#but back to the knight thing!! he always says he's ash's knight! makes my heart flutter hehe! though he is very well-aware that ash could | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bowieandqueen11 · 2 years

Text

Marc Spector Dating A Plus!Size Reader Would Include...

Request: hi !!! your plus sized reader and steven story made me tear up it's so cute and perfect :(( do you think you'll do one for marc as well? if not that's okay too :)

That’s so kind of you, thank you!! :) Also I’m afraid I’ve never read any Moon Knight comics, so all my knowledge of Marc has come from the first five episodes of the show!

Warning, mentions of childhood abuse and slightly NSFW!

(I do not own Moon Knight or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @the-maidofmischief.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

GOT to start this off by saying just look at him. Absolute baby. Daddy (thank u mr isaac). Mess of a man. Gosh I love him so much. I know we all like to say that Steven is Mr. Puppy Dog Eyes, but this mf right here is the REAL Mr. Heart eyes. The way he looks at you is just ridiculous; his eyes are so intense, his gaze so particular as they focus in only on you, it’s akin to feeling ashes of fire fall like fresh snow, overwhelmingly cool and destructive at the same time. He’s so unused to being allowed anything of this nature, of being allowed so close to divinity that just the look he reserves for you alone is enough to melt a hole through the floor.

I feel like the two of you would have first met as children - perhaps a next door neighbour who used to run round after school and go on adventures with Dr. Grant and Randall around the suburbs of Chicago. Marc would always stick tight next to you as you wandered down the winding lanes and into the tree lines. He would be smiling over at his brother as he talked about the newest excavation they were about to embark on, whilst simultaneously nudging into your shoulder with his own and pretending his cheeks weren’t becoming flushed every time you knocked him back.

After Randall... well, you were the only friend Marc had left. The only person in his life that he could rely on, and the only thing keeping the last scraps of what should have been his light-hearted childhood within him. When his mother used to finally give up on blaming him and recede back into her bedroom with her whiskey to keep her company, Marc used to heave himself off the floor and limp straight for his windowsill. There, he would pick up the slightly smashed torch he used to give three lit blasts into your window, letting you know it was okay to climb down and make your way up through his own. Clambering in, he would collapse down onto the floor in a heap, drawing his knees up around his chest and crying into their caps. You would spend the rest of the night on the floor, hugging him into your side and rocking him back and forth as you tried to will away some of his pain, waiting for the stinging to stop. Once he would finally look desperately up at you, and allow you to wipe away the remaining tears on his cheeks with the side of your thumbs, the two of you would sit side by side. Cross legged on the floor, you would tip out his colouring pencils and draw out scenes of how you imagined your future would be: somewhere where it never rained, a pet rabbit or fish, the two of you living together inside a giant library, or somewhere secret and hidden away like a tomb. He’d stash them under his pillow when it was finally time for you to go, and every night before he fell asleep he’d add to it. Another two stick figures, holding hands in front of a shimmering reed field, safe and content.

You were also there during all his birthdays!! Sitting round the Spector’s dining room tables with a tilted party hat on, holding up the cake for a crestfallen looking Marc as he tried his hardest to pretend to have a good time and blow out the candles. When you shoved a piece of cake right into his face though - the beaming smile he gave you as he scooped up some icing and retaliated was enough to even let his father breathe a sigh of relief, if only for a moment. Cue Mrs. Spector entering, and Marc running away with you right on his heels. When you finally manage to catch up with him, you manage to pull the present you had wrapped for him out of your pocket and shove it into his hands. Inside is a little locket clasped onto a gold chain, inside a drawing of the two of you in each empty space that you had done. He gives you a hug so tight you can feel the air rush out and the blood rise to your forehead, but it makes it all worth it to know that Marc has never taken that chain off over the years. Not even for a second. Not even when he left, and he was so heartbroken it felt cruel to wear a reminder of what his heart could have been around his neck.

Apart from his father, you made his childhood that little touch more bearable, which is why he wasn’t shocked to find his feet had led him to your door once he came back from the marines. That fateful night, just a few hours after he found out that his mother had passed away, when Marc Spector had no idea what to do. He felt terrible for walking out on you all those years ago, and yet his feet were so sure of themselves as they marched up onto your steps and rang the doorbell. He was ready to bolt when you opened it, standing there like a petrified little rabbit afraid it was about to be mauled when you peered out and saw wretched, tired, desolate Marc Spector standing in your doorway for once. So, you did the only thing you could think of. You pulled him tight into your arms, not noticing how he sobbed a wretched, soul-crushing moan as soon as your fingers touched his jacket. He just wept into your neck, clawing onto the curve of your back with tender talons as he promised over and over that he would never let go of you again.

Yep and now I’ve actually made myself cry way to go Cee.

You get whisked away a lot with Marc... or, well, more like Khonsu whisks you and Marc away to wherever he commands him to go a lot. But that doesn’t mean the two of you don’t take every opportunity - every second Marc deems the Universe has given him of borrowed time to enjoy his life basked in your honey-gold luminance. When he gets a moment away from the Egyptian God, he likes to take you out to see the cities you’ve flown off to. This usually means boat rides along canals and reedy rivers, where he tries to let his fears of ever hurting you go and just hold you tight in his arms. Or, walking through star-lit, bustling city markets late at night, stone-cobbled streets laden with sellers tempting you with a range of sweet-smelling goods. Although he’s still too tense to take the baseball cap away from his eyes, the grip he has on your hand lets you know that all he wants at that moment is to be in your company.

My man is BIG on arm worship. Like, idk, he just feels like his hands have done such horrible things during his grief-stricken life? Every time he looks down at them, he just sees them inked marked with splattered drops of blood, so he takes his mind off it for even a second by noticing every mark and crease on yours instead. It drives him crazy - kissing up your upper arms while tenderly holding out your hand in the cool breeze when you’re both back on the motel bed. The feeling of you wrapping them tight around his neck as his body hovers over your chest, feeling safe and cocooned and normal in the arms of the person he adores more than all of life.

I mean, sometimes it’s not easy dating Marc Spector - too often to count, you’ll wake up to find him stumbling back to your apartment at day break caked in dried blood, sweat, and mud flecks rising up to the moon. Even though his body is screaming with the pain of numerous joints popped out of place, he doesn’t care. He just wants to be in your embrace. So be ready for dirtied sheets as he collapses down onto your legs and buries his head into your thick thighs. He just sleepily apologises over and over as he takes his hand within yours and clasps it to his heart, before falling fast asleep. Sometimes, it both terrifies and exhilarates you to know how whole heartedly he trusts you - how willing he is to lay himself bare and be so vulnerable around you. That’s when you realise just how deep and true his love must be.

Marc is very, very protective of you. If he’s wearing his Moon Knight costume, man is lifting you up from the scene and just straight up Scooby Doo-style running away from the bad guys. Even when the two of you are linked arms, ambling round the streets of Illinois to find a decent coffee shop to sit at for the afternoon, at the first sign of trouble boi is tugging you behind his back and using his whole body to shield you. Sometimes this results in him pulling away, or not purposefully shutting you out. He’s just terrified of the idea that Khonsu could turn and make you his avatar instead at any second, and it would be all his fault. Whenever he feels that way, with shaking fingers he opens the locket again and wills away the tears blinking at the creases of his crumpled eyes, and then he knows it will be alright. Because, with all the tenderness bubbling up from his grief-bound heart, he knows he would do everything possible to never have to lose you. Even if it meant losing himself in the process. He would give himself up in a heartbeat.

So, he wraps his jacket around your shoulders in apology, tucking you into his warmth before guiding you back home with a fond smile. His strong biceps around your shoulders are dominated only by the snug smell that radiates off his clothes: whiskey, hints of coffee, and a dash of caramel.

He’s not a massive fan of PDA in public, just because any shows of affection or kindness seem unnatural and foreign to him. But bless his heart, he does try his best for you. Usually this just ends up him letting you hold your hands on top of his shaking ones, the tremors in his palm so massive that you keep having to stroke his fingers on your lap to get him to relax down and slow his breathing again.

He’s not someone who lies in, or sleeps heavily. But BRO if you let him lie down between your legs, so he’s tucked up between your thighs like a snug little bug he can sleep NO problem. Pls just stroke back those stubborn strands of hair that like to fall into curls around his forehead. He’ll cuddle down, letting his eyes shut in bliss as he rests his hands against your stomach, dropping off into a sound sleep in a millisecond flat. Be ready to stay like that all night, though. Because apart from feeling heavy, hairy legs land and tangle over your own around midnight, my man will not move an inch. His snores do tickle though, especially when he has some light stubble around his cheeks.

He’s biggggg on neck kisses. As we all know, he’s not the best at opening up and just spending time in your company massively talking. So, when the two of you are just chilling on the sofa at home after a long day, watching some terrible 80s action movie he picked, his love language to let you know just how much he’s glad you’re here is through kisses. He’ll rise up from where he’s slouched against your side, saddling up to you and grinning deviously. You don’t have any time to question it before his plump lips are open against the skin of your neck - soft and warm enough to make you whimper, but sucking enough to leave you breathless. He continues pressing those licking, trailing kisses up the tendons of your neck until he’s sure he’s got you a flustered, whining mess underneath him.

He tries to ask Steven for advice on how to be all romantic, especially when he comes home after disappearing for a few weeks in tow of Khonsu. He stands, straggled, at the door. In his hand is a valentine-eque card, full of bumpy lines and uneven colouring that he tried to make on the turbulent flight home. In the other hand is a bouquet of very squashed, very sat on looking wilted flowers - the only thing covering the apologetic grimace on his face.

He knows how it feels to be insecure, and to feel like you’re life isn’t worth anything. So, if for even a SECOND he sees you looking down, or disappointed, or upset about ANYTHING Marc notices straight away and does his best to distract you. He cups your cheek, raising your chin so you’re looking at him, and he’s sure you can see every move of his lips as he rambles out all the ways you’re perfection in his eyes. You’re so close though, you can feel his heart ramming against his chest, heart overflowing, gushing out of his mouth like tides on the Nile. Eventually, the look he gives you - that smouldering gaze of ash and rage and lust and fire is too overwhelming, you’re too irresistible to him, and the two of you end up collapsed in a heap on the floor making out.

He tries to be all sweet the next morning by bringing you breakfast in bed, but he ends up tripping over the sandbags Steven left by the window and spills the freshly squeezed orange juice all over your lap. *Cue Marc leading you to the shower and getting down on his knees so he can lather every inch of your skin from the feet up with loving hands and soapy suds to make sure he gets it all off.*

He gets quite shy, and sometimes standoffish if he gets caught doing anything too cutesy and lovey-dovey, though. He still has that flight or fight response in him, that need to keep quite and hidden and not do anything too brazen so he doesn’t get in trouble. So you try not to open your eyes at night and give away the fact he’s woken you up when you can feel his pointer finger trace up the side of your stomach, and up to your neck. His mouth is hanging slightly open in wonder, little ‘wows’ still spilling out of his mouth as he curls up against you and giggles like Steven at the disbelief that the dreams he used to spend every fitful childhood night dreaming about have actually come true.

Speaking of, he tacks up some of the drawings by the fish tank. You catch him some mornings sipping his mug of coffee and standing up looking at them, a proud smile on his face.

In comparison to Steven, I feel like Marc would rather drive himself than take public transport. Be ready for road trips where his hand is resting on your thigh, squeezing it from time to time as if to check you’re really still there. When you get out onto the long stretches of highway, he sticks his head out of the window like a car-sick puppy as he yells happily into the air, finally feeling free for once in his life.

And it’s all thanks to you.

#moon knight #moon knight imagine #marc spector #marc spector imagine #marc spector x reader #marvel #marc spector headcanons #marvel imagine #oscar isaac

210 notes · View notes

holsten-from-hasa · 1 year

Text

Valentine's Day gift for @justtrashperson as part of the @mcyt-valentines event!

A short Welsknight and Helsknight fic.

Through The Mirror

When you look into the mirror, it doesn't usually look back at you. Well, your reflection is there, but can you truly say your reflection looks back at you when it cannot even see? For the vast majority of people, the answer is no. Of course a reflection cannot look at you in the same way you look at it. That's just stupid.

And yet, one young knight would say the opposite.

Where his armour shines a brilliant, polished silver, glittering in the lantern light, the armour his reflection wears is dull and dented, the same grey as the ash in a fireplace. Red eyes filled with anger and hate burn holes into his soul, silent questions held within them.

"Is it worth it?"

"Don't you hate them?"

"Haven't you had enough?"

He struggles to meet his reflection's stare, but still feels it on him as he turns away. It's how its always been, a silent confrontation every time he looks in a mirror. Naturally, he has very few. Only one, to be precise. Tucked away in a corner, a gift from an older relative. Something he can't just throw away no matter how desperately he wants to.

So he just ignores it as best he can, covering it with a sheet as much as possible. Sometimes he still needs it, of course. His reflection still copies his motions, still mimics his appearance as best it can, like a puppet. Though he shudders when he calls it that.

Some days, the sheet falls off the mirror. No matter how well it's held in place, the sheet will fall off the mirror. That is just another fact of life. It just so happens that today is one such day, and it's just one more pebble on a pile of boulders.

He clutches his sword tight in one hand as he marches over to the mirror's corner. It's an empty corner, an arc around it completely devoid of decoration. Like the mirror would spread its curse to anything nearby.

He grabs the edge of the sheet in his free hand, a frustrated, grumbling sigh escaping him. "I wish you'd just leave me alone," he huffs to his reflection, its expression far softer than days before.

A sharp crack rings out in the otherwise silent room, the pristine surface of the mirror now looking like someone threw a rock at it. The cracks in the glass creep outwards, but the knight isn't paying attention, there are two, far more important things on his mind right now.

One: the initial impact is right above his reflection's heart, where his heart is.

Two: his reflection looks like it's laughing.

As the creeping cracks touch the surface of the mirror, the shards of silvery glass explode outwards, barely missing his head as they come to hover in mid air. His reflection, however, hasn't changed.

In fact, it looks even clearer now than ever before.

It steps through the now empty mirror's frame.

"Oh how nice it is to finally meet you," it says, voice dripping with sarcasm, bringing its sword up to point at his throat.

"What- Who- What are you?" He stumbles over his words, taking a step back from the sword point.

"Aw, how could you forget me? I'm your reflection, obviously." It matches his step, a sickening smile spreading across its face.

"Reflections can't threaten me with a sword." He pushes the sword away, readying his own.

"No, I suppose they can't." It lowers its sword, pondering the information. He lunges forward to push it back into the mirror, only to be easily knocked aside. "Oh? You want a fight? Well, it looks like you're already losing."

It chuckles, twirling its blade in its hand but making no attempt to take advantage of his vulnerable state.

"Who are you?" He asks, regaining his balance and stepping back into a more open part of the room.

"The Knight of Hels, much like how you are the Knight of Wels." It looks relaxed, confident. As if it is already sure of the outcome. "And being your reflection, I'm stuck with your awful name choices, so I'm sure you can guess my name, Welsknight."

"What do you want, Helsknight?" He steadies his breathing, waiting for Helsknight to make the first move.

"Isn't it obvious? I came out here with my sword drawn." It raises its sword. "I want your life!" It lunges, its dark steel sword clanging against the bright polished metal of Welsknight's own blade.

He pushes the blade back with a grunt. "You aren't getting it!" He swings forwards, a look a determination on his face. His blade cuts through the air, aiming for Helsknight's side.

It blocks the blade with ease. "You're already struggling. This is a fight you've been losing for a long, long time." As Welsknight stumbles, it knocks him to the ground, holding its sword to his throat.

"What- What are you talking about?" He gulps, staring up at the red eyes that burned into him for years upon years. The same silent questions rear up at the back of his mind.

"You already know the answer, don't you? Those doubts that creep at the corners of your mind." It presses its blade against his neck, a thin line of blood oozing out of the shallow cut. "The despair, hate, and fear clawing at you for all these years. You have so much of it, you know?"

"What.. Are.. You?" He chokes out, the blade slowly sinking deeper into his neck.

"Everything you fear you could be. Everything you've shoved aside, everything you've ignored. I am you, I have always been you. And you... You are terrified of me, aren't you?" It cackles, briefly taking its eyes off him.

He grits his teeth and takes a breath, it's shallow with the sword pressing at his throat. "Yes. Yes I am terrified of you." He meets the smug expression on Helsknight's face with one of cold determination, bringing a knee up and hitting it hard in the chest.

"But you are not me! You will never be me!" He holds a hand to his neck, it's going to be hard to explain the wound later. But for now he's got a fight to win. He tightens his grip on his sword, the two knights watching each other carefully.

"How do you expect to win a battle you've lost hundreds of times before?" It snarls, lunging forwards and jabbing its sword at his stomach. He knocks its blade aside, his own blade slamming into the armour protecting its chest.

"Like this!" He swings again, his blade locking with Helsknight's. The other knight is stronger, physically, his arms are already shaking from the effort. But he grins.

And kicks him back through the mirror.

"This isn't over!" It yells, the shattered, hovering glass swarming and swirling to slot back into place. He ducks under pieces that zoom past his head, diving to find their place in the frame again.

The surface of the mirror shimmers, looking more like a liquid than a solid, and falls still. It looks like it was never cracked or shattered before. He takes a deep breath, stepping up to look into it, expecting to see Helsknight beneath its surface.

Yet, the face that stares back at him is wholly his own. Blue eyes and bright armour, an expression of relief and exhaustion, a bleeding cut on the throat. It's him. For the first time in his life, the eyes he meets in the unmarked glass are undoubtedly his own.

He smiles, unable to stop the surprised, relieved laugh from escaping him. He turns from the mirror, grabbing the sheet he tossed aside when the glass first shattered. He pauses as he goes to place it over the mirror again and then steps back, draping the sheet over one arm.

"There's no need to cover you up anymore, is there?" He chuckles, heading to put the sheet away.

As he turns, his reflection flickers. A pale, dark knight staring out at him for just a moment, before disappearing once more.

#export.txt #echo's writing #welsknight #helsknight #hermitcraft

27 notes · View notes

fireemblems24 · 2 years

Text

DLC Ch 3

Onto the next part of the DLC.

EXPLORE

So . . . next time they sell a horse killer, I should probably get one, hunh. Because that usually means the Death Knight is back.

So who is the tallest? Dedue, Balthus, Raphael?

Oh God - no,nononono Balthus talking about shifting floors and doors and shit. I forsee some annoying gameplay.

LAMO, they're addressing that Dimitri knows Edelgard's hair color changed. He must think she doesn't remember him because he wasn't important enough, not weird experimentation.

STORY

I find it really funny that someone like Yuri would listen to someone like Aelfric.

Is this supposed to be one single day or is this them all going back over and over? It's got to be one day, or else Hubert and Dedue would've joined, no way they'd let Edelgard and Dimitri go do this without them.

OMG, Byleth can keep saying no, I won't help 🤣 Picking "We're busy. Very busy."

