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anthemxix · 3 years ago

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I had an angsty interesting idea and thought you’d maybe like to hear it (since you’re a fan of Wars and Time bonding)

Time and Warriors get separated from the group and are fighting a big ol’ horde of monsters when Time gets hit hard. Like, he-needs-a-fairy-NOW hard. And Wars knows he can’t protect Time while fighting off all these monsters, he’s horribly outnumbered without him, he needs help, he needs more power-

Then he remembers the Fierce Diety mask.

anon, thank you for thinking of me!! i do adore these two bonding! <3 hope you enjoy this little thing i wrote~ uwu

The realization that this ragtag monster horde was capable of implementing a coordinated battle plan carries myriad unsettling implications, but Warriors puts all that aside for later consideration. Right now, he’s rather more preoccupied with his other realization: he and Time are kind of fucked.

Separated from the other heroes by the latest portal (and maybe that was all part of the enemies’ strategy, too?), Time and Warriors are severely outnumbered, two to two dozen. The only reason they haven't lost already is because they've managed to stay back-to-back, fighting together fluidly, watching each other's blind spots. Everything they're doing is purely defensive, purely reactionary, and their stamina is quickly getting whittled away by endless waves of brutal attacks.

And maybe their draining stamina is why there's a slip-up. Warriors hopes that's why there's a slip-up, because he can't bear the idea that his carelessness caused whatever just happened behind him to make Time shout in agony.

Warriors whirls around just as Time crumples to his knees. He steps in front of the Old Man in time to block the heavy stroke of a darknut's broadsword. The blunt impact forces him back half a foot. He grits his teeth and smashes his shield into the darknut's helmet as it winds up for another strike. Armor rattling, the monster stumbles back, briefly stunned.

Swinging around, Warriors throws out his shield against the thrust of a lizalfos' spear, but both weapon and shield collide instead with a translucent blue wall that materializes between them. Sapphire-colored and diamond-shaped, the sudden barrier surprises Warriors for a second before he remembers a child casting the same spell on battlefields some years ago.

"Can't hold it for long," Time says, voice strained, as he presses one hand against his side. Warriors drops down next to him, ignoring the sounds of baffled and angry monsters pounding on the barrier encasing them, and pulls Time's hand away to reveal a terribly deep gash.

Time coughs, and a trail of blood mars his chin. Cursing, Warriors carelessly rips a swatch from his scarf and stuffs it into the wound in the hopes of slowing the bleeding.

"Give it to me," he blurts before he knows what he's saying. His conscious mind takes a moment to catch up to his mouth, but then he feels it. Beneath the clean, blessed magic that Time exudes beats the pulse of something darker, something that wormed into Warriors’ mind without him even noticing.

Suddenly, Warriors knows with certainty how this fight is going to end. He reaches for Time's satchel without awaiting an answer. The Old Man clamps a surprisingly firm hand onto Warriors' wrist.

"No," he says, the tremble in his voice belying the sternness of his tone. "I won't allow it."

The magic, which feels like frenzy barely contained, wraps more securely around Warriors' heart. He wonders how it leaked into him without his consent, how it made him its pawn before he even considered using the mask.

"It's our only choice." Warriors drapes his other hand on top of Time's. The barrier around them flickers, disappearing for half an instant.

Time retrieves the mask from his bag without looking, like he knows exactly where it is. In the open, the mask's alluring magic is more potent. It feels like chaos masquerading as calm, like a threat camouflaged as salvation.

"I could do it," Time weakly offers, even as more blood beads on his lips, as more color drains from his wan face, as resignation clouds his eye.

When Warriors' fingers graze the mask's smooth wood, a shock runs along his spine, prickles the hair on his arms and the back of his neck. The faded red and blue lines that mirror Time's remind him that dabbling with something this powerful has irreversible consequences. In an odd moment of detached lucidity, Warriors recognizes that after he puts on this mask, his life is never going to be the same.

But as he takes the cursed object, he looks down at Time's weeping gash, poorly plugged by blood-drenched scraps of scarf, and feels at peace with his decision.

"I'll be fine, Sprite," he says. "Just promise me you'll be fine, too."

As Time's spell withers and the blue diamond barrier shatters, Warriors puts on the mask.

He's dropped into an abyss that somehow feels both bottomless and claustrophobic. He can't see or hear or touch any more, can't feel his body or what he's doing; he's confined to his mind, condemned to an inky, oceanic emptiness that is filling up with poisonous magic. The deity's overwhelming presence invades more and more of Warriors' mental space, grappling for control.

And it hurts. It's agonizing, the way the subjugating magic bleeds into his every crevice, sunders him at his seams. Peels him apart layer by layer. Breaks him down to his basest pieces. Divides. Consumes.

Rational thought disappears; his darkness is lit only by instinct now, and his instinct tells him to fight. So Warriors resists. As puny and piteous a creature as he is compared to the deity's wrath, he resists, struggling to retain a foothold in his own mind.

And just as abruptly as this hellish internal fight begins, it ends. Full consciousness slams back into Warriors with merciless force. The world seems like a hazy mess of colors and light that he can't decipher. His body feels foreign, and he can't distinguish, spatially, where he is, what he's doing. He thinks he's standing--no, he's falling--

Warriors tumbles back into something solid. Someone solid, who secures their arms around his middle and lowers him to the ground. Dizzy and muddled, he squints up at the concerned face hovering above him. Twilight. The Rancher's mouth is moving, but the words are distant and incomprehensible.

