream to him and asking him what happened in the Great Deku Tree's grove. He told them about how he had gotten lost, how he had heard a strange voice, and how the sword he was holding felt so perfect in his hand. Before they could stop him, Link went to tell the story to the rest of Rauru. Soon the entire village was talking about him and planned to throw a party in his honor. Conter especially was unhappy about this. He thought Link had a bit of an arrogant streak, and he didn't want this getting to his head. Being outed as the chosen hero to too many people, he thought, would only increase Link's ego and possibly put him in danger. Once the party was over he told the villagers and Link to keep this a secret until Link was older and could actually take on the full responsibility of being a hero. They would not treat him any differently than they had before, and Link would never allow being chosen to get to his head.

#botw #botw au #botw link #loz au #my art #golden blood on his hands #UAYYY I finially did it. falls over #idk when I'll do the next one but im gonna post the last image by itself cause I REALLY like it

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laurancezvahlslefteyebrow · 6 months ago

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LEVIN AND MALACHI ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

plus some family portraits <3

alrighty you know the drill—— headcanons!!

Levin First:

When Aph found Levin’s mother, she told her that Garroth was Levin’s real father. She couldn’t go on without him knowing. So, Aphmau told Garroth this, which was a real shock considering Garroth didn’t even remember Matilda. But regardless, he understood that his memory had been wiped and he vowed to raise his son properly, with the love he never received.

Levin is like crazy strong, despite not appearing to be. Probably due to him being the son of the literal incarnation of the Esmund the Protector.

He’s not actually a descendant of Irene. The late lord Malik claimed to be a descendant of Irene in order to obtain power, but it was never true and it ended up getting him killed. So even if Levin was Malik’s actual son, he’d still not be a descendant of her’s.

However, the Shadow Knights believe he is, which is why there’s such a large target on his back. But even if they knew the truth, he’s still descended from a Divine Warrior, so the target would only be a tiny bit smaller.

When he finds out that both his bio father and adoptive mother are Divine, he kind of freaks out. Not only because of how insane that is, but it makes him feel worse about not possessing any magicks himself.

Not entirely a headcanon but I feel it’s worth mentioning; His biological mother, Matilda, was a wood elf. Therefore he is half elf. Wood elves tend to be short and stocky, hense his build. (the wood elf part is the headcanon, but not the bit about her being an elf. that’s canon)

His blue shirt is made from an old cape of Garroth’s. It was his way of honoring his long lost father, whom he never really got to know.

Malachi:

When Malachi died, his soul went into a sort of slumber. He remained in said slumber until Aphmau… respawned. When this happened, it sent a shock wave of magick throughout Ru’Aun. All mystic beings felt it. And that very wave woke him.

When his soul woke, he was confused and scared. He couldn’t remember what happened, where he was, why he was all alone in this dark and decrepit castle, or why he couldn’t leave. Over time, his memories returned to him, slowly but surely.

After some time, he realized that though he couldn’t leave the castle grounds, he could move the castle. And so he began moving it all throughout Ru’Aun in search for his parents. Only, he had no clue that 900 years had passed.

When Dante, Aphmau, Garroth, Laurance, and Eseryt come to his castle, he torments them with nightmares. Not because he wants to or thinks it funny, but because he doesn’t know them and it scared. Dante sees visions of Gene killing him once and for all, Aphmau sees Phoenix Drop burning to the ground, Garroth sees a wedding chapel and a woman who’s face is blurred and uncanny, and Laurance sees the Nether in all it’s fiery glory. And Eseryt? Well seeing as she possesses mind magicks too, Malachi can’t see her fears. But that also means Eseryt can’t feel his feelings.

Eventually Eseryt is able to show Malachi that they mean no harm and he lets the others go. When they try to speak to him, they realize that he only speaks old Ru’Aunian. But lucky for them, Aphmau knows it (for some reason *wink wink*) and Laurance learned some in the Nether. And when they get back to Phoenix Drop? Well Zoey knows it too! This is why he developed such and close bond to these three, they’re the only people he could talk to for a while.

Eventually, Zoey manages to teach him new Ru’Aunian, with the “help” of Aphmau and Laurance.

The green scarf he wears was a gift from Laurance after he regained his mortality. Malachi could not stop shivering in the middle of July, so Laurance gave him his scarf to keep him warm. He knows to some degree what it’s like to come back to life, after all. Another reason the two are so close.