Ohhh it's Dimitri who sused out that Constance has an ulterior motive. And I thought he was supposed to be the dumb one.

LAMO Edelgard doesn't like her useless dad. Me too, Edelgard, me too. So Constance's house got booted because they didn't like when daddy dearest tried to steal all the power for himself?

So Constance has duel personalities, triggered by . . . the sun? Ok, Fire Emblem. Whatever you want. What a weird personality tick. No wonder she lives underground.

Dimitri's like, wow, she's worse than me with having identity issues.

BATTLE/POST BATTLE

Yuri did a crit against an armored knight, bless his heart.

Pretty straight-forward battle.

Balthus MVP. I really had no idea who would be, but that constant brave weapon is always soooo good.

We found a pretty cup!

Linhardt must be having a field day. Makes a lot of sense they picked him for the BE rep. Not only does it give you a healer, but he's Mr. Crests.

LAMO Claude's tweaking Edelgard. Not sure if he doesn't like her, or if he's flirting with her. Or both.

Edelgard is constantly annoyed by Claude though. I mean, I get it, but IDK, I don't think they'd make a good ship. Unless it was like, taking my enemy to bed sort of thing. Like they sleep together, and then try to stab each other.

Wereas Dimiclaude, is Claude teasing Dimitri and Dimitri either blushing like crazy or not getting it and being cute dense or saying something way too honest and sweet back and making Claude blush. IDK I've just always like Claude's two-faced ness getting stunned into silence by Dimitri's heart-on-sleeves act.

And then Edelgard x Dimitri - eh, I like them better as siblings - but if you want drama and angst, nothing is better than an AU where Edelgard remembers Dimitri and knows she'll have to kill him.

Hapi - If that doesn't work, I guess we're dead. LAMO. She's funny.

God, Ashe is just pure cinnamon roll, isn't he? Except for siding with Cornelia. He's like - we can't lead them back to Abyss or people will be in danger!

Byleth is getting way more personality infused options in the DLC. I wonder if they read the criticism? Anyways, I'm picking "there's nothing we can do." It's too funny to keep picking the "wrong" one. This Byleth is such a wimp. I headcannon that he's just wanting an excuse to get back to fishing and had no idea this would take so long, so all of this is just really an excuse.

LAMO, Yuri's mad at me.

#fire emblem #ashen wolves #fe3h #fire emblem three houses

31 notes · View notes

dragonologist-phd · 1 year

Text

Owlcatober 2022- #11. Sword

Owlcatober Prompt Time! Featuring my Through The Ashes character, Eden Everbright:

Eden takes up a blade and joins the fight.

Read on AO3

Real beauties, these are, the knight had said when he’d come by earlier that day to inspect the order. They’ll lop off more than their share of demon heads, I wager.

Eden remembers she’d smiled at the compliments, although they hardly surprised her. She’s known for years that her family makes the best weapons in the city. Smithing is in the Everbright blood- or rather, the Everbright stone, as her mother says. Eden is no exception.

That the city guard is finally acknowledging this quality of work merely makes the superiority of their craftsmanship official.

The knight had ended his visit by declaring the weapons more than satisfactory, and had told Eden to expect his squires to come by later that day to transport the order back to the castle. Eden had bid him a good day and then returned to her place at the anvil, her mind full of designs and improvements to be made for the next batch. She’d barely noticed the passage of time, and when she eventually heard commotion outside, she’d assumed it was the squires bumbling noisily through the shop in search of their shipment.

She was wrong.

Now, Eden fumbles through the streets of Kenabres, trying to find anywhere that hasn’t been subject to the demon’s destruction. Her hands are wrapped tightly around the very hilt of the sword the knight had once smiled at, a moment which now seems far in the distant past.

That knight should be here right now, Eden thinks bitterly. She’s no paladin, no hero. Her job is to make the weapons, not to use them; it always has been. But now she holds a blade, and it is slick with blood, and when she sees that knight again she can tell him firsthand that yes, her swords are excellent for chopping off demon heads, no matter how much of a panic the person holding that sword may be in.

A commotion to Eden’s right grabs her attention- a crashing sound, breaking wood, screams. She freezes, unsure for a moment of what to do. How much help could she be on her own? Should she keep fleeing forward, keep looking for shelter, for someone to send back?

The screams sound out again, and something inside of Eden hardens.

No. This may be the last place she has ever wanted to be, but she cannot leave anybody else behind. Her grip on the sword tightens, and she takes off through the wreckage towards the noise.

“Good work,” the tiefling says when he finds Eden in the ruins of the theater. He steps over the body of the cultist he’s just killed, and Eden can’t help but flinch. Killing demons is one thing; this, however necessary, is another.

But right now, guilt and grief are luxuries that nobody has time for. The tiefling speaks in hurried sentences, barely stopping to explain a thing, but there is one fact of which he is certain:

“The lives of everyone in this city depend on this report reaching Defender’s Heart.” He says the words gravely, leaving no doubt to his sincerity, his eyes narrowed on Eden as he studies her reaction.

“I’ll do whatever I can to help,” she says readily. Because this is her city, and knight or no, she cannot stand by and watch the demons and cultists destroy her home.

The tiefling tilts his head, motioning to the sword in her hands. “You know how to use that thing?”

“Yes,” Eden says, straightening her back and trying to look as though this is not her first day of ever shedding blood. Perhaps she succeeds, or perhaps her Oread stature is intimidating enough on its own, or perhaps the tiefling is just willing to accept whatever help he can get.

Whichever it is, the tiefling gives a curt nod. “Come with me, then. We’ve got a city to save.”

#whatever-tober 2022 #owlcatober 22 #very slowly going through the list lol #ch: eden #through the ashes #pwotr

7 notes · View notes

riverstardis · 1 year

Text

best served cold:

cal and ethan walking in with matilda🥺

lmao cal making ethan do rock paper scissors for which of them has to take her to the crèche and ethan’s like “she’s your daughter!”

alicia was late because she was helping connie carry something into her office and lily is not happy about it

connie was suggesting to alicia that she apply for the next sitting of the mcem exams

“all good?” “if by all good you mean has my daughter’s chance of catching any one of a dozen communicable diseases just risen by 200% then yes i’m good” sjskkfkf

lily’s still going on about alicia being late and tells her that a lot can happen in 8 minutes and she wants her to write a reflective review for her portfolio about what can happen in 8 minutes????

charlie goes “you could boil a kettle. in 8 minutes” and then goes to talk to lily

he’s trying to talk to her about what it means to be a mentor and she just starts listing dictionary definitions… ‘tism

the officer that shot jacob is not getting any disciplinary action surprise surprise

now lily’s telling alicia how being her mentor means she can’t always be kind…

connie’s reminding the doctors that alicia is trying to complete her portfolio so if there any ongoing treatments that would benefit an f2 they should help her complete a workplace based assessment

as they’re dispersing cal goes to alicia “sex with ethan” and she’s like “what?” and he goes “well charlie mentioned you wanted a list of things that could happen in 8 minutes” and she’s like 😮 and ethan just laughs and shakes his head and lily’s watching them very clearly jealous that alicia’s now joking around with her friends

it’s funny how alicia barely interacted with cal and ethan in her first stint but then when she comes back she immediately becomes a love interest. although i guess you could just say she took what cal said seriously sjskdkfk

lmaoo ethan’s trying to convince cal that germs are good for babies and he gets charlie to tell him too and cal’s just like “yeah you didn’t see the pestilence in the crèche” sjskdkf

charlie goes “i can’t believe i’m hearing this. cal knight under the thumb of a three month old snot bot by the name of matilda”

ah the two men fighting over the fish

dixie doesn’t want the fish in the ambulance shsjdjdk

alicia struggling with a shoulder reduction because she’s not strong enough for the technique lily wants her to do so she suggests showing her a technique that she used on her orthopaedic rotation. lily is against it and says she’s there to learn from her not the other way round but cal says he’d like to see it. she does it and it doesn’t work at first and lily starts to smile but then she manages it and lily says well done but gives her a dirty look

ash bullied lily when he was her mentor and now she’s passing that down to alicia i guess?

lily telling connie that alicia’s overconfident and she doesn’t think she’s ready for the mcem and connie says she respects her opinion and then they pass alicia and she asks connie if she’d had a chance to look at the dates and connie’s like “let’s not get ahead of ourselves” and alicia’s like “oh but i thought…” and looks so sad :(((((

lmaoo cal’s walking out with matilda and connie walks past and he says to matilda “you know one day you might want shoes like that. so you can stomp over men’s hearts and make them feel weak and stupid. or, you might just wanna ride ponies and live in a treehouse and be daddy’s little girl forever and ever and ever…” he’s getting attached :(((

#classic casualty #best served cold

2 notes · View notes

admiringlove · 3 years

Text

hurtful things

+synopsis: genshin boys and the hurtful things they said.

+genre: angst; headcanons.

+characters: kaeya; diluc; childe; zhongli.

+warnings: swearing; crying; implied panic attack.

+order: hey bubs! i saw you doing requests and i HAD to ask for genshin angst :) spare me some tears pls <//3 preferably w kaeya or diluc or childe :) [submitted by @crackheadsara]

+author’s note: okay so i included zhongli bc he’s the love of my life, also i needed comfort from him after writing such hurtful things :D

+navigation: main menu, genshin menu.

— KAEYA.

“i’m better off without you.”

you know from the way your door was knocked in the middle of the night on a weekday after months, that it’s kaeya. you rub your eyes sleepily, trudging towards the door as anger and doubt fuse into a nasty green in your mind.

you unlock the door, pulling it open to see the man with the eyepatch tapping his foot on the deck of your home impatiently. he smirks when his eye lands on you, attempting to walk in but stopping himself when he realizes you're standing at the door, unmoving.

"kaeya, it's three in the morning. and it's monday. i have to report to jean in three hours," you mumble tiredly as you look up at him. the lamp grass by your windowsill outside and the moonlit night accentuated his cerulean eyes and contrasting coffee-colored skin. he frowns, peering down at you as he asks, "may i come in?"

you shrug, opening the door wide as you let the man in. he places his sword on the table and proceeds to walk into the bedroom when you ask, "where have you been for the past two weeks?"

"work," his reply is the same. you let out a sigh in impatience as you retort, "that's the same excuse as always."

he was tired and wanted to sleep off the fatigue from his latest mission. but when he hears you say that, something in him snaps and he turns around, his jaw clenched and a fixed glare making you a little agitated. he raises an eyebrow as he says, "well, unlike you, i am an actual important member of the knights of favonius."

"kaeya, all i meant was that you're always gone. you never write a letter back even if i send you one, and you somehow manage to come back every single time, expecting that it doesn't hurt me. what am i supposed to do?" your voice is small as you look down, hair drooping towards the ground. you're not even yelling at him, you're just worried. he always leaves you alone(sometimes you tag along, but you couldn't tell why nowadays he'd leave you alone without some sort of warning).

"does it ever occur to you that you're just a hindrance?" he bites back, thinking that you're trying to put up a front. you flinch at his words, causing him to force a jeer before he starts again, "you always come along, so maybe i wanted to be away from you for a bit. that's why i leave without a warning so i don't have to tend to your yapping all day. because i'm better off without you."

you gasp as you look up to his figure, now retreating to your shared bedroom. you hear him fall onto the bed with a content sigh as you stand there, wiping at your tears incessantly as hiccups escape your lips. you bit your tongue to stop yourself from crying, pressing a hand on your mouth to muffle the sounds so you don't disturb kaeya. you get a quick peek in, eyes widening when you see him sound asleep and tucked in.

so that's how it was, you think.

the next morning, kaeya wakes up to a cold bed as his arm reaches out to an empty space. his eyes immediately pry open as he wakes up, to see that you weren't here.

ah, he ponders to himself, you must've gone to tend to your duties.

he stretches, letting out a yawn before walking out to the kitchen. he smiles when he sees a plate of food left for him on the countertop with a note from you. but somehow, something felt very wrong about this whole ordeal. this had happened before—he had come back from insanely long missions to you before, so what felt different?

and then it hits him. the things he said last night. he frantically looks around, his azure eyes completely drowned in horror as he notices small changes in your shared household. a few picture frames are missing on the living room walls, your keychain isn't on the bookshelf anymore, and worst of all, when he runs into the closet, half of your clothes are gone.

did you really feel that bad about what he said?

in panic, he runs out and keeps going till he reaches the headquarters of the knights. he barges in this time, not returning the greetings of the guards upfront as he walks into jean's office.

"where are they?" he pants, "i-i messed up, do you know where they are?"

jean's eyes widen as she says, "our associates were having a hard time handling with the fatui in liyue harbor so they volunteered to go there for sometime."

"how long has it been?"

"they left long ago, it's about to be around ten hours since," she says. kaeya's heart shatters as he hears those words. he hadn't expected you to outright leave like that, but if you had said the same things to him, he definitely would've stormed out. his voice cracks as he looks at the ground in shame, "h-how long until they'll be back?"

"i.. don't know."

he regrets everything he's said. he truly does because he doesn't even notice that tears are streaming down his cheeks until jean comes to his aid. he hates himself for all of it—he hates that he has to live in a home where traces of you are visible everywhere; worst of all, he hates how he knows he lost you for good. even if you come back, he knows you wouldn’t run and melt into his arms like you did before. you’re gone now, fading into the darkness and away from him.

maybe it was for the best.

— DILUC.

“you’re nothing but a burden.”

after taking on a few abyss mages and mitachurls, diluc lets a grunt out in pain before you see the slash on his right arm. you gasp, pulling him to the side of the lake as you pull out a bandage and cotton from your bag to clean his wounds. he's reluctant to it at first, but he sits there quietly and broods as you clean the blood with cotton and some type of healing ointment.

you tie the bandage on his arm, a tiny bit of vermillion liquid seeping through the white cloth before sitting down next to him, finally catching a breath. sighing, you look up at him and say, "that was reckless."

"no, what you did was reckless. who told you to come along with me to dadaupa gorge? you knew what you were getting into when you came along, so don't put this on me," he grumbled, frowning as you look at him with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. you are sort of hurt, but you know he's only saying this in faux indignation, so it's okay. you chuckle out, beginning, "diluc, i was-"

"i don't know why i even bother with you at this point," he exasperates, looking into the distance behind you. he curses slightly under his breath, his rouge eyes filled to the brim with anger as it finally overflows, "you're nothing but a burden."

your eyes suddenly flick to gape at him in disbelief. you stand up, your voice hitching in your throat as you ask, "diluc, you mean that?"

and it all simmers down into ashes when he mumbles "of course i do" under his breath. your vision is blurry as you walk away from the red-haired man, your body trembling as you almost give away that you're crying your eyes out. you walk back in the direction the two of you came from, leaving your broken heart in the hands of diluc, who sat by the lake not muttering a word after.

he knows he's said things he doesn't mean; he does that all the time, but you probably knew that. he figures you're leaving to catch a breath of fresh air—to be away from the tension-filled environment for a bit, you had a habit of doing that at home. he sighs as he ponders over his words for a bit. he knew it was wrong to display such harshness to you, but you probably knew he didn't mean anything by it. he always bubbled over rash things when he was frustrated.

the sun sets in front of him, painting hues of aubergine and peach as it flows down. he wonders where you are, getting up from his spot by the lake to venture towards the path you walked off.

only when he can't find you, is when he thinks that you might've actually taken offense to his words. although he cares about you sincerely, he finishes his mission first, getting a lead on the abyss order—because protecting monstadt was his first priority. you lingered in his mind every second of every day till he finally got back home. and when he didn't find you there, he asks adelinde about it, who only shakes her head and tells him, "i'm sorry, master diluc, but i haven't seen them come back. i thought they were with you."

it all pieces together in his mind now, how a small gasp had escaped your lips when he had called you a burden. the way you nodded begrudgingly, getting up and walking away from his presence as your shoulders trembled. the way he could hear you choke back a sob, but still ignored it, thinking you had overreacted in the situation.

he searches the whole city for you. he searches every nook and corner, and even walks into the headquarters of the knights of favonius(he ignores kaeya's teases instead of biting back this time). and when he finally sees you, he holds himself back. his hand is suspended awkwardly in the air as he reaches out for you, your back turned towards him.

maybe this was better—maybe it was a good thing that you had walked away from him. this way, the abyss order won't be able to harm you. this way, he won't be able to harm you. this way, you'll be safe and sound, away from the storm known as diluc ragnvindr.

— CHILDE.

“it’s not like you mean anything to me.”

it's not often you see childe. he's always in liyue, and you're here, stuck in monstadt or snezhnaya. it's cold today(as it always is) in snezhnaya, the snow covered almost everything outside as you looked out of your window, sipping on hot coffee as you sigh at the wilting roses on the sill. they'd wilted when you had gone to monstadt and you didn't have the heart to plant new ones.

just thinking about the blue-eyed childish man would make your heart bloom and cheeks flustered. you longed to spend more time with him, really. if only he wasn't affiliated with the fatui, he'd be able to spend more time with you. it had been months since you had seen him, and you longed to be in his arms once again, but who knows when that'll happen again? whenever he comes home, he chooses to spend a night with you and then head back. he'd laugh alongside you, tell you about his adventures, and give small reactions when you told him about yours. and the next morning, you'd wake up to an empty bed with a small note by the table, saying how he has to leave for work.

a knock at your door snaps you out of your entranced state. as you open the lock and look out, you see childe, standing there with a tired grin and disheveled hair as he walks in without a word. he hands you a small paper bag, saying, "i brought you back something from liyue this time."

the same excuse, you think. it's always the same. he brings back small mementos and souvenirs as a pretense for staying, and by the time you think you can forgive him, he's gone. he plops down onto the sofa, stretching his arm out so you could join him. the thought of confronting him crosses your mind, but you shake it off—since he had only just gotten back.

the night is the same as always. talking about each others' adventures, eating dinner by the fireplace, laughing alongside one another until you hit the bed. it's quiet now as you watch over his sleeping figure, his lapis-colored eyes now hidden. you sigh as you lay there for hours on end, twiddling with his brown hair as you wait for him to wake up(so this time you can actually say goodbye).

when his eyes flutter open, he's a little taken aback when he looks over at you to see you wide awake. his brows furrow just a smidge as he says, "you're up."

"well, i wanted to say goodbye this time," you chuckle dryly, "you always leave without waking me up."

"i don't like the way you said that," he says, getting up from his position on the bed. you look away from him, your eyes displaying hurt as you murmur, "i don't like the way you leave."

"well, it's my job. it's not like i'm an adventurer like you, wasting my time around. i'm a harbinger and i have responsibilities," he says. his voice is neither too soft and nor too prickly, and you can tell that he's a little worked up by the way he lightly nips on the skin of his bottom lip as his gaze bores into you.

"i didn't say you don't. all i said was that you could maybe sometimes stay for more than one night. it feels like you're using me, and when you're bored, you leave."