Simply holding his head up is a strain, and Warriors lets himself go limp in Twilight's arms. Through blurry vision, he can see the signs of a massacre: the decimated remains of all those monsters, strewn around the battlefield. He vaguely registers Twilight's fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse, and Twilight's hands running along his limbs, his torso, feeling for injuries.

There's a swirl of red and pink in his periphery. Legend, not bothering to conceal his concern, appears on one side of him. He's speaking, too, and though the words sound a bit clearer than before, Warriors still doesn't understand. Exhausted, he doesn't worry about it, and lets his eyes slip closed.

Twilight and Legend's conversation drones over his head as comforting white noise, and the Rancher's steady breaths begin to lull him to sleep. Then something tugs at his hand, and he pries his eyes open, annoyed, to see Legend trying to take the mask from him.

Warriors blinks down at the cursed item, surprised to see it still clasped in his fist, his unyielding fingers coiled through the eye holes.

"Let go of this damn thing, Pretty Boy," Legend says when he sees Warriors' eyes are open. The Captain can't decide if Legend's voice is actually quiet or if it still sounds weirdly far away. Regardless, he loosens his hold and watches Legend take the mask, grimace at it with a mix of revulsion and anger, and artlessly toss it out of view.

"Captain?"

Turning his heavy head, Warriors finds Wind kneeling at his other side. His expression is all unrefined concern, the watery eyes and exaggerated compassion of a child. Warriors wants to comfort him, but he can hardly move at the moment. He supposes speaking is out of the question, too.

"Are you okay?" the Sailor asks, taking up Warriors' hand in both his own.

Getting no reply, Wind glances between Twilight and Legend. "Why isn't he saying anything? He's okay, isn't he?"

"I'm sure he's fine," Twilight replies. It's a stilted, rote response that holds little conviction. Warriors thinks that should bother him, but he's too tired to care.

"What about those?" Wind says, nodding towards Warriors.

On reflex, Twilight brushes his fingers against the Captain's cheek, looking sadly at whatever is there. "The magic imprinted on him, but he wasn't changed for long. The marks will fade."

Marks? Warriors tunes out the rest of the conversation, trying to deduce what marks they're referring to--until he pictures the red and blue lines tattooed onto--

Time. Warriors twitches, wanting to sit up, wanting to ask after the Old Man. Legend puts a steadying hand on his shoulder, instructs him not to move. Still, he swivels his head around, trying to squint through the still-indistinct mass of shapes and lights that make up the world beyond his little sphere.

Finally, he sees, past Wind, the rest of their troupe. As Warriors is with Twilight, Time is reclined against Sky, with Four and Wild on either side of him. Hyrule is bent over him, hands aglow with golden healing magic that surges into the dangerous wound on Time's side.

Warriors tries to focus on the Old Man's face, and his eyes finally adjust enough that he can see Time, grim and weary, looking straight back at him. He looks sad, Warriors thinks. Sympathetic. Pitying.

It's off-putting, and Warriors looks away. He closes his eyes again and sinks back into Twilight, deciding for now that he'll pretend this is a nightmare, and soon, he'll wake up somewhere else with his soul and mind intact. Yes, he thinks, he’ll let himself pretend for a little while.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #lu warriors #warriors #fanfic #anthem answers #anthem writes

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goforwardgreenwriter-blog · 6 years ago

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The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 38

*inhales*

It’s here. Pray for me.

(Also, this should be pretty obvious, but this is indeed a chapter with a sex scene, so there will be NSFW text so maybe skip this one if you don’t wanna read that kinda stuff)

And Aelin knew if she didn’t get the hell out of this city for an hour or two, she might very well explode again.

I’m out of witty remarks to make about Alien’s piss poor temper at this point. Can you believe hundreds of people died painful and brutal deaths last chapter and all SJM focuses on is Alien’s feefees?

Rolfe and Alien have “edgy” “thrilling” “banter” where they insult one another, blah blah blah, you’re not here for that.

Also Rolfe sold his soul for the map on his hands which resulted in his sister and mother dying. How many nameless characters are gonna be murdered by SJM’s hands to give her main characters something to angst over holy shit.

Aelin rasped, “No. I don’t know what happened. One minute it was us … then she came.” She rubbed at her chest, avoiding the touch of the golden chain against it. Her throat tightened as she took in that spot on [Rowan’s] own chest, right between his pectorals. Where her fist had been aimed.

FJDHFKJAHJDAS OH MY GOD THIS IS THE MALE EQUIVALENT OF SJM BRINGING TOO MUCH FOCUS ON HER FEMALE CHARACTERS BREASTS I AM ACTUALLY CHOKING AKDHFKHAFJKHD

“If I had killed you,” she hissed, but choked on the words, unable to finish the thought, the idea of it.

This book would be a lot better since it would mean less Aelin gushing and less Ratlin being hailed as the best relationship evah

“She enjoyed every rutting second of it. She wanted to see what my power might do, what she could do with my body, with the key.” [Aelin’s] flames burned hotter, shredding through her clothes until they were ash, until she was naked and clothed in only her own fire.

??? i ????? this is not a private beach???? youre a queen what if someone walked in on you naked im?????? im so confused why does she do this???

“How can you be so … fine with this?” Embers sprayed from [Aelin] like a swarm of fireflies.

FHSHJSD THIS FUCKING IMAGERY SJM YOU’RE KILLING ME

Rowan shucked off his boots, tossing them onto the dry sand behind him. “Because I’m the only one arrogant and insane enough to ask Mala Fire- Bringer to let me stay with the woman I love.” [Aelin’s] flames turned to pure gold at the words—at that word. But she said, “Perhaps you’re just the only one arrogant and insane enough to love me.”

Love it when Alien writes my snarks for me. Makes these chapter reviews a whole lot easier!