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babyxbluexmoon · 2 years ago

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☁︎ dirty secret ☁︎

REQUESTED! i lost the fricken request T-T but here it is anyway, so hopefully they see it! <3

The request was something like.. : Can you please write a yandere/possessive Neteyam, but he acts sweet and kind infront of Y/N, and hides alll the dirty secrets. I absolutely fell in love with the idea!

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Yandere Neteyam! x Oblivious! Fem! Na'vi! Reader!

Warnings: Yandere behaviour, Murder, Manipulation, Possessive/protective behaviour. Not proof read.

Synopsis : Neteyam was so in love with his mate for life, the love of his heart and the constantly thought in his mind. He would do anything for her, to keep her as his. 𝑨𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈..

Neteyam smiled as he watched his blue skinned girl weave a basket, teaching the younger na'vi kids how to do so, and chuckling when a young male accidently weaved his finger to the current basket he was making. It made her giggle too, and hearing tha made his obsessed heart flutter with happiness. He liked her happy, though he did wish only he could make her show any emotion at all.

He approched the girl and patted her hwir gently, loving how braided yet soft it was, and she looked up at him, giving a warm and kind smile. "Hello ma'Neteyam." The girl greeted, her na'vi accent send shivers down his spine, loving, addictive shivers. "Hello, sylang(flower)." He sat down, and the children admired the warrior before getting back to weaving, Y/n leaning over and helping a young female who got confused.

Once the weaving lesson was over, Neteyam helped Y/n gather her lesson things, carrying them for her as they walked to their shared hut, going inside and setting the stuff in the corner where they belonged. "How was training?" Y/n asked him and he looked to her with those ember orbs that almost matched her own like the rest of the clan. "Alright, my father showed Lo'ak and I a few new tricks he learnt."

She smiled at him sweetly and walked over, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling him close, making the males tail lift and sway happily, hugging her back and kissing her temple. "Oh, I have promised to help Fulang'iti with something. So I will head off now. Would you mind starting dinner on the fire, I won't be long." She promised and his heart clenched. 'Him..' Neteyam thought. No matter how many times he secretly threatened him to stay away from his mate, he kept coming back like the sky people.

"Alright, I can do that for you." With that, the girl left and Neteyam couldn't help but snarl to himself, why would she care about what he wants? He thought to himself and ran a hand through his black braided hair, then he stared at the ceiling of his hut before sighing and going over to the fire pit, getting out a piece of meat he hunted and smiled. Sure, they could go to the clan eating area, but sometimes it was nice to eat alone with the one he adored to the core.

"Fulang'iti... your really pushing bonderies.. talking to what is rightfully mine and mine alone.." he spoke, and stared at the knife in his hand made of tree wood and a rock, sharpened, perfect for slicing. "Fulang...'iti.." he suddenly smirked slightly, "maybe words aren't enough alone... is that what your indicating, Eywa..?" He asked softly, a smirk forming on his blue face.

Y/n stood with Fulang'iti, helping him with hunting. "So, what does a warrior like you need help with hunting?" She asked, holding an arrow in one hand and a bow in the other, made by her father specially for her. "Well my mother has given birth to twins as you know, so now my family has eight children, including me, the second oldest. So, I just wanted help to collect everything we need." Y/n nodded, she had two older brothers and a single father, and he always needed help hunting when they were little.

"Alright. I don't mind." She smiled at him and they stayed close as sound of thanator's could be heard from near by, kneeling more closely to the ground. Neteyam watched them closely from up a tree, how dare he ask her to do this with him. She was a fragile weaver, not a hunter. Sure, she was good with a bow, but her precious self should not be thus far away from the safety of the clan.. without her mate. With Neteyam to protect her. Only he could protect her.

They made it to a ledge and knelt down beside each other, watching a lot of prey animals doing their own things. "OK.. try to get something big, please." He spoke to her quietly and she nodded, then advanced forward, but not too closely, she had a bow for a reason, she just wanted a better look, see what looked slightly weaker, incase she strikes wrong and it went for her.

Neteyam took this as his chance, and advanced towards the other male who was approaching something that caught his eye, when Neteyam suddenly pounced on him. He covered Fulang'iti's mouth with his hand as they fell to the grassy floor with a soft thud and Neteyam flipped the other over to look at him. "What have I told you.. about talking or even being near Y/n...?" He asked through a soul, slowly removing his hand. "She's my friend." Fulang'iti huffed out, winded by the impact.

"And she's 𝙢𝙮 mate.. I decide who comes near her." He growled, "that'd not how it works Net-", "It is in my world. She's my probity. My love. My mate. She belongs to me. Her mind, her heart, her body and soul. It all belongs to me." He pulled out the knife he was using to make dinner with, and lifted it up in the air, making Fulang'iti gasped. He was about to yell but Neteyam covered his mouth with his free hand, grinning like a half moon.