"oh?" he cocks an eyebrow as he stands up, "i'm using you, huh?"

you grimace at the tone of his voice, and when you look at him, you notice the sheer annoyance he puts up towards you. your voice is small when you ask him if he loves you—because you don't know anymore. seeing him once in a few months for the past few years has sure hurt you more than anything, and if you don't tell him now, then you might never get a chance.

"what if i say i don't?" he smirks, walking up to you, "it's not like you mean anything to me. what if i agree that i am using you to make myself happy until i'm bored, so i can then throw you away?"

he doesn't like what he's saying either. his mind is screaming at him to stop, but he's worked up. he's irritated by the way you jabbed at him first thing in the morning, even though he knows you're right. his heart almost stops when he looks at the expression on your face after he says those words, and as he reaches out his hand for you, you turn away.

your voice cracks, and he's sure his heart did as well when you mumble, "i-i'd like you to leave, please."

"wait, i didn't mean-"

"tartaglia," your eyes look into his, perhaps for the last time, as you give him a sad smile, "you don't have to come back to me anymore."

it hurts him as he leaves your home that morning. it hurts him when he comes back months later to see that your home is now empty. it hurts him because he tarnished the you that was once his.

it hurts him, but he thinks it's for the best if you stay away from him if all he does is bring you pain.

— ZHONGLI.

“i’d like you to leave me alone.”

zhongli was never one to pick fights. he was peaceful; his thoughts were positive(most of the time), and he almost always preferred to talk about his problem rather than fighting about it—he believes that fighting will only bring pain, so why not confide in one another about our problems instead?

he's quiet. he's not shy(it's quite the opposite, actually), but he's one to prefer to only talk when absolutely necessary. he's the type to listen rather than speak, saying something like, "we have two ears and one mouth. speak less than you listen."

he smiles when his mind goes back to the time when he said that to you while having a cup of tea together, and you'd replied, "my mother used to tell me that when i was a child."

because it's true; every child in liyue harbor has heard those words at least once in their lives. the quality of listening is appreciated more than the quality of speaking—and zhongli, for one, was a listener.

you, on the other hand, were a speaker. you always woke him up every morning with a smile as bright and everlasting as the sun, babbling about breakfast and tea as he got up from the bed. you were the one that carried conversations on your shoulders on morning walks, you were the one that intertwined your fingers with his as the two of you walked amongst flowers, adoring them as you talked about the contrasting colors of silk flowers and glaze lilies. he loved you for that. he loved you because you were a speaker. he loved you because you were a perfect balance, the only one who could soften his hardened heart. the only one whom he'd chosen to wake up next to in the mornings, the only one whom he'd let ruffle his hair without asking(because he secretly liked it).

so why had he reversed the roles tonight? why was he the one to bubble out his frustrations to you, speaking in a cold and stern manner instead of the loving tone that was only reserved for you? why was he the one to speak tonight, and why were you the one to listen?

it's not like he was actually frustrated—he was only thinking about something else as you asked him what he wanted for dinner. it surely wasn't your fault when he had poured over turbulent words to you. and he knows that the ones that hurt the most probably were, "i'd like you to leave me alone."

he looks up at the stars, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he walks back into his shared home with you. he looks around, and when there's no sign of you, he feels himself break apart even more.

had you actually left? he wants to run to you and tell you he hadn't meant any of those words because he hadn't. he wants to touch you, to caress you, to please you, to make you smile—and he wants to admit he was wrong. he wants to make it right, but he doesn't know where you are.

he walks into the empty bedroom, sitting on the cold mattress as his eyes sting. he doesn't understand what's happening, or why there are small drops of water falling from his eyes. he doesn't understand why everything feels heavy all of a sudden—his heart, his throat his lungs, everything. he doesn't understand why he feels like he's trapped in a box, and the water seems to be filling up more quickly than he'd prefer. he wants to reach for air, but he can't.

he couldn't breathe without you.

he hears the door close and immediately gets up in haste to walk to the living room where he sees you take off your boots. you turn around to see him, his disheveled hair and frantic eyes finally calming as he walks over to you and engulfs you in a warm embrace. his throat cleared up, and so did his heart and lungs as he mumbles against your ear, "i'm so sorry."

you smile smally, looking up at him as you cup his cheeks and wipe a stray tear, and mutter, "it's okay, zhongli. stress gets to the best of us."

god, how he loves you. he places a small peck on the top of your forehead as he feels his lips turn upward at your touch and the scent of glaze lilies lingering over you tells him that you'd been to the flower garden. he sleeps with your fingers weaved with his that night and pulls you even closer if you untangle with him in sleep.

he makes a promise to himself saying he'd never hurt you like that again, and he keeps it.

2K notes · View notes

foxilayde · 3 years

Text

I Yield [Duke Leto Atreides x Fem!Reader]

YOU DO NOT NEED TO KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT DUNE TO READ THIS STORY. IT IS SIMPLY A FEVER DREAM BROUGHT ON BY OSCAR ISACC IN THE MOON KNIGHT TRAINING VIDEO. Did you watch that video and think, “yes god please fucking destroy me”? Then this is the fic for you. Simply using Duke Leto as the canvas on which to project my whoredoms. Don’t @ me, Dune fans.

Summary: You spar with Duke Leto. Nastiness ensues. 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 9.2k (there is not enough plot to justify it being this long I do apologize)

Warnings: Fighting, mild degradation, explicit sexual acts performed by consenting adults.

Dedicated to: @propertyofabelmorales for saying “Imagine sparring with Leto”. And also to @paper-n-ashes who made me this beautiful moodboard. Look at the COLORS

And I made THIS very literal, blurry and not as cute, moodboard. So now you bitches get TWO moodboards.

But the real visual we want is....

[gif by @scimitar-and-longsword]

(also, I tagged a bunch of you heathens at the bottom. If you don’t wanna read it, feel free to ignore)

ENJOY!

You’re not sneaking around, even if it feels like it right now. That feeling when you’re in someone else’s home alone. Like you’re intruding. It’s been serval months now that you’ve lived at the palace, lived on this planet, for that matter, and it had yet to feel like home. Your decadent quarters had yet to feel like yours, the blankets of your large bed were still a ways off from becoming familiar. The solitude of the morning was the only thing that felt like your old life on Caladan. Preferring the early hours of the day to yourself. No companion or conversation… well, just one companion, one recent exception. But he wasn’t much conversation.

You would have put on shoes, but what’s the point to walk 3 measly corridors? You’d be there for twenty or thirty minutes, get what you needed, and then go right back to bed, to your strange sheets, to take care of yourself. Like every morning this week and every morning of the week before.

The heels of your bare feet make no sound on the granite floor. The halls of the Artreides palace are quiet and imposing, much like their owner. You don’t expect to run into anyone, and you don’t, same as it has been every day this week… and the week before… you could make the walk to the gymnasium in your sleep, but you are grateful for the seemingly endless line of flickering torches that light your way in the windowless fortress.

Your feet stop in front of the double doors, your heart pounds wildly with anticipation despite this being a familiar destination, a routine meeting. Opening the doors, you hear him before you see him. The pounding of feet against the mat is unmistakeable, and you know that when you look over to the sparring ring, he’s going to be there, twisting and shadow boxing, warming up.

The ceiling of the gymnasium is all glass, unlike the hallways, and it bursts with the beams of early dawn. The blend of orange and lavender light casts a dreamy glow on The Duke. He is precisely where you knew he would be. In the sparring ring in the corner of the gymnasium. You get here as early as you can, but he always seems to be here before you. Warming up. Not that he needs the advantage. In all your weeks of meeting him here, you’ve never bested him. You know exactly why you keep coming back, a shameful pleasure you will take to the fucking grave, but it’s a mystery still why someone as proficient at hand-to-hand as The Duke would want to keep sparring with you. His home is replete with combatants, and here he is, taking the economic advisor one-on-one before breakfast.

You know he sees you approach from across the hall; clocked you the moment you came in through the doors on the other side, probably… but he never stops his movements. Heavens, he’s graceful. His movements are less like a series of attacks and more like the most complicated dance you’ve ever seen. It’s dreamy and almost peaceful to watch him from afar demonstrate his moves, like the feather-tulled dancers back on Caladan. A symphony should be playing something to accompany his twists, a hard staccato of cello to punctuate the landing of his fists and feet. He lands and impressive spin in the air, and it’s so damn stylistic you think he might be showing off if you didn’t know The Duke so well and how his humility was a much a part of him as the mess of grey curls pulled back into a bun on his head.

You do a dance of your own, the dance of routine as you bend down to pick up his grey towel that sits besides his shoes and coat. You enter the sparring ring and toss the towel to the glistening man. His is not out of breath, he looks awake and invigorated. He catches the towel and you wait for him to verbally address you first. Habits of decorum die hard.

When he speaks his voice is steady without a hint of exhaustion, “Counselor.” And the greeting is so formal that its an insult to the very fact in mere minutes you will be pinned down by his body, surrendering.

You bow your head “Your Highness. Getting started without me again?”

He glances about the floor running the towel across his brow and around to the back of neck. “Yes, but fear not, I was simply brushing off the excess. There is plenty fight in me left for you, my dear.” Leto tosses the towel back to you and winks at you, fucking winks at you before turning around to jog and bounce to the center of the mat, shaking his hands out.

Any words that might have been in your mouth seem to turn to lead and drop straight between your legs. Surely he didn’t intend for that to sound as… suggestive as it did. But the wink? Don’t read into this, he probably had sweat in his eyes. Heavens, get yourself together. Just take your beating and go.

His bounds lengthen and he begins to circle the perimeter, time has proven this is your cue to follow. You fall into step, using the circle of the mat as a reference- you keep yourself diametrically opposed to The Duke, matching his pace. In his thin, tight black sparring clothes you can see his lithe muscles extend and contract beneath the slightly damp fabric. He is bent at the waist slightly, every action, every twitch of his finger and stride of his step is accomplished with complete intention. Despite being at the other end of the mat, he is effectively posed to strike. They say the Atreides features are angular like a hawk of war, and although that is true of his face and his calculating mind, his body is a predatory cat stalking along the perimeter.

The stakes aren’t high, here he won’t actually hurt you. But it’s like your body can’t understand that. It reacts on instinct to the manticorian movements of The Duke. You’re heart picks up speed, your breathing gets a little shallower, and your palms start to sweat; as if you were being stalked by a lion with the eyes of a hawk. You wonder what he sees looking across the mat at you. Probably the head of a vole on body of a fawn.

“This is always your first mistake, counselor.” He even purrs like a giant cat. You don’t know if the sound is to warn you off or draw you in because your body wants to lunge at him and run away at the same time.

“What is?”

He shakes his head infinitesimally, “your presentation. Your body language speaks volumes, my dear.”

“What about it?” The burst of self-consciousness only makes your palms sweat worse and you remember reading back at university that humans sweat from fear to make themselves more slippery to their predators. You wonder as well if that’s why you’re getting slick between your legs as well. But thats for a different reason entirely. Okay, not entirely. The two are related.

“Frightened, guarded, defensive, even before the first strike. And despite the fact you always strike first.”

“I do not.”

“You do. Because you can not bear the anticipation. You dive in too early before the table is set and you crack your teeth biting on air. Learn to luxuriate in the tension before the strike. See if you can wait for me to strike first. This will always lead to your advantage. The first strike says much about your opponent and their instincts. The method of blow, the direction of attack, the withdraw or engagement; read their body- the first strike is going to be everything that is their complete advantage. Then, you strip those advantages.”

You continue to circle. You must have walked quarter a mile around this loop by now, just staring at him. And he’s right, the silence, the tension, it’s palpable, so much so you’d do anything to stop it, including lunge at him. He’s right. So you try the suggestion. You continue to circle and you wait. Ignoring the burning desire to strike first.

“Get acquainted with the tension. Embrace it, the more comfortable you are with the initial dance, the more clarity you will have when it matters.” Oh you’re well fucking acquainted with tension alright.

“Your highness, with all respect, do you think an opponent, a real opponent, would hesitate to strike me?”

“If they are a worthy opponent, they will. And it is not hesitation as much as it is calculation. Fools rush in, the wise man waits.”

“Am I a fool?”

“That remains to be seen, my dear.”

And before you can say ‘What?’, he ducks low, propping himself to one hand and with a graceful spin, befitting a ballet, he kicks your legs from under you. Your move, by contrast, is supremely oafish, you land on your front with an oof, the only action you had time to complete was to brace your arms out to prevent yourself from hitting your face on the mat. Heaven’s that was quick! He is on top of you, knee in the small of your back, your arms pinioned uncomfortably behind you. He tugs up on your arms drawing them more painfully backward, causing your neck to arch upward.

“Yield.” He commands, tugging just a little more, you emit a moan at the pressure before conceding.

“I yield.”

He releases your arms immediately and you slump to the floor momentarily before propping yourself up. The Duke is already back to his pacing.

“What did you learn?”

“That wether I make the first strike or not, you’re much faster than I.” Your bones pop as you rise to follow him in stride. How is he so good at this?He’s so much older than you…

“What else?”

“You’re much stronger as well”

“I thank you for the praises, but that’s not what I was referring to. What did you learn about your opponent? What did I say earlier?”

“You aimed low, struck fast, targeted my left, your right.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your advantage is in the legs, and you’re right dominant.”

“Very good. Now, if I am a fresh opponent, it doesn’t matter that you lost the first, you have something valuable. You know my strengths and I know nothing of yours.”

“How can I use that information?”

“If my strength is my legs, then what is one way to distract a man’s legs?”

“Uh?”

“We went over this last week, you don’t remember?” No you most certainly don’t remember. You give him an off-guard look, wide eyed. Is it really your fault that sometimes he looks and sounds so good saying something that you don’t even remember what knowledge he was trying to impart to you? The Duke shakes his head almost, affectionately? “You keep his legs moving and keep your legs moving. You’ll need to keep an unanticipated trajectory for him to follow.”

Okay, you sort of remember him telling you that. And it makes sense. You would have figured it out eventually. He seems to forgive your ineptitude when it comes to fighting strategy. You have your strengths in numbers and calculations, in solid projections. Not here where the lithe movements he is trying to teach you every morning is downright art. And lets face it, it’s not like you’re here with the express intention of learning.

You pivot on your heel and turn, changing the pace from counter to clockwise, forcing him to do the same.

“Very good, counselor. But it’ll take more than that.”

You copy his movements you’ve seen in previous fights, bouncing from one leg to the other, maintaining the opposition, and you pray you don’t look as ridiculous as you feel.

“That will make it much harder indeed to strike your legs. Unfortunately-“ quick as lightning once more, The Duke grabs your right arm, which was loose and exposed with your stupid bouncing movements. He pulls you to him and pushes you to bend by your scapula. Hooking his thigh over your tricep, he brings you fully down, front first, and twists your arm behind you. He’s practically sitting on your shoulder, with your upper arm between his legs and you hand bent painfully back.

“aaagh!” The wind is knocked out of you and he’s pinned you in such an uncomfortable fucking position, you don’t even know how he dreamed this one up, how he was able to see every move play out in his head that took you both from upright to here, but he did it faster than you could blink.

“You forget so easily our lesson yesterday, counselor.” He twists your hand back a bit further. “Hands up, at your eyes, remember?”

“Yeild, uuughhh! I yield!” The Duke releases you immediately and bounces up in one fluid movement as if him flipping you like a pancake took no effort on his part whatsoever.

“You may yield, counselor, but you do not learn.”

“I am trying.”

“I have trained children who pay better attention than you. Whatever the distraction, release it.”

“I will try.” Impossible.

“Strike me.”

You see no way this can come out to your advantage, the best you can do is subvert what he knows of your strengths, so you go in with a left hook to his side where he is exposed, when your fist collides with his obliques his left arm girds around the back of your neck, he pulls you down with him and rolls you both till you are flat on your back and he is straddling your abdomen. Your hands fly to push him off of you but he catches them both and pins them above your head. The action brings his face so close to yours.

“Perhaps, counselor, perhaps you do not come here with the intention of getting better. Perhaps you come here with the intention of getting my best.”

He’s right. He’s so right. You know he’s right, he know’s he’s right, the fucking wetness between your legs is proof that he’s right. The smug grin on his face says he knows, he knows you’re not here to learn to spar. You’re here to take his beating, get thrown, get dominated and go back to bed a horny mess. You’re here to get your ass handed to you and to get pinned, just like this. Which isn’t a proper pin, by the way. He’d realistically get no points for this position, if you were being picky. But oh… heavens. You can feel him pressing against your belly button. His face only inches from yours, the grip on your hands is barely a grip at all, the way his thumb rubs into your palm.

“Yield” he speaks the word right into your breathing mouth. He’s so close to your face, close enough to kiss if you just raised your head a little. You think about doing it, about yielding to him, and the words are on the tip of your tongue, but he doesn’t really have you. You can get out of this.

“No.”

This is not what he’s expecting. You always yield. Practically moan and beg for it. And this time it is you who surprises him. Your heels push into the ground and you perform the roll he taught you last week, granted that was in a much different position, and when you come out of this particular roll, you are straddling him. You’ve got his left hand pinned over his head and he’s got yours wrapped around your back. The only thing to prop you up is your knees, but those are clamped tightly around his thighs to prevent him from taking the same roll action back onto you…. So you’re laying on him, just… completely on top of him. Your nervousness betrays you, you falter in the grip on his hand, and he takes the opening to bring his left arm to join his other behind your back. Once they’re both pinned, he rolls you over.

Your arms are pinned behind your back now, and fuck it’s uncomfortable, the weight of both your bodies is crushing your wrists. Yet more noticeably than that… the twisting of your hips to escape your hands finds his hardness pressed right against your core. The thinness of your sparring clothes (and your lack of undergarments) leaves nothing to the imagination and the more desperate you are to leave this position, the more you’re practically humping up into him. The attempt to hook your leg around and twist into a roll does nothing but push his hips deeper into you. This is a proper fucking pin. He’s got you. His hands still grasping yours under your back, and his face so damn close to yours, you can feel his thick beard tickle your chin.

“I’ll ask you once more, counselor, Yield.” His voice is gritty with the strain of pushing into you and oh fuck this feels so close to sex, and he fucking looks like sex, his messy hair coming out of his bun, falling and thinly curtaining his smoldering eyes, the sheen and smell of sweat on him, not to mention the hardness puuuushing into your damn crotch. if it weren’t for the thin layers of fabric between you, you would be fucking.

“I will not.” You jerk your arms to no avail, but he’s so much stronger than you and struggling against his hands is only going to hurt you. The only option is to use your legs which are relatively unencumbered. The only real problem with them is that they’re practically jello and virtually useless at doing anything except opening yourself even wider to The Duke.

“Then try to break free.” What a cheeky fucker. You’re quite obviously struggling.

“I am” you grunt. You attempt to use your other leg pressing your heel into the mat between his knees, but it’s the same result, every attempt to move just sinks him deeper into you you, like a finger trap. He griiiinds his hips into you and, heavens, you can fucking feel the head of his cock on your fucking clit. You moan.