Aelin let [Rowan] pivot her in the surf and sand to face him fully, let him slide his mouth along her jaw, the curve of her cheekbone, the point of her Fae ear.“These,” he said, nibbling at her earlobe, “have been tempting me for months.”

Oh god here we go

Before we proceed, let’s have a little chat, shall we? SJM’s sex scenes? They fucking suck. This isn’t an erotica novel, therefore sex scenes serve to help us feel the connection between characters, no? I don’t mind sex scenes; I’ve read many before that made me emotional because if they’re well written, they demonstrate how much a couple loves each other.

But SJM fails so hard at sex scenes. Her sex scenes isn’t about the bond between the characters, it’s about her jerking off to fae peen. They’re so hilariously unsexy with the shitty writing and bizarre word choice, and since I don’t like any of her characters, why should I care? Her sex scenes are there solely to trick readers into thinking these books are hot and sexy. But its much easier to show you rather than explain, so.....*sigh* Here we go.

Rowan obliged her silent demand, pressing kisses and soft, growling nips to her throat. “I’ve never taken a woman on a beach,” he purred against her skin, sucking gently on the space between her neck and shoulder. “And look at that—we’re far from any sort of … collateral.”

Am i reading a bad fanfic? Tell me how the characters feel! If i want graphic descriptions of Rowboat fucking Alien, I’d look up fanfics on AO3. Tell me how they feel! Also Rowboat was literally insisting they shouldn’t fuck like animals out in the wilderness at the beginning of the book. Oh, how naive I was back then to the horrors I would endure...

Aelin remembered herself enough to say, “Someone might come looking for us.” Rowan huffed a laugh against her neck. “Something tells me,” he said, his breath skittering along her skin, “you might not mind if we were discovered. If someone saw how thoroughly I plan to worship you.”

JKDSKHDKADHKASJD YOU’RE JUST OKAY WITH SOMEONE POSSIBLY RUINING YOUR SEX BY WALKING BY. LIKE WTF WOULD YOU JUST CONTINUE FUCKING IF SOMEONE ACTUALLY DID WALK BY?? IS THAT WHAT YOU WOULD DO???

His lips crushed into hers, and he said onto her mouth, dropping words more precious than rubies and emeralds and sapphires into her heart, her soul, “I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.”

God ok I take it back I don’t need to know how the characters feel. This is just too much. Pro tip, declaration of love are better kept simple and sweet, with all that big mushy stuff left unsaid. Also pro tip, try to find other ways of characters saying they love one another rather than just “I love you”, having them have their own special ways of expressing their loves just makes it more special and interesting to read and tugs on the heartstrings. Having them give huge speeches like this is just too much for me personally and doesn’t make their declarations of love feel special or meaningful

Aelin didn’t know when she started crying, when her body began shaking with the force of it. She had never said such words—to anyone.

Uh, yeah you have? She’s expressed similar love to Chaol in Crown of Midnight, calling him her home and whatnot. Pretty similar declarations of love.

Rowan pulled back, wiping away her tears with his thumbs, one after another. He said softly, barely audible over the crashing waves around them, “Fireheart.” She sniffed back tears. “Buzzard.”

Human brain: They’re disgusting and annoying characters I am not attached to their shitty abusive relationship in the slightest

Monkey brain: special couple nicknames,, pure and soft,,, favorite trope,,,

“You … are so beautiful.” She knew he didn’t just mean the skin and curves and bones. But Aelin still smiled, humming. “I know,” she said

I fucking hate Aelin’s vain ass

“Is it that different? With someone like me.” “I don’t know,” Rowan admitted. Again, his eyes slid along her body, as if he could see through skin to her burning heart beneath. “I’ve never been with… an equal. I’ve never allowed myself to be that unleashed.”

What the fuck?

This is Lyria, Rowan’s former mate. She was a Fae who was pregnant with Rowan’s child when she was killed, meaning she and Rowan had sex. How has Rowan not been with an ‘equal’ before?? Did SJM forget her own character’s backstory?

There’s more unsexy foreplay and Aelin takes off Rowan’s pants.

Rowan had been bred and honed for battle, and every inch of him was pure-blooded warrior.

Oh my god, I cannot wait to see how SJM skirts around actually using the word dick/penis//whatever

Oh, gods. Oh, burning, rutting gods. Rowan knew what he was doing; he really gods-damned did.

Just... this whole chunk. This is epic fantasy. Also ‘gods-damned’ is a dumb word idc what y’all say

Rowan growled his approval, her breast still in his mouth

JESUS ROWAN ARE YOU TRYING TO RIP OFF HER TITTY

A phantom touch, like the northern wind given form, flicked over her bare breast. Aelin burst into flames.

what the fuck I am sh o cke d

Magic foreplay?? This is the level we’re at, folks. Fucking magic foreplay. The same wind magic Rowan used to kill witches he is now using to feel up Aelin’s boobs. Holy shit.

A roaring wind full of ice and snow blasted around them.

I have several questions.

Rowan’s smile was nothing short of wicked as he pulled away to run a broad hand from her throat down to the juncture of her thighs.

lmfao wtf. SJM wants to have graphic sex scenes in her YA series but won’t actually use the correct words for genitalia? Like christ are you sticking to YA rules or not???

So Rowan did, sliding a finger into her as his tongue flicked that one spot, and oh, gods, she was going to explode into starfire—

I don’t think starfire is an actual word. Also I hate these two.

When Rowan was seated deep in her, trembling with restraint as he let her adjust, she lifted her burning hands to his face, wind and ice tumbling and roaring around them, dancing across the waves with ribbons of flame.