"May you walk along Eywa.. prick." With that the knife came down into the males chest and to his heart, the life fading from him with a few last groans. His body fell limb and heavy, and Neteyam moved away, before seeing his darling holding a beast of prey over her shoulder, struggling to carry it. "Wow.. so pretty.." he mumbled, seeing how her small muscles tensed as she carried the heavy, pretty big beast, dragging it along the floor with it upper body on her shoulders.

"Fu-Fulang'iti..! Wh-where did you go..?" She looked around confused, and Neteyam decided to play it cool so he ran around some tree until coming infant of her. "My Eywa, Y/n!" He ran over, acting like his usual soft self. He took the beast from her and laid it on the ground. "Why are you here, my love? Where's Fulang'iti?" She asked, looked up at him and panting softly. "He came back to the clan, said you were both finished and I wondered where you were?" He questioned.

Her face fell, "bu-but we were supposed to be hunting.. why would he leave me here..?" She wondered, looking at all the dangerous beasts that could have come and crushed her at any given moment. "Oh my darling.. it's OK.. I'm here to protect you now ma'sylang(my flower). He held her in his arms, then kissed her nose before moving away and lifting the beast onto his own shoulders. "Come on, we'll keep this for ourselves. May I say, great job honey, I'm so proud of you." He praised, and she giggled, blushing.

Once they arrived back at their shared hut, a elder woman came over, holding two babies in her arms, Fulang'iti's mother. Neteyam bought the beast into the hut before standing beside his mate, his hand on her back. "Can we help you?" He asked her kindly and she smiled. "I was just wondering if you knew where Fulang'iti is. He said he was out hunting with Ms. Y/n.." She spoke and Y/n tilted her head. "But he came back here, he abandoned me where all the prey were.." She said and the woman looked almost shocked, "Oh right.. Well I'll have a word once I find him. Thank you, Y/n."

With that she left, and Y/n swallowed, "wonder where he is..." She said softly and Neteyam cupped her shoulders, towering over her from behind. "He's not our problem darling. Forget him, let's enjoy dinner, and I'll cook your greatest catch." He leant and nibbled her ear gently. "And afterwards, I'll reward you for it.." he spoke and her tail rose up slightly, then began swaying, making him smirk and walked inside, and she followed like a lost puppy.

Neteyam smirked as he got on with dinner, slicing up the beast with a new knife, as Y/n prepared the small wooden table for them. "Hey sylang(flower)." He spoke, not looking back at the woman. "Yes, Ma'Teyam." She replied, looking to the back of his head. "You wouldn't.. ever leave me, right..?" He asked, and she gave a wide eyed look before he heard her approached him, then two small arms slythered around his waist from behind and hugged him, a head against his back. "Never. You are mine, as I am yours. We are mates for life, Ma'Neteyam."

"Good. I want to keep this forever.. Ma'Y/n." He replied, grinning at the slowly cooking beast, knowing just ways from the clan was Fulang'iti body, slowly being eaten away by some creature, or just laying there, bleeding and awaiting for something to find it. Perfectly away from Neteyam's mate, oblivious to her love's 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩.

#love story #atwow #fanfiction #avatar #avatar twow #avatar way of water #yandere neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam avatar #neteyam #yandere na'vi #male yandere #yandere #na'vi x reader #tw murder #avatar x you #omaticaya clan #neteyam x omaticaya!reader

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assortedseaglass · 1 year ago

Text

Lacnunga, or, Remedy

Osferth x Reader

Request: i would love to request something for our dear baby monk. maybe reader is a healer and takes care of his wounds and everyone sees that there's something between them but both osferth and reader are too shy to act on it and continue dancing around each other. until that one day when he saves her from drowning or some danes (please pick whatever you're comfortable with) and he realizes he nearly lost her without telling her what he feels and kisses her right there.

I’m so sorry – I lost who requested this!

[Masterlist]

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: One use of bad language. Other than that, none. It’s Osferth.

The thundering of hooves tore apart the dark night’s silence, and your hand instinctively moved to grip the shoulder of the small boy before you. He looked up. Slowly, not daring to breathe, you brought your finger to your lips. He nodded and inched a little closer to your skirts.

Wintancaester had been on edge since the very word that men of Northumbria had ridden through Mercia, terror left in their wake, and were descending on Wessex’ borders. The King had dispatched Uhtred and his band of warriors to investigate the oncoming horde, but that was weeks ago and no news had come. Nor had the men returned.

