#tiny beast who is not afraid of anything

[dragongirlwings]

i need you to understand

[princessbellecerise]

You Kiss Their Scars

Summary ✩ How your lover reacts to you kissing their scars

Warnings ✩ Mentions of violence and blood

Jacaerys Velaryon

You were amused as your lips pressed against the teeth shaped scars, in the shape of tiny little bite marks that Jace explained were from Vermax

“He used to bite me plenty when we shared a crib,” Your husband told you. “He was a nasty little thing. Mother was afraid he’d take a chunk out of my arm—but he never did. He stopped doing it when I bit him back,” He revealed

You giggled as you imagined baby Jace and baby Vermax—both the same size at one point—going at it while Rhaenyra tried to separate them. “So I suppose you’ve both always been temperamental then,” You said

It was no surprise that your husband, who also had quite the temper, related so much to his dragon. The two were one of the same, and you guessed that’s why they got along so well

“Yes,” Jacaerys agreed, a fond smile on his face as he recalled the memories. “We were quite a menacing pair indeed.”

Aegon Targaryen

“She did it again,” Is the only thing Aegon had to tell you in order for you to pull him into your arms, kissing the spot where a nasty red bruise was forming

It was no secret that your husband and his mother did not get along, but never did you think that she would have the audacity to strike him after an argument

It was appalling to you every time it happened, and you wanted nothing more than to march towards her and give the same treatment, Queen be damned

It wasn’t fair that she took out her anger out on Aegon but he begged you, no pleaded with you to not do anything

“It won’t do any good,” He’d tell you sadly, and your heart would ache as you saw the brokenness, the sadness on his face. “She’ll just hate me even more if you act.”

Aemond Targaryen

“Hold still.”

You jutted your tounge out in concentration as you cleaned Aemond’s scar, making sure that it was sanitized properly for the day

Your husband trusting you with such a thing was an act of love itself. The fact that he trusted you to see his deepest insecurity meant alot to you, and all you could do to repay him and hopefully bring up his spirits was pepper light kisses on the skin surrounding it

“There, all done.”

“Thank you, my love,” Aemond smiled slightly as he touched the spots were your lips touched, still wondering how he got so lucky as to find someone like you

Cregan Stark

“Ow! Be gentle, woman,” Cregan said playfully, wincing as you brushed over his ‘scar’ with a wet cloth

Somehow, for some reason, your dear husband thought it would be funny to wrestle with his dire wolf and then he had the nerve to come crawling to you, asking you to patch up his wounds after the beast had bitten him

Of course, it wasn’t really that big of a deal and Cregan wasn’t really hurt, but you still smirked as you pressed a kiss to it like it was a real wound

“There. That should ease some of the pain, you big baby,” You teased, rolling your eyes

Cregan chuckled as he checked your work, looking at the bandage you had placed over some ointment

“What do you suppose it’ll look like when it heals?” He asked you seriously

“It’ll look like you simply have a freckle, Creagn,” You responded sarcastically, and then you giggled as he grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap

“Don’t make fun me, wife. You should be proud,” He said, flexing the arm where the bite was. “How many men do you know have taken on such a beast and lived to tell the tale?”

“Only you, husband. Only you.” You snorted at his dramatics, wondering just what you were going to do with your silly, drama queen of a husband

Benjicot Blackwood

There was reason they called your husband ‘Bloody Ben’

You found this out when one day, he came limping home after solving a conflict in the Riverlands, covered in wounds and blood—so much blood

Thankfully, most of it wasn’t his but Benji still did have a few wounds that needed looking after

The Maester was busy, having been sent by your husband to tend to the other men, so you got the pleasure of dragging him to your chambers, making sure that he was clean before you began to stitch him up

The entire time you worked, Benji barely even flinched which amazed you

By the time that you were done with his top half, he’d barely said a word or complained which led to you kissing over a few of his stitches as a reward

“What was that for?” He asked in wonder, a small blush on his cheeks while you grinned

“That, my love, is for being such a good patient,” You told him cheekily, and you did not expect what Benji did next

Standing up, he loosened his trousers and then he grinned as he pointed at the area beneath his small clothes

“Well in that case, I’ll need plenty of kisses here, too. No promises that I won’t move if you touch me there though.”

“Benji!”

[sp4ceboo]

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: ty taylor swift i attempted to base this fic on your song but then i divulged as normal

tw: 18+, smut, p in v, inkpie, oral (both recieving), sub feyd by which i mean feyd is DOMMED, spit, degradation + praise, one spank kinda, swearing, lil bit of crying, mention of evil baron activities so sa + pedophilia, tiny mention of cheating but none actually happens, lmk if there's anything else bc lbr there probably is i just forgot it

wc: 3.9k

Feyd-Rautha has gravely underestimated you.

It is true that you are not strong in terms of Harkonnen definitions, but you expected a man destined to father the Kwisatz Haderach to be able to see past that. What was that the Bene Gesserit were saying about superior genetics? You don’t see even a glimpse of that in his frosty gaze when he regards you - he looks at you as if you’re a delicate vase that may shatter in the lightest of breezes. He thinks he needs to fear breaking you.

He misses how you miss nothing.

You are not Bene Gesserit; you are merely one of their pawns, a genetic machination produced from centuries of manipulations and deceptions, but you can read a man better than the majority of their number.

The seething jealousy in the clenching off Glossu Rabban’s fists is like a monster sinking its venom laced fangs into his heart: starkly evident to you - as evident as the barely repressed, parasitic fear of inadequacy that lurks like a second beast within the first. Just the same, the gazes the Baron sends your husband do not escape you. Nor does the caged, wild look that washes over him whenever you leave his uncle’s chambers: the look of a man who inside is still a boy, relief washing over him that he has left unscathed and untouched for another time.

Even more nuanced than that, you see the vulnerability within Feyd-Rautha. He craves to be loved, the way he should have been as a child, when instead he was desired; all this at an age where the most he should have been doing was playing with carved wooden toys at his parent’s feet.

He believes no one can see the last, soft sliver of his heart that he’s fought to preserve, that wants nothing but to have someone to be vulnerable with, just because he’s buried it so deep inside of him that sometimes even he doesn’t think it’s there any more.

But you see it.

You see beneath it too, to a place that he himself is not fully aware of. A place where he hates who he has become - a wild, savage creature, bleeding from wounds that do not seem to close up, slipping in its own blood when no one can see.

It’s from here, from this place, that the urge to preserve you somehow originates. He thinks you are a flower whose petals will easily be crushed in his heavy, calloused hands, and he is wrong; in a strange way it endears you to him, that he believes that he is too rough to hold you. You do not think it is quite love - not yet, at least, it is only the third month of your marriage - but when you see him fighting to not be the beast that he is before you in an effort to spare you, something that is not just pity stirs in your heart.

You can hear him now, pacing, cursing under his breath in the antechambers. Sometimes he sleeps there, on the narrow sofa, and you’ve come to realise it is those nights when he wants you most. Aside from your wedding night, he has made no other attempts to produce an heir, and you find his restraint valiant, but stupid.

He could try as hard as he liked; he would not get anywhere close to breaking you.

Rising from your seat on the small, ornate stool at the vanity, you push open the door to the antechamber and take a step into the room. Feyd pauses his pacing with his back to you, and you can see the tension in his shoulders and the rigid way he holds his body before he turns around to face you. His pupils are dilated, his eyes dark, and you watch him regard you with something too untethered to be restraint.

‘Am I keeping you awake, wife?’

You shake your head. ‘I had not retired yet.’

You know he expects you to explain why you’ve interrupted him, but you remain quiet - your silence is as much of a tool as your words. He doesn’t speak either, but his eyes tell you enough; they do not leave your frame, hungry, torrid, and his fingers twitch as if they ache to slip you out of the simple shift you wear to sleep and touch you everywhere, to explore the curves and dips of your body.

Tilting your head, you smirk. ‘If you wish to give me your heirs, husband, I would advise another method that differs from staring one into me.’

‘You don’t know what I want,’ he growls, but his face tells other tales.

Stepping forward, you reach out to him but he backs away. Still, the sheer thirst in his eyes sears away at you, even as his actions fight against it, his fingers closing on the doorknob. His hands are steady, his shoulders too, but the tightness in his muscles betrays him as always. Usually, you’d let him go now, but tonight you wish to see how far he will let you push him before he pushes back, so you snare his forearm in your fingers, tugging at him as he turns the knob.

He doesn’t look at you. ‘Don’t test me.’

You smile, cloyingly so. ‘Why not?’

Lightly, you trace your fingers down his chest, straightening the fabric of his black shirt while you gaze thoughtfully up at him through your lashes, lips curving upwards at the indecision in his eyes. He fights it, wrestles with the burning need, but in the end, he prevails, transforming it into a streak of anger that colours his voice as he tears himself from your grasp, recoiling as if your touch ignites pain within him - and maybe it is pain, that he wants you so but fears to indulge himself.

‘Get away from me.’

Feyd-Rautha does not give you a second to do so, because he is the one haring down the dimly lit corridor, his jaw tight, nails digging into his palms. Truthfully, you have never seen him move that fast, not even in the arena, and it almost makes you laugh - the great na-Baron fleeing from his wife and his own lecherous thoughts.

Maybe you did not win this round of tug of war, but he has asked something of you - to get away from him. Over the next few weeks, you follow this to the letter, avoiding him like the plague; you do not interrupt his pacing in the antechambers, nor do you haunt the bedroom like you normally do, asking him questions that he cannot answer. Feyd-Rautha is sensitive to change and you know he will seek the reason for it.

There is a barely cloaked intensity in his eyes when he finally corners you, and under it, you detect recognition: he sees that you are not who he thought you were, and he sees that you are not so different from him - always observing, always planning, and so, mind shatteringly hungry.

You were just dropping by the bed chambers to gather some of your clothes. The night before, you’d relocated yourself to one of the guest bedrooms - you could sense Feyd’s resolve cracking, and you knew that this would break it for certain: coming into his chambers to find them empty, wifeless, your side of the bed damningly cold. Jealousy is clear in his eyes as he backs you against the vanity, filling you with a rising sense of triumph.

‘What has caused this change in your behaviour, wife?’

You raise a brow, faking confusion. ‘What change? I would argue it is your behaviour that has changed, Feyd, you who can barely stand to be in a room alone with me.’

He snarls. ‘Who were you with last night?’

‘I thought you wanted me to get away from you,’ you reply, keeping up your pretence a little longer. ‘I slept in the guest quarters. You do not reciprocate any of my advances.’

‘Advances?’ He echoes, incredulous. ‘You taunt me, wife. It’s like you want me to break you.’

Cocking your head, you regard him coolly for a moment, letting some of the sharpness of your unmasked gaze leak through, letting him see the calculation in your eyes - you see the wariness it incites in him as he realises again that you are not who he thinks you are. Wordless, you lean in close to him, bringing your face to his, hovering there.

And then you let your arm drop and make a swipe for the knife at his belt.

Fast as a viper, he catches your wrist in your fingers, but you smile, challenge in your eyes as you bring his second blade to his neck. You’d slipped it out while he was distracted with your other hand, and he blinks at the cold press of it to his skin.

‘That’s the problem, isn’t it?’ You murmur. ‘You’re not scared of me, you’re scared of breaking me. Who’s afraid of little old me, huh? No one is, Feyd.’

‘They should be,’ he whispers, and when you meet his gaze, it sets you alight.

‘Indeed,’ you reply softly, letting your lower lip brush his.

As he kisses you, his hands seizing your face and locking you to him, you hook his knife’s blade in the collar of his shirt and drag it down, slicing the fabric until it flutters to the floor. Pulling away, you take him in - the moonlight planes of his sculpted chest, the broadness of his shoulders, his roiling, keen gaze. This man whets your appetite in the darkest kinds of ways: you cannot wait to ruin him.

Absently, you trace the outline of the tent in his pants with the tip of the knife blade. A breathy noise leaves him, and he freezes as if he can feel the cold kiss of the metal against his skin; you laugh, delighted that he is so mouldable in your hands.

‘Get on your knees,’ you command, seating yourself on the end of the bed.

It’s captivating, his lack of hesitation as he follows your orders. He sits back on his heels, looking up at you, and you can tell that he’s letting you see him like this, you can tell that if he didn’t want you to have him like this, you wouldn’t, but still, you reach out, gently skimming his shoulder with your fingertips.