HAHAHA I AM DYING HOW IS NOBODY NOTICING ALL THIS FIRE AND ICE AND SHIT JUST EXPLODING ON THE BEACH

Seriously what does the magic add to this scene?? it’s so fucking weird! How are they somehow fucking but also concentrating on doing all this magic??? Like what the actual fuck it just makes no sense

And as his thrusts turned deeper, she dug in her fingers, dragging her nails across his back, claiming him, marking him. His hips slammed home at the blood she drew

WHAT THE FUCK WHY ARE YOU DRAWING BLOOD?!?! THAT ISNT SEXY THATS AELIN LITERALLY SLICING UP ROWANS BACK WITH HER NAILS WHAT IS HAPPENING

Rowan’s magic went wild, though his mouth on her neck was so careful, even as his canines dragged along her skin.

How is he careful but also dragging his teeth across her neck you can’t have both

Rowan’s own release barreled through him at the sight of it [Aelin climaxing], and he groaned her name so that she remembered it at last, lightning joining wind and ice over the water.

LIGHTNING

L I G H T N I N G

EPIC FANTASY SERIES COMPARED TO THE LIKES OF LOTR AND WE HAVE A MAIN CHARACTER’S CLIMAX SUMMONING LIGHTNING I WANT OFF THIS CRAZY RIDE

Already, she wanted more, already she was calculating how long she’d have to wait. “You once told me that you don’t bite the females of other males.” Rowan stiffened a bit. But she went on coyly, “Does that mean ... you’ll bite your own female, then?”

Aelin has a biting kink confirmed. Listen, I don’t care what kinks people have as long as it’s kept in the bedroom and everyone involved can and has consented, but this is just gross because I despise these two characters and don’t want any more paragraphs about Rowan biting Aelin please spare me

Understanding flashed in those green eyes as he raised his head from her neck to study the spot where those canines had once pierced her skin.

Are you bullshitting me. Are you actually fucking kidding me.

Rowan assaulted Aelin and bit her on the neck, causing her to bleed.. and this is portrayed as sexy? As a romantic moment between them?? What the actual fuck SJM!!! If a guy you were arguing with bit you, you’d knee him in the balls and call the police because he is assaulting you!! WHAT THE FUCK AM I READING HOW IS THIS IN A NOVEL IM DJHAFJKHDJKAFHJK

I’m done and I want this chapter to be over. tl;dr Aelin wants to bite Rowan and this makes him so horny they immediately have sex again.

They moved together, undulating like the sea before them, and when Rowan roared her name again into the star-flecked black, Aelin hoped the gods themselves heard it and knew their days were now numbered.

You’re fucking like animals in the middle of a beach where anyone could see you. Stop trying to make it all ~epic~ and ~most important relationship ever~ like god fucking damnit this Ratty/Aelin ship is literally my worst nightmare. Fuck this book.

#the worm reads: eos #the worm talks #anti tog #anti sjm #anti eos #asdakjhdkasjhdasjk im b reaking

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take-the-page · 8 years ago

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Alight (4/?)

If the cabin seemed compact from the first floor, the second surprised Nesta. There were three doors leading to separate bedrooms, two with a joining bathroom. A ladder stood in the center of the landing that led to an open attic.

Normally more comfortable with high spaces, she’d chosen that room.

Mor and Elain bid her goodnight, separating into their own rooms, before she crept up the ladder.

Fortunately the space was tasked as a bedroom already. With a plush bed with its head pushed to the single window on the far wall, it also held a small dresser and a stack of pillows upon a rug in the guise of a sitting area.

Placing her things neatly on the floor so as to not disrupt the dust that had settled on the dresser, she crawled across the mattress, using the sloping ceiling on either side to balance her. The window revealed a plane of earth, cleared of vegetation, weapons strewn about. A dagger stuck from the dirt, a sword laid haphazardly by it. Like there’d been a battle, and they were stolen away – leaving traces of their existence to wither with the weather.

A light rain had started again, and judging by the state of their roads, she wondered if the Illyrians warriors ever experienced a dry, warm day.

Surely no condition to leave weapons lying around in. She scoffed and flipped onto the mattress, closing her eyes with relief.

“I’d have to agree.”

Nesta sat forward suddenly, bearing her weight on her elbows behind her, and peered past where the moonlight lit the room.

“But then again,” Cassian said, laughing as he stepped into the white glow from her window. “Illyrians have never been known for their intelligence. Bastard-born brutes, yes. But not knowledge of things that matter.” At that he scowled. Okay, sensitive subject.

“Is this the part where you tell me that’s where they’ve underestimated you,” she replied, quirking an eyebrow at him.

His form swallowed the room and she was mildly impressed that he was able to fit in the attic. His dark hair swung forward to shadow one eye as he ducked below the rafters. She hadn’t even heard the ladder creak when he came up.

“Catching on, are you,” he asked from deep within his throat, venturing another step toward her.

She watched his gaze settle on where her chest inflated erratically. She schooled her face into an impassive mask, completely ignoring the fact that her blood felt electrified.

“Am I intruding? You must be tired,” he finally said, raking a hand through hair still wet and unruly from being outside earlier that night. Shy was a fresh look for him. “I… I just thought we could discuss what you said at dinner. When you said that you wanted to help. Did you mean that?”

“Ah, I… yes, I meant it. Please sit.” She waved a hand to the end of the bed and curled her legs beneath her.

Cassian tentatively sat on the edge of the mattress, wings tucked tightly to one side, not yet looking at her, but at his wringing hands. It seemed like he was settling himself.