The ensuing days were those of dread, the nights full of visions. Bells rang from inside the castle gates at the merest approach of anyone on horseback, sending the city scattering into their dwellings. So why, this night, were the bells silent?

The lad at your knee tugged your skirt.

“Stay close,” you whispered, heart racing beneath your breast. The hooves were growing louder, so much that you felt the very ground beneath your feet tremble. As the racket neared, the little boy held your legs tighter. It was not until they had passed, their canter quietening, that he let go.

“Come,” you edged to the door of your home, beckoning the child. You opened the wooden it a crack. You could not see the men. Across the way, a few people were peering from their homes, the boy’s mother included. “Straight to your mother now. Run and don’t look back. Go!”

He ran as quickly as his little legs could take him and you shut the door as swiftly and silently as possible. Hand at your chest, you listened. If they caught him, surely you would hear. You tried not to imagine his poor cries as they wrenched him away. The face of his mother when she confronted you. Why didn’t you keep him safe? And still the bells didn’t ring. What if the northmen had already taken the castle, unbeknownst to its subjects beyond its walls?

Silence.

The horses' hooves were running no more. There were no cries from neighbouring dwellings. The bells didn’t ring. Perhaps it was just someone passing through. Maybe the poor soul on watch had fallen asleep. The hour was late after all.

You were just relaxing against the wood of the door, your heart rate slowly returning to normal as it pounded in your ears, when the door jolted.

BANG BANG BANG

Your body jumped with the movement of it. A trap. A rouse of silence to trick unsuspecting victims. Tears pricked at your eyes as you held the door with your hands. If you were to die at the hand of some Northumbrian brute, then you would die fighting.

BANG BANG BANG

“Lady! It’s them!”

Whatever strength you mustered to fight the northmen left as quickly as it had arrived.

“They’re back! Come and see! Lady?”

“Caen?” You opened the door. There he was, small and jumping up and down. Behind him, a few paces off, his mother smiled at his antics, her hands on her hips. “What do you me-”

“Uhtred!” Without another word, and seemingly embarrassed at your slowness, he darted along the grassy path towards the stables. Four horses, three dark and one white, were drinking heavily from a trough. Their riders, each tall and strong like their mounts, worked to remove their saddles.

You watched as Caen bounded towards them. They had yet to spot him, small as he was, and instead each man chatted to another.

“Come,” it was Caen’s mother. “Quite the fright they gave us. At least we have visitors, and handsome ones at that, to settle our spirits.” Laughing, she took your arm in hers and led you towards the group.

“A fright indeed,” you muttered, your heart still beating its violent tattoo. Up ahead, Caen was nearing the band of men.

“Uhtred!” He cried and, when the man turned, the small boy all but flung himself into the warrior’s arms.

“My, my, look at you! You have grown taller and stronger since last I saw you. It won’t be long until can wield a sword yourself-”

“I’ll not have you encouraging him, Lord.” Caen’s mother said, her voice firm.

“Ma says that I will be just as able to help the kingdom with my learning. And she’s started teaching me about the plants!” Caen pointed at you.

“She!?” Caen shrunk at his mother’s words, correcting himself by using your name.

“You can never have too many healing hands,” the man beside Uhtred said. His head was bowed a little, eyes peering over the furs he wore to keep warm but even in the dark night, you could see the alertness of their blue. He watched you gently. Something about the small smile playing at the corners of his lips stirred your stomach.

“Osferth,” you said quietly.

“Lady,”

“Can never have too many healing hands indeed!” The burlier of Uhtred’s men winked and gave Osferth’s shoulder a shove.

“Finan,” you said, and he nodded with a smile. “I take it you aren’t in need of healing.”

“She says that when people make a fuss they don’t need so much help,” little Caen spoke up. “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.”

Your eyes flicker to Osferth.

“Caen!”

“Sorry, Lady.” He eyed you a little but smiled cheekily all the same. Finan ruffled his hair and Caen giggled, swatting his hand away. In the lightness of the moment, you almost forgot that these men had been on the road for weeks and potentially battled their way home.

“Are you alright?” You addressed the gathered troupe, casting an eye over each of them. “Do you need anything? Sihtric?”

“Nothing ale and a good night can’t fix, thank you.”

When you first encountered the group, it was the Dane with the shorn hair and bicoloured glower that intimidated you most. A man of few words and calculated grace, something in his manner set you on edge. It increased tenfold when you saw him wield the sword, for the movements were violent, aggressive, quick as lightning.

It was not until he came to your small home, the flesh of his cheek split like ripe fruit and bleeding, that you discovered in truth the man was considerate and still. Almost gentle. Almost.

