#m-tyranny

[reilliane]

Meet Your Match

t/w: mentions of blood, death, 'cheating'

“Who is that?”

Arrayed whispers.

“He's dancing with the Queen..”

Shameless stares.

“But where's Prince Ragnvindr? Isn't he meant to be the first dance?”

Barely contained gossip.

“That's his Highness, Prince of Kuni.”

“Prince- then you mean... !”

The Conqueror who dyes lands red, seeking relinquished crowns and yielded Kingdoms. No one knows for certain if he merely wished for all to fall to his feet, or if there is a reason behind such doings.

But there is something that's known in the gilded ballroom that has fostered an atmosphere that suffocates with tension and suspense.

Billowing crimson, twisting grins—the dancing pair looks as though they are one; a terrible match created in hellfire.

“They're staring, your Highness,” you utter as the background music slowly climbs the nearing crescendo. “It isn't so common for a different Prince to grace my ballroom, after all.”

You've heard about the infamous noble, aware of his feats and time on the battlefield—but other than those grounds, he is swathed in an enigma.

The noble in question chuckles, his electrifying violet eyes pulsing with a familiar power. His response comes only after he twirls you in accompaniment with the strings, hand resting on your side.

“I believe it's more because of her Majesty. I almost mistook you for a lady of my Kingdom, what with your choice of color.”

Violet. Signature color of Kuni.

You say that it's not a crime to wear something other than the usual black and ivory, the minute conversation dying down eventually.

At the corner of your eye approaches Crown Prince Diluc—your fiancé—who is easily stupefied at the sight of a different Prince dancing along with you.

The gossip and whispers are lackadaisically contained, as though they are meant to be heard.

Well, it isn't as if the Ragnvindr is concerned about someone taking his place. You believe he's actually gladdened.

With practiced ease and years of delicate experience for the fruit of perfection, you spin, fingers being the only ones connecting you to your partner until he reaches back to find purchase on your waist.

You cross gazes with him, eyebrow arched. “So my Prince is rather talented with his tongue, as well, isn't he? What a charmer. If only his Highness Diluc can be so endearing.”

His grasp gets a little firmer as he dips you with surprising finesse and elegance, unexpected for a man who's probably only handled a sword. It reminds you of Ajax.

“Is it truly wise for the Queen to express discontent over her betrothed to a different man?” Scaramouche raises his own brow.

“I see not a single problem, my Prince. Aren't we only conversing?”

The music steadily begins to reach its end, the strings drawing out the last note that prompts the rest of the dancing pairs to curtsy. You follow along, your bow leveled with that of the Prince's, who does the same.

With the conclusion of the opening dance, the onlooking nobles erupt into applause. Whether it is out of sincere delight or the fear of upsetting you, you didn't think to wonder which is true.

“The first official dance I've had and it is with a Queen, thank you, it was nothing short of pleasant.” the violet-eyed noble kisses your knuckles as he leads you out of the dance floor.

First dance, he said. With a Queen, he said.

Is he a natural charmer or has he learned to sweeten his tongue as he grew? If not for the familiar luster of paramountcy in his eyes, you would've felt inclined that it's the former.

Despite the danger he brings not only to you but to Khemia, you can't ignore the rapture yielded from striking conversations with him.

For so long, it's always been the world playing against fire—you—but ah, is this how it feels like- to play with something capable of harm?

If you are deemed a tyrannical monster, you wonder how the rest view him, a man who seeks the oblivion of the Six Kingdoms.

It's a miracle that the ballroom is graced by many aristocrats, still, given their unmistakable fear. But... then again, they are greedy aristocrats.

So long as they behave and do their part, they know that you wouldn't send them any unneeded attention. Thus, they continue to gratify themselves at parties.

“Would you be interested in another dance, then? After all the affairs I've to address, of course. I believe my betrothed...” you simper, catching the fiery gaze of a certain Ragnvindr. “Isn't so amused.”

Scaramouche gives you a smile, though it doesn't really reach his eyes. “I'm not a patient man, your Majesty. Nothing forbids me from leaving the party.”

There it is, you can feel it, the hiss of a creature disguising itself as prey.

An enclosure of hushed whispers starts in your mind, varying in tones and intensity.