“I wish…” He paused. “I wish this wasn’t happening again. We supposed it would, after Amarantha, but not of this magnitude. You and your sisters shouldn’t have this burden, not when you’ve only just been Made. The things my family and I have seen… Unspeakable things. I just wanted to make sure you’ve acknowledged the brutality still to be come, and the possible outcome.”

She knew what outcome he was referring to, had mentally prepared herself for it. But thinking about death, and staring it in the face were totally separate entities.

“Cassian. You forget they tossed my family in the slums when we lost our wealth. Watching death eat someone slowly from starvation has hardened us, I think,” she said soothingly, placing a hand atop his shoulder. He stopped moving altogether, stopped breathing. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

She slowly withdrew her fingers, planning on holding the hand to her chest for the remainder of their conversation – a silent promise not to touch him again – when his own hand shot out blindingly fast to capture her wrist.

Nesta gasped at the contact of skin on skin. His grip was enough to hurt her, yet she was tempted to tell him to wrap those lovely hands around her whole body and hurt her everywhere.

“Sometimes,” he said, sounding strained. His attention was now where his hand traveled to her palm, stroking softly with his thumb. “I forget you are unaware of our traditions. Dinner, for instance. Making your mate a meal, allowing him to eat something that you alone made, is a part of the acceptance of the mating bond.”

It was her turn to stop breathing. She had no idea the significance.

“Don’t worry, sweetness,” he said quickly, noting her expression. No doubt she looked horrified. She wished that wasn’t the first expression he saw. “I won’t hold you to it. There are things our kind takes very seriously, however, mannerisms and traditions that I can teach you with time. Things that you would not have known otherwise. What I said at dinner was also true – the choice is yours alone.”

“I know,” she replied softly.

Cassian nodded, as if some agreement had been made, and turned those beautiful eyes to her own. “May I ask you a question?”

Now captured in his gaze, Nesta nodded slowly.

“How did you learn to block me from your mind? Sometimes I hear everything, others I hear total silence. Did Mor instruct you?” His finger stopped circling her still-outstretched palm and she wanted to scream at him to start again.

He winced and laughed gloriously. “Like that, right there? I heard that.” Still, though, his movements against her skin resumed.

Nesta smiled, angling her pointer finger upward to graze the inside of his wrist, and she felt the bond physically hum. Even the slightest touch and she had enough electricity coursing through her she could light the night. “No one instructed me. I imagine a knob inside my mind and I turn it until the bond quiets.”

“What an original and beautiful creature you are,” he said after a moment of studying every inch of her face.

“So now I’m reduced to a creature, am I?” She laughed. He grew serious and stared at her mouth, and then into her eyes again. Quickly recovering from his change in mood, and her now hammering pulse, she said, “And what could a creature like me contribute to your war, hmm? I’m not strong enough to carry you on my back through battle, but I could learn to jump through hoops if that pleases you.”

It felt like she was treading on dangerous ground for some reason.

“You could win a battle of wits with any male, and once we’ve trained you to harness your full power… you could win the war, if you so wished.”

Cassian’s words were intoxicating. He not only thought her capable, but believed her to be powerful. A woman. She was drunk on the feeling radiating from them both, and she reached up to capture his chin between the fingers of her free hand, feeling his day-old beard scrape her delicate skin.

Leaning forward to pin him with her gaze, she whispered, “Thank you.”

Gathering her hand in his, he slowly removed her grip from his face. “Nesta, you shouldn’t unless…,” he said, pained. “It’s just… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself, if you don’t.”

Nesta felt like a greedy child. She never considered what her demand for comfort, or simply touching him, implied. Typical. She’d opened herself to another, let him see, and she’d gotten another door slammed in her face.

She wanted someone to take control – to not stop. But she couldn’t think that way. Not after last time.

Tomas briefly flitted through her mind. His hands, his mouth, the satisfying smack of tooth on lip as she slapped him away. Then the urge to smack herself as she thought of the times she allowed him to have his way with her, fortunately always over her skirts. When she had thought that if someone was willing to have her, she might as well yield to him.

Cassian’s growl shook the bed. “Tomas, is it? Thank you for such a clear image of his face, for I will look right over it in his time of need.” He sighed heavily. “Is that what you think of me? That my single focus is satisfying my urges? If I was granted an inch, it would be in your direction. You must know that.”

She considered his eyes for some sign of dishonesty, but found none.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she said, “The night does funny things to people, I think. Maybe we should wait until morning to resume this conversation.”

Forcing self-control into the shape of modesty felt wrong, but she couldn’t trust herself. Not when she clenched her fists to stop herself from brushing another lock of umber hair from his forehead that had fallen from where it was tied at his neck.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, though,” Nesta blurted when he began to draw away from her. “Your wing looks almost completely healed.”

Cassian smiled wryly at her. She hoped he didn’t think her attempt to placate him into innocent conversation was a flat-out refusal of him. “We’re meeting downstairs at sunrise. Then we convene with the Council. We’ll be discussing the human territory, and your input would be invaluable. The choice is yours.”

As it always is.

Sudden guilt came over her for not being ready to accept this arrangement, for everything. He had had a life before her, and she found it hard to believe he was a stranger to the female form. He could only be honoring the bond, and not be interested in her at all.

“You’re impossible,” he grimaced. Nesta realized he most likely heard every word of her doubt, and hated herself for not warding against projecting her emotions like a warning flare. “Listen to me, woman. I don’t involve myself in matters I don’t wish to be a part of. I don’t spend time with people who I care nothing for. If I was only honoring the bond as a matter of respect to the Mother, you’d know. If you want to paint me as a coldhearted predator, fine. I’ve been called much worse, trust me.” She felt every word released on her lips, snarled in her face like a repeated slap.