As you tended to his skin, he asked quiet questions about the plants hung from the rafters of your home, told you of the girl he intended to marry. Spoke with near reverence of Uhtred, told tall tales of Finan and fretted over Osferth. In the years you had known the men, it was Sihtric Kjartansson who scared you the least.

Now, it was the young man between he and Uhtred that sent your heart hammering. He, with his hard face and gentle soul.

Your fear was in the knowing glances he gave to his friends, and to you, as if he knew your thoughts before they even entered your mind. It was the stillness that he invoked upon the air whenever he neared you. It was in the simmering heat that built within you each time he returned bolder, stronger, braver. It was the way he was looking at you in that moment, as though seeing you for the first time and coming home.

“Osferth?” Your voice was hoarse and you coughed. “Are you well? Do you need anything?”

Before he could speak, Sihtric cut in. “He took a blow to the back, Lady-” He reached out to show you where but Osferth brushed him away.

“’Tis nothing, only a bruise,”

“I should still like to see it,” you said quickly.

“And I can help!” Caen piped up and you smiled down at your little apprentice.

“After, perhaps.” Osferth said. “But first, would you take a look at this old thing?” He patted the flank of his mottled horse. “She took a sword to her leg. It was only a scuffle!” He added upon seeing your worried face.

“Caen, fetch the bute you collected, and a pitcher of water.” The little boy ran away at your instruction. You turned to the group at large. “You are certain I cannot help with anything else?”

“Nothing,” Uhtred said. “Other than direct us to an alehouse. One who has boarding at this hour”

“Bron will have rooms,” you pointed down the way. “And he’ll be glad to welcome you.”

The men gathered their meagre belongings and, leaving their steeds at the stable, began their tired way towards the alehouse. Osferth remained at your side, following you towards your home. Unbeknownst to the both of you, Sihtric watched your progress with a small smile, distracted only when Finan clapped him on the back and dragged him away.

Seeing it was not the northmen but Uhtred and his men, many of the townsfolk had returned to their sleepy dwellings, and the night was quiet as it had once been.

“You have been to see the King, then? They did not ring the bells when you arrived.” You asked Osferth. He walked beside you, hands clasped firmly behind his back and head bowed. You wondered for a moment if he had picked up this behaviour at the monastery, or if it were his natural proclivity for pensiveness.

“Yes. Well,” he kicked a stone from the path. “Uhtred did.”

You said no more. It had no doubt been a long and tiresome journey, Osferth surely would not want to talk of the father that didn’t acknowledge his very existence.

“Was it terrible?” You asked, pushing open the wooden door to see Caen already setting cloth and water on the table. You winked at him. “Good lad.”

“The reverse,” Osferth smiled. “By the time we arrived in Mercia, the Angles had reached the northmen first.” Caen gasped and begged Osferth tell him more. “You could not see the ground for bodies, and-” Osferth looked at you, arms folded across your chest and eyebrows raised. “-and, that was it, really.” He finished weakly.

Caen glanced between you as silence fell. “Pop your clothes off, if you please.”

“Caen,” your voice was warning.

“If you would, Lord, remove your upper layers and sit on the table.” Caen said.

“Better,” you mouthed.

Plucking comfrey and ribwort from the plants drying around your home, you took your pestle and mortar in hand and worked them into a poultice. You daredn’t look at Osferth as he undressed, and shame began to work away at you fear of him. It is just Osferth. When he spoke, however, it was impossible not to turn, for his voice caused you to jump from your thoughts and face him.

“My horse-”

“Caen will see to her,” you placed the mortar on the table, looking anywhere but his naked torso. “He has been harvesting bute today and could do with the practice.”

“I’ll look after her, Lord.”

“Osferth,” the monk corrected.

“I’ll look after her, Lord Osferth.” Caen grabbed the bute, a small bowl and a cup of water, and dashed into the night. He returned not a minute later. “Forgot the cloth.”

Osferth chuckled as you returned to mixing the poultice. “He is a fine little apprentice.”

“Yes,” you added a dash of water to the mixture. “I just hope he isn’t distracted by the sword.”

“As I was?”

Your head snapped up and there was no going back. He was looking at you, blue eyes sad, pale skin glowing in the light of the fire. “That’s different.”

Osferth hummed, and the silence resumed. Firewood and sage crackled in the hearth, and beyond your home a tawny owl called.

“Where did Sihtric say you were struck?”

“My shoulder,” Osferth tried to indicate but winced as he moved.