‘All you have to do is say, and I will stop,’ you say.

He dips his chin. ‘I do not think I’ll have to.’

You smirk, something savage and powerful and thrillingly depraved rearing its head inside you, awakened by the sight of the na-Baron kneeling at your feet. That will be his last coherent sentence tonight.

Pausing, making him wait, you lean down a little, inspecting his features, the ardour in his eyes. He looks at you as if you hold the universe in your hands, as if you hung the stars in his sky, as if you are a  goddess, and he wants nothing but to worship you until he is expended.

You spit on him.

It lands on his cheek, and his eyes widen a fraction. A shudder wracks his body, and he simply stares up at you, breathing heavy, before slowly, his lips part, and he sticks out his tongue, his request evident. You grab his jaw, squeezing so that he opens up wider, and spit in his mouth - the low groan that leaves him as he swallows is fucking delectable.

His cock twitches in his pants when you pick up the knife. Tracing the blade over the shell of his ear, over his cheekbone and over his lips, you marvel at the way he holds still, awaiting what you’ll inflict on him next like a good little toy.

When the metal reaches his jaw, you nick the skin, drinking up his sharp intake of breath and the clench of his fists as the blood trickles down the column of his throat; you catch the droplet of crimson on your tongue, licking a careful stripe up his neck, grinning when you catch his lips in a kiss and he trembles at the taste of his own blood. Feyd is greedy, his tongue brushing against yours as he leans up into your touch, the way his mouth works against yours hot, fervent, pleading.

Planting a palm to his sternum, you push him back, chuckling when he strains to follow you, eyes glazed, lips swollen. You spot a streak of red and swipe your thumb over his lower lip, wiping it off before standing.

‘Get up, strip, and get on the bed,’ you bid him, pulling your own shift over your head.

Feyd scrambles to follow your orders, yanking his pants down, and you take your time to admire his muscle sheathed body; strength ripples beneath his skin, a sweet dichotomy to his weeping cock, rock hard and flushed rosy. He halts his movements, as if he’s pinned down by your appraising gaze.

‘For whom do you wait, husband?’

As he turns to get onto the bed, he’s a little too slow and you swat at his ass. A choked sound leaves him, and you laugh at the way his knees almost buckle. Feyd’s ears run red when he lies down on the mattress, and you straddle his thighs, sneering at the way he twists his fingers in the sheets, squirming beneath you.

‘Pathetic.’

You don’t give him time to respond, instead wrapping your fingers around his cock and pumping up and down fast, and he gasps at your rough touch, his back arching and his hands coming up to touch you - you wave them off you, meeting his eyes.

‘No touching,’ you intone, the hint of warning in your voice enough to render him obedient.

This time, you take his cock head in your mouth. He’s so fucking sensitive, reacting as if the sweep of your thumb down the underside of him and the slide of your tongue over him is mind shattering; it doesn’t take you long to get him teetering at the edge of his orgasm, just for you to pull away at the last moment.

His thigh jolts, weak pleas of your name leaving his lips, gripping the sheets so hard you wonder if they’ll rip. Again, you take him in your mouth, deeper, one hand dipping to play with his balls; you revel in the wretched sound that he makes when you hollow your cheeks around him, your teeth grazing up his length. You toy with him until you think he’s moments from breaking, until he’s writhing upon the sheets, face contorted in pleasure loaded with sweet, sweet agony.

‘Please let me come,’ he whimpers, voice cracking, the look in his eyes crazed, pitiful. ‘Please.’

You decide to give it to him, jerking him brutally fast until he comes; it hits him like a tidal wave - his eyes roll back in his skull, his body tensing, rigid and impossibly taut before he goes boneless, a broken cry of your name on his lips as he spills all over his stomach. A single, ecstatic tear slides down his cheek as his orgasm seizes him, snatching him up and shaking him like a ragdoll.

Lingering at his side, you wait until he’s come down from his high before getting up to retrieve a damp cloth from the bathroom, perching on the bed beside him and cleaning up his come, pressing kisses to the surprisingly soft skin of his hips. One wavering hand comes to rest in your hair, and you glance up at him, biting back a smug grin at the dazed look in his eyes.

‘Feeling okay?’

He nods.

‘Words,’ you chide.

‘Y - yes, na-Baroness. Better than okay.’

You raise a brow at that. You did not specify for him to call  you anything, so this is all his doing; he fidgets beneath your gaze, and you note that he’s growing hard again, his cock stiffening between his thighs.

‘Can I…’ He begins, but trails off, thinking better of it.

‘No, little na-Baron,’ you reply coyly. ‘Tell me what you desire.’

His eyes scorch you with their yearning. ‘I want to taste you, na-Baroness.’

You smile. ‘As you wish.’

You lean back against the pillows, letting your legs fall open for him. It’s somewhat comical, the way his eyes widen as he sees your slick cunt, and he swallows harshly - you can almost sense his mouth watering. Carefully, reverently, almost, he nudges your knees over his wide shoulders, bringing his face close to your pussy, admiring you. It’s as if he’s testing himself, waiting to see how long it takes for him to break and taste you.

Lurching forward, Feyd groans, low and deep and right against your clit when he laps at your heat, quickly becoming insatiable as his tongue moves masterfully at the apex of your legs, laving over your clit and curving in and out of you. Bolts of pleasure spear through your body, fierce like crackling lightning at the eye of a storm - he is everything to you in this moment. He shatters you, breaking you and mending you anew.

As he brings you closer, your body begins to shake and your legs close around his head; you suffocate him with your thighs, and you can tell he lives for it from the way he fervently grips your ass in his large hands, kneading the flesh and moaning into your pussy.

Something pulls tight within you, deliciously so, and you cry his name in warning, fingers curling around the base of his neck to hold him still as your hips buck, rutting into his face. Dimly, you can see him grinding into the mattress as you fuck yourself on his tongue - the chafe of his nose against your clit makes you shatter, and you fall apart for him with a ragged cry, nails digging into his shoulders.

You’re still coming down from it when Feyd begins to lap at you again, dutifully cleaning you up, and you twitch with the slight overstimulation, hooking a finger under his chin to see his eyes: his gaze is loaded with the heat of a thousand suns, and yet somehow it is also bleary, drunk. A laugh escapes you, and you tug at his hand, encouraging him to lie beside you.

‘Good boy,’ you hum as he nuzzles into your touch. You can feel him achingly hard against your thigh, and you let yourself catch your breath before reaching down and wrapping your fingers around his cock. ‘Want to fuck me now, hm?’

He nods avidly. ‘Yes, na-Baroness.’

All it takes is for you to half spread your legs before he’s climbing eagerly between them, hesitating before looking up at you for permission. You dip your chin, smirking, and then he’s sinking into you, burying himself inside you.

Voice cracking, Feyd chokes out your name, and he shudders, gasping at the velvet vice of your cunt as it clenches, bearing down on him. Sharply, you rock your hips up to meet his, and this time, a soft, keening whine leaves him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting down hard on his lower lip.

He can barely keep himself from spilling inside you.

‘You can barely hold it, can’t you, my little na-Baron?’

His words come out jumbled, his speech scrambled, mind ground to a standstill by the all consuming heat of your cunt; he babbles out protests, saying that he can, desperate to prove he can, stammering that he wants to make you feel good.

Cruelly, you buck your hips up against his again, and a pained sound looses from his chest, but he thrusts to meet you, hips lurching forward, his arms almost buckling either side of your head. Panting, he pulls out slowly before slamming back in, unable to stifle the whimper that tears from the back of his throat when you rake your nails down his shoulder blades, claiming him, littering his shoulders and neck with bites.

‘That’s it,’ you sigh as he finds his pace. ‘Just like that, good boy.’

A strangled noise tears itself from him at your praise, and he fucks into you, frantic, almost feral. Eventually, his thrusts begin to turn sloppy, and you kiss him in order to steal his breath and taste his fervid moans of your name on your tongue as he comes deep inside you.

Pressing a palm to his lower back, you pin him there, buried snugly within your pussy as you reach down with your other hand and rub your clit hard - it takes but a moment for you to come, and he writhes at the cataclysmic feel of your walls fluttering around him, overstimulating him, his mouth falling open in a silent cry as he comes again with your cunt milking his cock.

Completely spent, Feyd goes limp, and you rub your hand over his back, smoothing circles on his skin with your lips to his forehead. The post orgasm clarity begins to hit him, and you feel him go rigid - slowly, he pulls out, his seed leaking out now that he’s not filling you, and he attempts to get up, but his legs are too weak and he collapses beside you instead, his chest heaving, his eyes still a little hazy, still fucked out, even as he fights for lucidity.

There’s something on his face that cuts at your heart - a look of expectancy, as if he’s waiting for you to get up and leave now that you’ve had your fill of him. Concerned, you reach out, and he leans away from your touch.

‘Feyd,’ you murmur. ‘It was not too much, was it?’

‘N - no,’ he replies. ‘I just…’

Sitting up slowly, you look him right in the eyes. He stares back, bewildered, but you press a finger to his lips, foregoing your own fumbling words to instead recite the pledge of allegiance of a Harkonnen soldier to their general; his eyes widen - you know you have hit home. You’d exchanged wedding vows, of course, but these have a different meaning: you see it in the respectful way it is uttered, a soldier acknowledging his superior’s presence.

You pledge to him not only your heart, but your sword - your service - too.

‘Wife,’ Feyd bites out. ‘Surely you do not mean - ’

‘I mean it,’ you cut in. ‘Every word.’

Again, you reach for him, and this time he does not flinch away, letting you tuck him close to you, his breath coming out shaky. Gently, you tip up his chin, planting a chaste kiss on his parted lips, and he returns it slowly, wondrously, no teeth or tongue, just the gentle brush of his mouth against yours: the innocence of it is bittersweet - has anyone ever kissed him this tenderly?

Carefully, you withdraw, wanting to see him, but he does not let you meet his eyes, instead hiding his face in your neck, his lips at the hollow of your throat. You grant him the privacy of not being seen when you feel wetness on your skin, his hot tears tracking down and pooling in your collarbone - his hands ball at his sides, and you pry open his fingers and lace yours with his, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Tightly, you wrap your arms around him, holding him with a hand cupping the back of his head, cradling him to your chest.

Your voice is quiet in the still air, but it carries as if through an arena, a promise arcing through the air like a soaring arrow.

‘You no longer walk this world alone, Feyd-Rautha.’

best believe when i started writing this i did not anticipate the 2x 'good boy's 🧍

dune taglist: @callumsgirl @oh-you-mean-me @insufferablyunbearable

[euthymiya]

redemption for the suffering ft. wriothesley

contains: written with female reader in mind (use of milady as a petname), reader works at the fortress, fluff, minor angst and references to violence (wrio’s past), established relationship, banter and teasing

wriothesley has an impressive collection of scars. some say it’s only proof he’s a fighter—you think it only means the world had turned its back to an undeserving kid.

but the scars are still pretty, despite it all. the world is ugly and so are its people, but never wriothesley. he’s pretty where the smooth skin meets the raised, and he’s pretty laid on your chest with his arms caging you.

he’s also pretty in other ways. (ways in which only you get to see him, and you’d like to keep it that way. the world doesn’t need to see every pretty part of him.)

“you’re staring holes into my head, sweetheart,” he mumbles, face still buried into your chest. you roll your eyes, giving him a scoff and a nudge to the back of his head for the sake of routine.

you can feel his grin through your shirt.

“how would you know that? i could’ve been staring at anything,” you huff indignantly.

“i have eyes everywhere around these parts,” he says smoothly, lifting his head up as he gives you a smug grin. it’s a charming little thing, rough and a tiny bit lopsided, far from perfect but free of any flaws.

wriothesley works in funny ways like that.

“is that so,” you challenge, clasping both hands over his cheeks and giving an affectionate squeeze. (he pretends to be greatly inconvenienced by the forced pucker of his lips from your actions, and you give them a small peck as a reward while you giggle. he’s valiant, after all, in soldiering through your whims.)

“yes, of course.” his voice is a muffled reply, courtesy of the persistent squeeze on his cheeks by your hands. “i see and hear all that goes on in these quarters.”