Nesta watched as he ducked to avoid the ceiling, disappearing into darkness again, like he’d never been there at all.

[Continue on Archive]

#nessian fanfiction #nessian #acotar fanfiction #fanfiction #original writing #acowar #acomaf #cassian #nesta

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fieryfafarfanfics · 8 years ago

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Denied Wish

“When this war is over,” His hands were shaking, slightly cold – Gods, keep it together! – as he held her own, “I… Will you…” Violent eyes gleamed, catching her breathless despite the nervous stutter that sputtered out of the prince’s mouth. He took a deep breath, a long breath. Those glorious eyes then closed momentarily, though his grip on her small hands was cozy and grip, showing no signs of ever letting go.

She loved that feeling, that idea.

Before Sakura could say word, only air slithered out of parted lips, for shock then registered greatly when Marx nervously asked, “Will you be my queen?”

---

The war was taking a toll on many people.

Soldiers, healers, merchants, even the tactician herself; everyone knew this war wouldn’t be easy. Everyone knew this war would cost many, be it lives or sanity or even one’s once impregnable innocence. It had been a full year before the portal to Valla finally opened. It had been a gruesome year for both kingdoms to hold their ground against any invisible attacks. It had been a full year as well since the astral kingdom stood tall and indestructible against any demonic beasts that intend to invade and devour the draconic princess.

Both high princes did their best to hide the truth from their respective kingdoms. The bonds they tried to form were impossible at first, unbearable and hellish at worst. The princes had to answer to the council as to the whereabouts of their siblings who hid inside and protected the astral kingdom. The Nohrian prince had to endure the most when he was asked about the sudden disappearance of his father.

It took a toll. It took a great, insufferable toll.

And when the portal to Valla finally opened, the princes and other soldiers excused themselves, giving the council a valid reason that once they returned home, peace would finally be obtained.

It was a promise they wouldn’t dare to break, but it was also a promise that proved to be difficult and emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausting.

Months had passed since they invaded Valla. Months had passed since they realized the enemies they’d faced were demons that had climbed out of hell.

His breathing was heavy. His heart was heavier. White teeth clenched hard inside pursed lips, Marx walked towards his room. The bruise in his right shoulder throbbed and screamed, but the first prince ignored it blindly in hopes that the pain would disappear in the morning.

Or at least, that’s what he’d thought yesterday.

He was brave. He was strong. He was gallant and fierce. He was everything people expected him to be. He was everything people feared him for. After a whole day of holding down the astral kingdom from growing invaders, Marx still stood proudly as both a prince and warrior. The other soldiers awed at his presence. His dear retainers both cheered and applauded at his victory over the number of fallen monsters.

But alas, only the Gods knew how badly fatigue and pain had struck deep into his skin and bones.

The pain in his shoulder only worsened. Teeth clenched harder, Marx finally stepped into the building and marched faster into his room.

Slam!

Once the door was closed behind him, he let out a sigh that he didn’t realize had been kept for so long inside his burning lungs.

The pain still throbbed and drummed his muscles.

Back against the door, Marx cocked his head upwards and sighed again. His eyes burned. His skin burned. Hell, if he didn’t know better, he thought his heart had been combusted into smithereens. Sweat and blood still stuck to his armour, to his skin, and Marx knew he had to take everything off and head to the bathhouse to finally rid himself of the horrible, nauseating smell.

But Gods, he didn’t want to face anyone at the moment.

Fury then boiled in him. Fury for still being so weak that he couldn’t stand strong for so long. Fury for having to lose some of the soldiers and have the others hurt due to him being so slow. Fury for not being able to see his father’s manic change in personality when he was a child. Fury for not being able to do anything and stop him from the demon God that had long possessed the fallen king.

Fury. Fury for not being strong enough.

Fatigue still weighed heavily on his body, yet anger now riled him up, making him clench his fists and dig his nails deep into the surface of his callous palms.

He was still weak. He needed to be stronger. He couldn’t lose any more than he already had—!

Knock, knock.

Emotions burst into oblivion once he felt a knock on the door. Quickly he pulled himself away and turned around. “What?” he coldly asked, tone clipped and eyes scrunched in despair as if the person from the other side could see it and leave him be.

However, that desire simmered down when he finally heard, “I-It’s me, Sakura.”

Gods, his heart almost popped right out of his chest.

Violet eyes widened. Pink lips parted. As if he had been caught in a trance, Marx swiftly shook his head and forced a gulp. “I… What is it, Sakura?”

Silence lingered from the other side, and Marx actually thought that his question had come off as rude to her.

“I…I just…wanted to see if you’re okay.”

Her voice, unlike him, was timid, gentle, smooth and heart-warming as if one was being embraced by an angel’s wings. Through the other side of the door, Marx could hear the sound of her feet fidgeting nervously. Her breathing was so quiet, so soft, yet the prince knew her heartbeat was thumping madly inside her chest.

It took him a while, but Marx then froze when her presence finally clicked.

“I…” Her voice lulled again. “I realized you’ve been walking funny since yesterday, and I saw that you were clenching your teeth and hissing when you lifted your right arm in battle today.”

Gods, that realization washed him over like a wave.

She knew. She saw him and she noticed and she knew.

From the other side, Sakura held her breath and brought her festal closer. “S-So…” Face full of red, she let out a short gasp and looked at the thick, wooden door. “If…If you let me, I want to heal you.” White teeth nipped the insides of her lower lip. “If we don’t tend to it, the muscles inside might swell and worsen.” Thoughts were focused on the bruise. Though her heart ached at the idea of him being hurt, at least it calmed Sakura since her skills and worries allowed her to face him.