They're particularly louder tonight than usual, murmuring about the risk the Conqueror brings despite his ostensibly innocuous mannerisms. You believe them to be true.

When have they been not?

Still, to stave off the danger calls for the necessity to understand what it is, first and foremost. So, just as he set his foot down, so do you.

“My word, then whatever can I add other than the promise of the last dance to get you to stay?”

An essential entanglement, this is.

“Some wine.” that's nothing too onerous.

The smile on his face grows thin, as though that of a cheshire's. What it possibly entails, you're yet to know.

“And a private audience.”

Oho? A private audience—in other words, a time when he can talk to you alone, without the presence of both of your personal Knights and retainers.

You chuckle, intrigued. “Granted.”

He must've been anticipating this stipulation of his to be turned down—for requesting an audience with a monarch is a lengthy process. Despite being a noble, it does not exclude him from the queue.

Well, if you had a queue to begin with. People are either too cowardly or prideful to bother requesting audiences with you.

Satisfaction for the promised privacy settles on his devilishly handsome face as he dips his head. A momentary farewell.

“I eagerly await the finale then, your Majesty.”

With that, you both part ways for the time being.

You intend to go and find the dessert table- then maybe lend an ear to Xingqiu's abashed reports about the recent lack of fraud following your domineering rule.

He's never outright mentioned it, but one can easily tell his opposing and dubious view toward your way of getting things done.

Him and many others.

Oh well—it isn't as though you live to please people.

“I've to remind you ceaselessly but it appears that you do not care at all for restoring your reputation.” comes a voice just as a servant fills a plate of your preferred delicacies.

You turn around, ignoring the quick and cowardly scampering of said servant, and giggle.

“My hearing seems to have failed, is Prince Diluc actually concerned about me?”

The noble in question all but grimaces at this. You can tell that it takes him his everything not to appear as repulsed as he truly is.

Oh Diluc, how he makes sure not to hurt your feelings by masking his obvious disgust, ahaha!

“Please don't flatter yourself, your Majesty,” well what do you know, he's also so polite, “I only ever said so in the hopes that you will still be lenient in the provisos of our agreement.”

Bold of him to admit such a thing.

Ah, but of course.

The hems of your gown drape over the marbled floor as you saunter away, plate in hand. He follows close behind.

It has been a couple of months since he verbalized his want to put an end to the marriage contract and so far, his father, King Crepus, has only managed to pay back a quarter of his debt.

With the slow pace and atrophying capability to pay back, it is foreseeable that the Crown Prince will be wed to you as payment.

But you're merciful!

So, so merciful, that you extended the window of time for Crepus to return the money he borrowed. Yes, you've added a condition with that extension, but so far, you've yet to actually name the specifics of said proviso.

Diluc has been, to his pride and chagrin, attempting to get in your good graces in hopes that you won't demand anything marginally impossible. He needn't do much, really.

You already find him so fascinating—what's there not to like about his desperation to sever ties with you?

It is nothing short of amusing! Does he detest you that much that the idea of marriage turns him blue?

Well... you did slaughter his precious Princess.

“Aren't you afraid of opprobrium?” he asks.

Ah... no.

He definitely overheard the gossip. He isn't your first dance, either, him, the man you are to be wed to. Well! What does it matter?

No one and nothing is hurt, except maybe for his pride.

Teasing, you bat your eyelashes whilst inserting a slab of chocolate between your lips to indulge in its sweetness. At the Prince's back, a few meters away, stands the other foreign royal, who in spite of mingling with other aristocrats, catches your eye with a smirk.

You giggle.

“I do not think I mind if it's with Kuni's Prince.”

If Diluc isn't revolted a while ago, then he most certainly is now. His pink face, flushed from either vexation or fluster, is covered halfway by his gloved hand.

He sighs. “Even if you jest, you repulse me..”

You mirror his disappointment with a sigh of your own. The night is too early to lose its luster.

“Enlighten me with something I don't know, my Prince.”

He grumbles something you can't quite catch and you erupt into tiny bouts of laughter, walking off to find a particular servant.

Along the way, you brush shoulders with the man whose eyes dance with lightning.

The natural curve of his lips makes you wonder what awaits your time of seclusion later in the night.