“i’m sure,” you chuckle. your thumb brushes over the small scar under his eye, delicately tracing the harsh edge of discolored skin.

you don’t know a lot about wriothesley. it’s a rather complicated phenomenon—you’re certain you know more than anyone, but you’re hardly confident you really know much at all. it’s not so much that he doesn’t want to tell you, but more so that you never know how to ask.

you think maybe you should. maybe you should chalk up the courage and ask him how the rips and tears of flesh have come to be. ask him how long the new, healed skin has lived across his body and become a part of him, tethering the past to the present.

so you do.

quietly, carefully, with the gentleness of a dewdrop on a fresh blade of grass, you ask him, “who gave you this?”

he hums, closing his eyes as your thumb strokes over the scar thoughtfully.

“this old thing? ah, well, it was from a battle with a treacherous beast, you see. i was protecting the fortress like any good duke would.”

you snort, and he grins wider. it’s not exactly the answer you were looking for, but it’s a sweet moment all the same—he dodges but he never runs away. you know he’d never run away because he leans closer into your touch, eyes fluttering open as he stares at you fondly.

“wrio,” you whine, “are you always so unserious?”

“on the contrary, milady, i’m afraid i have to be rather serious with a job like mine,” he chuckles. and then, with a gentle sigh, his voice softens as he adds, “i got it when i was a teenager. while i was out on the streets.”

of course, as always, it’s up to you to make sense of the very little he offers, and it’s up to you to ask for more. you don’t think he’d deny you, though. not if it’s you.

“wow, anymore details and i could probably write a biography on the fortresses warden himself for all of fontaine to read,” you say sarcastically, pulling a snort from him.

he gives you an amused squeeze before delicately trailing his hand under your shirt, tracing the skin of your belly in slow circles of his thumb. maybe, if you hadn’t learned to read him so well, you’d think it was to be affectionate. but you know him—even if you looked in blindness, you’d know him. all of him.

you know it’s from the trace of his thumb across your skin, from the presence of your touch under him, that he soothes himself. keeps himself grounded. gives himself a semblance of peace.

“well if you want to be nosy,” he huffs with no bite at all, “i got it in a fight. it’s not uncommon to be a target of robbery when you’re homeless,” he murmurs.

you’ve always known bits and pieces of his story. you knew before you came down to the fortress for work, and you know even more as you slowly get to know him, as you begin pushing past the limit of friends and crossing the threshold of lovers. running away from his parents so young couldn’t have left him with the most ideal of living circumstances—you’d always known that.

but still, hearing him say it out loud fills you up with a certain wave of emotion. you don’t like to imagine him so young, so vulnerable. so failed by the world around him.

“did you win?” you ask softly, running your hand slowly along his back.

“no,” he laughs softly, “no, i uh…i lost. pretty bad, actually. he was way bigger than me—i don’t know what i was thinking.”

sometimes, it’s easy to forget that wriothesley was a child once. just like you. just like anyone. sometimes, when you look at the tall, muscular form of a handsome man, one that seems to carry himself likes he’s always one step ahead, it slips your mind that underneath it all was once an innocent child. one who lost his battles and fell every once in a while. maybe more often than that, in fact.

you hum, tracing the letters of your name along his shoulder blade with the tip of your finger as his thumb circles the patch of skin above your hip.

“at least you were brave,” you offer, “a little dense, maybe. but still brave.”

“oh a lot more than a little dense,” he grins at you. “it was pretty stupid. i quickly learned the hard way to choose my battles wisely.”

“maybe not stupid,” you say thoughtfully, “maybe you were just a kid. a kid shouldn’t know any better—not about fighting on the streets, especially.”

he stays silent at that, breathing slowly as your palm glides over the planes of muscle along his back. firm, broad, quick witted, strong. wriothesley is all of those things now—but you wonder how much of him became this way because he had to be. because he wasn’t before and it cost him until he was.

it leaves a dull ache somewhere in your ribcage, somewhere suspiciously close to your beating heart.

“i knew better. well, eventually,” he adds that last part a little bitterly.

wriothesley is good at taking care of himself. he can throw a punch without breaking his thumb, and he can certainly dodge if a punch is coming his way instead. but you wonder if he’s ever been taken care of outside of that. if outside of quick witted survival and a firm hand to throw, he’s known anything else. anything more giving and less taking.

anything soft and honest outside of the usual harsh and deceitful.

“baby?” you ask quietly, making him hum in response, “you weren’t stupid,” you tell him. because he deserves to know—even if it’s years too late, he should hear it.

he chuckles, lifting his head from your chest as he stares at you with a quirked brow, a mix of amusement and wonder written on his face.

“yeah? you think so?”

“i know so,” you nod seriously, cupping his cheeks, “i mean it wriothesley.”

“you’re that serious, huh? the full name means we’re talking business,” he sighs.

and you know him—even with unfilled blanks and unanswered questions, you know him. always. you know the tight smile and carefully crafted confidence that hides away the delicate child underneath.

you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, to the scar under his eye, to the corner of his lip—delicately on every part of him because none of him deserves to know roughness.

“you were just a baby,” you murmur.

“i was a young man,” he pouts. you smile fondly, shaking your head.

“you’re still a bit of a baby now,” you hum, pinching the flesh of his cheek teasingly, “the chubby cheeks never outgrew you.”

“hey,” he clicks his teeth, “don’t push it, now.”

despite it all, he slumps himself onto your chest once more, hand finding yours as he laces your fingers.

he squeezes. you squeeze back.

something in him heals at that—something young and sheltered away for so long, he forgot it existed.

“you’d win now, right?” you ask with a yawn, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he breathes in the scent of you through your shirt. “if you fought him?”

“oh yeah,” he chuckles, “he wouldn’t stand a chance now.”

“good,” you grin, “i’m glad.”

when you remember that he was literally canonically a homeless child who learned that sleep made you vulnerable and susceptible to robbery 🥲 hoyoverse did not come to play with his backstory

[kisakis-boyfriend]

I Heart Subs ❤️ pt. 4

Thinking about the subs who are greedy as hell and cling to you so that you can't leave them yet.

Your cock is buried deep inside of them with a fresh load of cum filling their hole. You go to pull out and they wrap their arms around your neck or torso — anything that they can grab really.

“Don't you daaaahhh—!! Haah...don't you dare fucking pull out yet...stay...” They growl, clinging to you with nails digging into your flesh, maybe with teeth buried in your shoulder as if they're some wild beast. Afraid that if they let you go, you'll disappear.

So you relent. Pulling them closer just the same and hugging them tightly. Whispered reassurance calms their nerves a tiny bit as you promise that you'll stay.

“I'm not going anywhere, babe. I'm right here.” You say in between kisses on their neck, shoulder, or whatever skin is closest to your mouth.

-

— IZANA, Mikey, SANZU, Xiao

Please check my pinned post to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!

[aryxchse]

hello!

i see ur requests are open so i have one (potentially) if ur willing to write it!!

yk how we get some glimpses into a dark percy jackson in the HoO series when he’s protecting annabeth… what if we got some of that for jason grace? potentially like the reader, she’s threatened by a minor god or monster or anything, so jason kinda goes unhinged? maybe like, he takes the air out of the opposing party’s lungs or anything else kinda unhinged?

i hope any of this makes sense lol thank uuuuu

🫶🫶🫶

dangerous storms / jason grace x female! reader.

a / n : I WAS THINKING THE EXACT SAME THING BECAUSE WHY THIS MAN HASN'T BEND SOMEONES OXYGEN ALREADY???

warnings : jason grace's angry self, airbending type of shit, cursing, DANGEROUS JASON I REPEAT DANGEROUS JASON!!

jason grace was a calm man.

he was rational, he would think before he act and he never made a move with his feelings. call it him being roman, or his father being literally the king of the gods, or maybe him growing up with a wolf raising him. jason grace was always the type to show his powers through strategic thinking.

well, everyone has boundries right?

he had a thin line in between destroying one thing or everything when it camed to you. if you're fine, then no one has to fear for anything. if you're okay, safe and healthy, no one has to panic.

but if it's the other way, than everyone should pray. even the non-believers. because jason grace can be scary and intimidating when he wants to. and he's so damn good at it.

things weren't supposed to go this way. you weren't supposed to get kidnapped by some giant. the plan wasn't this way, then why, why we're you in danger?

jason stopped being rational. his brain only said 'why, why, why' for like, an hour now. jason wasn't thinking straight. jason wasn't thinking.

"jason, we're gonna save her," piper tried to charmspeak him, but it didn't worked. the girl who put gaia back in sleep, couldn't calm down the son of jupiter.

percy jackson, who was feared by most monsters, demigods and even gods, was afraid how jason acted at the moment. but he didn't judged, he knew he would act the exact same way if something happened to annabeth. which, he did.

he was the only one who would go down with him if he asked. boundries we're boundries, and percy knew that very well.

"jason, we can make a plan." piper tried again. she was trying from the moment they got you. but it wasn't working and she started to get anxious.

"yeah, man. she's strong, she could be on her way back here even-" leo tried his best too. he couldn't recognise his best friend right now. he should've been like percy, who wasn't judging jason's madness and ready to go down with him. but he couldn't—it was like leo meeting jason for the first time, again.

"i already have a fucking plan." jason snapped, but he was quiet. which, it didn't help with the gang's fear. "and you guys are not involved."

"you sure?" percy asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. "my hands been itchy these days, and riptide is no better."

jason wanted to smile, but his situation didn't allowed. instead, he softened his gaze, just a bit. "thanks, but i'll handle it myself. it's my war now."

percy nodded, giving a look at the team. 'if someone wants to stop him, they have to go through me.'

"go get em', tiger." he joked. and jason flied away, not answering.

‎ ⚡️

you would fight for your life if you weren't hanging up by the chains on your wrists. your feet we're dangling in the air, and arms hurting from carrying all your weight. the sick giants put some fancy greek dress on you, making your hair prettier while you were unconscious.

the giant fucking fell in love with you, and it certainly did not liked jason.

jason. we're was he? what happened to him?

well, you we're about to find out.

"oh dear," the ugly beast purred, his big hands finding your tiny body. you disgusted, squirming under his touch to get away. but it was no use.

"you'll be all mine once i make the potion." he rambled, drool on his chin that showed you how hungry he was for you.

"in your fucking dreams." you spat, eyes shooting daggers. you we're jason's girl, and your own person, most importantly. "i'm already taken."

the giant growled, mixing the sound with his sick laugh. "that jupiter boy? he got nothing compared to me sweetheart!" he yelled and his voice echoed through the big cave. where we're you, even? "he has to kill me to get you!"

"be careful what you wish for." the sound made you melt instantly. how was he able to find you? well, you didn't cared to be honest. he was here.

jason's eyes we're nothing like before. it was like his own eyes had their storms and thunders. one part of you we're amazed, while the other got scared. you knew he wouldn't even touch you if it ever hurt you, but you we're scared for him. not from him. for him doing something he'll regret for the rest of his life in order to protect you.

but, jason seemed to not give a damn.

"you tiny little demigod! you have no chance against me, you don't even have a god next to you to kill me!" he yelled, leaving you dangling in the air again. you wanted to call jason's name, but your voice muffled through the lightning.

"i don't fucking need a god," jason hissed, taking position. "i'll send you tartarus myself."

it all happened quickly. jason was so fast, unlike the big giant trying to capture and kill him. he was like a lightning himself, moving in light speed. there was a blonde thing moving, and you couldn't understand if it was his hair or sword. also there was little lightning sparkles that helped you figure him better.

then, the next thing you knew, jason was on top of the beast's face. he quickly called a lightning before stabbing his sword into the giants eye. it growled, but didn't falled.

"this is what you take for hurting my girl. my loved ones." jason said, his free hand going up in the air. you thought he was gonna make the giant eat some lightning, but it didn't go that way.

"remember my name in tartarus," he flied up again, taking a large air with him. the beast suddenly started to choke, holding it's neck desperately. "and make sure your friends does too."

it was the last thing giant heard before falling down, his oxygen flying in the air and dissapearing. jason immediatly flied towards you, cutting your chainst and holding you by the waist before you fall.

"jason," you breathed out, crying. you couldn't believe what you just have witnesses, but you figured it was the best to not mention. you we're happy that you we're safe now, in his arms.

"baby," he panted, hugging you so tight. you guys slowly landed on the ground, jason still clinging on you. "thank gods you're alive."

"i got scared," you admitted. normally, you would rather die than admit someone you're scare. but it was your jason, who could you tell if you're not gonna tell him? "he was gonna- jason, he was gonna make me one of them."