Well, right now she was facing the door, but Sakura got the idea.

Confidence slowly looming inside such a petite frame, Sakura placed one palm on the door. “So…please…” She wouldn’t go down without a fight. Even if Marx insisted that he was okay, even if he insisted that it was just a minor bruise and that he would be fine, she wouldn’t budge. She loved him too much after all to see him being in such a devastating state.

It would break her heart immensely if he persisted on making her leave, but Sakura knew better than to give up.

While Sakura made silent assumptions of her own, Marx felt as if his soul had left his body.

She knew.

He had been running away from people for a while. He had donned a brave mask and cocked his head high during war meetings. But she knew. She knew his body was taking a heavy toll. She knew his bravado was only minutes away from crumbling into brittle pieces. She knew he was only human.

She knew.

Ah, his eyes burned again.

Click.

Before Sakura could spew out more convincing reasons as to why he should let her in, she instead flinched to see the door opened before her. The festal pressed close to her chest, the princess looked up at the tall prince.

One shock came after another, and she squeaked shortly at the feel of her body being pulled to a tight hug.

Immediately the door closed behind her. Her head tilted upwards, mouth and nose pressed against his left shoulder. Her arms and festal were pressed between their chests. Her legs instantly felt like jelly to feel strong arms locked around her small frame.

And by Gods, her legs did give up on her when she felt his body slowly weighing down. “M-M-M-Marx?!” Panic boiled right to the top of her head, Sakura fell down to her knees. Her body was still locked around his arms, so Sakura was mildly thankful that Marx didn’t faint or anything for the prince was kneeling too.

His body was shaking though. Terribly.

“Marx?” Again she called for him, though voice now quieter so that she wouldn’t accidentally deafen him. One hand tight on the festal, Sakura tried to wiggle her right hand and pressed it to his chest.

Gods, his heart was racing.

“Marx…” Again she said his name, her voice a soothing melody that made him shiver from head to toe. Head shook slightly to better readjust her position, Sakura glanced to the side, seeing nothing but curls of messy, blonde hair.

She heard him take a deep breath.

“I…”

Her body froze to hear his voice; shaking, wavering, and utterly brittle.

“I…tired.” The confession broken down to a short stutter, Marx nuzzled his face on her left shoulder. His arms were firm around her arms, one hand carefully, shakily moved to palm her back. “I’m…t-tired…” Trembling lips pressed her shoulder, the side of her neck. Gulping once, Marx inhaled through his mouth and pressed an open kiss to a spot right between her neck and shoulder.

She knew. She knew.

Unaware that his hug had loosened a little, Marx flinched slightly at the feel of her hand caressing up his hair.

“There, there…” She gently shushed him. “I’m here…” Bringing his head closer, Sakura brought her lips to a spot right near his left ear. Her face was as bright as the sun, yet the Hoshidan princess couldn’t care less for her focus shined on nothing else but him. “I’m here, dear…”

His body still trembled. His voice broke out to tiny, faint sobs.

He loved her. He loved her too much.

If wishes were real, he wished she would never let him go.

Saliva heavily sliding down a suddenly dry throat, Marx exhaled slowly and continued to just kiss her neck and shoulder. His eyes were closed, the corners wet and hot as he nuzzled the soft, sweet strands of her hair.

After what felt like forever, a short, genuine laugh cracked in between when he heard her sweet giggle.

---

The enemies were multiplying.

After receiving news that a nearby village was being raiding by invisible monsters, Kamui and the rest marched towards the place and wasted no time in warding off the ghostly beasts. That being said, the Nohr noble may have slightly underestimated their numbers, and they could only hope for the best as some of the soldiers helped the villagers evacuated while they sorted everything out.

“GraAACK—!” SLICH!

Words were swallowed by death as his sword cleanly sliced the enemy’s neck. Left hand firm on his horse’s reins, Marx lifted Siegfried to his level.

A hiss heavily spat through clenched teeth at the slightly throbbing pain in his shoulder.

Violet eyes did a quick scan around his surroundings. Leon was seen from afar engulfing every single victim with his Brynhildr. Elise was close by his side, healing and spouting Thoron before an enemy could approach her. Quickly his head looked up, widened irises spotting Camilla slicing and dicing any enemy she could get her hands on. He then heard a violent roar, throwing his gaze to the ground that showed Kamui whipping and crushing her enemies in her savage dragon form.

He held his breath when he madly looked for her.

In a second, he found her, shooting arrows endlessly with her back pressed against Takumi’s. Her eyes were cold, ruthless, void of love for any of these monsters that devoured and destroyed a mortal’s life.

Gods, his body shivered.

They had their advantage. But nothing could last forever.

Another scream pierced into his ears. In a blink, Marx looked over his shoulder left, irises shrunk once again to see an enemy shrouded in purple rocketing his way. At the single command to his horse, the paladin turned them around. Siegfried spread to the side, Marx tugged the reins of his horse and let it gallop faster towards the enemy.

Suddenly, just as he was a few steps away, his right shoulder throbbed and jolted so painfully.

“Tch—!” Agony flashed right on his face, Marx accidentally tugged the reins of his horse. This, unfortunately, made the animal swerve to the left and away from the enemy’s approach.

And, because of that, the enemy’s axe had a perfect cut right into the horse’s right side.

The horse neighed loudly and painfully. His movements became too frantic from the gushing pain. Mind fully focused on the bleeding wound, he no longer heard Marx’s voice, and instead kicked and threw the prince right off of him before galloping a few feet away.