Ah, finally, something to look forward to.

diluc: i dont really care if you meet up with other men, i just want to get out of this ghastly marriage arrangement

mc: [ mingles with scara ]

scara: i request a private audience with the queen ;)

mc: not a problem ;))

also diluc: your maJESTY, thE aUDacITY!!

a/n: oh diluc make up your mind lmao- by the way! 'cheating' was used a t/w because even if diluc/mc aren't 'lovey dovey', they still are technically engaged. and mc is here having the time of her life teasing poor diluc about it :V

hm, and yes, that private audience. well, ehe? ;)

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @hey-comrade-hold-stil @limelightsuperhero @chloeloe @loptido @windyventi @nejibot @ganyuqrt @justrinnn @yasunamilk @alana5021 @koi-chairowo @one-offmind @01-407 @midnightraindropme @yvechu @coco-goat-milk @lunavixia @emperatris-rinaka @artificial-heartache @mininji @living-my-best-life5 @narinchan @amefuuyuu

#moonlitartem #m-tyranny #draw mc with her fiance diluc?? #naur draw her scara- #is it really a match tho ohdoahdkashdas #scaramouche x reader #diluc x reader #scaramouche fluff #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #female reader

[xionthelostpuppet]

#assassins creed 3 #ac 3: tyranny of king washington #kaniehtí:io #ziio #acedit #ac gifs #gaming gifs #m*gifs

[thisisntreaver]

All I want is for someone to write about Logans travels before he got jumped by the crawler why has no one tackled this

#fable #fable 3 #logan #I'm so hung up on my dweeb son tell m all about his life pre-tyranny #I just wanna know how he was doing ))):

[marcusagrippa]

becoming more invested in one random side character who is fucking dead by the time my main plot starts than the actual protagonist is just a rite of passage for my writing process at this point

#big oc ramblingin the tags warning u h. #save me melisadd...... isa............ #a horrible ugly name for a horrible ugly guy #however. every lover is a soldier. etc etc. #yes he gets killed because of his own ambition but he also gets killed because of his devotion to his city. and by extension his paradoxica #devotion to rhys (who has become the city itself in a weird parasitic sort of way). he hates what rhys stands for and he hates his idealism #and his tyranny andsuch but they have such a fucked up (literally) cannibalistic relationship going back to faustus and the ivy war #that neither of them can function without the other. rhys' fate is sealed the moment he kills isa because theres no-one left to balance him #out and challenge his plans. and he spirals from this genius up-and-coming ruthless commander willing to do anything to keep his home safe #into a lazy power-hungry beast relying on the prestige of his ancestors and the fear of the people to keep him fed. and he misses isa #as much as he hates to admit it #and he misses argent and he misses what they all had and as he gets older he starts losing the ability to distinguish between the past and #the present. hence the public display of argent's innards and isa's rotting corpse being dug up and given a seat at the table at the feast. #but back to isa. isa doesn't want to fight rhys - he believes there's good in him up until the last second of his life. #his execution is the death of any hope of redemption rhys might have had. #noneof that makes sense but anyway you get what im trying to say right #<- what a late republic hyperfix does to a mf #they are based loosely on the first triumvirate and should all eat each other !! #i can make my own narrative ghosts god dammit #dyrposts #r. a. bicinius #m. f. voscium #i made these guys like. two days ago??? but i cant stop thinking about them #if anyone is interested. i will say more things about dr #writing #augh #rhys isnt technically a main character either feel like i should clarify that he. dies in the first chapter #story focuses on eos furi and gabier !!! yippee !!! #jase writes #FUTURE ME EDIT: THIS IS ALL WILDLY OUTDATED :DDDDD OH WELL

[genderkoolaid]

non-usamerican transsexual woman here, and i just want to offer my condolences for the whole, uh, thing yall are going through right now.

and also thank you specifically for what you've done for our community. somewhat ironic how the only genuine feminists I've seen on this site are dudes who, generally, seek to get more man juice in them.

either way, keep bein' awesome, sic semper tyrannis, etc cetera.