“You’re not trying to break free, you’re trying to feel me inside you, darling.” Good heavens, you knew, it and he knew it, but there’s something different about just coming out and saying it.

“It’s why you come to see me every morning. You wish to start your day off with your blood boiling. I believe you think you conceal it well, but it’s quite obvious. The way you don’t fight back. How loudly you moan when I pull your limbs for pinion. Oh little one, I have wanted to give you a reason to moan.”

Is this real, or is this a feverish explosion of all your fantasies of Duke Leto? Are you really here with him, pinned under his perfect muscular body? Or are you in your bedchambers having the greatest hallucination of all time? It certainly feels real. And the smell of him! He smells like spice and sweat and you’re certain you could never imagine that smell up by yourself. It’s too damn mouthwatering. And his words. You’ve never imagined him talking like this. And his words are so perfect, you find you have none of your own: all you can do is moan some more because it just feels so good and you’ve wanted this, or something like this, this for so long now, even before the sparring sessions. And the sensation is so satisfying that there’s hardly room to feel embarrassed about the Duke having known of your intentions all along.

“Yield.” He presses not only his hips, but his torso into you now, the command is spoken into your ear and the only thing you can move, besides your feet and knees, is your neck, instinctually you move strain to get his mouth away from your ear because it’s so damn much and you struggle out of the trap like a mouse with her tail in a lion’s claws, but the exposure causes his head to rest in the crook of your strained neck. He rocks his hips into you harshly and his lips, his fucking warm lips are on your neck and he bites it lightly. You moan and there’s no mistaking the expression of your sound for discomfort, there’s no misinterpreting it for a desire to escape. It’s a pleasureful sound and you can fucking feel the shit eating grin of Leto’s against your clavicle.

“I won’t.” You don’t know what possesses you to say it. Except for the pitiful, picayune thought that if you yield, he’ll release you. And heavens, despite the pressure on your wrists and your compromising position, you don’t want to be released.

He bucks into your hips once more, and you’re not sure how- how on Arrakis he’s able to grind deeper than he has already, but you’re sweating so much now, not just with the physical strain, but with how fucking commanding, strong, and competent he is.

“Yield,” he bites into your clavicle and you moan once more, the sound fills up the grand hall of the gymnasium. People will be up any moment, morning exercises are sure to start very shortly, but you don’t care in the least. You couldn’t leave now if you wanted to, your wetness, you are certain, must be prominently visible through the thin sparring leggings. The point of no return was somewhere back before the first roll and you know this match isn’t going to end with a handshake and a bow.

You plant your heels into the mat on either side of his hips and you push up. Heaven’s he’s so fucking big and hard all over, but especially where you are the softest. You aren’t attempting to break free anymore, you’re attempting to get closer. Your hips rock rhythmically instead of desperately and you moan his name, into the void of the glass ceiling above you, calling upon the heavens.

“Leto!”

His hips pick up their pace and he is unabashedly just dry humping you now, but it’s more than that, that isn’t strong enough of a word, he’s dry fucking you, if that can be a thing. And shit, it feels too good. His teeth on your neck have given way to his lips and he’s sucking the side of it, meeting your rocking hips with his own. His grinding cock is hitting your clit juuuust fucking right, you haven’t felt this needy in a long time and the only thing you want is more. More than what you can get with your hands pinioned behind you. You need to put your hands on him.

“I yield! Leto, I yield!” You practically beg into the ether.

His lips and hips cease their triturations, he unleashes your wrists and bends back onto his knees and rests his ass on his feet as quickly as any of his sparring moves. His right hand reposes on your calf and he looks intense. Before he can speak, you’re up and straddling his kneeling form, your hands threading through his unkempt grey curls, the ones that aren’t long enough to join the rest at the top of his head. You squish your lips onto his surprised mouth, taking his soft bottom lip between yours. His hands find your rear and he gives it a good smack, causing you to grind once more into him. His right hand roves up to your scalp and he forms a fistful of it, pulling your hair, he breaks the kiss.

“You want this, my dear?”

“I should think that was obvious, my lord.” You expound your point by grinding your hips on his, trying to achieve the same friction you’d become accustomed to. The roots of your hair are being pulled taught in his tight grasp. His expression shifts from questioning to commanding. In a split moment he is transfigured into the leading, ruling, commandeering man you know from repute. Without warning, he pulls your hair until you’re bending backwards, he leans into you and you find yourself in a very similar position to the one you were just in. You on your back and him on top, pushing the sweet friction into you. Except your hands are not behind your back this time, he’s got your wrists trapped in his left hand above your head. So much for needing to touch him.

He shifts his hips back an inch and with his right hand, he rubs your clothed cunt. Heavens, you are fucking soaked right through, . And with a little grab at the seam… he riiiips a fucking hole right in the crotch of your sparring leggings. Your eyes go wide. He can’t have just… did he just..? “Leto, did y-“

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” His expression is explicitly serious.

You say nothing, completely transfixed by his eyes and you wonder if this is what a fawn sees before the Mountain Lion eats her. He plays with your messy juices and you can hear how turned on you are. He hums in approval and shoves two fingers in without much preamble and curls them up in rhythmic succession like he knows exactly where your favorite spot is. Your eyeballs roll back into your head and you “ah” in appreciation.

“Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck.”

“Do you like that, counselor?” He knows you fucking like it. The slippery sounds of his fingers working your cunt are shouting to the whole gymnasium that you ‘like’ it.

“oh yes, yes, your highness!” you blurt out his title as a reflex, you’re accustomed to saying it under much different conditions, obviously, but the second its out of your mouth you can see the way he grits his teeth harder and the movement of his hand picks up speed. He ‘likes’ that, doesn’t he? His highness’ hair is disheveled, fly-aways falling into his eyes, tight grey ringlets, wet with perspiration, he’s getting that work out in now, pushing those beautiful fingers deep into your guts, his cheeks are turning a little pink, and the sweat pooling in the dips of his neck looks so delicious. You’ve often thought how handsome he looked in his usual black suit with his perfect posture and how beautiful his hands look on the other end of the silver cuffs, or even in his damn stillsuit, framing his form exquisitely, but like this; he looks downright virile and wild in such casual attire: forearms exposed- the veins in his arms are prominent and somehow delicate in contrast with the tension of his muscles as he finger fucks you and holds your hands above your head. There’s no reason for him to hold them there, you think. You’re not going anywhere and you certainly wouldn’t use your free hands to stop him from doing anything he wishes to do to you. He could do anything to you, you think. You already let him tear your fucking pants open. But oh heavens you couldn’t fault him for wanting it right then, refusing to wait another moment, because you’re aware these past few weeks have been torturous: the longest fucking foreplay known to man. Pin and yield, pin and yield, pin and yield.

Anyone could come in at any moment and you can not be bothered to care. Heaven’s how are you going to get back to your room with your pants like this? But it’s so hard to think about anything, so hard to care about anything when his fingers drive so expertly inside you. You’re practically sobbing at how fucking relentless his fingers are on your g-spot. He’s playing you like a fiddle and the notes are your prolonged moans and the rhythm is the staccato of his lubricated intrusions. His eyes are on yours, occasionally breaking contact to look down at the actions of his right hand. But mostly he’s right here with you, waiting for the moment your eyes roll back. Oh heavens, let them all come in here and witness this formidable sight, the whole kingdom of Arrakis should know what a ferocious man their Duke is, add this to his accolades and pin it to his chest with a little badge. You’d happily accept your demotion from advisor to concubine as long as it is at the pleasure of The Duke.

“Look at you counselor, falling to pieces. Is this what you’ve wanted from me? To be pinned down with your pleasure at my mercy?” There is just no escaping him, fucking you roughly with his hand into the mat- his pliant little pet.

“Yes, your highness.”

“And which is it you like better? To torture yourself or to torture your Duke?”

Your eyes are watering slightly and his blurry head cocks to the side.

“I… oh, fuck, I didn’t - didn’t, I’m- your highness.” You’re trying to answer with something but all that comes out after is successions of whines.

“You knew what you were doing to me, darling. Letting me best you. Letting me dig my knees into you. Making my cock hard for you. Don’t deny it now, you’re getting what you want, be good for me and admit it.”

“Torture myself.”

“Yes thats right, you leave here every morning, after getting pinned in rapid succession, not even trying to put up a fight. Flushed, breathing heavily, staring at me with shameful eyes. Naughty girl…. Say it. Say you’re a naughty girl.” He makes the filthiest phrases seems fucking decadent and regal.

“I’m—- uhh uuuhghgh fuck-im a naughty girl fuck”

His eyes glint with satisfaction and you wish, heavens, you wish he’d release your hands so you could put them over your face and hide from his wicked gaze, just for a moment.

“Tell me little one, where do you go every morning when you leave your Duke hard and wanting? What do you do, hmm?”

“To—- to my chambers… mmmmm.. touch-touch myself.”

“Do you cum to thoughts of me?”

“Yes.”

“What am I doing to you in your pretty little fantasies when you cum?” His voice, fuck, it’s so proper and so dirty and it’s just making you so damn hot to hear him say ‘cum’ with his royal mouth.

“I… ooooh fuck, mmmmm” You can’t fucking speak, does he really expect to get a full sentence out of you right now?

He pulls his fingers out of you abruptly, you begin to whine in protest until you register the deadly expression he wears. His hand comes up and cradles your chin in his palm, his fingers are so warm and wet and the wetness- your wetness, is being smeared across your cheek.

“Try again, little one. Tell me what you think about me doing to you when you touch yourself.”

“I-… lots of things, think about lots of things, your highness.” Heaven’s you sound wrecked. You’re not trying to be petulant, there are so many things the Duke of your imagination has been subjected to, that you can’t pick just one at will.

“Oh?” He glances down at your lips and he squeezes your cheeks in his palm to plump them out, he closes his eyes briefly to press a kiss to them. “mmmm” he lets go of your cheeks and smooths away your sweaty hair with his slick stained fingers and runs his thumb over your bottom lip, pushing it a bit inside, past your quivering lips. “If you don’t tell me, little one, I shall have to improvise.”

You nod your head dumbly.

“Little one,” you’re closing your eyes and sucking on his thumb so gently it elicits a gruff moan from him. “You want me to take control, don’t you? Let your Duke to with you as he pleases, hmm?”

You moan in the affirmative, sucking a bit harder on his thumb, if you had your hands free you’d wrap them around his torso, but all you have is your legs, so you clench your thighs around his hips, tilting your pelvis upward, begging for more friction. He sinks his clothed hardness against you, even less material between you than before with your ripped leggings and, heaven’s you are soaking his pants now, he’s harder than ever and you wish, you fucking wish you could reach down and tear his clothes the way he tore yours and get him inside of you with his sinfully hot cock.

His left hand, for the first time in what feels like forever, leaves your pinned wrists above your head and with your newfound freedom, you immediately grab his face and press your lips desperately to his. You’re kissing him embarrassingly passionately, licking into his mouth as you push your hips up into his erection. Your hands tangle in the mess of curls behind his head as you attempt to fucking devour him. He indulges you for a few moments before breaking the kiss. He leans his nose next to yours and commands you, with a bemused growl, “roll me, darling.”

But he feels so good just like this, on top of you, you don’t want to change positions.

“Use your legs, just like I taught you, little one” He puts up no struggle, so it’s easy to press your heel between his thighs onto the mat and with little effort, you’re straddling him. And as it turns out, this was a great idea. Because you can slide your damp pussy on his thick restricted cock. The beautiful Duke is beneath you, laid out, and he looks so gorgeous and flushed like this. You wish you were both nude, in your chambers, just like this, the way you’ve pictured it countless times, bringing yourself to climax.

The Duke’s hands grip the sides of your hips and guide them back and forth on his hardness. You fold onto him, burying your face in his neck and licking the delicious sheen of sweat you had been admiring earlier. He tastes so perfect, just the way he smells, spice and sweat.

“Very good, darling. Keep going. You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you, precious thing? Going to cum just by rubbing yourself on me.”

Fuck, he’s so right, he must be able to tell by how fucking wrecked you look and the way your lips tremble and your hips stutter against him, galloping towards your release. Your bare clit is rubbing deliciously on the clearly defined head of his cock through his pants and, heavens, yes you are close.

“Yes, your highness.” You’re breathing heavily out of your nose, fisting your hands into the material of his shirt and kissing messily into his neck. For the time being, you’re grateful for the reprieve of his avian stare, you’re sure your face looks a mess with passion. You let Leto guide your hips back and forth back and forth, back and forth on his impossible hardness. You feel the heat in you that’s been dying to break free, the flames of it sparking at the base of your spine and combusting in your belly. Your knees are weak and give out, sinking your core helplessly onto his lap, allowing him to take full control and force your cunt to move faster along his length. He’s squeezing your ass tighter with every ministration. You’re practically boneless at this point and you can feel the walls of your cunt contract on nothing, instinctively trying to drag him into you.

“That’s right, little one. Doing so well. A much better cocktease than a fighter, aren’t you?” He laughs and kisses the side of your scalp.

You nod and whimper into the crook of his neck, the coil of your release twisting so fucking tight, he could say anything in this moment and you’d agree with him.

“You’re going to make yourself cum on me, and then I’m going to lick your messy little slit clean, understood darling?”

That fucking did it. That pushed you over the edge. Heat shoots up your spine, liquefying your god damn brain. The molten liquid pops like a fucking burst balloon that waterfalls inside you from your head to your gut to your fingers to your toes and you go totally rigid and then completely boneless on top of the Duke. Your moans sound so whiny and you suddenly feel uncomfortably sticky with perspiration in your sparring shirt.

You realize your fists have bunched in his shirt so harshly, he’ll probably never be able to get the wrinkles out of it. You can feel him try to guide you up, but you’re not helping at all, riding out the lingering effects from cumming on him. Your pussy is still on his erection and you can feel the individual pulses of both your sex, each throb rustling a tiny ebbing wave of pleasure from you. You don’t want to leave this most heavenly fucking position. The one that made your fantasy a reality.

“Up darling. You did so well,” he places a kiss to the top of your head and pats your bottom, “and now you’re going climb up and sit on your Duke’s face so I can taste what I’ve done to you.”

And here you were lying exhausted, didn’t think you could ever move, but his command had you scrambling to get up to his face to take a seat. No wonder he was the Duke the Emperor chose to lead the Fremen. You’d follow Leto’s instructions at great peril to your safety you’re pretty sure, not that he’d ever lead you to peril. Heaven, maybe. He might rip the fucking crotch out of your pants in the process, but he’d get you there.

You hadn’t taken the pants off yet. No real need to when he’d made every important part so accessible, and he made no move to tell you to remove them, so they stayed on as you crouched down to tentatively sit on his face.

The Duke snaked his thick forearms around the back of the juncture of your still-clothed hips and thighs and curled them to his face so fucking tightly, there didn’t seem to be a single bit of your body weight that was not resting fully on the dukes’ bearded mouth. And, heaven’s, the beard. Yes, you fantasized about what it would feel like between your legs, but you didn’t imagine, didn’t clock him for the type to let you sit on its surprising softness, didn’t figure with all the knees in your back these past two weeks, that his command would be for you to sit on his gorgeous face. He wasted no time in opening up his warm, wet mouth, licking you open. You were fucking messy. You could feel it as well as hear it. The sounds. The fucking wet slick slurping sounds alone were enough to push you to the edge again. Not to mention the heat, the fucking delicious molten dexterity of his mouth… this was another reason you knew you couldn’t be dreaming. The duke was competent in the bedroom, you knew that without ever having had him… but you didn’t imagine it extended to an action like this, something so servicing. And looking into his burning eyes between your thighs, you want to apologize for not realizing how utterly devastating he has proven to be in all manner of things physical and how dare you for a even a moment think him incapable of demolishing your shit with every tool he possesses. Find their strength and strip them of it. You’re not even sure what your strength is in this dynamic, but he’s certainly taken any bit of it you have. You’re no longer struggling against any kind of trap or pin, you’ve been above him for most of the time now, but his capability proves just that. He doesn’t need to pin you to own you. He does it from any position, he does it with a look, he does it with his words, he owns you because he was fucking born to.

He’s moaning into your cunt, as if you needed more stimulation, more of a reason to cum on his face. You’re rocking back and forth on the flicking of his hot strong tongue and your clit is hitting his beautiful nose juuuust right. You think for half a second ‘what if he can’t breathe?’ But the rapid flicking of his tongue on your bud is a good fucking argument that he’s just fine, don’t fucking worry about it. He’s thrown you so many times, if he couldn’t breathe, you know he wouldn’t hesitate to lift you off him. Shit, if he was uncomfortable at all, he had a the capacity to flip you into any position imaginable.

You’re pinching your nipples through the fabric of your shirt, you would take the sweat soaked garment off, but you’re still holding onto the idea that someone could come in at any moment, and you’d like to be able to maintain some decency. Because you riding the Duke of Arrakis’ face in the middle of the gymnasium was wholly decent… sure. Even the damn ceiling is all glass, giving the violet heavens a perfect view of your ecstasy.

His arms haven’t moved from their position, curled under and over your thighs, pulling you down on him despite the fact that at this point, you’re grinding into his head with everything you’ve got, total abandon, you’re so fucking close and he doesn’t need to push you closer unless he’s got a secret desire for you to break his jaw on your undulating cunt. The vibrations his moans are making into your pussy are feral: he is feasting on you like a a werewolf on a maiden, this proper man’s decorum is nowhere to be found- devouring you like he has no control over how wild the taste of your cunt makes him feel. If his moans were words, they’d say I’m going to drink you dry and drain you for good.

Your hips get more desperate the closer you get to the edge and when he suddenly stops flicking his tongue and sucks your clit between his lips harshly, your hips push his beautiful head deep into the mat below cumming hard into his mouth. It is calamitous, and thank heavens no one is around to hear how despairingly you cry as he laps you up throughout the shocks. Although, if anyone did hear, they’d just have further proof of The Duke’s accomplishments inside and out of the theatre of negotiation and war.

Once you’ve ridden out the last of your pleasure, you move to rise from the Duke’s face. But you can’t. He’s got you pinned. Exactly where he wants you.

“Leto, please.” You tap his hands, the hands that are digging into the legging-clad, pillowy flesh of your limp thighs. You weakly attempt to push his biceps, to lift your own legs. Anything to stop the competent tongue ravishing your folds. But it’s useless. You know from experience how much stronger Leto is than you. And you know from experience he never backs down. The only acknowledgement he gives your struggle is a simple “nuh-uh” hummed into your core.

And you can tell in the hungry way way he looks at you, that mischievous glint in his eyes, and the way his fingers caress the material of your torn leggings while his thick forearms remain viced around your thighs, you’re not going to be getting up for quite a while. He has you exactly where he wants you. You don’t try to get out of it either. You can guess what he wants. He wants to lick you, just as he expressed in his moans, til theres nothing left, until he douses every last bit of heat from your sex and drinks you dry.