"shh baby it's okay," he cupped your face, his own tears matching you. but he had a smile, a smile that appeared once you we're in his arms. "i'm here. no one's touching you ever again okay? i'm here." he gently wiped your tears away, kissing you after.

you relaxed the moment your lips met, but it wasn't very long until you both heard footsteps again. jason quickly picked you up in bridal style, flying away from the little crack of the cave.

later that day, you both layed together in his quarters at argo ii. everyone decided that they shouldn't ask questions, like they didn't asked percy and annabeth after they got back from the tartarus.

even coach hedge let you snuggle eachother, because he saw how hurt jason was. he needed you for his own sake, to stay sane.

jason was the child of storm after all, he knew how to be scary when he wanted to. he kept it all inside when you we're near and safe. but if something slightly happened to you, he knew how to show them real power.

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

New Writing!

Ginny Weasley character study written for @ladiesofhpfest Character Chic. I'm really pleased with this one!

Body positivity is a social movement that promotes a positive view of all bodies, regardless of size, shape, skin tone, gender, and physical abilities. Proponents focus on the appreciation of the functionality and health of the human body instead of its physiological appearance. Eight lessons that Ginny Weasley learns about her body, and her changing relationship with it, throughout her life.

HUGE thanks go to two wonderful writers for their help:

Firstly @fizzyginfizz who beta read this for me and was so supportive and had so many brilliant suggestions, really building my confidence in this piece - thank you for everything!

Secondly, to @whinlatter, who has written several fantastic Ginny metas that I found super helpful when I was thinking through how to approach this piece.

They both have fabulous Ginny-POV WIPs, (Quidditch is for Losers and Beasts respectively), which you should go and read NOW if you haven’t done so already!

Rated M for language, mature themes and discussion/depiction of sex

9k words

Snippet below the cut

The Weasley family, as was apparent to anyone who cared to notice, came in two very different varieties

Some of them were really-Weasleys, like their Dad - tall, lanky, all hands and feet. Bill was a really-Weasley, as were Percy and Ron. The others were really-Prewetts, like their Mum. Charlie and the twins were really-Prewetts. Really-Prewetts were shorter and stockier, and just generally much more compact, as though the same amount of person was somehow compressed into a much smaller body.

Ginny didn’t really give much thought to the distinction between really-Weasleys and really-Prewetts when she was a child. Obviously she knew that some of her brothers were tall and thin, and some of them were… not. Equally obviously, she knew that her Mum was also… not. So yes, she knew - of course she knew. It’s just that she never really considered it in relation to her . Though to be fair, Ginny was very much on the small side, even before it became clear which side of the family she would take after, so perhaps the signs were there had she cared to notice.

Eleven year old Ginny was, quite frankly, absolutely tiny, just a little dot of a thing really. She felt so small and so intimidated as she huddled in the corner of her train carriage on her way to school for the very first time. Ron had promised to look after her on the journey, but he wasn’t there, and neither was Harry (lovely, lovely Harry), and Ginny didn’t know why. Instead, she made herself even smaller (which wasn’t hard, cocooned as she was in her hand-me-down robes, so large she could have used them as a tent), hoping that no one would notice her as she scribbled messages in her diary to her new friend Tom. She told him how tiny she felt, lonely and afraid and scared by this new world around her. Everyone else seemed so big and so confident, swishing their wands with abandon. Ginny already felt anything but; overlooked and overwhelmed, shrinking further by the second. 

Continue reading on AO3

[stealingpotatoes]

Invitation to talk about Sayuri and Nymie?

:D CAN OF WORMS: OPENED!! i'll tell u abt how they got found as Jedi

ok so Sayuri is one of the students that doesn't rlly go home bc there isn't much to go back to. Basically her parents were Rebellion pilots (or one was a pilot the other a mechanic. kinda unsure) but were both killed in action against the Empire abt 3-4ABY ish. obvs the Rebellion couldn't look after a 7-8yo while fighting the Empire

so the remainder of the squad manage to get her back to her parents' home village/ where she was born. so having like Everything change all at once leaves her pretty ?? and gives her some serious trusting-her-environment issues. her coolgirl "i dont care" persona is very much a result of this bc she's worried abt getting too comfy in smthn. (which is at odds w the OTHER issue she got from this event which is "deathly afraid of flying" an issue not helped if Master "traffic laws are just guidelines" Skywalker is piloting. but she tries 2 act like shes fine)

this is gonna get kinda long so im gonna smack some unposted art here and then go into a readmore

anyway fast forwarding to when Sayuri's abt 13 (roughly 9aby) she's visiting her parent's old squadron on a New Republic bc they'd all come visit whenever she could and after the Empire's fall they did a lot more pick her up and fly her to a base to ALL see her. and they're like omg Sayuri you came at the PERFECT time bc this rlly amazing pilot war hero who's also some like. mystical whatever is here!! he's on his way to some magic place we heard. maybe u can meet him!! which sayuri meets w her usual whatever bc she's not that gassed abt war heroes.

very worth noting that the squad's probably all seen her move shit with her mind, but theyre like oh you know how it is with teenage girls. the "nobody knows what a jedi is" + "the empire existed for a decent bit of her childhood" thing has kept anyone from being like yeahh sayuri should like. talk to someone abt this.

anyway she goes along when the squad are like c'mon let's see if we can see him. ok the only way i can describe this is you know the spiderverse like... spidey-sense recognition thing? that's basically what happens LOL Luke and Sayuri both have a FORCE USER RECOGNISED?? moment and Luke then makes a beeline for her then realises oh shit tiny teenager not jedi. would you LIKE to be a jedi?? and sayuri who hates her village and is feeling the strongest emotional connection she's felt in forever w this stranger she met 2 seconds ago is like okay fuckin sure yeah. and woo jedi!!

i posted my unposted nymie art yesterday but likkeeee pretend theres some here <3

So Sayuri falls into the "one of the Jedi found them thru the force or by chance" category of students who get found. However Nymie very much falls into the second category, which is "CAN SOMEONE DEAL WITH THIS WEIRD SUPERPOWERED CHILD FOR US????"

So 2 things about Nymie: 1. like i've said before, she's from a very rich high class pantoran family. super stuck up, mostly raised by nannies & tutors, but somehow Nymie just didn't get the stuck-up genes like all her (4!!) siblings who are just obsessed w their social standing etc and is instead just :D all the time. 2. her proficiency ig is the living force esp in the 'good at connecting to animals' way (which I think means I legally need to draw her w Ezra).

so the former often led her to escaping her family's stuffy parties and galas or whatever (usually to whoever's house it is' garden or somewhere she wasnt meant to be) to find something interesting. usually a pet <3 one particular time when she was 9 she was following her Pet Sense but couldnt find anything in the house. so she kinda just reached out more and long story short thats how Nymie managed to call this hugemassive beast (i'd tell u what it was if i knew pantoran animals LOL) out of the nearby countryside to her. massively distressing for everyone, all these rich ppl were like "OH MY GOD I NEARLY DIED" (it didnt attack anyone). very funny exciting time for Nymie who was enjoying this new beastie friend til animal control showed up. saddening. everyone is confused bc HOW did that happen

a dude old (and cool) enough to have seen more than one jedi in their heyday (+ idk uni researcher knows his shit) noticed what happened w it going straight to Nymie and overheard her account and realised what happened and was like hi nymie's parents. i think u need to get into contact w the new republic bc thats a jedi right there (which they take and go oo social climbing. we have a jedi child people will think we're cooler. bc theyre assholes)

and yeah im losing steam now but luke shows up and she joins the academyyay!

[vespertiliosworld]

Monster Au! König x Reader(3)

Sorry for my grammatical mistakes, English is not my first language.

Previous chapter

Next chapter

You want to say something, anything to this man who hides himself with a scary mask and tell him to let you go. However, since you are still in the size of a small rabbit and therefore cannot talk like a human, you can only make small squealing sounds.

When König found you and brought you to the base, you were unconscious, just curled up in his palm like a little ball of fluff. After a while, you regained your senses with the delicious vegetables and clean water he gave you. König quickly entered the infirmary with a tiny rabbit in his hand and shouted at the poor human doctors to cure you.

You were fine and okay now, your little white fur was quite healthy, you could hop and run. You were also happy with the pink ribbon with its little bell that König wore around your neck. While König was doing his paperwork at the desk, you would lie on your bed, which was soft and white like your fur, and watch him, or if you got bored, you would fiddle with the pen in König's hand.

You had gotten used to it, and maybe this big monster had made you feel at home. On another ordinary day like this, when your only responsibility was to eat well and get fat, you got bored of König not being in the room and decided to wander around.

You started jumping around as the bell around your neck rang in a way that wouldn't disturb but attract attention. You walked around the room so much that you needed some sleep. Who can blame you? While you were with the Colonel, your only responsibility was to eat and sleep a lot, but you chose to waste your energy by running. This is something you don't usually do.

Being too lazy to get up to the table, you went to the basket in the corner of the room, which contained a lot of toys that König had bought for you, and curled up into a ball and wiggled your tail.

When a few hours passed and König returned, he was waiting for you sleeping at his desk, but he did not find what you were waiting for. When the beast inside himself started screaming, all König could think about was finding you. He easily lifted his desk and looked around and under it. He lifted the big chair in the room with one move and looked under it, just like he did with the other items, but you were not there.

His patience was starting to wear thin, his anger was reaching a level that was driving him crazy. He swore he would find you even if he had to turn the entire base upside down when a small bell sound caught his attention. When he turned his head and looked into your sleepy eyes, his monster also relaxed. Waking up to the harsh scent of his pheromones he was releasing startled you, which was reason enough for the bell to ring.

Feeling suffocated by the pheromones, you used your rabbit speed to rush yourself out of the room, but you lost consciousness halfway through. While the soft scents emanating from your body made you transform from your rabbit body into a human body, König could not move where he was. You were so beautiful with your hair color, skin color, everything! Your slim and tall figure, your soft skin and your weak moans made him dizzy.

He was gentle enough to reach out and take you into his arms. He was afraid that if he touched you he might break your bones. When your body started shaking, it was inevitable that you realized you were naked. König turned his head when your ears dropped and rested on your hair on either side. Even though it wasn't visible through the mask, he was impressed by your body.

What will happen next?

[linkemon]

House of memories (Link x Reader)

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you're interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

"— ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴡɪꜱʜ ɪ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ — ꜱʜᴇ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ ꜱᴀʀᴄᴀꜱᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ. ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ. ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜱᴇᴇ. — ɪ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴇ — ʜᴇ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇꜰᴛ. ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴏɴᴀᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴍɪɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴛɪᴍᴇ."

— I finally control this beast! Piece of cake! Goron shouted, turning sharply. — Let the other champions know and we'll see if they can keep up with the great Daruk!

[Reader] thought she was going to vomit. She desperately tried to keep her balance on the huge machine. Unlike the blonde standing next to her, who seemed to be glued to the surface of the giant lizard.

— Just look at these rocks scattered across the mountains. Delicious!

The girl wanted to cry with happiness when everything around her finally stopped spinning and her stomach seemed to be in place.

— I may not know much about this Ganon but believe me, I will defend Hyrule to the death. Do we understand each other? — The Champion patted them on the back.

[Reader] almost doubled over from the force of his impact on her spine.

She adored her giant friend but the ride had damaged her nerves so much that she didn't even have the strength to agree to his confession.

— By the way — he said to Link — congratulations on becoming the princess's personal knight! — Serious work, no pressure! — He laughed.

The girl didn't listen to the rest of the conversation. She did not share Goron's enthusiasm.

She protected the king and his daughter was often with him. This also made her Zelda's protector. They understood each other very well, they were of similar age. So she felt jealous every time she looked at the blue tunic that marked the blonde's important position. He was chosen.

Maybe everything would be easier if the princess accepted him. Meanwhile, she walked around as angry as a wasp every time he followed her. She was upset about the lost freedom that [Reader] had always respected. The boy, however, did not give her a moment's respite. Recently he had followed her all the way to the Gerudo Desert, where only women were allowed into the city. No one has ever found out how he managed to sneak there.

[Reader] looked up, only to see a huge piece of rock roll down the mountain.

— What the...