Thank you, I really appreciate this <3

#sic semper tyrannis #m. #ask box #nice people

[kimberlyannharts]

and yes it IS very funny to read that we’re getting an Omega storyline where they’re searching for an evil force they unleashed on the universe after rereading this nonsense just a day ago

#like wow here i thought focusing on one little thing (a scourge on the universe capable of murder and tyranny) was bad! #i thought you guys had to do ~more~ than own up to your mistakes! #text #god. i know hating m/tt is my brand but my god do i hate the Omegas too. #zack trini sweeties i'm so sorry they did this to you

[a-life-revised]

{TARN} "Commander? Sorry. Commander? Sorry. Commander? So--"

Quirked optic ridge. Megatron's gaze trails down and back up, a little concerned, and a lot confused.

"We've been over this, Tarn. I am a Captain, and no one's better. We are equals, despite my authority as Captain."

#m!a femme frame #rest in piecies Tarn #minor fall and major lift | tarn #errant tyranny

[lord-squiggletits]

Every now and then I remember that one IDW meta post where someone tried to essentially say that Megatron is a misunderstood hero of another story that's making 'hard decisions' on behalf of his people and Optimus is "dangerous" (I think they even fucking said 'more dangerous than Megatron') because he's 'willing to sacrifice Cybertronians for his ideals'

Like yes the guy who built an army with a culture of violence, whose express goal is colonialism, with all defectors punished with torturous deaths, all justified under a thin veil of "freedom" is totally a misunderstood hero. And I guess Optimus is fucking dangerous, if by "dangerous" you mean "isn't willing to let innocent beings be killed in a war that has nothing to do with them" and by "sacrificing Cybertronian lives for his goals" you mean "has noble principles and is willing to fight to the death for them alongside all the people who CHOSE to join him."

Like ksfbabdjwixneirinrfjjcejoscndneodofnnr DID WE READ THE SAME COMIC BOOKS??? I'M LOSING MY MIIIIINNDDDDDDD how can you possibly twist the narrative so hard that you think it makes sense to call the genocidal imperialist control freak a hero and the guy who says "let's not colonize organics" is a dangerous leader sacrificing others for his ideals hhHHHHHHHHHH

#when youre such a stan that you have to make massive reaches saying shit that isnt even true #just to justify the imaginary version of a character that only exists in your brain #sometimes m stans produce takes that arent boring #sometimes theyre just straight up awful lmao #i'm sorry sjdjsjsns i'm never going to get over the part where #OP supporting organic lives and fighting M to protect them #and having an army that fights willingly with defectors able to leave at any time #apparently fucking OP is the one who sacrifices others for his ideals #like aw man...being against genocide...being willing to fight a war to stop tyranny #what awful radical dangerous beliefs janc ekxnsidekjdiejxnd #negativity

[qazastra]

i get why all my indie rock mutuals became kpop blogs now actually like i understand

making my little posts about music and the ppl who make it. nice sense of camraderie it reminds me of when i was a teenager liveblogging my opinions on new music frm the voidz and watching livestreams from lollapalooza or something

#like i didnt talk to my mutuals directly much but we were all posting about the same stuff at the same time it was nice. #specifically when human sadness dropped i remember that soooo vividly #and all the memes when tyranny finally came out... good times #im convinced that album is why i enjoy 100 gecs now btw lol #listen to enough electrometal when youre 15 and sticker is a piece of cake #m #bands

[filipmagnuswrites]

A Gentleman and a Scholar's Short List of Books I Hope To Read Before Year's End

Hullo, hi, Filip here. I take this valuable reading time to notify you that I have a few too many books I’d like to read before the year comes to an end, and I’m, frankly, drowning under the sheer weight of paper stock. Prepare yourselves! Starling House by Alix E. Harrow The new Harrow novel is ace, and I’ll probably burn through it over the rest of the night because I am a maniac who cannot…

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#Alix E. Harrow #Bookshops and Bonedust #Ed McDonald #Infinity Gate #M. R. Carey #Richard Swan #Starling House #Traitor of Redwinter #Travis Baldree #Tyranny of Faith

[shooting-love-arrows]

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄 — 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