And he does. He fucking does. And you can’t get out of it, no matter how hard you try, and to be honest you’re not trying that hard. How foolish you were to think just because you were atop him that you had some modicum of control. You are completely at his capable mercy. He’s trying to drink you up, but you’re a bottomless treat and there is a real possibility he may never be satisfied. Your mess, you’re sure, must be drenching the Duke’s beard and the thought of it sends you over rapidly- you cum again, staring into his determined eyes, gripping his loose curls, imagining how his chin must look right now beneath you, drenched in your essence. This is just… the greatest way to reach your peak that has ever existed. And the fact that he wasn’t letting you go is helping you to let go. Taking away that option, that negotiation you do in public at council meetings, there is no arbitration here. He’s not asking for counsel, he is ruling and generous.

You shake and whimper above him, he his so lovely, so giving, so handsome.

“Your face, my Duke, is the true throne of Arrakis.”.

You want to fall over to collapse on him, to kiss and thank his tactful mouth. But you can’t, not with your legs pinned like this, so you settle for rubbing his scalp as he licks your fresh wetness from your dripping hole. His nose is pressed to your mound- it muffles the sound of his heavy breathing, hot and monstrous. He hums in amused agreement. You can tell by the way his eyes crinkle he appreciated the comment. “The best view in all the galaxy from here” you smooth your thumb over the curls at his temple. “Let me return the favor, your highness.” You attempt to negotiate, and it’s not just a ploy to let him release you. He’s satisfied you plenty. Exceeded all expectations. It’s rightfully his turn. Leto apparently doesn’t think so, he’s not done with you, his fingers flex on your thigh, and he hums in the negative, turning his tongue's attention to your clit once more. It’s achingly sensitive and akin to torture. Pure fucking blissful torture. You let out a little yelp and whine. He’s not playing fair, so neither will you. You don’t know how he’ll react when you reach behind you and grab his hard-on through his soaked pants, giving his thick length a firm squeeze… but, and you don’t know how (the man must have abs of steel) he performs a sit up, with you still attached to his face and you barely have a moment to register you’re sailing backward until your back slams into the mat and the Duke is above you once more.

The Duke’s mouth has left your pussy for the first time in what feels like an hour. He’s above you again, not pinning you, but you’re caged in by his arms an make no attempt to move. Especially with the way he’s staring at you, like if you tried to leave he’d drag you- clawing at the mat, by the ankle. And heavens’ his beard. It’s… dripping with your mess. The chin of his beard is clustered together with your viscous pleasure and it looks like the fur of a lion’s mane, clumped with blood after devouring a kill. He pushes his clothed cock back to your sensitive center and emphasizes his words with the grating of his hips into yours.

“Wicked little girl. She says she wants it the way I want to give it to her. I’m kind to her, I make her cum again and again…” he purses his lips and shakes his head, “and yet she tries to take matters into her own little hands. What am I to do with you, darling?”

“Please, your highness. It was becoming too much for me.”

He quirks an eyebrow and his wet grin is downright wolfish. “If you thought my tongue was ‘too much’ you really shouldn’t have reached for my cock.”

You whimper at the insinuation. You haven’s seen his cock yet, but you did feel it, and just like the man above you- it unequivocally left an impression…. Is leaving an impression, right now, pushing into you you once more. Trying to leave it’s permanent impression in your folds so no other cock will ever fit right.

He pins your wrists with his hands on either side of your face and he leans to your ear, syrupy beard brushing your cheek.

“Is that what you want, little one? You want my cock?”

And you barely eek out an “yes your highn-“ when the gymnasium doors open and three council members enter, in recreation clothes, making their way to the weights across the hall. Both of your heads whip to the side to watch them enter and then turn back towards each other. The Duke is smiling! He actually looks like he’s on the verge of laughter. Which you suppose is rich of him considering you’re the one in the real compromising situation with your pants ripped and exposing your frankly soaked sex. Thankfully the way his hips are pressed to yours is coving up your ravished state. The council members don’t appear to be paying attention to you, but you know they can see you. They’re not far away, they’re close enough that you can hear what they’re talking about (which methods of reps per weight is best for building lats).

Your eyes are begging him for direction. Scared and embarrassed. You wish it were him with the ripped pants, its not like the council members would dare say a thing to him if his cock was out. Even if he walked straight up to them and started talking about the weather. They’d salute him and only speak when spoken to. And they wouldn’t dare chance a glance at it.

With you, however. Oh boy, not only are you only a junior economic advisor, you’re brand fucking new to this position, to this planet. This will be the thing that you’re remembered for. All future nicknames will be based around this. It’ll be the implied story when you’re introduced, And here is our junior economic advisor (you know, the one I was telling you about earlier, with the pants). Word would even travel to Caladan, so it’s not like you could even ask for a transfer.

It’s not as if you can stay in this position until they leave, though. That would be absolutely draw attention at some point, and they’d certainly pay attention the longer you both just stayed still like this. What the hell are you going to do?

The Duke chuckles quietly, “your face, counselor. Fear not. I’ve got you.”

And just as easily as he took you down, he lifts you up, cradling your back, your front never parting from his, your legs wrapped around his waist. Heaven’s he is strong. He did that so gracefully. The Duke marches towards the doors casually, as if you weigh nothing at all, he leaves behind his coat and shoes on the floor by the mat without a glance towards them. your arms are wrapped around his neck and you are just staring at him in unabashed awe. He he gives you a small smile and a wink.

On your way to the exit, you pass by the group, who seem to be registering your presence for the first time because one of them nearly breaks his toe, dropping the barbell and rushing to stand up to bow.

The Duke nods at his counselors once and without breaking stride, addresses them, “It appears I may have been too rough in the ring with our newest advisor.”

You nod sheepishly at their confused faces. It is an odd way to be carrying an injured person, without a doubt, but it’s so much better than the way they’d be staring at you if he wasn’t carrying you like this. You wonder if they can tell his beard is covered in your juices… but it’s not like they’re looking at either of you too carefully. A lifetime of growing up in a royal house will ingrain decorum… for some, apparently.

“Have someone bring my things to my chambers,” he tosses over his shoulder before the gym door closes behind him.

You stare in awe at the door. How did the morning get so surreal? And out of the brightness of the gymnasium, into the dim hallway, you turn to look at the Duke. He is staring right at you. Eyes half opened with a little smirk on his lovely mouth. You shake your head slightly in disbelief and he carries you in complete silence, the three corridors to your chambers.

It’s still so quiet in the halls and the gentle bounce of his strides as he carries you easily in his arms rocks you so calmly, you almost feel like a child. You’re mesmerized by his soft stare and you don’t break eye contact for the whole silent journey.

He stops outside your door and you’re so hypnotized by his eyes you don’t realize your journey is ended until you’re standing still for a while and you follow the flick of his gaze to your doorknob and back to your eyes. He tilts his head and you suddenly understand the silent request. You take one hand from behind his neck and turn the knob to your quarters, cracking the door. He opens it fully with your back and once inside, kicks it softly closed behind him.

He doesn’t need to, at this point, carry you any further. You can walk, the injury was a pretense. But he does. He carries you across the room to your bed and it’s only now that you realize he knew where your quarters were without asking which makes you smile and lick your lips involuntarily.

He braces one knee on the bed to lay you down gently onto the pillows and blankets which felt so strange this morning.

He takes your hand in his, “See, darling. No need to fear. I will always take care of you.”

“Always? Your highness?”

“Always, dearest.”

“Would you take care of me now, my lord?”

He smiles widely and kisses the back of your hand. “With pleasure, my lady.”

He strips you lovingly of your ruined clothes and strips himself second. He climbs over you lithely. Every move intentional. Never breaking eye contact. The soft firelight of your windowless chamber is perfect; tender and warm as his eyes, as his kiss on your mouth, the orange flicker cast on his skin is as gentle and alleviating as the way he enters you. He smoothes your hair with his palms, flexing and praising above you. His collisions are luscious and molten. He lasts longer than you expect, and by the time he’s shaking and falling into you, the sheets feel like home.

END

tagging @roanniom @blackberries45 @aerolanya @brandyllyn @writefightandflightclub @veuliee2 @picklesgoose @supernovafeather @tlcwrites @revolution-starter @mylifeisactuallyamess @witchyavenger @michaelperry @mariesackler @millllenniawrites @ntlmundy @nerdomendes @rnlaing @poedameronloverx @waatermelon-sugaar @starrdvstkenobi @nowritingonthewall @isvvc-pvscvl @writing-in-april @kesskirata @pumpkin-stars @youvebeenlivingfictional @woakiees

#Duke Leto Atreides #Duke Leto Atreides x you #Duke Leto Atreides x Reader #Oscar Isaac #Duke Leto x you #Duke Leto x reader #Leto Atreides x you #Leto Atreides x reader

1K notes · View notes

glowingbadger · 3 years

Note

First “I love you” with Dima, Claude, Ashe, Sylvain, Yuri, and Felix pls? 🥰🥰🥰

Awwww cute cute cute~

FE3H Love Confessions x GN Reader

SFW ~ fluff ~

Dimitri: He's not able to withstand holding in his feelings for very long. The moment he realizes that he's fallen for you (likely needing to be prodded by Ingrid and Sylvain to fully understand it himself), he finds he's completely unable to compose himself around you. He stammers and blushes his way through the most mundane interactions. Finally, it all comes rushing out of him one day. He's been so strange lately that you make a point to visit him in his quarters to privately sort out whatever's going on. But the more you question him, the more he attempts to draw inward, until finally he blurts out, "It's- it's because I am in love with you-" he says it with a look of desperation in his eye, "I'm sorry, I simply cannot bear to keep it from you any longer." Of course, it's so like him to see his own feelings for you as something that would cause you distress- has this foolish man even considered that you could feel every bit as strongly about him? When you tell him as much, he's speechless, and pulls you close with his arms so tight around you that you struggle to breathe.

Claude: He's definitely the type to initiate a bit of a flirtation, perhaps even courting you for some time before busting out the "L word." Claude is open and flippant about signs of affection; he'll unabashedly flatter you about everything- the shine in your eyes, your adorable laugh, dimples, freckles- anything and everything unique about you. Still, he takes so long to make any sort of serious statement of his feelings that you may start to wonder if this whole... thing that you have going on is a mere diversion for him. But Claude knows the moment he realizes he's well and truly fallen for you that he needs to tell you in a way that will make the truth of his intentions clear- no jokes, no cool lines, only the rare and honest truth. To that end, one night he invites you on a stroll around the grounds surrounding the Monastery, eventually leading you to a hill where you can see the sunset to the West- but he turns you to face Eastward beside him, "As soon as we're able, I was hoping... well, that you'd come to Almyra with me," he turns to you and brings one of your hands to his lips, "I love you, Y/N. I want you to see more of where I come from."

Ashe: Ashe knew he was in love with you VERY early on. What caused it to really hit him and take root in his mind though, was a moment when he happened to be re-reading an old knight's tale, and suddenly, the romance between the lead characters feels completely different. Grand gestures and self-sacrifice for the other's sake don't feel nearly as fantastical or exaggerated as they had when he was young. Now, they feel... entirely understandable. He could see himself easily giving any and everything to keep you safe, going to any grandiose lengths to ensure your happiness. But Ashe holds onto this feeling for some time, careful not to ever pressure or overwhelm you- until he eventually finds that same book once more and lends it to you, saying he hopes you like it as much as he did, and to be sure to let him know your thoughts. And once you do read through the tale, you reach the passage where the brave Knight performs a bold soliloquy declaring his love for his fair maiden- but what catches your eye here is a note in Ashe's familiar handwriting: I've struggled to find the words to tell you my feelings for so long, but then I realized that this tale illustrates how dearly I care for you more than anything I could think of. I love you, Y/N, and I swear to protect and cherish you for all of my life.

Sylvain: He doesn't realize his own feelings for quite some time. You'd gotten close to him as friends gradually over time, convincing yourself that you were guarding your heart as carefully as one should around such a notorious flirt. And yet, the mutual attraction and affection grow underneath the surface, despite you both. For a time, he's always by your side, even turning down invitations to tea or dancing in town in favor of spending time with you. Then, he very suddenly starts to grow distant- he spends less and less time with you, and eventually seems to be actively avoiding you in favor of other 'pleasurable company.' You put on a brave face for a little while, but eventually, his cold behavior is too conspicuous to ignore. Surprisingly, you find him alone at the training grounds. The moment he sees you though, he puts on a careful smile and assures you he was just finishing up. As he passes you, you grab onto his sleeve and bluntly ask him why he's acting this way. Naturally, he tries to deflect at first, but things quickly escalate until you've raised you voice, demanding to know what's going on, until he finally faces you and says, "I'm in love with you, okay?? And I'm only going to end up hurting you- so just let me do what's best for you and leave you alone!"

Yuri: Falling for you is something that surprises him more than anything, and causes him to have to rethink a lot about how he'd pictured the rest of his life. The whole of the Abyss seems brighter when you're around, and he comes up with excuses to keep you near time and time again. He's of course every bit as flirty with you as he is with anyone else. In fact, he's careful to make sure that's the case. He won't risk his feelings getting out of hand, or letting slip any information outside of his control. But it becomes harder and harder every day to keep what he feels for you inside, and it's the smallest things that hint at his true feelings- the unusual softness in his voice when he speaks to you, how he goes out of his way to seek out opportunities to touch you. And then, one night he comes back to his quarters quite late from a "meeting"- and the sight of you waiting there for him, clearly worried and relieved to see him back safe- it's too much for his heart to contain. He leans close and places a feather-light kiss to your lips, then murmurs, "I love you, Y/N. I'll always make it home if you're here to welcome me."

Felix: Oh this poor boy. It's going to take something dramatic to get him to confess, and it's likely he doesn't even realize how he feels for you until he hears himself say it. If anything, he's irritated by the way his heart lurches when he sees you, the way his mind strays towards you the moment he fails to keep himself busy. It's an infuriating distraction, and his impulse is to stifle it as much as possible. But then, you're injured or sick one day, and something in him just snaps. He demands to be let into the infirmary to check on you, and he's by your side in an instant. He's so obvious that everyone else clearly knows how he feels for you already, and when it's clear your condition is by no means life threatening, he's left to watch over you alone for a time. Felix wears his concern plainly on his face as he scolds you for not being more careful and not taking care of yourself. That night, as you drift to sleep on your cot, you distantly hear him say, "I won't let anything happen to you ever again. I... I love you... I need you to be okay..."

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #feh #fire emblem x reader #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #claude von reigen #ashe ubert #sylvain jose gautier #yuri leclerc #felix hugo fraldarius #x reader #fire emblem fluff #fire emblem imagines #fire emblem headcanons

654 notes · View notes

dear-yandere · 3 years

Text

smolder.

yandere! diluc ragnvindr x reader. scenario, inspired by an interaction ask. disclaimer: this is not a healthy relationship.

art belongs to ぐみ (pixiv).

he can make fire dance.

it dances and sings and destroys all around him, its flames and smoke not once marring his cleanly jacket. he is untouched, unperturbed by the heat he ceaselessly dresses the air with, the scent of grapes and ash sewn into his being. his hair is the same color as death, you like to think; and it’s only when his back is turned that you feel safe. as if death hasn’t come to claim you yet. as if death is the one thing keeping you alive.

and it scares you more than anything else.

his sword whips to his side, splaying droplets of hilichurl blood on everything but him. you’re far enough away, where the dirtiness of battle does not reach, and you’re watching with unease and awe. the scene from before—a group of unseemly hilichurls descending upon the mondstadt gates, seems like a long-distant memory, a harmless nightmare more than anything else. diluc had wasted no time leaping into battle before your own weapon was even drawn, leaving you to watch the battle end within seconds of it starting at all.

the hilichurls hadn’t stood a chance.

“master diluc...” you pipe up, your throat as dry as the heated air. embers disperse around him as he scans the area one last time, daring another wave to appear from thin air—and...nothing, just as it should be.

“thank you for the...help,” you say and look around at the stark absence of enemies on city grounds, to which the gentleman pays you no mind quite yet. but you know he’s listening, as he always does whenever you speak, and you decide now is as good a time as ever to broach the topic that’s been on your mind for days now.

“i'm grateful that you're watching out for me, but you don't have to protect me. i had that wave under control.” you muster, your voice betraying you with how small it came out. you hardly sound convincing, and that’s precisely what you don’t need right now. “i'm fine on my own, really.” you add that last bit for good measure, afraid he’ll take it the wrong way otherwise.

...intoxicating.

the way he looks at you right then is as intoxicating as wine, and the words feel heavy on your lips. and within moments, a sense of shame washes from your head to your toes like a tidal wave, because the twitch that ghosts over his face isn’t natural. it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking because despite the confusion and turmoil in his stomach, it never shows on his face.

…you wonder, what made him forget how to feel?

the sword in his hands dematerializes, and he finally turns his attention toward you, doing a quick scan of your body to ensure that last fight left you unscathed. when his gaze settles on your face, his expression is thick like smog. and you realize, you don’t know the answer. you don’t know what made him forget how to feel; you don’t know anything about him.

the pit in your stomach expands.

“although i appreciate the gesture, there’s no need for gratitude.” he exhales through his nose, and you try to ignore the guilty pang in your stomach. “though,” he says in a lighter tone, mindlessly adjusting his collar when he picks up on your discomfort. “i suppose i never explained myself. it’s only natural that you’re apprehensive.” he states, eyes flickering to the slight tremble of your legs, a result of having spoken your mind after weeks of staying quiet.

his heart twists.

he’s always been aware that you’re not keen of his overprotective behavior; but, he’d keep telling himself that you require his care and oversight. he’d keep telling himself that you need him in your life, by your side—and the pretty world he’d craft in his head will start to fracture. and, as it currently stands, you’ve hardly had a chance to properly defend yourself in battle, as he always finds a means to step in and ‘help’ you... which always results in your standing back and him handling the rest.

he realizes he’s stripped you of your ability to make decisions for yourself. and now, he’s keenly aware of the scent of fire that still dances through the air, a reminder that he’s overstepped his bounds yet again. a reminder that he’s grown attached, yet again. a reminder that with love comes hurt, yet again.

he shouldn’t have helped.

“you’re due an explanation, but i’m not sure i...” he trails off, the words not quite reaching his lips. because he’s not sure about what? he recalls that, as an adventurer, you’ve far surpassed his expectations in terms of both offense and defense. you’ve no trouble holding your own against hilichurls, and, despite his contempt for the knights of favonius, you’ve the title of ‘honorary knight’. in all regards, you’re perfectly capable of fending for yourself.

and yet, his stomach flips the moment he sees you under attack. there’s clearly no need for worry, considering you’re quick to dispatch of any foe that stumbles your way, and yet.... and yet...

“...i can’t tell you. not right now.” he exhales through his nose, dissatisfied with his own answer. you’re several feet away—always careful to keep an appropriate distance—and he still feels your muscles tense at the lackluster response. “not now, but soon. you have my word.”