“Rest,” you placed a hand on his and pushed his arm away. “Let me.” Moving to stand behind him, you saw the plum bruise that spread across his shoulder blade. It was already mottled and blackening, a few days old at least. Tentatively, you reached out to touch it. Beneath your fingers his skin was warm, similar to those first spring rays of sunlight on the face. You blushed. Beneath your touch, Osferth stiffened.

He had been coming to you for years. When his ribs were bruised and cracked during his first proper skirmish. When he had broken his arm escaping from the sea. After his first few kills he came to for a remedy for night visions, his mind rattled by the sound of tearing flesh. Sometimes, he found excuses to end up at your door. Stiff necks, headaches, insomnia. Those nights were his favourite. You made him dandelion tea and offered your bed. There, as you hummed a slow tune, he would drift into a sleep full of flora and delicate touches.

“It’ll be cool, the mixture, but not cold,” you said. “The bruise is already healing well, but this will reduce the swelling and some of the pain.”

“Thank you, Lady.” He whispered.

Placing a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself, you gently began rubbing the poultice into his skin. Osferth hissed.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

Osferth shook his head. “Is it tender, that is all.”

“I can see the outline of the pommel where it hit you,”

“What a shame it didn’t bleed, would have made a handsome scar-” You saw his cheeks rise into a smile.

“Trying to be more like Finan?” Your hand moved from his shoulder blade to the valley of his spine.

“I haven’t the volume.” This made you laugh and, at hearing the bright noise, Osferth joined in, for a moment only before doubling over.

“Try not to laugh,” you said through your giggles.

On and on you rubbed the poultice into his skin until the merest slither was left in the mortar. Osferth fell into a contented silence as you worked, your mind caught far away and, simultaneously, in the intimacy of the moment.

You watched, mesmerised, as your medicine highlighted the curves and contours of his back. Even when Osferth first joined Uhtred, he was tall. But then he began to train with the others, surviving on meagre rations and growing from boy to man. His broad shoulders and lean muscle were evidence of that. Drifting from the bruise, your fingers brushed over his upper back, the broad expanse of it now golden in the firelight.

His frame was exciting to you, yes. But what you hadn’t expected, or hadn’t anticipated would stir the fire still alite in your belly, were the freckles speckling his back. The outline of his ribs as he breathed, or the base of his spine ridging his lower back. They were the evidence that he was human. Living, breathing, warm flesh and bone right there beneath your fingers. Not just some imagined being you dreamt up during the long days and nights that he was gone.

Your fingers had left the bruise fully now but you didn’t worry. Osferth couldn’t see, and you let them wander under the guise of treating his wound. When they met the juncture of his neck and shoulder, you paused before laying your hand flat against the plain of skin. The action must have been soothing, for no sooner had your hand settled there was Osferth tipping his head forward, exposing more of his strong neck to you. You squeezed the muscle and he groaned. The sound sent blood rushing from your ears to the meeting of your thighs and you squeezed your legs together.

Breathe.

With a sharp inhale and slow exhale, you relaxed your body, hands straightening on Osferth’s shoulder. Your fingers grazed the shorn hair at the back of his head and once more, Osferth sighed.

This time, though, it was not the sound of released tension. Of a knot begin worked from deep within a muscle or the stretch of the back after a long day’s work. This time, it was the sound of pleasure.

Slowly, tentatively, you curled your fingers, dragging your nails ever so lightly over his skin and running them down the length of his spine. Osferth shuddered beneath you, arching his back as you reached its base.

“Lady-” his voice was ragged. When he looked over his shoulder and whispered your name, you saw his blue irises eclipsed by black.

“Osferth-”

The door banged open.

“Horse is fixed, Lord!” Caen shouted happily as you jumped back from the table.

“You don’t ‘fix a horse’, Caen.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. The heat that was rising to your cheeks burned.

“Thank you, Caen.” Osferth smiled at the boy and hopped gracefully from the table. He dressed quickly, tucking his cross into his tunic and collecting the remainder of his possessions; breastplate, leather gauntlets, sword and furs.

“Come,” Osferth steered Caen from the door. “Let us give the good lady some peace. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you could barely speak the words as Osferth glanced at you with a solemn smile. When the door closed behind the him and your apprentice, you leant against the table, dipped the cloth in the pitcher of water and held it against your head. You looked to the ceiling.

“Thank you for sending him, Lord.” For what would have happened had Caen not burst through your door, you dared not imagine.

You did not need to leave your home next morning to know the day was a happy one. Beyond the door people were yelling freely, someone was playing a pipe and you could hear children scurrying after one another.