She closed her eyes, preparing for the impact. But when she opened them, she saw that Goron had covered them with a shield just in time. This broke the stone into tiny pieces. However, she was surprised to see Link shielding her with his body from a blow that never came.

— It was a bit strange. As far as I know, Death Mountain was dormant for decades. If it shakes enough to drop boulders that size… — Daruk frowned. — Never mind, forget about it.

The hero looked around, as if afraid of further shaking and moved away from the girl with a gentle smile.

Link trained often and for long periods of time alone. However, he especially liked sparring with [Reader].

When he first saw her against the Moblins, he asked for lessons. Unfortunately, it became clear from the very beginning that the chosen one of the goddess Hylia could not be taught anything more in terms of swordsmanship. Not with the skills she had.

The blonde sometimes cheated and let her win. She scolded him every time she noticed, shouting that no one spares anyone on the battlefield. He accepted criticism but precedents were repeated from time to time.

There was something about Link that made her agree to practice almost every night. Even when, tired after a long day of service, she just wanted to collapse and fall asleep, she ran to the meeting place.

That day, she also found Revali training in the square in front of the castle:

— Have you ever wondered why he is the chosen one? Why not you or me?

[Reader] blinked rapidly.

Rito, known for his inflated ego, was still jealous enough to dwell on it. She gave up on herself quite a few months ago.

— You have experience and you stand by the king every day. You're his age and you've achieved so much. There has never been anyone like this in the history of the royal guard. And me? I am the best archer among my people. Nobody flies better than me. I control Vah Medoh, for Hylia's sake! What does he have other than a sword on his back?

— I was thinking about it — the girl began. — And I think I've found a satisfactory answer.

The champion's eyebrow rose.

— Really?

[Reader] sighed and turned her face towards the setting sun, trying to gather her thoughts.

— His skills far exceed ours. Moreover, he cares about Princess Zelda, although she rejects him every time, which is probably the most important thing in his job. You know what character she has. I've also never seen him refuse to help anyone and he wants to protect all of us here. Let's face it, he's better than the two of us combined. The perfect hero.

— And yet he doesn't talk to you.

Revali knew where to sting so that it would hurt.

— That's true but sometimes actions speak louder than words.

[Reader] picked up her sword and returned to training, thus ending the conversation. Meanwhile, the champion shook his bow and then took off into the sky with his bow.

Neither of them saw the sincere expression of gratitude in the blue eyes of the boy hidden behind the trees.

The girl patiently listened to the story of how the hero dealt with the beasts. The princess told her about the battlefield he left behind and her worries.

[Reader] had to take care of a boy who showed up to training after the fight as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, the condition of the wound, which Zelda had somehow secured, did not look good at all.

Despite his silent protest, she took the boy to the infirmary. Unfortunately, there was no medic in the room who was treating one of the generals, so she was forced to check the injuries herself.

She didn't stop herself from turning red as the blonde pulled off his blue tunic, revealing clearly defined muscles. To hide it, she went to one of the shelves in search of bandages, of which she actually had plenty.

The room didn't smell very pleasant. She never liked the smell of medicines and various strange mixtures. However, she forced herself to concentrate in order to restore the patient to a relative state of use. At least for a moment.

— Wait, Link — she asked before he could disappear out the door. — You should submit your report this evening. This is the most important thing now that we expect Ganon to return. Contact me for documents.

The boy looked tired. She just had to look at his face. She didn't want to burden him with writing down the entire massacre on paper but she had no choice. If the princess was right, they had to prepare for the worst.

The boy responded with a nod. Nothing to add, nothing to take away. All of him.

— And one more thing — she hesitated. — You should let go a little sometimes.

She saw the fire of determination in his blue eyes. She knew what he wanted to express with it. Ever since she met him, she had to learn how to understand him without words.

— I'm not saying you should give up completely. My point is that sometimes you have to know when to retreat. There is no shame in running away and these fights are not the end but the beginning of something bigger. If at some point Hyrule comes to face the power of Ganon, we will need you. Until then, I want to see you in one piece. Do we understand each other, hero?

Link froze, as if unsure whether he should nod again.

— I really wish I won't have to cry for you — she added sarcastically.

However, there was much more to this sentence. Something no one else could see.

— I promise — he whispered and left.

The sound of his voice resonated in her mind for a long time.

Link knew this wasn't the time to dwell on defeat. He should pick up the princess and keep fighting.

Say anything. But what exactly?

— How... How did this happen? The Divine Beasts, the Guardians... Ganon has turned them all against us! Mipha, Urbosa, Revali and Daruk are trapped and it's all my fault. Our only hope ceased to exist because I could not harness this cursed power! — Zelda screamed. — Everything I've done so far has come to naught. I really am a failure! My friends, my kingdom, my father... [Reader]... I have tried and failed everyone. I left them for dead!

The hero felt all the words getting stuck in his throat. However, he couldn't get the thought out of his head that he hadn't said goodbye to [Reader]. They didn't have time to return to the castle when Ganon awoke. He knew that the girl had definitely stood by the king and stayed by his side until the very end.

Memories seemed to press into his head, wanting to bring tears to his eyes. Unfortunately, regret was a luxury he couldn't afford right now.

Another Guardian arrived.

The princess could no longer bear the burden of guilt that fell upon her.

— Save yourself Link! I can handle it. Run!

Standing on unsteady legs, he raised his sword, only to see Zelda run in front of him. Her hand emitted a bright glow, destroying enemies around them.

Power that was missing when it was needed most. It has awaken.

— Link! Everything will be...

Then darkness came.

[Reader] floated with King Rhoam and the four champions above Hyrule Castle among the blue wisps. She wished she had gotten a chance to talk to the boy one last time like the others. But she knew Link remembered her. He finally regained his memories.

She saw that hint of nostalgia in his blue eyes.

After a hundred years, she was finally able to admire the beauty of the world again, now free from Ganon's rule.

This was enough for her to disappear in a light breeze with a smile on her face.

Link and Zelda, as if on cue, turned towards their former home.

However, all they saw were the petals of the Silent Princess carried by the wind.

[rambheem-is-real]

Snail Fic

varadeva, crackfic based on server convos

Kid Deva is afraid of snails.

-

1981

Deva runs over to his father, dutifully presenting the bundle of documents Amma had sent with him. 

Dhaara smiles down at him, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Look at my boy, so responsible.” Deva feels his chest puff with pride. “Six years old and already going on important missions for the tribe.” Dhaara pokes Deva’s cheek, and Deva giggles. 

His father takes the documents, glancing down at them before setting them on the desk, and then returns his attention to Deva. “Well? Didn’t your mother tell you to come back home once you’re done here?”

Deva doesn’t move, but his lips drop down into a pout. Dhaara chuckles. “Alright, alright, I did promise you last week that I would take you into the Shouryanga forges,” he says, and Deva bounces on his toes, giddy over the fact that he’d get to see where his father worked most of the week, when he wasn’t at home or in political meetings with the rest of the tribe council. “Follow me.” 

Dhaara reaches towards the documents on the desk, then stops. “Not again,” he sighs. “We’ll have to get new ones, chinna.”

Deva walks over to the desk, leaning on his tippy-toes to see the papers. He gasps when he sees that they look.. wet? He quickly scans the rest of the surface. The cup of coffee is on the far side, and there’s no way it would’ve spilled all the way over here. However, there seems to be a trail of wetness across a corner of the desk, the one that the papers were close to. “What happened?” he asks. 

“Snail,” Dhaara says. “Now come on,” he gestures towards the door, but Deva stays put. 

“What’s a snail?”

“It’s an animal,” Dhaara explains. “It’s tiny and when it moves it leaves behind a trail of mucus.”

Deva glares at the wetness. Mucus, Dhaara had called it. How dare this snail ruin Nanna’s papers! he thinks. He turns back to Dhaara, shaking his head. “There’s a snail in here,” he says, and as always Dhaara understands his son perfectly. 

He chuckles at the little boy. “What, you’re gonna stay here until you catch it?” 

Deva nods, imagining himself as one of the superheroes in the comic books Varadha had stolen from Rudra. 

“And then what? You’ll kill it?” 

Deva immediately deflates. He hadn’t gotten that far in his imagination. How hard would it be to kill a snail?

“Chinna,” Dhaara tries to reason with him, but Deva’s already turning his back on him, pushing a chubby finger through the mucus on the desk. 

Determined little wolf, Dhaara thinks affectionately. He’s going to be a great leader. Chuckling, he makes his way out of the office room. Dhaara’s halfway outside the door when he hears an ear splitting scream, and immediately races back inside, heart pounding. That had been his son.

Expecting Mannarsi soldiers, Ghaniyar spies, or a ferocious beast of an animal, Dhaara runs into the office to see Deva sitting on the floor, staring agape at the desk, clutching his left hand to his chest. 

“Deva?!” 

Deva turns to look at him, still shocked, and wails, “SNAIL!”

Dhaara has to fight to not immediately burst out laughing at the mental image of what must have happened. Oh my God, he thinks, he’s terrified of snails. His brave little wolf cub, who wasn’t afraid of the dark, snakes, spiders, Raja Mannar’s scowling face, or anything a typical child might be afraid of, was terrified of snails.  He gently approaches his son, trying his best to keep a straight face. “Did you touch it?”

Deva nods, and a tear slips down his face. “It was so sticky,” he whispers. 

Dhaara scoops Deva up into his arms, and Deva doesn’t protest, only curling around him and resting his head on Dhaara’s neck. “It’s okay, chinna. Let’s just go home.” He only hopes Deva doesn’t feel the way he’s shaking from keeping the laughter in. 

-

1985

“-and those wisps up there, they’re called cirrus clouds,” Varadha explains, pointing to said clouds. Deva nods, listening raptly. His Varadha was so smart. 

They’re enjoying a leisurely day in the meadow, both of them not having any clan-related duties for the time being. Deva had brought a blanket for them to sit on, and Varadha had brought some biscuits to snack on. They spent most of the morning chasing each other in the grass, until they got tired and laid down, Deva’s head resting on Varadha’s chest, as he talked Deva’s ear off about what he learned that week from his science tutor. Not that Deva had any complaints. It was cool information, and even cooler coming from his best friend. 

“The water cycle-” Varadha cuts himself off, but Deva just closes his eyes, soaking in the sun, the cool ground underneath, and the feeling of Varadha so close to him. This was bliss. 

“Oh hey, little one,” Varadha croons. He’s probably found another frog or something, Deva thinks. Varadha had a problem when it came to animals, always wanting to cuddle the ones he thought were cute even if it meant it might be dangerous. “You’re adorable. Rey, Deva, look at this!” 

Deva feels something dropped onto his chest, and figures it's the frog. “What should I name him?” He opens his eyes, aiming to only briefly glance at the thing and offer a suitable name for Varadha, before going back to relaxing. 

Deva’s met with an abomination of a creature, its white eyes staring Deva down from the V of its antennae. He immediately lets out a strangled scream, body jolting in terror. 

Varadha immediately turns to him in confusion. “Deva? What’s wrong?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Deva can’t let Varadha know about his fear. No self respecting ten-year-old should be scared of snails. Besides, it was usually Varadha being scared about something and coming to Deva for reassurance (that Deva would gladly provide), not the other way around. Varadha wouldn’t think Deva was cool if he ever found out about the snail problem. 

“Nothing, ra. Just thought I felt something.” 

“Oh, ok,” Varadha says, although he still sounds suspicious. “You’re alright then?”

Deva forces himself to look away from the beast’s horrific body, crawling around right on his chest , and towards Varadha, still worried. He plasters on a fake grin. “Of course! Never better! Absolutely jolly.” 

Varadha raises his eyebrow. “‘Absolutely jolly’? What the hell, ra?”

He’s gotta do something about this. Deva leaps to his feet, turning his back on Varadha, brushing away the snail as quickly as he can, shuddering at the wet sensation on his knuckles. 

“I think I’m just tired, I’m gonna go home and sleep,” he tells his friend. Go home and cry, more like, Deva thinks to himself. It was so wet-

“You dropped him!” Deva whips around to see Varadha lunge towards the fucking snail between Deva’s legs, cradling it within his hands as if it were some angelic being. Varadha smiles down at the way it squirms, not noticing the way Deva’s body is doing the same thing in the presence of the snail. “I think I’ll call him Deva Jr.”