“i... i see. i suppose that’s alright...” your apprehension drops, for now, but you’re still wary of him.

that expression of uncertainty is enough to form a pit in his very core, but he doesn’t let his mask slip, having already overstepped his boundaries enough. he’ll have to take measures to rectify his reputation in your eyes—a job he takes as seriously as anything else on his plate. he’s already lost someone dear to him, so please...he has to fix this.

please, by all the archons, he can’t lose you too.

#yandere diluc #yandere diluc x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #diluc x reader #diluc #*scenarios

1K notes · View notes

manunelle · 3 years

Text

{Ikerev} How many kids would they have? {Headcanon}

I’m kind of creating this post to organize my thoughts, because I want to write more about this in another post where I’ll write about how they are with their children and how I imagine their personalities. Please be aware that I imagine a different MC for each suitor, so the kids exist in the same universe lol

🖤 Black Army 🖤

Ray Blackwell

One boy.

He was adopted by Ray and MC at age of 3. His father was one of Ray’s soldier who unfortunately passed away in duty. Since he had no mother or relatives that could take care of them, MC and Ray took him in.

He prefers MC over Ray, but admires his dad very much!

Sirius Oswald

oh boy

This man and MC had 5 children! :)

I kind of enjoy the thought of Sirius retiring because he wants to spend as much time as he can with his family.

They have three girls and two boys. The order goes like this: Girl ---> Twins (boy and girl) ---> Boy ---> Girl.

Would name his kids after flowers.

The kids get along very well! They are really protective of each other and of their parents.

Luka Clemence

One boy as well.

His kid is really sweet! He’s really friendly and everybody loves him at school.

Is kind of a younger brother to Jonah’s girls.

Talking about Jonah, he’s the best uncle ever. Always brings gifts and gives advices about anything that is troubling the boy.

He’s doesn’t have a favorite parent. He’s close to both!

Fenrir Gospeed

Had two kids, a son and a daughterl.

The firstborn is the boy, and the girl is six years younger.

To his and MC’s surprise, the boy is a magic user! They discovered it when MC was bathing her baby when suddenly he started floating and giggling around. Imagine Fenrir and MC screaming and jumping around, trying to reach their son, who is having the time of his life.

The girl is not a magic user, so she causes less trouble than her brother. She’s friends with Ray’s son.

Seth Hyde

One girl.

She has Seth’s hair and MC’s eyes, and likes to dress cute clothes and to play with her teddy bear.

She’s reeeeaaaally shy. :<

She probably prefers Seth over MC, but she doesn’t make it obvious. Of course, she likes her mother very much as well. But Seth’s hugs are something else. :>

❤️ Red Army ❤️

Lancelot Kingsley

The next King of Hearts is a girl!

She looks mostly like Lancelot, but her hair shape resembles MC’s.

She’s really carismatic and smart, which means that she can hold a conversation with an adult without difficulties.

She’s a friendly and curious little girl, always asking about how and why things work the way they do.

As a magic user, she’s really interested in Harr’s work and gets along well with his daughter.

Loves her dad! She looks up to him a lot and is not embarassed of asking him for advices and hugs.

Jonah Clemence

Our queen has two daughters.

They are only 2 years apart, so they get along very well with each other.

Honestly, they have Jonah completely wrapped around their little fingers. This man would go to the fucking moon if they wanted something from there.

Despite being spoiled rotten, the girls are really gentle and caring with those around them. thank u so much mc

Because the younger sister is shyer, Jonah teaches his firstborn from a young age that she should always be nice and take care of her younger sister.

They love baking! Imagine the MC and her two daughter baking cookies on the kitchen to present the man of their lives later. ;A; so cute

Edgar Bright

Edgar has one girl and one boy.

Due to her fragile health, his daughter, the firstborn, won’t be able to become the next Jack of Hearts. She always smiles and says that it doesn’t bother her, but she gets self concious when hearing adults commenting about it. She also feels bad for passing the burden of being the heir to her younger brother.

The boy is calm and serious, which is kind of weird bc his face looks way too much with MC’s. He’s really protective of his parents and his sister. Loves animals, just like his dad! He’s smart and strong, but is really aloof. MC and Edgar are always worried about him bc he doesn’t seem to want friends.

The girl is bffs with Lancelot’s daughter and Kyle’s son.

Zero

One daughter!

She has MC’s hair and his eyes. She’s really pretty!

She’s friendly and is always smiling. Since she’s younger than the other kids of the Red Army (Kyle’s second son is actually the youngest, but he is still a baby lol), they kind of treat her as a young sister, always hugging and patting her head.

She’s really curious around everything. Actually, her personality resembles Lancelot’s daughter’s a lot.

Loves watching her father training with the soldiers! At the end of every session, she goes running towards him demanding hugs.

Kyle Ash

Two boys. They have an age gap of 12 years.

His firstborn had a really fragile health as a child, to the point of having to take constant shots and Kyle having to perform different treatments on his child. Seeing their child suffer was really difficult for Kyle and MC, and at some point they even thought that he wouldn’t survive childhood. However, aroung age 8, the signs of this disease started decreasing and he got better.

Kyle is still worried about his son, so he always keeps a close watch on him to see if those symptons will come back someday.

Because they were always busy taking care of their older son, MC and Kyle decided to not have other children. So it was a big surprise when they discovered MC’s second pregnancy.

Surprisingly, their second son has no health problems. As a baby, he’s really serious and likes to nap a lot.

Both boys look a lot like Kyle. The older one looks the most, while the younger has MC’s eyes.

Mousse Atlas

Has one son.

The boy is a MC’s appearence copy with Mousse’s personalit copy.

Just like his dad, loves napping.

Naps everywhere.

Everywhere.

Once, when dusting some shelves, Luka found him sleeping in the Black Army’s library.

How in the hell did this kid get here?

He always goes missing. Like, at one moment he’s standing right next do MC and in the next second he disappears. Dude???

Actually, he’s a magic user, which explains him disappearing all the time and reaching things that are in a place way higher than him. However, he doesn’t tell it to his parent until he’s sixteen bc he’s afraid of disappointing them (bc he heard from some idiot that magic users are way too dangerous).

💚 Neutral 💚

Harr Silver

He has one daughter.

She has his hair and MC’s eyes.

Since she’s a magic user, she and Harr are always excitingly talking about magic books and researchs. He also teaches her about spells and skills unrelated to magic, such as cooking and fishing.

She’s really shy, and because kids used to bully her at school and adults ignored the situation, she has a really hard time socializing with people that are not her family.

Loves cats! As a toddler, Loki gave her a cat plushie and she is really attached to it.

Gets along with Sirius’s oldest daughter and Lancelot’s, but I’ll talk more about this in another post.

Likes to sleep with her parents. It’s hard to get up in the morning bc she is pratically glued to the one she is hugging.

Loki Genetta

One son. He’s the youngest among the 17 suitors (bc Loki is fucking 19 years old in canon universe, duh).

The boy is always stealing MC’s attention, always glaring at Loki. Loki glares back because he’s a man-child.

Actually, they get along very well when the issue is not MC, and the boy trusts Loki a lot, sharing secrets and asking for help when in need of assistance.

His looks and personality are a carbon copy of Loki’s.

Always follows Ray’s son and Fenrir’s daughter around.

Oliver Knight

One daughter, and Oliver loves her so much!

She looks a lot like MC, both in looks and personality.

Being a bit naive, she’s always getting in trouble. Thank god her friends are always ready to rescue her! Is bffs with Sirius’s second daughter.

Boys love her. Girls too. As a teenager, she’s always having to turn down confessions. She tries to be gentle, but some people are just too bold for her to deal with. That’s when Sirius’s daughter and son (the twins!) enter and deal with whoever is bothering her.

She kind of has a crush on Sirius’s oldest son, but is too embarassed to admit.

Oliver knows, but doesn’t want her to know that he knows. It’s kind of tough to hide, bc when the boy shows up at his house he’s always fumming with jealousy.

Blanc Lapin

Mister Blanc has one son.

He’s calm and smart.

Loves tea parties! Dad’s carrot cake is the best.

Loves his mom. Loves his dad. Loves his friends.

He’s a sunshine. Everybody loves him.

Dean Tweedle

Has only one daughter.

Her looks and personality are a perfect mix of her parents’.

Sleeps only if her dad reads to her. Otherwise, she stays the whole night staring at ceiling with a bored expression.

Is really smart and responsable. She’s the perfect “senpai” at school.

Is bffs with Sirius’ oldest daughter.

She and Dalim’s son look really alike, so people are always mistaking them as siblings. Dalim and Dean always get annoyed at this.

Dalim Tweedle/Dum

Has one son.

Just like Dean’s daughter, his looks are a mix of his parent’s, but his personality is a bit different. Despite being really curious, he’s really quiet and hesitant of asking questions aloud.

Is a magic user.

Sees Dean’s daughter as a big sister. Is always attached to her hand when they meet and follows her around like a shadow.

Probably prefers his mom over Dalim.

131 notes · View notes

midnightlee25 · 3 years

Text

The arrogant prince and his prisoner (yandere prince oikawa x royal reader)

Weddings

A day of love and laughter

The day where two hearts are connected for eternity

You've dreamed of this day for as long as you could remember

Sadly, the one you are marrying today is not someone you want to stay in the same room with let alone for eternity

Prince oikawa wanted your hand in marred so he got it

He always gets everything he wants

You've heard of him before you ever even meet him

The great oikawa ruler of the aoba johsai

His kingdom was as mighty as he was arrogant

As well as big as his ego

And as all great rules do when they want to show everyone how strong they are they invade their neighbors for a ball to see all their glory

You were surprised when you saw the invitation, your kingdom was smaller than your neighbors but it was still a worthy kingdom nonetheless

The ball itself was a thing of beauty

White, turquoise and gold filled the room as well as everything in it

For most of the night you keep to yourself, being around so many powerful rulers made you a bit nervous however you were unaware of the mischievous eyes that followed you no matter where you went

A couple of weeks had passed when the unthinkable happen

King oikawa had showed up at your doors along with a few knights in toe

He said that he knows he should have sent a letter first but he just could wait to see you and your kingdom no matter how small it was

So, for the next few days he was at your side as you showed him your kingdom

You found him to be very charming but keeps an eye open you had heard of his flirty ways

Keeping your distance but still enjoying his company

You really should have kept a much wider distance from him

After almost four weeks of this he you to invade to his kingdom to truly see its power and beautiful

And although something told you he wasn't really asked you agreed

It was all fine in the beginning he wasn't lying when he told how power and beautiful his kingdom was

You did notice that there appear to be preparations for an event, a celebration perhaps?

After days of wondering, you finally diced to asked oikawa what they were celebration

They are preparing for our weddings of course he said simply smiling as he took your hand in his giving a gentle squeeze

You were taken aback

Wedding?!

What the hell was he talking about?

My darling

He said in a rather sweet yet knowing tone

From that first night I saw you I know it was love at first sight for I couldn't get you off my mind no matter what I did

And I know from that moment forward I just had to have you

But what about your kingdom?

Your family?

Don't you have a say in any of this?!

You don't worry your pretty little head because I've taken care of everything and soon our kingdoms will be one

From that day forward you always had guards around you so even if you did try and sneak away it wouldn't take long before you were dragged back

At some point you accepted your fate

Not like you could do much anyways

You were far from home

And even if you did make it back what would happen next?

Destruction

Your kingdom would be nothing but ashes blowing in the wind with you being the only one left to feel his wrath

As the doors open and you saw him just down the aisle with a loving look on his face you know that there was something much darker in those brown eyes

It looks like in the end it will only end in happily ever after for one of you and for the other…. will… at least your kingdom will be safe

And there will only be one prisoner

#yandere x y/n #yandere x reader #yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa #yandere prince #oikawa tooru #oikawa imagine #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa #oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa x reader

178 notes · View notes

cheelduh · 3 years

Text

The Shackles of Duty

Pairing: Diluc x gn!reader

Synopsis: As a weapon of the Abyss, your obligation towards your Princess should be eternal.

Warnings: Unedited angst. Pls ignore any mistakes besties <3

Word count: 2k

You've never really given the weather any thought. It's not as if it matters to you. Stormy day or not, your responsibilities—no, your duty towards the Abyss will remain the same.

It's still raining. The mud thick underneath your boots, slippery against your heel, the putrid smell of grassy dew lingering miserably against the air.

"You know what you have to do." The Abyss Princess commands you, her loyal servant, hers to dispose if she so desires.

"The dragon...Stormterror." You explain, goosebumps forming on your skin as a result of the damp clothes that adorn your wet body. "Your brother, the honorary night, along with others, thwarted our plans by eliminating the fragments."

"Why?"

"You know why, your grace." Is all that you can give to her. "I shall follow him. Keep him away, from inciting another encounter—"

"No," Lumine declares, no room for argument. "Infiltrating their ranks is no easy task. You mustn't be relieved of your post, not yet at least. We need to extract as much information as possible to further avoid outcomes like these."

Exactly the answer you don't want to hear in the middle of this archon forsaken storm, all bruised and bumped up from Stormterror's confrontation.

Don't make me do this again. I don't know how much more I'll be able to take.

You bite your tongue, knowing full well the finality of her words. "As you wish, my princess."

The familiar redhead suddenly plagues your mind, stoic, and with years worth of anger at the world. The hero in the shadows, the man with an agonizing past, a sense of retribution albeit his severed connections with the knights of favonious.

Despite the obstacles of life and the intellect honed from his journey, he's reckless. Reckless enough to still believe that he can make a difference. That anyone can make a difference.

Diluc is reckless enough to love someone, reckless to think that his sworn brother would be the only one capable of betraying him.

—

"There's no point." Diluc whispers loud enough for you to hear him underneath the stars, adding onto the lull of night. "They all keep walking—no, running, aimlessly because of duty. They follow orders without knowing where they come from. It's utter chaos."

"But in all the chaos, there is calculation." You lean against the stone of the walls, and as always, you know how to speak to Diluc. How to open him up and read him like a book.

You're sure he can do the same with you, but he just isn't looking where he should be. You need him to look; to realize he's tangled up in your web of deceit and that there's no way out.

"How do you do that?" He says, aware all at once. "How do you give me so much yet so little?"

I want to give you everything, the pretty and the ugly things alike. I want to give you my secrets, fold them up in a dirty, black, envelope, and have you turn it to ash with the violent flames of your heart.

It's a lot of work hiding under false pretences.

"It's a beautiful night, my love." You say instead.

Diluc's never gotten used to the term of endearment, still new to receiving affection. It warms him up differently to his vision, pleasant yet unfamiliar. It takes a moment for him to come back to himself.

You briefly jolt at the pleasant warmth of his hand atop yours, a silent reassurance, one that worsens your guilt, weaves it into something that pierces your rotten core.

—

You don't know what you're thinking when you stand in front of Jean's office, fist hovering.

Is forgiveness why you're here? No, because you would've went to Diluc first. You would've confessed to him right then and there about what a vengeful weapon you are, a mindless soldier that will do anything for their queen.

You don't even get a chance to think of the various ways he'd kill you when the door is open, and you're met with the view of the acting Grandmaster herself. Another dear friend that will come to despise you.

"Y/N! I'm glad you're here—"

"I'm a servant of the Abyss." You cut her off, and don't stop yourself, letting the words run freely against the fast pace of your heart. "I've infiltrated Mondstadt under the orders of the abyss princess and used what I've learned to conspire against the archons."

Everything's spinning, so fast you can barely breathe.

Jean doesn't move, doesn't even blink as the confusion dawns on her face. You aren't looking for confusion.

"Don't pretend you're blindsided completely," You give her a humourless chuckle, and by the hush of your tone it's as if you're telling her a secret to any spectators. "You've known for a while now that there's been a traitor within your ranks. Every single attack from the Abyss—too clean, too unpredictable, one could say with coincidence."

"But the universe is rarely so lazy." Your voice is smooth, calm, the complete opposite to the flurries of emotions that bloom your being. "Varka knew that. And so do you."

"No," Jean finally speaks up, denying your claim incandescently. "We've fought together for years. You're one of our best, our most dependable. Everything we've done—everything you've done has been for Mondstadt. As always."

If only that were the truth.

You wave a hand over your right eye, releasing the magical bind to reveal the intricate marker. Jean's eyes widen, and she's far from her usual composed self.

"Still don't believe me?" You ask, knowing full well she's still in denial. It's not everyday your best mate, the one that fights alongside you, admits to being a traitorous scum of the abyss drenched in years worth of lies.

Ah the trials and tribulations of friendship.

"Fine then," With the flick of your wrist, it doesn't take much effort for the main doors to open up with a bang.

The acting grand master draws back at the shrill sound, teeth gritting.

She isn't the only one that's provoked. Wood and Wyratt, the only two guards on duty at this time let out shouts of surprise, reaching for their swords on instinct.

You summon your abysmal magic, which shapes into deep blue, if not black, appendages. They glitter, hiding the entire galaxy in them, with stars that burst into life. Breathtaking if not used on the battlefield.

In mere seconds, one latches on to Wyratt's leg, while the other takes Wood by his arm. All it takes is a jerk of your index finger, and they're sent flying outside the doors, which unceremoniously slam shut behind them. The lock clicks into place, cherry on top.

Jean materializes her sword, taking on a defensive position. You don't think you've ever seen the woman irritated, let alone as livid as she is right now.

That's more like it.

"Go on. Arrest me." You bring your wrists up, casual as ever. "We'd better hurry. They'll come after me soon enough, it's in your best interest to listen to everything I have to say if I'm willing to die over it." There's a tightness in your chest that you can't explain.

Jean hardens her gaze, not allowing herself to relax. You know what she's going to say. You've been her friend, her advisor, long enough to understand where most of her actions and decision stem from.

She says—well she says nothing, because she doesn't get a chance to when an abrupt screech erupts from her office, causing your ears to perk up and your blood to run cold. A series of heavy footsteps, footsteps you're all too familiar with follow.

Although you're fairly certain you know who it is, you glance over her shoulder anyways to meet the fiery red eyes that have reserved a place in your heart. The sole reason you're blowing the whistle.

You feel a sharp pang in your heart.

The pure, authentic, hurt in Diluc's hardened features are enough to have you gutted completely. Mouth dry with a rock in your throat, you don't so much as allow yourself to exhale.

You finally understand why you didn't go to him first. You were sure he'd be able to survive the betrayal, but you weren't sure you'd be able to survive it yourself.

Diluc. You want to tell him, tell him how sorry you are. Tell him how much of a piece of shit you are. Tell him that he doesn't deserve this, that he deserves so much better. Tell him that you love him, devastatingly so.

It isn't supposed to end this way. Things never go as planned.

You avert your gaze, clench your jaw shut, and wait.

"Jean." Diluc says, and there's grim finality in his voice. "We need a moment." His words send small pricks throughout your spine.

Jean regains her composure, mulling over his request, but any resistance is placated by a simple look from the redhead.

When she reluctantly leaves, the quiet is near unendurable.

"Why?" If the way Diluc's fixed gaze could set anything on fire, you would've been burned to the stake by now.