SYNOPSIS: 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬!𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 characters and their yandere tendencies. PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 (!aged up to be a legal adult!) x reader [romantic]; 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 x reader [romantic]; 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 x reader [romantic]; 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 x reader [romantic]; 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐬 x reader [platonic]; readers gender isn't impiled/mentioned/specified Tw. delusion, delulu is the solulu, obsessive thoughts/behavior, possessive thoughts/behavior, witchcraft/dark magic, mention of love making, manipulations, controlling behavior, tyranny (?), concent? what is it?, stalking, worshiping, creepy behavior, creepy people, hunting, mention of m*rder, punishments, yeah… A/N: I hold Snow White close to my heart. However, as much as I adore the animated version, I find the book more interesting. So this is based on German fairy tale or folk tale, [Snow White] written by the Brothers Grimm (Jacob Ludwig Karl Grimm and Wilhelm Karl Grimm). Snow White is AGED UP!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 who thinks of you as her first, last and only love. She, just like most women her age, believes in soulmates. It's just so...romantic.

It happens that in her opinion, you're the one. Since the moment she lays her doe like eyes on you, she just knows that your souls are tied and destined to be one.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 fantasies about you. A lot. At first, those are innocent fantasies. Scenarios about you running around each other, playfully starting your courtship. Then your feelings shall grow deeper, the roots growing deep into your heart and so your courtship becomes more prominent and serious. Those playful touches become more affectionate. Holding a deeper meaning and reaching down into your essence of being. Then, you'll propose to her, in the most dreamy way one can imagine. Fret not, she'll (shout) say yes. Wedding preparations will follow soon after, then a grand, royal wedding itself and finally, you'll spend your first night together. Ah yes, the moment your bond will materialize in the form of a night full of passionate love making. The spiral goes on deep and each time 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 starts the imaginary movie roll over, her daydreams take a darker turn. 

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 becomes very needy for your attention. She's just so touch starved to be noticed by her object of affection that she's just about to do something to make you see her as your potential wife. She'll dress up for you, looking like a princess that she is, otherwordly beautiful and charming; make sure to sing when she knows you're near acting like a siren who is ready to catch you in her net of love; showing off her many talents especially those she knows will catch your attention and let her start a conversation with you. And every time you do talk, it's like the whole world disappears, leaving only you. You find it a little concerning with how much 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 sighs and flutters her long eyelashes. Sometimes you wonder if she even pays attention to what your saying (or worse, that you bore her), since she seems to be stuck in her head. And her eyes seemed to have that strange glint that appears only when she looks at you…

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 starts being interested in witchcraft. It is an unexpected turn but I feel like she searched for something deeper. Knowing that your soulmates (it's her opinion) just isn't enough. She must be sure. A way to truly bind you together. So…uh…like mother, like (step) daughter?

Don't get me started on what she writes in her diaries…

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 who commands you to be her lover. Simple as that. She doesn't wait, nor ask for your opinion in that matter. After the (not so) mysterious disappearance of her husband – the King and Snow's White father – she'll have absolute power in the Queendom. And since she's the Queen and the most entitled person around, you'll have to comply with her wishes. Otherwise, she won't hesitate to force you to via poisons and dark magic.

She'll force feed you all sorts of aphrodisiacs, make voodoo dolls either of you or someone from your surroundings and in the end reduce you to being her puppet. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 doesn't need you to think. Just look pretty (but not as her) and submit to her entirely. Be her best and most treasured accessory, hm?

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 often uses a spying mirror to stalk you. Whenever she's not busy leading the Queendom or simply desires to see you, she'll sit in her lavish chambers and command her mirror to show you. She knows it can only tell her the truth and only the truth, so additionally she'll ask all sorts of questions about you. Are you loyal to her? Do you have a family she shuld take care of? Do you have feelings for someone? If she finds out that you do have and it's not for her, the very next day a public execution is made for your crush. 

You're not safe from her wrath and mood swings either. Like mentioned before, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 isn't afraid to punish those who are against her in any way. She won't kill you but your punishments will be severe. Whipping and isolation are her way to go. Scars shall be your reminder to not cross her and loneliness borderlining to madness will thrust you right in her arms. Just like she didn't hesitate to assassinate Snow White, she'll make sure you understand your place and take your role as her lover seriously. 

She's all you need now and in the future. Your family, close friends and anyone you had connection with were taken care of. You're her loyal subject, made to worship her and serve her by giving her your never ending supply of love and affection.