Deva bites back all the swears he knows, which are honestly not a lot. “Ok, have fun with your snail. I’ll see you tomorrow, ra,” Deva calls back as he starts to speedwalk his way out of the meadow, determinedly not looking back. 

“Rey! Picchoda, you forgot your blanket!” Varadha calls out, and there was definitely suspicion in his voice. 

“Bring it to me tomorrow!” Deva shouts back. As soon as he’s out of the field and within the trees he starts running. 

-

Snails. Hundreds of tiny ones. They were slowly gaining on Deva, mucus trailing behind them. Deva backs up into a wall, eyes wide as he realizes there’s no way out. The snails crawl up his body, up his face, in his-

“Rey, wake up, Amma is calling!” 

Deva wakes up gasping. He stares at Varadha in his room, and Varadha stares back until he seems to realize he had something to say. 

“Oh! I’m here to return this,” he explains, and shows Deva the blanket, putting it on the foot of the bed before he scampers back to Deva. “Don’t have time the rest of today, I’m helping Thatha with the Bharghat negotiations!” Varadha beams at Deva, clearly excited, and Deva can’t help but smile back. His Vara was too cute. 

Something wet brushes his arm, and Deva yanks it out of the bedsheets. Both he and Varadha look at the white snail suctioned to Deva’s arm. He’s too tired to pretend he’s not scared out of his mind, he just woke up for God’s sake. Deva screams. 

He wiggles his arm around in the air, trying to get the snail to fly off, but the snail is sticking to him with the mucus. Varadha watches, eyes wide. “So THAT’s why you left so early yesterday?” 

Deva tries flicking the snail with his other hand, but that doesn’t do anything either. 

“You’re afraid of SNAILS?”

“NO I’M NOT,” Deva yells back, resorting to slapping at the arm. The snail crawls forward during a brief pause of Deva’s hand swatting at it, and Deva screams once again. 

“YES YOU ARE!” Varadha cackles.He gently grips the body of the snail and pulls it until the suction gives way. He grins at Deva, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. “What were you even trying to do? You couldn’t have just told me?” 

Deva looks down at his hands, frowning. “You’d think I was a coward.”

Quickly, Varadha darts in and gives Deva a hug. When he pulls back, Varadha gives him a soft smile. “Rey. You’re the bravest person I know. Even now.”

Deva perks up at that. “Really?”

Varadha nods. “Of course. And the snail thing,” he grins bashfully, “just makes you cuter.” 

Deva feels his ears burning. Cuter. His Varadha’s voice calling him that is going to rattle around in his head forever. 

“Rey Deva, wake up, how many times must I yell?” The voice of Deva’s mother seems to bring Varadha back to reality. 

“Oh, I’m gonna be late. Bye, ra!” Varadha calls out as he runs out of the room. He peaks around from the door, shit-eating grin on his face. “Of course, you can visit Deva Jr. anytime you want in Kotagadi!” 

“Yedava!” Deva yells, throwing a pillow at his friend, and Varadha easily dodges, laughing as he leaves the hallway. Deva can’t help but smile though. 

Cuter.

-

[lexa-griffins]

Im imagining Lexa traveling through the woods with her small toddling child. She is vaguely aware of something large moving in the distance. The longer they walk, the closer it gets… Eventually the large blond wolf reveals itself. Stalking towards them, snarling… Lexa stops, scared. But this tiny adorable child runs straight for werewolf Clarke. Hugging her giant face. Werewolf Clarke lays down and just immediately starts licking little bbs face. Lexa just standing there in awe.

Anywho’s. Thats my cuteness thought of the day😂

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 I am going to SCREAM, oh my fucking god this is so cute!!!!!!!!

Accused of being a witch in her hometown Lexa is forced to flee with her small baby in her arms. She barely had anything in her bag other than few food and a blanket and a bow and arrow, having been taught how to hunt as a child.

She's looking for something, a cave, a small house in the woods, a tent, somewhere she can rest and allow her babu to sleep comfortably in.

Lexa feels it before she sees it. She feels watched; stalked. She's on high alert, bow in hand, ready to defend her baby with her life. There are rumors that Lexa is aware of, legend of the creatures this forest serves a home to but Lexa would slay a whole demon if it meant keeping her kid safe, urging the toddler to stay close to her and quickly small arms wrap around her leg, afraid of the darken woods.

The monster surges forward from the tree line with a loud snarl and Lexa immediately points the arrow at its head, terrifying teeth on display, dangerous eyes focused on Lexa's weapon.

Lexa registers two late that the warmth of her baby around her leg is gone and her heart drops when she looks to the side to watch them toddling towards the werewolf with a joyful smile and a "doggy!" cheer to their voice. She hears her heart beating in her ears, terror sweeping over her.

But as soon as the beast sees her small bundle, it stops. Teeth put away, the massive wolf suddenly looks confused as the baby approaches it, hands stretched on front of them to pet the big dog. A sniff to air and the wolf's tail waggles with excitment at the small child, dropping to the floor in a rather playful, calm manner.

The baby jumps to petting the wolf who allows her to without discussion, licking the baby's face as a thank you and making the small toddler giggle.

Lexa finally regains her nerve after staring on awe at the scene, approaching child and wolf with careful steps and with a gentle pet to the wolf's head she sweeps her child into her arms, telling them it is time to go and thanking the gentle giant "for not eating us". It stays down as they walk away and Lexa takes a deep breath once it's out of few, gently reprimanding her child for doing such a dangerous thing.

It is about 10 minutes later when Lexa feels herself being watched once again. This time the wolf quickens its pace to catch up with them before slowing down and accompanying them. The toddler begs to be put down and after staring at the wolf as if asking for confirmation it wont eat her baby she lets them down. With a smile she watches as her baby pets the wolf and the wolf licks their chubby face in return before allowing the toddler to hold its fur along side Lexa's hand as they walk.

An hour more into the trip, Lexa finds herself tired and cold, snow having started to makes it's way down. The baby has fallen asleep, holding on to the wolf's fur as they sleep on its back. Lexa looks around, hoping to see smoke from a camp fire or chimney with no luck. Watching her attentively the wilf bites on the fabric of her lose shirt, pulling her along. Lexa asks what it wants, as if the wolf was to answer but after a few tigs to her shirt Lexa decides to follow it. It seems to have a fondness for her baby so at the very least Lexa knows it wont hurt them.

Lexa follows it through the woods, questioning out loud where it's taking them before a clearing up ahead gives way from a small wodden cabin, seemingly inhabited. Lexa sighs of reloef as they approach it, opening the front dore carefully, bow pointed at the darkness before she deems to empty. It has a single bedroom with bed, and Lexa urges the wolf with her baby on its back insidr as she tries to star a fire, looking around for a few candles.

She catches a rabbit and cooks it over the fire, feeding the wolf what she knows she will not be able to eat. It is already past midnight when Lexa takes her baby from the wolf's grasp, until now both happily cuddling by the fire. The wolf whines but does not lift its head from its place by the fire as it looks at Lexa holding her small child and wishing her a goodnight and thanking her for bringing them here.

The next morning Lexa wakes up underneath the blankets she brought, alone in the bed, the su light shinning through the small window of the bedroom. It was not a dream it seems. As Lexa opens the door she sees the fire still going but unlike she thought she would, she sees neither the wolf nor her baby and panic sets in.

Right on cue tho, the front door opens and in walks her child, cheeks red from the cold outside. Lexa walks towards them, to hug them or lecture them, she had yet to make up her mind when after her child enters a woman, the golden of her hair the exact same color of the massive wolf's fur.

The woman looks st her with a smile, arms filled branches and Lexa stares at her in disbelief, clearly connecting the dots.

"You're the-"

"Wolf? I am. Good morning."

"How? And who-?"

"Klork mommy!"

Her child says, staring at her with a smile. It is obvious Klork as already introduced herself.

"Klork?"

"Yeah, I'm Clarke. And your name is...?"

"I'm... Lexa." Lexa states, bewildered.

They stare at each other for a while, Lexa's kid seemingly getting bored of their silence and sitting by the fire to play with the two rocks they brought in from outside.

Lexa's stomach grumbling is the one that kills the silence. The wolf-woman smiles big then, perfect teeth a heavy contrast with the sharp ones Lexa saw last night.

"Right, so, breakfast?" She asks, moving to the small kitchen area the cabin offers, Lexa's toddler following after her, both chanting about wanting food.

Lexa looks at them, and then around the cabin before wondering what else did she expect after following a damn wolf through the woods.

[its-actually-minicika]

Aemond In Love

Note: A simple guide to Aemond's heart;

Warnings: None.

We needen't start off by saying Aemond had a rough childhood;

The deepest I can see him fall in love is with a person who's seen him for all that he is - for better or worse;

A childhood companion, who always jumped to his defense against the crude remarks that his brother and nephews laid on him. Who held onto his tiny hand when he sulked about not being good enough. Who always had something kind to say - to him, to anyone.

He craves for someone who is patient, but also incredibly head-strong: after he loses his eye, he will try his hardest to push his love away. He will rain insults upon her. About her status, her looks, her character, anything that he can think of.

He doesn't mean them. He never could mean them.

If you want own his heart forever, instead of turning your back to him, wait for the boy to calm down, stay silently by his side, until the scorching pain of his missing eye and the effects of the milk of the poppy both wear off;

Even so, Aemond would never be the same, and you would have to develop yet another crucial quality: perseverence.

The following year of accomodation promises a very difficult path to thread with Aemond: too much taken interest in his new hobbies, and he'll think of you a nuisance. Too much detachment from him, and you'll stray away from each other in the blink of an eye;

If you find that perfect balance, in both asking him what else he read while also doing your own thing, Aemond would be smitten with you - even more so after you both grow into your teenage years.

He notices, even if he doesn't tell you, how all the other ladies at court scurry away when they see him, scrunching up their noses in disgust at the sight of his eyepatch.

'He could be handsome, if it weren't for that scar.'

'The boy could be the heir to the Iron Throne for all I care. I could never lay with such a beast.'

He is so grateful for you;

He becomes insecure, and very posessive over your bond in return. It gets to the point where he wants to seek out your company during every hour of every day; it's you who keeps him sane, who understands him and doesn't look at him in pure disgust;

He knows it's not proper, for a lady and a prince to always be seen together, and he doesn't want to embarrass or overburden you;

Because he's afraid you'll get bored of him, he keeps half a distance when he can muster;

Still, make no mistake: he's always nearby, lurking, watching you through the comfort of the shadows. And when the Red Keep hosts for either ball or name day, you're the only one with whom he ever dances.

He relishes in the knowledge that you too, only dance with him - no matter how many Baratheons or Tyrells come your way;

He realises he truly loves you when one day, while walking down a hallway, he spots you talking to your handmaid, Arwen.

He quickly picks up the situation from the loose dialogue he can hear: you, expressing your worry for a very pregnant Arwen, commanding her sternly to let you help her carry the heavy wine barrels to the cellar;

Your kindness is pure. Not a front shown by many other ladies, who only ever mourn the losses of the lesser when other noble men of the court are around;

He wants to marry you. To crown you the love of his life, to make you his Princess and the mother of his child;

But his insecurity pushes him down once more;

How could he selfishly keep you, you bright, wonderous and beautiful thing? He could go to his mother and beg her to betroth you, finally making you his - but how could he steal any hope of happiness you may have, by cursing you to marry not only a second son, but a cripple and a thief?

So he doesn't. He lays low. Starts avoiding balls and any other grand event. When he is forced to attend, he doesn't dance with you anymore. He doesn't dance with anyone.

He simply stays put, hammered in his seat;

Your walks through the garden and chats of deep philosphies happen less and less;

The tens of suitors you managed to stir at such occasions take his place by your left side;

Soon enough, the news of your betrothal reach his ears. You, to be wed by the end of spring, with a Stark lord of Winterfell;

That night, he cannot sleep.

He needs to take Vhagar to the skies, in an attempt to clear his head.

Or he needs to see you immediately, and confront you himself on the subject of your hasty marriage;

He almost reaches to your door, but stops again.

Pain shoots like an arrow through his heart - he feels entitled to an explanation, but how could he be?

It was he who encouraged you to talk to other men. It was he who was too much of a coward to court you as well;

For a moment, he rests his head upon the oak doors of your chambers, before turning his back to walk towards Vhagar's lair;

That night, you feel it too - the sadness and dissatisfaction that enveloped both your hearts;

Only you are more pragmatic;

You get up from your bed, making haste to get dressed;

Before you know it, you crush with him on the way to his chambers - his hands are now on you, protectively around your waist, keeping you from crashing onto the cold floor;

He smells of dragon and of old parchments;

"What are you doing here at this hour, my lady?"