You'd calculated this moment countless of times, predicted exactly how this would go, lived through every outturn in the dead of the night as you struggled to find sleep in his arms.

Living through it is far more dreadful than you could've ever imagined it to be.

His body closes in at your lack of reply, hands gripping your forearm to pull you in and kick the door shut. "Why?" This time it's more firm.

You open your mouth to speak, like a fish out of water, and out comes nothing.

"I trusted you," Diluc says weakly, in a way that has your heart shattering a million times a second. Tightening his hold on your arm, he continues "You were the only one I...I should've known. I was foolish to think I could believe in you." a sharp exhale, and he pushes you back against the door, but it's not harsh at all. He's gentle, and somehow that makes everything so much more worse.

Your inability to reply sparks a different kind of rage in his heart.

"It must have been quite the show, watching everyone run in circles." He seethes, furious, wounded. "Was it all just a lie? Were my feelings ever returned? Or was I just another one of your fair games?"

You wrench away from his hold as if it's burning you. The words are like needles, pinning into you with so much force it has you lurching in place, and then they twist deep within your blackened veins.

"Stop it." You should've just left. Should've just pushed back the nagging in your brain and jumped off a cliff or a something. Surely the unexpected death of a royal guard—no, the death of a fundamental piece in their plan would surely be enough to cripple them for at least a few days, if not weeks.

Anything but this.

You meet his gaze. "I do love you Diluc, that I am sure of. You don't have to believe me. I know I wouldn't."

"Is that all you have to say?" He all but hisses, gloved fingers closing in to form a fist. "You've betrayed everyone. Your friends, your family...me."

"You think I don't know that?" Your voice breaks when you look away. "I don't know what's right anymore, what's wrong. I don't even know what I've been fighting for this entire time." A sharp, mirthless laugh escapes your lips, "To allow myself to carry out orders I do not believe in is too much to bear. How long do I delude myself into thinking that this is all for Khaenri'ah? That this is all for a reason that is beyond me?"

There's a sliver of softness that shows in his features, but you're too busy calming the waves crashing in your head.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter anymore." You say, the sinking of your chest only expanding. "I've already contravened against the abyss, and for that they will come for me. The only thing I regret is that they couldn't get to me before you did."

A stricken look passes across his face, brows furrowed and desperation as clear as day when he reaches for you.

This time, you let his arms curl around your shaking figure, welcoming the comfort that you're undeserving of. "I won't let them."

"I'm sorry." You whisper shakily, fisting the fronts of his coat. "I'm so sorry Diluc."

Diluc hums as he strokes your hair soothingly, with the utmost of care. Although his trust in you has shattered, like irreplaceable fragments of glass, his love for you will remain constant.

Even with the storm that is fated to come.

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshot #jean gunnhildr #diluc ragnvindr #master diluc #diluc x reader #diluc x y/n #genshin fanfic #diluc angst #genshin diluc #lumine #lumine genshin impact

110 notes · View notes

kaibutsushidousha · 3 years

Note

If the v3 cast were Masters, which Servants would they summon who has the highest compatibility with them ?

Akamatsu and Amakusa

Amami and Nursery Rhyme

Iruma and Caligula

Ouma and Nightingale

Ki-bo and Kotarou

Gonta and Bedivere

Saihara and Arjuna

Shirogane and Gilgamesh (Caster)

Shinguuji and Medusa

Chabashira and Xuanzang

Toujou and Queen of Sheba

Harukawa and Jason

Hoshi and Dantes

Momota and Mandricardo

Yumeno and Nagiko

Angie and Douman

Explanations under the cut in case you're confused, because you probably are.

First off, Twitter people might be wondering why so many choices are different from what I chose for this thread. Obvious consideration for who is normally summonable aside, the main thing I kept in mind here is that compatibility summon comes in two flavors. Pattern A is a hero similar in nature to Master (Sakura and Medusa, Ryuunosuke and Gilles, etc), and Pattern B is the hero the Master needs for the personal struggles of their character arc (Pepe and Ash, Erice and Voyager, Elsa and Arash, Jinako and Karna, etc). Pattern B is always more interesting than Pattern A, so that's what I'm using for all my choices. Now let me go over them one by one.

1. I say things will be different from the thread and immediately break the promise with Akamatsu. Akamatsu relied a lot on Saihara's brain to build her plan, but their relationship was never one of mutual trust because she knew Saihara would agree to her harsher and more definitive methods. The hero Akamatsu needs is someone both competent and like-minded. Someone who shares her earnest will to save everyone and willingness to use more extreme methods for it. Amakusa is the Servant for her.

2. For Amami, I'll go with Nursery Rhyme. Much like Raikou got Nursery in the Heian Singularity's Imperial Grail War as the emotional crutch daughter figure she needed, Amami gets an emotional crutch little sister figure to help him reunite with the twelve he lost. This pair would be interesting because it'd subvert Nursery's usual MO of simply forcing others to reconnect with their inner child. The whole reason why he lost 12 sisters is that his passion for seafaring and exploration distracts him from what he's supposed to do. Her role as the villain of the Santa Nightingale event shows she can be harsh when children are being neglected, so Nursery would be the force pulling Amami back on track, but she'd have to balance that with allowing him to enjoy himself to preserve his childish love for adventure. He'd be a tough and delicate case for our Hero of Children.

3. The hero Iruma needs is... anyone who tolerates her, really. My first thought was Karna, but he's about finding value where no one else does, and Iruma has her share of undeniable value, so I think he isn't the best choice. Their pair would be a watered-down version of Jinako's pair anyways. Fate/ actually quite scarce of Servants defined by being all-tolerant because that's a trait they push more on Fujimaru, but two examples that come to mind are Romulus, the man who loved all of Rome (read: human civilization) in both its sins and achievements; and Caligula, the man who went crazy trying to do the same. Romulus is too OP to help Iruma tone down her ego, so I'll go with Caligula.

4. Ouma is a hard case. He needs someone he can absolutely trust and finding one of those is a huge challenge. The only ones Ouma has expressed full trust to were Gonta, because he was unquestionably good and weak-willed enough to never stray away from Ouma's instruction without asking first; and chapter 5 Momota, who was in circumstances so complicated that he wouldn't dare to throw away the chance Ouma's script offered. Ouma is the kind of paranoid control freak who would intentionally go for a Berserker because even the ones who speak are single-minded in a way that makes them easy to plan around. The alternative would be someone so like-minded in methods and standards that he'd probably hate them but still trust as someone who thinks the same way he would, but only BB fits that bill and she's not normally summonable. With that card off the table, the only options Ouma has left are Berserker he can trust to never kill anyone ever, and the only Zerk valuing life this much is Nightingale. BB's fellow nurse, amusingly enough.

5. Ki-bo would be offended with Alaya if he summoned a robot or homunculus just because he's a robot. And he also wishes for a partner that will treat him as an equal without denying what makes him different as a robot. In short, he needs a human Servant that is used to have normal relationships with robots. But Chen Gong or Red Hare because they're too evil, nor Orion because he's too crude. That leaves us with robot Danzou's human son, Fuuma Kotarou.

6. Gonta's wish is to become a true gentleman his human family can acknowledge, and for that, he needs the example of someone who is both well-mannered and of noble heart. Bedivere is an easy choice.

7. As I mentioned a few times before around 2017~18, I strongly think the best thing about Saihara is his interactions with Hoshi. Saihara is a guy feeling eternally guilty because he made one "good guy" murderer pay for his crime and he tries to make up for it by forcefully validating Hoshi's mass-murdering of the mafia. Then in Fate/, we have Arjuna, an all-around excellent man who adamantly believes himself to be evil because he did one dishonorable thing once. Saihara is the stubborn validating Master Arjuna needs to make him understand that he is not the monster he believes himself to be.

8. The first thing about Shirogane is that she really doesn't like reality, especially when it concerns herself. She can't muster any interest in the boring, plain girl she is or the boring, plain world she lives in, so she makes a hobby and a job out of becoming someone else, a larger-than-life figure in a fictional world. She loves all Danganronpa characters but expresses greater adoration towards Junko and Kamukura, the most unreal the series has produced. Enter Gilgamesh, the Hero King with the comically large ego and literally all Noble Phantasm to satiate Tsumugi's craving for a break from reality. That said, Gilgamesh has the recurring hobby of playing therapist to a Master disconnected from their own self and is the franchise's greatest symbol of the willing departure from the Age of Gods into the Age of Man. As much as he fits her tastes on a surface level, he's the guy who transitioned the flashy world of fantasy she dreams of into the plain world she hates, and he'll use most of his free time to the same on a personal level for her. The Caster version is being specifically picked because Archer has childish beef with modernity, and Caster is intentionally making his arsenal more limited and unimpressive, which is self-demonstrative of the points he wants to make to Shirogane.

9. One of his Free Time Events has him explaining why Medusa is his favorite myth, and I definitely can't claim to know this shit better than him. Deep emotional attachment to a story can net you a compatibility summon, as Kiara is there to show, and Shinguuji gets bonus points from how TM Medusa became a monster out of living her life for her sisters rather than for herself.

10. Cute and righteous female Buddhist mentor figure who does martial arts. What else could Chabashira ask for?

11. Toujou takes self-worth from serving big important people with utmost perfection, so she needs her Servant to be a king or similarly important leader. But she also needs it to be a support Caster so can properly invert the Master-Servant relationship and personally fight the enemy Servant for her king. The only characters in the middle of the Venn diagram of kings and support Casters are Medea and Sheba, and Medea wants nothing do with the royalty life anymore, so Sheba it is.

12. The role of the hero Harukawa needs is already properly fulfilled by Momota in the story, so I'll go with Jason because he shares all of Momota's strenghts and flaws. He's someone who'll force her to be part of a team, relentlessly encourage her break out of her shell, and have a shitty personality she can never fully respect, making the relationship balanced. And things would go even smoother with Jason because his summon comes with Atalante, who is someone Harukawa can easily relate to.

13. Hoshi needs someone who would assure him of his choices and make him comfortably reconnect with his past like he did with Saihara in his Free Time Events. As practically the face of the Avenger Class, Dantes defines himself as an ally and guardian to the ones who were wronged and lashed out in less than virtuous ways, so he's a perfect fit.

14. Momota is too aware of himself as the protagonist of his own story to want a hero. He would instead want a loyal sidekick or a like-minded rival. Voyager is a good sidekick option due to his fit with Momota's wish for greater adventure further beyond, and is a Servant Momota mentions in his Free Time Events, so there's the emotional connectional to his story there. For a rival, a big name adventurer like Drake or Odysseus could work, and so could a wandering warrior like Musashi. But there's one option that fits both roles: Mandricardo. Rica has the adventurer experience necessary to eventually compete with Momota, but also Saihara's level of self-esteem, allow him to start on the sidekick role until Momota pulls him out of it and shapes him into a proper rival.

15. Like with Harukawa, the role of hero Yumeno needs is already fulfilled by Chabashira in canon, so we know what she needs is someone with high energy and a deep understanding of emotions. And Fate/'s biggest connesieur of human emotion is none other than our Kiyohara no Nagiko.

16. Angie is a complicated case because she doesn't react well to being disobeyed. My first idea for someone with a functioning partnership with her is a knight, but knights generally work on the premise that their king is selfless and righteous, which Angie isn't. There are people like Lan Ling, Liangyu, the ninjas, Mori or Okita, who submit their lives to anyone's authority, but for that same reason, they wouldn't help Angie improve. What she really needs is someone good at feigning humility, like Limbo. He wouldn't have good intentions for her Master, but by manipulating situations out of her control without letting her feel like her divine words are being challenged, he can force some level of change on her mindset. It's better than nothing.

#danganronpa v3 #type moon #kaede akamatsu #rantarou amami #miu iruma #kokichi ouma #ki bo #gonta gokuhara #shuuichi saihara #tsumugi shirogane #korekiyo shinguuji #tenko chabashira #kirumi toujou #maki harukawa #ryouma hoshi #kaito momota #himiko yumeno #angie yonaga

65 notes · View notes

omgkalyppso · 3 years

Text

The Unforgotten King

A Dimimari drabble that fits into Fae's post canon.

The icy winds pouring down from the frigid Fraldarian mountains were starting to upset the horses with how cold they were. Many roads this far north were impassable for carriages; even the main roads, which in many cases were the only option, were made to constrict the approach of enemies and allies alike, venturing to and from the historically chaotic northern border, and the capital to the south.

They had come first by boat and then followed the trade routes carved out by the fishing villages on the eastern coast.

Marianne held her scarf against the chill, wincing and shaking her head about Dimitri, with his scarf pulled down around his smile as he spoke about his homeland. He'd long ago let his hat fall back around his shoulders, secured by a cord about his neck, and his bound hair was a tangle as a result of the gales. He was going home, and it was as clear in his person as it was in his temperament. His nose and cheeks were pink and frozen, and his beard was gelid with frost, but the Faerghan climate suited him. Marianne even suspected that the temperature might have been harsh on another man's injuries, but Dimitri was only livelier by the mile.

Some might have said he was as a boy gone to the fair, but she knew him too well now, and could see the flit of his eye as he watched the forests. He was fighting his hauntings and his memories of war, and trusting her and their guard with his insecurities. A vast improvement when compared to the dreary state of his heart and mind during the year or two past.

Marianne had worried that despite Dimitri's growth, that returning to Faerghus was going to upset him and his friends, when he and they found him without the crown, without the armour and attire one expected of a king, and with the continued trauma of never having achieved his vengeance. She was overjoyed that it was nothing so simple.

"Do you see how the trees have turned from green to blue here?" Dimitri asked, gesturing to the evergreens, brightening as Marianne nodded. "They say the Goddess took pity on the verdant evergreens of Fodlan after her first ice storm, and blessed all the trees north of Conand River with a piece of her home on the Blue Sea Star, that they might from then on weather the storms."

Marianne held her scarf from her face as she replied, "They're quite beautiful. I hear they house wildlife too? I would have expected we'd only find migratory birds out in these temperatures."

"It would be wonderful to hear an owl at night," Dimitri mused. "You are right, though. There are a variety of creatures in the underbrush."

"As stubborn as any Faerghan," Marianne joked. "Although I suspect, in regards to your tale of a blessing, that similar accounts are told of the seas themselves, rather than only of Faerghan forests. Anything blue."

Dimitri had blushed and laughed awkwardly at Marianne's initial declaration, knowing that it was true that sailors in Faerghus were revered and worried perhaps even that he had misremembered his own short yarn, but then he'd smiled and contributed softly, "It is a color dear to my heart."

"Because of your house banner?" Marianne asked as if to confirm, offering Dimitri no space to argue. "Perhaps a square or kerchief could be sewn in one of your pillows? Or some other secret space? I am sorry that you're only clad as one of my guards."

Dimitri shook his head. "An honor. I am glad to ride beside you, Mari— my lady, and ... maybe with the right materials, I could try to award myself with the gift you suggest. It would be a small and challenging project for a man of my extremely limited skill."

Upon their arrival at the manor in Fraldarius, they were escorted to the entrance hall, where Dimitri embarrassed Rodrigue with a bow and an embrace.

"Dimitri," Rodrigue said softly, as a reprimand and a prayer, testing the name, free of title and ornamentation. "It is good to see you again. If Felix had not seen you himself, I would have assumed a ruse or extortion." He pulled away, a hand still on his once and fallen king's shoulder. "To bury you, would be as burying another son—"

"Rodrigue—" Dimitri said, meaning to interrupt.

"Humor me," he begged. "Hear me. Not only am I proud to host you, in secret, in public, but should you ever need a home in Faerghus, we will never turn you away." Rodrigue swept a tear from his eyes, "Hm. I think you'll find my lack of decorum is your fault, for hugging me first—"

"My sincerest—"

Rodrigue chuckled. "Don't apologize. Just know that I intended to be more reserved, for the sake of Lady Marianne, if not for that of my son."

"Where is Felix?" asked Dimitri, as a door to the entrance hall opened at the top of a far stair, and Felix, Annette, Sylvain and Ingrid rushed out of it.

Although Felix had been to visit him in Margrave Edmund's territory three times, Dimitri could not suppress his joy at his friend's reveal, and after Rodrigue's admission, he could either hope that Felix too thought of him more fondly, or else worry that he needed to apologize to the younger Fraldarius for what he'd inspired in his father. "Felix!"

Dimitri spared a glance for Marianne, who waved him off delicately so that he could rush to his friends at the base of the stair. She shared a far more respectable greeting with Duke Fraldarius.

"Wait—!" Felix started to object, but too late or with too little conviction to keep Dimitri from fitting his arms around him and Ingrid and squeezing them to his chest.

Ingrid laughed happily, and Felix scoffed when Sylvain was greeted with only a joined hand and a clap on the shoulder, though Annette then jumped into Dimitri's arms.

"I half worried it was an exaggeration," Dimitri said softly. "That you all could make it."

"Mercedes and Dedue's boat is expected tomorrow," Sylvain said to assure him.

"Ashe won't be here for a week," Annette lamented as her feet hit the floor, "but I hear that will be long enough to see you?"

"I won't leave before," Dimitri promised. "It would break my heart if his journey from Gaspard was fruitless."

"Did you know that he needed to wait for Linhardt to take up residence in Gaspard?" asked Ingrid. "To deter the Adrestians from overreaching — even now."

"As well as general rebellion," Felix supplied. "Things aren't exactly settled that far west."

"You're helping him?" Dimitri confirmed, and a part of his heart stirred to be able to have this conversation with Felix in person, rather than over a period of days by letter.

"Fhirdiad's helping him," Felix said and then frowned when the others around Dimitri looked at him more directly, and corrected himself. "Yes, I'm helping him."

Fhirdiad had been Felix's home and his charge these past few years. He had taken up the title of Archduke and wielded his role with purpose. He always intended to return to Fraldarius, imagining that there would be an opportunity to suggest another lord be honoured with the capital region, but some days he worried he had sealed his fate. His father, and Sylvain, were less subtle in their matching inquiries about his return, but it seemed all others were slowly becoming accustomed to him sitting in that place of kings in the more temperate south.

"I appreciate it," Dimitri said carefully.

"There'll be plenty of time to worry about the shadow of dissent tomorrow," Sylvain said, looking to change the subject. "What are you wearing?"

"Oh," Dimitri said in surprise, looking down at himself, dressed as a Leicester soldier in wool and armour.

"Are you warm enough?" asked Annette, turning over a side of his cloak to assess its thickness.

Dimitri chuckled. "I'm plenty warm, I—"

"How many layers is that?" Ingrid inquired critically.

"Do the rest of Marianne's escorts have hats like this?" asked Sylvain, propping Dimitri's upon his golden hair.

"Four. No, most have wool lined leather caps."

"Four? Like this? That's not enough," Ingrid worried.

"We'll warm him with drink and games," Sylvain suggested. "Maybe dancing if Annette feels like singing?"

Annette squeaked in protest, but Felix spoke first.