Getting up, you stretched broadly and felt the sunlight through your small lookout window on your face. Wandering to add logs to the fire, you paused mid-step. There, on the table, was evidence that last night you almost disgraced your honour and dignity. Osferth’s honour and dignity. He was a warrior now, brave and noble, and would surely be a Lord like his leader one day. He would not throw himself at a common healer like you. No matter how much you wished it.

Once again, your musings were broken by the banging open of the door.

“What have I told you about knocking, little master!?”

“Well if you will leave it unbolted,” Caen waggled his finger at you. “Are we going hunting today, Lady?” ‘Hunting’ was what the young boy called foraging and, since he began his lessons with you, was fondest when in the field.

“Not today I’m afraid,” you said, wrapping a woollen shawl around your shoulders. “I am in need of arrowhead- do not interrupt, Caen. I’m sorry but the river is still too dangerous for you, and the plants are not so easily discernible. What would your mother say if I had you picking hemlock instead of water parsley?”

Caen hung his head in disappointment. Then, when a little boy ran past followed by a gaggle of even younger children, Caen called a hasty goodbye to you and ran after them. Stood in the doorway, you watched as they sprang down the grassy path. It truly was a happy day.

Dew glimmered in the long grass, little beadlets of iridescence sparkling in the spring light. Birds called gaily to each other from the treetops, much like their human counterparts on the ground below. Merriment seemed the order of the day. What wonders Uhtred and his men could perform by their appearance. The city seemed to sigh in relief.

After foraging, you planned to call at the alehouse. That was if you didn’t see the men in question about the town. Despite the previous night’s distractions, Osferth’s bruise truly was a nasty specimen and though it was healing, you believed his comfort greatly affected.

That was why you found yourself, an hour later and full of freshly baked bread, treading the damp earth along the banks of the river Icene in search of ingredients. It had been your mother who taught you the properties of the world around you, given you her stolen copy of the Lacnunga and taught you to read its pages.

The daughter of a nobleman, she was a fearsome and bright woman. Known for her learning and curiosity, she was beloved by all he knew her. Or so your father said. In the end, it was her curiosity that led to you. Foraging on the banks of that very river, she met a young fletcher gathering reeds for arrow tails. A month later, she married him. Cast out for loving a commoner, she took naught with her from her old life but for the clothes on her back, an embroidered sheet of damask and the stolen Lacnunga from the physic.

It was she who had taught you about the medicinal powers of the river plants, and of their terrifying toxins. Smiling as you meandered through the grass, thinking of your lost parents, and reciting the nine herb charm.

“Mugwyrt, una, wegrade, atterlothe, maethe, wergulu, apple, fille, finule. Mugwyrt, una-”

It was not those that you sought, but arrowhead. That bright, dart-shaped leaf which sprang from the water surrounded by delicate white leaves. Pressed in a sling against his shoulder or massaged in a poultice-you shook the thought from you head-it would surely aid Osferth’s discomfort.

There. Nestled amongst water-crowfoot and starwort, arrowhead leaves dazzled green in the murky water where the chalky river met the farmland of the city. There was just one problem. It was on the opposite bank.

There was nothing for it. Removing the wicker basket from your shoulder and setting it on the ground, you took off your worn boots and woollen socks, stowing them with the still warm bread you brought for your lunch. You looked left and right. No-one. Taking your skirts in hand, you tucked them into your leather belt and proceeded to a worn patch of scrub. An otter’s slipway.

A gravel bank rose at the centre of the river. Here, it was shallow and slow moving, but it was not the current you feared, but the cold. The sun shone in spring but the water retained its chilly bite. You would make for the gravel and assess the route to the arrowhead from there.

Slowly so as not to slip on the muddy ground, you stepped into the water.

“Fuck!”

Needles of cold shot through your legs as they entered the river and your toes curled instinctively under foot, seeking any warmth they could find. You stood there awhile, acclimatising to the water, or waiting until they were numb from the pain, you weren’t certain which.

Eventually you pushed out into the inky green water, letting it lap at your knees until you reached the gravel bank. From there you saw the arrowhead was just a few steps from reach. A great number of the leaves waved to you as their stems were bustled by the water and taking a deep breath, you stepped back into the water.

Your lungs tightened as, without warning, you sank waist-deep in the water. Well, that was a bother.

It didn’t take long for you to find your footing amongst the river weeds and, keeping your arms above the water, you waded forwards. A few stumbles here and there didn’t matter, your body was used to the cold by now and the arrowhead leaves were in your grasp.

For a few minutes you gently plucked the leaves from their stems, careful to leave some intact for the next harvest and the few little creatures you found living in the plant’s shelter.