"Aemond."

You drop all formalities, all the while hurt by his usage of them, and shrug your shoulders; you ask him what the matter with him is, why he's been avoiding you for all those weeks, why he refuses to look you in the eyes;

He replies that you're not children anymore, that you both have duties that lay outside of your friendship and other fickle desires;

You snap - you tell him how you cannot believe he's become so short sighted, so blind to your pain. You scowl, and insist that you've always been by his side when he needed you the most. Where did he disappear when your turn to beg for solace came?

"I never expected you to love me. But I never thought you'd stop being my friend."

The two of you share your first kiss that night;

He grabs you tightly - one hand on the nape of your neck, the other on your heaving shoulder;

Aemond kisses you with wild abandon, grazing your bottom lip with his teeth, swallowing your tiny moans;

His forehead comes to rest with yours, both of you breathing heavily, and you chase his lips again with your own;

Eventually, you get around to actually talk - he swears to you that he will talk with his mother and your father when the first ray of sunlight brightens the horizon;

"You're right, you know." He whimpered into your mouth, seering your lips with another hot kiss. "You were always by my side, fighting for me";

The passion burning through his gaze made your knees weak, and you were glad that in that moment, your weight was fully supported by his strong arms;

"It is now my turn to fight for you, issa jorrāelagon."

Translations:

"Issa jorrāelagon" = My love;

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Holy crap I’m loving your writing! Im especially obsessed with Ken and the ranch owner

I’m wondering if you’d be willing to do an fem human reader x Ken where the reader gets a bit sick, nothing too serious but Ken absolutely freaks out and thinks the reader is dying or sum (he learned about death from Stero Barbie. Also spiders. He’s terrified of both) and the reader thinks it’s a bit funny so she’s like “yeah I’m dying” but then he gives her the most terrified and sad kicked puppy look and she has to explain that it’s just a cold lol

Awh thank you!! Im glad that ppl still love my barbie movie stuff even though barbie summer has come and gone 💔

........

There were only two things that Ken feared after beginning his new life in the Real World:

One is the mortality of humans, as Barbie told him all about how fragile their lives were and the two paths they were given: either growing old and dying peacefully in their beds, or some terrible occurrence cutting it short long before their time on this earth was up.

The second was spiders.

He especially hated the spiders.

You only recently discovered he had that fear after finding one of those 8-legged critters in your house--or more specifically in his room, where he came barreling out from as though he accidentally set something on fire.

At first, you thought he really did start a fire until he dragged you back into there, begging you to get rid of the "strange beast".

You had no clue what he could possibly be referring to....and then he pointed to the corner, where a little cellar spider sat completely unbothered, weaving its web.

In that moment, you realized you may have turned him arachnophobic, considering you did show him one insect-themed horror movie this past Halloween. He kept freaking out over it potentially growing horse-sized or injecting venom into his bloodstream when he was asleep.

But despite you assuring him neither of those things could happen (and insisting that the spider was more afraid of him), Ken refused to go into the room until it was gone.

You find it hard to fathom that this same doll who led an entire revolt, came to terms with his own identity crisis, and bravely made the transition to humanity....was totally inconsolable in the presence of a tiny bug.

Then again, maybe showing him that movie--and allowing Barbie to explain why arachnophobia was among the top fears humans had--was a huge mistake.

Regardless, you made it your mission to get rid of the critter.

Oddly enough Ken insisted that you didn't actually kill it, but you found you it sweet that he valued its life despite it scaring the shit out of him. So you contained it in a cup, putting a napkin underneath it before releasing it outside.

After that, you mentioned how most people usually killed spiders and other pests that invaded their home.

He looked wildly uncomfortable at that fact, before he began talking about some rather... concerning things: like if the spider knew how short its lifespan was, how easily it could have been crushed, if it feared death or if it was even aware of it at all-

Before he could derail and start rambling about death itself too much, you stopped him, asking if he was feeling alright.

And he went quiet for a moment, before smiling and giving you a kiss, reassuring you he felt better.

Yet even as he left the room, he still appeared awful tense.

It was that day where you worried that it's more than just spiders he feared..

.......

"Babe, what's wrong? Are you sick??"

"...unfortunately, but it's nothing serious. Just a stupid cold I caught at work." Sighing tiredly, you sat up in bed, seeing Ken walk into the room.

He looked nothing short of horrified at how drained and exhausted you sounded this morning. "A-Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I don't want you to catch anything, so I'm sorry...but no kisses today."

"Then..what about tomorrow?"

You just rolled your eyes, drinking some tea you made for yourself. "Maybe, but we'll see if I wake up."

Although it was meant to be a little joke, your foggy brain forgot how seriously the blond often took jokes, and he rushed to your bedside, kneeling down.

His eyes were wide as he took your hand. "If you wake up??? Are you dying??"

Putting down your mug, you sighed once more, trying to figure out a way to remedy this situation before you upset him too much. "No....I mean I just feel like I'm dying, but.." You paused, noticing the tears coming to his eyes. "Ken?"

Now that he was a lot closer, you could see the utterly terrified look on his face--as though you kicked a puppy right in front of him.

Yep, it was already much too late. He was upset.

"I-I know tomorrow is not guaranteed for anyone, but you have to get through this, [y/n]! Please..I can't lose you, too...not when you've done so much to help me." He was extremely close to crying, his lips trembling.

Your heart sunk as you placed a hand ober his own. "Oh honey, I was only kidding around when I say-"

"Why do humans joke about death so much? Don't they know y-you...you can't come back? That they have such short lives?? O-Or sure, some believe you can be reincarnated but that doesn't make it any-"

At this point, he was just blubbering nonsense, so you took him into your arms. And for a moment he fell silent, before burying his face into your chest, trying to calm himself down. "I-I'm sorry.."

"No, no..I'm sorry. You're right..I shouldn't be joking about death around you." Frowning slightly, you stroked his hair. "I promise I'm not dying. Not today, or tomorrow..not for a long, long time. This cold will pass and I'll feel better soon enough."

".....a-are these the irrepressible thoughts of death Barbie had?"

'Oh.'

It finally hit you.

He was going through the same thing she once did.

"Ken.." You had him sit up so you could see his face. Aside from it being a little red and his eyes puffy and watery, there were tear marks trailing down to the stubble that had formed along his jaw and chin. "Why didn't you tell me you were having those thoughts?"

Sniffling, he just shrugged. "I don't know. And... I don't know why I'm thinking them. Barbie could blame it on somebody who was playing with her, but...I can't. Because I'm not a doll anymore, I'm human....a-and...those were my thoughts alone." He shuddered, terrified at that realization. "I guess I just..didn't wanna scare you, b-but obviously it's too late for that..."

A small chuckle came from him, although it dissolved into a small sob as he wiped his eyes. "S-Sorry, I....I want these thoughts to just pass already."

"And they will." You nodded, squeezing his free hand reassuringly. "It looks like you're just experiencing them for the first time, and that's okay. They won't be all you think about. And you don't have to apologize for how you're feeling, as long as you're honest with me."

"Th-Thank you.." He sniffled. "I should be taking care of you, not the other way around. Do you need you anything? More tea? Meds? Anything at all?"

You smiled fondly, leaning forward to kiss him on the forehead. "You're all I need right now, sweetheart."

That response seemed to bring Ken's giddy old self back, as he smiled bashfully in return. He melted back into your arms when you wrapped them around him, and he listened to your heartbeat: the only assurance he needed that you were still living.

Eventually...those thoughts of death did pass him by, and he felt okay again.

[goodlucktai]

If you're taking prompts and like this one might I request Sabo's pov on 'if I go I'm going on fire?'

That fic absolutely floored me it was so incredibly good. I just had to lie there and process it. But I can't stop thinking about how afraid Sabo must be that Ace will be angry but it would never stop him from going to try to help Ace, who doesn't even know he's not the last of the three...regardless if you want to write this I just had to tell you how much I loved it!

quite the keeper of you

read on ao3

x

When Sabo was fished up out of the sea as a child, all he had to his name were the clothes on his back and an ancient monocular telescope tucked safely away in his inner coat pocket. And that was all he had. And when he woke up initially, he was half out of his mind, hysterical, begging not to go back to wherever he’d come from. So for all he knew, he wasn’t leaving anything worthwhile behind. 

It’s a sick joke. He’s waiting for someone to pull the curtain back and laugh, to let him in on it. 

“You’re my brother!” Straw Hat screams, claiming Portgas D. Ace for the whole world to hear, plunging headlong into a war like it didn’t make sense for him to be anywhere else. The broadcast is shaky, grainy, but Sabo can still see the way Fire Fist’s face crumples in terror and anger and something specific to older siblings—something Sabo’s heart recognizes in that split-second.

Did you know? If you share a cup of sake, that makes you—

Sabo stands frozen, his brain on fire, the rest of his body encased in ice. Images were crowding forward; a rainforest with rich, colorful foliage and giant beasts, a bandit hut that was always waiting for them when they decided to give into the elements and slink inside for the night, a junkyard they picked through for treasures, though it took forever nowadays, because one of them always had to look after the little crybaby and make sure he didn’t drag something stupid home. 

A kingdom square, unkind faces looking down on them. A treehouse where they could see for miles. A tiny body crawling under his blanket during a storm, and the automatic way Sabo put his arm around them, mumbling without waking up all the way, “This is the last time, Lu.”

For a moment, in the footage, it looks like they’ll get away. They’re running to the wharf, backed on all sides by allies, and Sabo finds himself holding his breath. Straw Hat is beginning to flag, but Fire Fist has a firm hand wrapped around his arm, is pulling him resolutely towards the sea. 

Then for some reason, he stops. He whirls to face Akainu, face distended in a snarl. 

No, no, no, you idiot, Sabo thinks with a fury that nearly blinds him. What are you doing, keep running, freedom is right behind you! 

You idiot, come on!

When there’s an enemy in front of me, I won’t run. 

When it happens, Ace is seconds too slow to stop it, an arm’s length away, his face the picture of horror. All around Sabo, the air goes out of the room with an audible sound, everyone sucking in a short, pained breath. 

“Oh, no,” Koala whispers, putting her hand on his wrist. “Sabo, I know you really liked him. I’m sorry.”

Her sympathy is genuine and meaningful—she liked that rookie pirate, too. It’s impossible not to like him. His devil-may-care, take-no-shit attitude, how daring and reckless and joyful he was as he threw himself into each new corner of the world. Sabo always found himself gravitating towards Straw Hat’s Wanted posters the same way he did Fire Fist’s. He always lingered to look at their faces an extra second. He never knew why.

And now Straw Hat is—

This means that from now on, the three of us will always be—

The broadcast starts to shake. The transponder snail is curling and shriveling away from what must be an intense heat. A Devil Fruit awakens on Marineford, broadcast to the world, as Fire Fist Ace lights up like a supernova and cremates everything in front of him. The man who killed his brother dies in seconds. His own allies are pushed far away, back and back and back. No one is able to reach him. 

And he’s screaming. When the transmission ends abruptly, Sabo can still hear him screaming. 

He’s weak, and a crybaby, but he’s still our little brother. Look after him for me. 

##

When Sabo boards the Moby Dick, he’s alone. He sailed in a straight line from Baltigo to intercept the Whitebeards without waiting for approval or permission from anyone. He didn’t even requisition the cutter, he just took it.

Less than two weeks after the Summit War, it’s a grave-faced group that greets him on the ship. Sabo doesn’t see the gargantuan figure of their captain abovedeck, so he casts around reflexively with observation haki and deduces that he must be resting in his quarters. 

“What business does a Revolutionary have here?” Marco the Phoenix asks, with as much veiled threat as Sabo expected, though decidedly less than he deserves. 

“Fire Fist,” Sabo says. All around him, hackles go up. “I’m here to speak with him.”

“He’s not exactly seeing visitors at the moment,” Marco grits out. 

“He’ll see me,” Sabo replies, as steady and solid as a rock face that the ocean crashes against. He speaks as if his hands aren’t shaking, as if there isn’t a pit in his stomach that it’s hard to breathe around, as if he feels anything else but cold.