"You're being ridiculous. Dimitri's had a long ride—"

Dimitri's lips tightened to hear Felix call him by name, and he spoke gently, worried he might break this simple spell of friendship when he spoke in favour of Sylvain's suggestions, "I think it would be nice to drink with everyone, but I might like to bathe first. I fear as soon as I loosen my collar my sweat will thaw from where it's frozen upon me."

Three exaggerated tongues of disgust extended in sympathy.

"Do you want to stay inside?" asked Felix. "Wood fires can heat baths in the lower levels."

"Oh, no, lets show Marianne the hot springs," Annette said, as if pleading with Dimitri, though he would have agreed without any provocation.

"I would like that," he agreed, looking at Felix for permission.

With an expression of vague annoyance, Felix nodded, and then he and Dimitri each glanced to where Marianne continued her conversation with Rodrigue.

There was a social element to the hot springs that Marianne feared, but Sylvain made a joke that set her at ease, and challenged her to try the new experience.

Dimitri half expected Felix to return home after dutifully guiding their group to their destination, and thanked him for his continued company and conversation, such as it was, while they sat together in the steaming water. Sylvain was kind and assertive, inspecting Dimitri's right side as he stretched his arm and took advantage of the heat, to massage strong fingers into his shoulder.

Elsewhere, Ingrid and Annette had Marianne giggling as the trio raced from the spring to the snow and back again each time they grew over-red from being boiled together.

Later, they drank and reminisced, and Ingrid pulled Dimitri aside, to reaffirm that she would have been his knight and protector ... and that she still would, if he wanted to pursue his place in Fhirdiad. She saw no reason to defer to the law in Garreg Mach when Faerghus could still have its own king, and if not that, then at least he could be recognized, as the rest of them were, within Fodlan's nobility.

The shock that overtook Dimitri frightened her, when she had only meant to offer him his ancestral home, and the respect many had died to get him.

Sylvain and Felix were in listening distance, and Ingrid had known that; the four of them looked to Marianne, weaving Annette's hair in a five strand braid, while they spoke of seals and bears and other creatures that plagued the harbours.

Felix hissed about how Ingrid would throw them from one war into another, reminding her that Dimitri was hidden away precisely to avoid what she was suggesting: that there would be people willing to die for their rightful king to reclaim his place in Fhirdiad.

Everything would change if Dimitri returned, and they'd lose the trust of the Adrestians, especially Ferdinand, when they had already been caught in another lie.

"You can't come back," Felix said to finish his argument. Aggressive, nervous, cruel.

"Dimitri should be given a choice now that he's recovered," Ingrid said, firm.

"He's recovering," Sylvain insisted.

With a great expression of self control, Dimitri maintained his volume as he declared for his friends' forgotten benefit, "I am right here." He waited for the shame to silence them before he went on. "And things are not ... how I envisioned them — how I wanted them? My mind and upbringing feel ... wasteful, at times; and yet I have been consulted," he sighed, "on strategy and trade, customs and etiquette — by Felix and Marianne both. My input is heard in Faerghus and Leicester, and if I willed it, I am sure that Garreg Mach is within my reach ... even Almyra."

Sylvain raised his tankard in salute as he walked away then, seeing that a fight wasn't about to break out, and that Dimitri had their conversation well in hand. He complimented Annette's hair, and strove to further distract the ladies from the dark turn of that other corner of the room.

"If Faerghus was threatened, I would find my way back here, lance in hand. But I trust the peace that's been building. And the crown, as it was, only invited duplicity and massacres. Faerghus will thrive without me." With one arm he embraced Ingrid, pressing a kiss to her temple. "And Sylvain is right, I have been recovering. I would not risk all of Faerghus' progress, all of your work," his eyes drifted to Felix for a moment, "because I could not accept the truth of what a minister said. I still struggle. I am more comfortable with smaller challenges ... and I would appreciate your reassurance of our friendship as I am."

"Of course, Mitya," Ingrid insisted.

"Thank you."

"I miss you," Ingrid clarified. "I miss... The lives I thought I'd have by now."

"Change is painful," Felix agreed, sharp and forgiving.

"Yours is a life worth celebrating," Dimitri promised. He drank at the same time as his old friends, and then fumbled after, worried about sounding too much like his healers, but still he added, "Take time to recognize success."

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by Marianne and Annette hollering with laughter, and Dimitri could not even imagine Marianne's disappointment in him if in returning to Fhirdiad he brought a new conflict to her doorstep. He could not imagine his own heartbreak if their peoples ever returned to bloodshed. Sadly, he had imagined his horror with the possibility of witnessing another day like the tragedy, his blue love desecrated, their hypothetical children screaming, and him again, a lone survivor.

He would not speak of this in casual conversation with his friends, though perhaps in private with Marianne at some later time.

He was grateful for his anonymity.

It was late in the night when they made for bed, and Marianne was as drunk as he, and Dimitri worried between her state and their locale that he shouldn't have followed behind the door of her rooms. They had lain together a handful of times, but not for weeks now, yet she pressed him against the door like it was a casual thing, delicate fingers curving over his hips.

They leaned close as if they might kiss, and then she turned her face away from him with a sigh.

"I hope I haven't made a fool of myself. Did you have a good night, Mitya?"

"Beloved," Dimitri beckoned, curving a large hand around the side of her face, his scarred fingers had been mended and shattered an embarrassing number of times in the early use of his Crest. He guided her to look at him, his shining blue eye, deep as the ocean in the dark of the room.

"Thank you for bringing me here," he said, his tone deep and sincere. "The snow, the culture, my friends... I missed them more than I realized. I've had a very good night."

His last sentence was near whispered upon her lips, his thick lower lip tickling against her mouth.

Eyes closed, Marianne hummed her approval, bumping her nose against Dimitri's; narrow and then bulbous, a pretty princely feature that somehow he still maintained despite the violence in his life.

He bent to kiss Marianne, his hands finding her upper arms, her shoulders, her neck, and her twin braids, a gift from Annette that extended nearly to Marianne's waist.

"I should let you sleep," Dimitri whispered, though he felt how Marianne's hands wandered, pressing his shirt against the muscles on his chest and stomach.

Marianne looked from her bed to Dimitri. "Let me sit," she requested, "and I'll untie your hair. Stay with me a while longer." She swayed a little and Dimitri worried he would have to catch her. "Your friends are kind," Marianne confided, "but it felt a little strange as the night wore on, and maybe it's just me, and maybe it's just the building, but I know I can rely on you. Say you'll stay."

"A while longer," Dimitri agreed, drifting a thumb through her bangs as his hand rested on the side of her tightly bound hair again.

He sat between her knees while she pulled the ribbon from his fine hair, carefully carding through it with her fingers around the strap of his eye patch, and then allowing her hands to find the muscles of his neck, thick from stress and training.

One dainty foot made it's way over one of Dimitri's monstrous shoulders, and he brought the opposite one over his other side, leaning back into Marianne's space so her skirt ballooned out around him. They shared a soft laugh.

"Did you have any trouble today?" Marianne asked, gentle in her approach of his occasional visions.

"I thought of Glenn," Dimitri confided, "but I am uncertain if I saw him or imagined him today. There are many memories of him here. And ... at the gates, I ... I saw some violence that was not there, but I could not hear it. I'll write it down tomorrow."

"Tell me about Glenn? There must be a happy memory tucked into what came to mind."

"He would have made you feel welcome," Dimitri insisted with a smile. "He was very personable, and I was always glad to be in his company — though I was always closer with Felix, and so thought, like Felix, that I was in contest with him. Unless my Crest activated, I was always left embarrassed, and regardless of whether my Crest activated, I always lost. Felix was often disappointed in both of us."

Dimitri spoke of friends like family until well after Marianne curled up on her side. He stayed on the floor, and spoke with less frequency, though the memories didn't fade. He could picture Glenn on the opposite side of the room, a macabre spectre of the self from his memories, but it wasn't a hallucination this time, just a horrible imagining, the loss of a friend.

Dimitri kissed Marianne's forehead, and she mumbled that she was still awake, despite sounding as if she were miles away. Still, Dimitri smiled and kissed her lips, just in case, and then left for his own chamber.

#dimimari #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #marianne von edmund #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #long post #my writing #i made this #the fanfiction i mean #i'll probably put this on ao3 later #this is what i was writing to Maybe address things i find attractive about dimitri though it turned into something else entirely

33 notes · View notes

flowerflamestars · 3 years

Note

I'm in a very angry-with-the-IC-and-Rhys-in-particular mood, and since I'm just rereading Daylight I was wondering, what is going through Rhysand's mind throughout the events of Daylight? Because it's basically his entire life CRUMBLING around him and I'd love to see the mental gymnastics he does to fit it all into his "I'm the good guy, actually" narrative. Or just his general reaction.

this is a FABULOUS question, thank you!

Daylight! Rhys is, in my opinion, the closest to a canonical (pre-acosf) character representation that I go for. He's so SO fucked up, and sublimating and burying all that trauma has, of course, failed, and it's all manifesting, in all these different directions.

To understand the level on which Rhys is losing his shit, it's important to go back to the very beginning: Rhysand, to Rhysand, is always, always the hero of the story. The down on his luck knight with truth in his heart. The struggling, just man.

He CANNOT seeing beyond himself for even a second. He casts himself in the most important role, as the only person whose personal consequences exist.

His mother, at probable great risk, takes him to Illyria to be trained- the precious, first-born, godly son of Night. To learn to fight- to learn, presumably, her culture- to see what that culture is reduced to, a harshness he will on day have the power to change. Rhys had to be, at some point, a great hope for Not High Fae denizens of the Court.

What does Rhysie learn? Illyria is harsh. Illyria is bad. Backwards and cruel.

He hates his father for...presumably, the crime of being a pretty traditional High Lord? Rhys hates the cruelties! the Court of Nightmares! the broken system!

So what does Rhys do when he has power? he fires everyone. He doesn't like them, he doesn't like whatever they did under his father...so instead of hiring new people, he removes himself entirely from a potential role in changing/mitigating those policies. See also: the Court of Nightmares, cowed occasionally, but not in any way governed by Rhys.

But he's the hero! He's destroyed the oppression! His Court of Just his Bros is made of women and Illyrians!

(Rhys removed the terribleness from his direct experience...because only his experiences matter)

So, Rhys in his head: the struggle, the hero, the man just trying to do it right.

Which brings us to Daylight....and Feyre. I know we can attribute the way the characters stop even remotely being sympathetic between acomaf and...everything else...to poor writing, but I also think there's some (maybe accidental but PERFECT) character work there: in acomaf, pre-acknowledged bond, Feyre is an important possession/ally- she's on the same level as the other members of the Court of Dreams, if the jewel of the collection, a high point in the story Rhys tells himself: HE saved the HERO OF PRYTHIAN

(which...let's not even touch on the fact that the deal he makes in acotar is CREEPY and he can only justify it later. she wasn't someone he wanted to work with in acotar- she was a vulnerable, hot young woman he fully took advantage of)

And then they're mates.

And then, slowly but surely, Feyre's personhood disappears. For two reasons: 1) Feyre is on a pedestal so sky-high it blots out everything. Good, pure, true hero Feyre whose adoration Rhysand needs like air. the happy end of his story, the prize and the salvation, the one who sees him.

and 2) ultimately, to Rhys, Feyre is an extension of him. A symbol: his happiness, his peace, his endless power, what he fought to keep.

She's his whole anchor staying sane, which isn't great, considering...ya know, everything. But the Story is Over. They are Happy.

Except- except- nothing is over. Post fifty straight years of torture, a freefall into war and fuckery, teen marriage and literal death, the consequences for all those things AND THE SHIT RHYS WAS PULLING LONG BEFORE AMARANTHA TURNED HIM INTO A CHEW TOY, are still present.

But now, he has something to protect. His golden future. His puppy Mate.

Because Feyre's safety is the safety of his power and vice versa. Anything he does is justifiable because the loss of Feyre is Not an Option. She is Happy. They Are Happy.

It bleeds into everything- and then it intensifies, because this is the breaking point.

The Az/Lucien thing and Feyre incredibly hurtful blindness? No Rhys isn't going to interfere- Az is so private anyway- if Feyre believes its a romantic bond, Feyre is right, she knows her sister, not that it matters because Elain is totally out of her mind.

Sending Cassian to Illyria? Illyria is a backwards shithole right? They're fierce fighters and that's what Rhys values them for- as the hammer of his power- and nothing else? why would there be anything else? Look at them fighting and hurting each other.

Nesta runs and Cassian is left throwing himself in battles actively trying to die and Rhys? Rhys is totally smug. A problem that hurt Feyre and his brother is GONE.

But it's not gone. Az isn't talking to anyone- and Rhys thinks this probably means Lucien is probably, finally fucking him- but even Feyre understands that Azriel knows where Nesta is. When this is proved (when Elain surfaces and they have the very fun kitchen fight) Rhys isn't happy- but he understands. Azriel has always felt responsible for broken things.

But thats not his job, it's Rhysands job, and Rhys has already made that tough choice for the safety of his own: Nesta has no place here. When she resurfaces inevitably, broke and wanting something, Rhys will stop her before she gets close enough to upset (hurt) Feyre. It's his job.

Cassian goes missing, and Rhysand sets upon what will become his eventual move: Illyria's value is strength. (a martial strength that belongs to RHYS). But they think they can take from him? They can destroy their own best chance? (Rhys recognizes Cassian's value to Illyria even while, you know, ordering him to slaughter Illyrians) They would threaten his power? hurt his family?

Rhys will not allow a world to exist where Feyre can be hurt.

If Illyria can't be controlled, Illyria will be put down, like the rabid creatures they are. (They were always backwards, Rhys thinks. Freeing my mother was the one good thing my father ever did)

But Cassian lives.

Rhys asks Azriel if he's been cursed. Az laughs in his face.

And Cassian is a terrible enemy to have. The strategies the loyalists are using? His, filtered through Rhys. The magical contingencies? Cassian and Az, trying to prevent bloodshed.

Feyre thinks, for a long time, that maybe the rebels have Nesta. What else could compel Cassian to even care? these people keep trying to kill him. they want to kill Rhys. the brothers suffered in the frozen mud at the hands of these monsters, what is Cassian doing?

And then the massacre happens.

And Feyre sick to her stomach, cries when she hears. Rhysand thinks about a little hazel eyed boy who'd never had a bed, a present, who'd been nothing until Rhysand plucked him up- a little boy who'd grown into a dangerous man, who'd just killed every person who ever contributed to his pain. Rhys thinks, knowing he'll have to punish Cassian for this, that it's over.

The camp lords are dead, it has to be over.

(Azriel hears and understands- because he knows damn well Cassian was something before Rhysand, and after despite him. That beneath those repeatedly broken ribs is a heart that was once so big so save him, grown strong enough now to save everyone who was like them: forgotten, abandoned, used.)

It's not over. The mountains are burning. Banners fly on northern wind in a language long dead. They're singing, the spies say, they call him dawn. Loyal-heart-as-dawn.

It's Cassians name. Not that Rhys, who never knew more than a few vile insults in the language of his mother's ancient, proud people, understood it then.

Rhysand, the long-suffering hero of his own story, has been betrayed.

He can risk no more- it's time to end this madness. It's Feyre's idea to use Elain- it's Feyre who is left crying, a betrayal Rhysand will never forget- when Elain, who they've given everything, Elain, perhaps just as broken and wretched as her eldest sister, refuses to help keep Feyre safe.

(Elain refuses to participate in what she sees as genocide, but as we've established, what consequences exist? the ones Rhys feels right in front of his face)

Azriel, Elain, and Lucien run.

Of course, if both Feyre's sisters are capable of betraying her, of course, both of Rhysand's brothers would as well. They are one in the same, aren't they? Marked by destiny, by fate for this hard and terrible work- of course it hurts. Of course- but Rhysand will stop it from hurting Feyre any more.

There's one force in the world that can stand in truth against Illyria. The Darkbringers- their ancestral, ancient conquers.

(Yes, I do think Rhys knows the shitty, shitty history of his court! He just doesn't care! He didn't do it. He's different. He's in Velaris with the common people. He has wings. He's not his father.)

(He is, in fact, far worse)

When he thinks of it, it seems perfect. Illyria will be destroyed- a loss, but a safe one. Keir, will, almost certainly, also be destroyed or at least critically weakened.

Rhysand will stand alone, the man who was willing to do anything for peace. He will rule over an emptied playing field, secure in a world where Feyre is safe.

The Hewn City empties, the armies march- Rhysand holds tight Feyre's hand, says nothing about the fact that nothing, nothing, will stop Keir from killing anyone in front of him when battle starts, and reaches once more for Cassian's mind.

His brother, his friend, his loyal right hand- he begs him to come back. To come home. That they can put down this rebellion and in his love for Cassian everything can go back to how it is meant to be, all of them together.

It does not occur to him to address the hundreds dead. The system he was complicit in and responsible for that ground a culture to dust and ash- what matters is brother against brother should never have turned, and Rhys, in his kindness, will offer Cassian this last chance for honor.

Rhys doesn't want Cassian to die- he wants Cassian by his side- but he will drown the world in blood before he'll lose his crown and hope and Feyre.

And when Cassian dies, falling to the earth in Rhysand's arms, Rhys thinks of penance.

A circle closed.

But of course- Cassian wakes. Death is not done with her right hand anymore than the contract between Lordship and land in immutable. Cassian brought the magic back, brought Illyria back.

Rhys is fighting for something personal- Cassian is fighting for a whole world and future, with everything in himself.

When the new border is drawn, Rhys doesn't despair- sure he's shaking, he's covered in Cassian's blood, his twelve thousand year old walls are smoking and the whole world smells like fucking Nesta Archeron- he's been the victim of curses before.

He won't let it keep him down. He'll be fine. He has Feyre, they're safe. Illyria is going to implode- and maybe, maybe, he'll save some of those that remain when the violence is too much, when they need a real High Lord.

They'll come home. Just like Feyre's sisters will. Rhysand's brothers. They fought for peace and Velaris has it- it is their home.

It's what they fought for, the happy ending, and it's all worth it.

It has to be worth it.

#Rhys is deadset a huge narcissist #and in the middle of a breakdown the entirety of daylight #he's SO HURT #But's turning all that hurt into anger #and an even stricter paranoia #its all catching up to him #everything from imperialism #to the shitty way he treated his friends #to the Winter Massacre that yes was absolutely him #this is more of a Shoreless Concept but all of feysand can be summed up #by Feyre making teary BUT WE'RE FAMILY demands and Rhys immediately committing a literal warcrime #and like #I do think Rhys hates himself too #but for wildly the wrong reasons #and never more or in a real way that overcomes how much he thinks everything he does is right #Cassian's death was a cost to them #as Nesta tells Feyre: what's done cannot be undone. Rhys chose wrong #the truly bonkers Rhys thing in canon #will always be that he's both represented as Most Powerful Ever #and the wrongly ignored underdog #when in fact he throws around power constantly for petty shitty reasons

39 notes · View notes