With a handful foraged and a poesy of watercress for good measure, you turned back for the gravel bank. Your first step was clumsy as you slipped on some slimy stones underfoot and, as your chin hit the water, you jolted backwards. Just above the riverbed some long-grown pondweed had encircled your ankle in the current, tightening its grip with every kick of your foot to free yourself.

You tried not to panic, shoving the arrowhead and cress into your bodice. Your head was just above the water; you wouldn’t drown if you kept calm. But you would freeze. Over and over you fought to free your foot but the weed wouldn’t loosen. Your only remaining hope was to kick as hard as you could to uproot the plant or break its stem. With great effort, you flung your leg out as hard as you could. It didn’t work. You lost your footing once and for all, your head finally dipping beneath the river’s surface.

You came up spluttering and swallowing lung-fulls of water and air.

“Help,” you called out pathetically, your throat burning as you inhaled the river water. What was the use? You had come alone. Hadn’t you checked no-one was around before you entered the river? One foot trapped in pondweed and the other fighting for purchase, your body lolled at an awkward angle. The current of the water clapped in your ears, and when it rose to meet the side of your face, you found it wasn’t cold anymore. Letting your head float there, you found it a comfort and, like your rapidly numbing body, relaxed.

What a stupid way to die, you thought. The daughter of a renowned healer, and a healer in her own right, drowning while harvesting ingredients. In the spring, no less.

“Mugwyrt, una, wegrade, atterlothe, maethe, wergulu, apple, fille, finule. Remember, Mugwyrt, what you brought to pass, what you readied, at Regenmeld-”

When thoughts of your mother, of Caen and of Osferth faded, only the nine herb charm remained.

“Mugwyrt, una, wegrade, atterlothe, maet-” It was like drifting into sleep, resting in the river. Your words became mumbled, slow, your memory weak.

“Mugwyrt, una, wegrade- mugwyrt-”

The sinking was slow. First, you arms lolled behind you, the gentle river current moving your fingers as though they were combing through hair. Next, it was your chest, the cold water warming the barrel of your ribs. The strangest part was your ears. As your head began to sink, a great roaring rang in your ears as they broke the water. Just the flow of the river and your own breath could be heard under there. The water edged across your cheeks-

Your body burned as you were rent harshly from the water. Compared to the water, the day burned every inch of exposed flesh. Two hands, firm and strong, gripped your waist and dragged you backwards. Your back hit the hard ground and you moaned as weight returned to your body.

As though still trapped in the river, every sound was amplified. The birds in the trees above you, the wash of water against the riverbank, the man calling your name. Blinking in the harsh light, you looked up at him. His hand was at your face, his warm fingers near searing your sensitive skin.

“Osferth?” You said meekly. The man above you hung his head in relief. “Why are you here?” You smiled stupidly, reaching to grip his shoulder and check he was real.

“I came to your home,” he was out of breath and panicked, that was clear by his wide eyes and pinched brow. Even in your state you could see it. “-and Caen told me had gone to the river. You told him it was too dangerous for him to accompany you and yet you went alone? What were you thinking?”

“I needed arrowhead,” you touched the waist of your bodice where the plants lay. “For your bruise,”

Osferth was flabbergasted, and tt was he who spluttered next. “For my-for my-” He stared down at you. There you were, in his arms, soaked to the bone, hair in tendrils adorned with weed, gazing up at him so happily. Words failed him, and so he did the only left in his mind.

Raising you gently, he ducked his head and placed a tender kiss to your lips. You sighed. He was tender and soft and oh so warm. When he parted from you, a look of apprehensive pride on his face, you laughed quietly.

“I have imagined that so many nights, but it was never like this,”

“I could say exactly the same.” He laughed and held you closer. When you curled a hand into his tunic, he looked down at you and frowned.

“What?”

“Lady, your lips are blue.”

Notes: My first reader insert, please be nice.

The Lacnunga (which means remedy) is a real text, believed to have been written in the 10th century, and that is where the nigon wyrta galdor, or nine herb charm, comes from. Galdor means healing spell.

And obviously, don’t use plants when you don’t know what they do or how to use them. Common plants can be very hard to distinguish and yes, I did once mix up water parsley and hemlock…However! Ribwort Plantain is great for inflammation, rub the leaves on sore joints or bites and it works a treat, trust me!

Tags: @babyblue711 @arcielee @ewanmitchellcrumbs @bookwyrmsblog

#ewan mitchell #osferth #osferth x reader #ewan mitchell x reader #the last kingdom

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