It takes four minutes for Portgas D. Ace to appear. He walks like a puppet, something recently brought to life that is still figuring out its autonomy. His eyes are dark and endless and if there’s a spark left in them at all, Sabo can’t see it from where he’s standing. Ace turns his head and picks Sabo from the crowd as the outlier remarkably fast, hardly needing haki to do it. 

It takes four seconds for confusion to surface through the apathy, hints of it touching Ace’s face; the narrowing of his eyes, the downward turn of his mouth. And then it’s six seconds after that for understanding to set in, a swift river rush of it, followed by a tiny little silverfish dart of wonder. And then grief and rage trample over everything else, hand-in-hand. 

Ace is on top of him an instant later. It’s a full-body tackle, and they go rolling across the deck in the type of knockdown, drag-out brawl that Sabo only just remembers from another life. It was like learning how to swim by jumping in the deep end—the wild boy from the forest had taught Sabo how to fight as if his life was on the line. They skipped things like how to tuck in your elbows and untuck your thumbs. Ace’s lessons involved finding the soft underbelly of your opponent and digging into it with tooth and nail. 

The accident at sea that stole his memories away took those lessons, too, but his body remembered them. And while formal training with the Army was much different than wrestling with his brother in the woods, Sabo always had a bit of a nasty streak his teachers despaired over.

“You don’t have to bite,” he remembers Hack saying with measured patience. “This is a class, not life-or-death.”

Of course it is, Sabo had found himself on the verge of snapping. If I don’t fight for my life, someone else will take it. If we don’t fight for each other, no one else will. 

But he didn’t know where the thought had come from. And he was discomfited by the way his instructors were watching him, and the way Koala stared at him, at the smear of blood left on the corner of his mouth, like she suddenly saw something in his face that she recognized in herself. So he didn’t say anything at all.

Now he knows. Ace showed him how to protect himself in a brutal, bloody, final way, because Ace loved him enough to want him to exist at any cost. Live, those lessons taught him. Survive. 

Voices cry out and feet stamp around like people are trying to get close enough to tear them apart—but Ace’s fire shoves his crewmates back, a wall of snapping, snarling teeth that towers above Sabo from all sides. 

It licks against him without burning. Ace’s hands are another story. He’s hitting to hurt.

Sabo absorbs every blow, and even when his face is tender and swelling and his lip is bleeding, it still doesn’t feel like enough. 

Ace clutches the front of his waistcoat and hauls him half upright, expression twisted into something bleak and hateful. It’s the way he looked at Sabo when they were children and still strangers to each other. The first time they were strangers to each other.

“If you were going to come back from the dead, it should have been for him,” Ace snarls. “What the fuck are you doing here? What’s the fucking point now?”

I should have been there is on the tip of Sabo’s tongue, but it seems a waste of breath to say something everyone already knows. I’m sorry surfaces next, is the obvious right thing, but what he actually says is, “I had to come.”

His voice is just barely more than a whisper. Ace’s face only screws up more. 

Ten years ago, it would have gone without saying. Maybe they wouldn’t have needed to speak at all. The only person in the world who really understood Sabo, who could look him in the eye and practically read his mind, was his best friend. His twin brother. 

But now he’s staring at Sabo like he’s never seen any creature like him before. 

“I had to,” Sabo chokes out. “Ace, I had to.”

Even if you hate me, he doesn’t say. You’re my brother. I’ll always come for you. 

Ace drops him. Sabo’s head hits the deck with a solid knock, his brain ringing inside his skull like a gong. He’s still waiting for his double vision to clear when Ace lays down next to him. Their shoulders are touching, and even when Sabo’s starts to shake with the force of his sobbing, Ace stays pressed against his side. 

Their shoulders are touching, and the fire, when it finally closes in, still doesn’t burn. 

##

“I’m stepping down,” Ace says suddenly. “From the Whitebeards.”

Sabo rolls his head to the side to look at him. Ace goes on staring up at the sky and doesn’t look back. They’re still sprawled on the deck. Ace’s crewmates have been giving the brothers a wide berth since they stopped seemingly trying to kill each other but a wary few of them are still lingering nearby. If they’re close enough to overhear, they don’t give any indication. 

“The Straw Hats,” Ace says, “Luffy’s people. They’re monsters, like us. They love the way monsters love. They’re gonna drag as much of the World Government down to hell with them as they can. I’m going, too.”

He lifts his hand, holding it out above him. It ignites, merry orange flames crackling from his skin, sending shadows flickering across his blank face. Then all the color bleeds away until it’s a ghostly thing, shock white with hints of blue, and the packed heat becomes searing and uncomfortable. It superheats the air like a flash fire; Sabo can feel it in his lungs, but he doesn’t move away. 

Luffy burned. His last breath was agony, choked with smoke. There isn’t a force on this planet that could hurt Sabo as much as knowing that. If the fire in Ace’s hand leaped over and caught him and he went up like rice paper, it wouldn’t even come close. 

“Don’t want my name attached to Pops anymore,” Ace goes on. “Don’t want him claiming the consequences for my choices this time.”

Sabo asks, “What did he say?”

“Called me a stupid kid,” Ace recounts like it’s something that happened to someone else. “Said I could go as far away as I wanted for as long as I wanted and my family would be still waiting for me when I decided to come back home.”

There’s a quirk at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile. It’s some distant cousin of wry humor but not the real thing. Sabo gets the joke—“come back home.” As if that’s a place that exists anymore. 

“I told my boss the same thing,” he offers, “more or less.”

His conversation with Dragon was less a conversation and more the total destruction of the communications room. Sabo doesn’t remember all of it. He does remember the rawness of his throat, the leftover ache of screaming, “Why weren’t you there? Why weren’t we there?” and the splinters in his hands from the broken furniture he’d hurled at the walls. 

“I’m on sabbatical,” Sabo says mildly.

Ace finally turns to look at him. He’s different from Sabo’s recovered memories of him. He’s different from his Wanted posters, even. Gone is that proud, angry little boy, and that devilishly grinning pirate. He was a big brother before he was anything else, and now he isn’t that anymore. It’s carved a hole into him, scooping out the golden, shining parts that it took years to cultivate. All that’s left is the burnt remains of something once wild and beautiful. 

He could be all those things again, Sabo thinks. If he tried. If he leaned on the support and love of his crew. If he let himself hurt and then let himself heal. If Sabo were a better person, he would make Ace try. 

But he isn’t. Sabo is burnt remains, too. 

“Pops told Luffy’s monsters it was suicide,” Ace says. “He says there’s no way we can accomplish what we want to do. He doesn’t get it.”

“No,” Sabo agrees, not unkindly. “But he will.”

Life is a series of lessons. 

Sabo taught his brothers how to steal, how to be cunning—how to slip through High Town in their ratty shoes and dirty clothes like they were invisible, the way he learned to maneuver the mansion his parents lived in. Ace taught them how to fight bigger, stronger people—how to go for the soft, unguarded places, how to dig in with your teeth until you won. 

Luffy taught them, too. Every single day. How to be silly. How to laugh at themselves. How to face the day like it was an adventure instead of a challenge. How to pry open the guarded cages of their hearts so that it became possible for other people to sneak in there down the road. How to dream huge, impossible dreams, and go on dreaming them even when no one believed in you but you. 

This, their stubborn little brother showed them, day after day after day, grin stretching beneath a straw hat that Sabo would never get to watch him grow into, hands always open and reaching for them, is what you fight for. 

And the Marines thought they had any right to touch him. To take him. To drive a fist through the heart of the one purely good thing in this world. The audacity leaves Sabo breathless. 

“There are battles we have to lose,” Dragon had said, sitting in the middle of a ruined room like he’d been chiseled from stone, the beginnings of a terrible, pitch-black storm in his eyes, “in order to win the war.”

But there was no such thing as winning now. Not for Sabo, or Ace, or the Straw Hats. There was only taking as many of those people down as they possibly could, and making it bloody, and making it brutal, and leaving behind something that it would be impossible to ever forget. Something historians would discuss only in whispers for the next hundred years. 

They’ll remember him, Sabo thinks, eyes roaming away from Ace, back towards the sky. Maybe there are stars up there tonight, maybe the moon is full and beautiful. All he sees is the blackness in between, the empty space. We’ll make them remember. We’ll teach them what it means to do what they’ve done. 

And then they would finally see their little brother again, and they would tell him all about it. 

[nagdabbit]

so mayhap have a teeny tiny little bit of a tale warcrime

like 850 words that i really like a lot little bit of a war crime

there's probably spoilers for we collide with shoulder and steel but lorde knows i will spoil my own fic if someone asks nicely so don't be surprised. anyway. a smidge of tale

.

When he was fifteen, afraid and shivering in the autumn wind, Danny tucked behind him, Yuta finally understood the danger in the fire.

Houses had burned before, that was nothing new. They needed to make space in the town, just as they needed to make space in the fields. Houses died, just as people did. Cracked and crumbled, turned bitter and brittle, emptied out like the bodies that had grown old inside them. It was nothing new.

But as he stood on that hill, clutching Danny close, he watched the fire take a home. He watched people running for the wells, buckets in hand. Heard the screams echoing out across the night, barely loud enough to hear over the roar of flames. Saw bodies leap from windows, crashing to the charred earth as the head of the blaze began to eat away at the next house behind. 

It was the first time he'd seen the fire take what wasn't given

In all, five homes were reduced to ash before anyone noticed the eastern flank beginning to head toward the hills—toward them. 

Fire was meant to clear away the debris of past harvests, making way for the next. It was wine on a wound, meant to wash away infection—though it would burn and sting to high heaven. But not all wounds healed. Some were no longer fresh, but already starting to rot and wither. Some were too deep, too wide, too plentiful, and all he saw in every direction was dry grass and dead trees. There was nowhere for them to hide, fire eating away at all sides of them, and he'd seen well enough that fire ran faster than he could. 

It had been Danny who saved them, in the end. He'd always been a little reckless, always had more faith than common sense—and more dumb luck than anything else. He'd grabbed Yuta's hand and ran toward the fire.

He'd always been practical, but he trusted Danny more than his own fear. When he felt the heat on his skin, singeing his cheeks and scorching his lungs, he feared they were running toward their deaths. But he still blindly lept when Danny yelled for him to.

He thought about that moment, passing through the flames for what felt like hours, before they crashed to the razed pasture. The ground was hot beneath their feet, still smoking, but the fire had passed.

He didn't know how the fire was eventually stopped, far too busy clutching Danny close as they both shook, but it had been put out before it took the mountain. When dawn finally came, he'd looked to see the line of blackened earth where it brushed right up to the treeline, a hair's breadth away from catching the whole world alight. It was the first time he'd truly known the cold emptiness of hopeless fear.

It was the first time he'd realized how close they were to disaster. The first time he realized that fires only ever got bigger, got closer, got hungrier. It was the first time he'd realized that something needed done, beyond the triage they'd been surviving on for so long.

It was the first time he thought of climbing the mountain, of looking for answers to questions no one wanted to ask. First time he'd considered that, just maybe, tradition might be the death of them. It was the first time he'd realized how well and truly fucked they were. 

But he hadn't found answers waiting at the top of that rocky trail, not the ones he'd wanted. He found silence and cruelty, stoked by years of solitude. A garden littered with the remains of those that had come before him, with room enough for those that would come after. Earth scorched, not by fire, but by inaction. A household torn by tragedies and traumas.

He found what he'd thought a beast with the heart of a man, lonely atop his cliffside prison. 

He found a graveyard, one he feared he'd one day join.

But he'd hauled cool, clear water up from the mountain's depths. He'd tilled the dry, gray earth with his bare hands. Planted seeds he'd spent years collecting out of some distant hope, and grew something more than just another tragedy atop that quiet cliff. 

And with one swift, tender act of unwitting cruelty, he found himself filled with an even greater swell of hope. 

His garden outlived him.

With each year he remained, his garden grew on without him. Birds nested and bees, heavy with pollen, lumbered their way between blossoms. There was fruit enough to feed the curious few deer and soft, curious rabbits that had found their way back. Life enough that it spread, and grew without a gardener to guide it, overflowing from the beds that he had made.

By his own hands, he had healed a tiny scrap of a broken land. Left a mark so deep and profound that it wouldn't be washed away by unthinking anger and misplaced fear. Proof enough, even for him, that they could all one day be saved.