“GAHH!!” His body being thrown like a ragdoll, Marx rolled and slid to the hard ground. Wheezes and pants escaped through torn lips. Siegfried was thrown to the side as well, right out of his reach and still glowing as if it mocked him. Blood trickled on his right cheek. The almost healed wound on his right shoulder practically reopened and bled heavier by the rough impact. More wheezes heaved out of his heavy lungs, and Marx quickly clutched his aching shoulder with his left hand.

It hurt.

It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

He needed to get up. He needed to get his sword. He needed to get his horse. He needed to FIGHT—

The demonic growl was heard once again.

His head snapped forward, irises shrunk to see the same enemy approaching at him with manic speed. Its axe was raised up in the air. Its mouth was opened to reveal a disgusting, violently terrifying snarl.

He needed to move.

He needed to move, he needed to move, he needed to move—!

The axe went down on him.

SLITCH!

Everything happened too fast. Panic had boiled his brain into a frenzy. His legs wouldn’t move. His breathing held tightly inside his lungs. Headache pounded his head. Nausea rolled in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, the action merely intensifying the enemy’s monstrous shriek. With right arm weakly holding his weight, Marx had lifted his left arm in vain, terribly vain hope that it was more than enough to shield him from the wide, sharp end of the axe.

He heard the sound.

But he didn’t feel any pain.

Was he dead? Was the blow too fatal that it took his life in a blink? If so, he was thankful. At least he didn’t feel any pain. At least he didn’t have to feel horrifyingly guilty over his siblings’ or Sakura’s maniacally heartbroken wail. He felt horrible for leaving them, of course. He felt utterly terrible to have left this legacy and responsibility to his dear, dear siblings.

Drip…drip…

Blood trickled right into the corner of his mouth.

Shocked and disgusted by the vile taste, Marx immediately opened his eyes.

Drip…drip…

And when he did, black pupils turned to the tiniest of dots to see her back right in front of him.

Blood splashed her clothes of white. Blood soaked the soft, pink hair he loved so much. Her bow and arrow had dropped to her left side. Her beautiful cherry blossom hairpin now dangled right in her frazzled hair. Slender arms that had spread wide plopped to the sides. Wobbling knees that had forced her weight after the blow finally gave out.

Splish!

She dropped to the side, her back still facing him and the pool of blood thickened right under her body.

She wasn’t moving.

“S-S-Sa-” She wasn’t moving at all. “SAKURA!!” Panic drilled straight to the core of his brain. Pushing himself off with his right arm – Gods, the pain in his shoulder was excruciating but he couldn’t care – Marx scrambled towards her. Without hesitation he scooped her body—

Blood. He felt blood and flesh and cold, cold, blood pooling right between his fingers.

Her name choked in his throat, Marx frantically turned her around and faced her—

Her pupils were large. Her gaze was empty.

Marx could actually feel his heart exploding into a million pieces.

“S-Sa…” Her name slithered weakly. “Sa-a…ku…” His left arm that held her trembled. His right hand tried to move, tried to stretch towards her body so he could embrace her.

She wasn’t moving.

She still wasn’t moving.

The enemy shrieked again and raised its axe. However, before it could even move another muscle, a glowing arrow struck right to the right side of its head, puncturing right through its skull and swiftly ending its life as it dropped to the side.

Screams from familiar people echoed violently around Marx.

But he couldn’t hear them.

Steel against steel still serenaded into the sky. Screams and shrieks of her name now shook the earth that he kneeled, but Marx couldn’t hear them.

S-a…kura… Her name echoed in his mind. S-Sa…a-ur-ra… Her smile lingered cruelly in his brain.

Blood gushed endlessly out of her gaping mouth. Her gaze was right under him.

She wasn’t moving. She still wasn’t moving.

Finally his right hand reached her. Finally he slowly, shakily wrapped her into his arms. He forced his body to move. He forced his body to listen to him just this once so he could hold her close, so he could look for that warmth he so desperately needed.

His chest pressed against hers; he couldn’t feel her heartbeat.

Dark pupils squeezed to tiny dots. Violet irises shook madly in each socket. Tears pooled faster and faster, trailing down his torn cheeks and mixing along with the blood that sprouted out of her face.

Sakura… Without a thought he nuzzled her left cheek. N-No—Gods please n-no—! Without a thought he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her bleeding lips.

The screams were getting closer. The cries and wails that rattled so violently into the sky began to close in on them.

But he didn’t hear them. He couldn’t.

Eyes emptily, maniacally gazing at nothing in particular, Marx pressed her chest against his own again.

More and more tears merely flowed to feel nothing at all.

---

Marx wondered if he had gone deaf or he was actually dreaming an endlessly pleasant dream.

“I—what?” Dumbly he asked, head cocked to her direction and jaw dropped low to see the radiant shine of her angelic smile.

“Yes.”

Once he heard her answer again, Marx knew this wasn’t a dream at all.

Her laughter bubbled beautifully under the bright blue sky. “Yes, I would love to be your queen, my d-dear Marx!” Completely engulfed with delight, Sakura hopped off her seat and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Bewilderment over her answer and reaction held him still, but after hearing that beautiful laugh fluttering straight into his heart, Marx couldn’t help but to laugh along and hug her so tight until he actually twirled her around.

Thank you, A smile, so sincere and genuine, curled the corners of his mouth, my beloved Sakura…

END

#Sakura #Xander #Sakumarx #Fire Emblem Fates #Fire Emblem #hi kids its helltime #inspired by a really sad malay song n needless to say im satisfied lmao #time to go home n have dinner :D #oneshot

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