She'll make you see that.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 who is your devoted worshiper. He sees you as some sort of higher being, who graced this dirty Earth with your pure presence. Who has graced him and his hard life with a drop of your soothing presence. The moment you showed him some kindness, even unintentionally, he's ready to carve his heart out of his chest and be at your every beck and call.

Although he is no knight by no means, definitely lacking those virtues, he's skilled within his field of work. It means that whoever dares to bother you (even if they don't) or worse, taint you (start courting you) is automatically a threat he needs to eliminate. Just like 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 does to his prey, he'll haunt them deep in the great forest by shooting arrows at their running form. But unlike his usual ethics to make it as painless as possible to the animals, he’ll deliberately make sure to make this person suffer as much as possible. He's ruthless. 

Don't be surprised when you'll find some ‘gifts’ from him. He's a man of a few words, not a drop of romance and hardened by life. Plus his yandere tendencies. So 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 gifts tend to be…disturbing. More often than not, you'll find already prepared quarries of his. You get furs, meat and even polished antlers/horns to hand in your chambers. 

Of course, he'll remain anonymous through this whole time, because he doesn't feel worthy enough to officially make contact with you. 

In the dark of the night, when he lays in his cot, he'll pray to you. That you'll allow him, a sinner, to be by your side. He doesn't dare (but secretly wishes) to be your lover, perhaps even your...husband? Whatever you'll pick, he'll agree on anything. He's that desperate for you.

One day…one day he'll overcome his insecurities and will speak to you…

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 who is a lovesick puppy, ready to marry you right then and there when his eyes fell on you for the first time. He's hopeless, really. 

He's always there when you're out of the castle. Lurking just around the corner, ready to start luring you into coming with him. At first, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 offers are subtle but slowly and surely, they become bold. From promises to give you safety, stable life to making you his Queen and offering to conquer the Queendom as a wedding gift from him to you. He doesn't understand why you wouldn't want to come with him. He's the crown prince, only heir to a prosperous kingdom and a future king, ready to shower you in gold, gifts and power before you could even think of it.

He's a gifted singer and poet. He'll use that to his advantage to catch your attention, especially when you're in the castle where 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 obviously can't go. If it's possible, he'll stop his horse just under your window, hop down and that's when the performance starts. He'll sing ballads about your beauty, recites all sorts of poetry also related to love, sometimes even pray for you to come and grace him with your presence. His words are easily pouring out of his mouth in abundance. They're all about how he deeply feels towards you or about you. And he sincerely hopes they'll trap your heart.

In the dark of the night, he'll look at the portrait of you he had commissioned shortly after meeting you. Of course it didn't do your justice at all but it was just to pass the time until he'll have the real you by his side. He'll sigh dreamily at the canvas, whispering words of pure adoration for you.

His patience is running thin and the wedding day is nearing so fast...!

✿ BONUS ✿

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐬 [platonic] who are fiercely overprotective of you. They are greedy and dangerous beings by nature. They’ve killed before and they have no problem doing that again. Especially when some pathetic excuse of a pests seemed to be lurking around their hut, where they were keeping you locked in. There are seven of them, ripped with muscles because of a daily work in the mines and without any remorse in them. The opponent stands no chance. 

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #male yandere x reader #fanfic #x reader #imagines #yandere #headcanons #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere simulator #yandere male #tw yandere #male yandere #reader insert #headcanon #yandere headcanons #male x reader #soft yandere #yandere househusband #x female reader #x male reader #x gn reader #x y/n #drabble #yandere scenarios #yandere drabble #yandere snow white x reader #yandere evil queen x reader #yandere huntsman x reader

[reilliane]

Servant A: The Queen's personal Knight and servant... he's amazing, isn't he? Sir Kaedehara?

Servant B: He is... ! Maybe it has something to do with his past as a noble? He can do anything! He doesn't seem to have any weakness!

Childe, Alatus, and Kazuha, overhearing the conversation:

Alatus: The star of the castle.

Childe: I'm inclined to tell them what exactly your one weakness is.

Kazuha: ...................

Alatus: Thankfully, he was not punished.

Childe: Her Majesty was highly amused.

Kazuha: With all due respect, I do not know what you are talking about.

[ childe: [name] was only a little irked, seeing sir kaedehara be such a lightweight made her lenient ♪(´▽｀) ]

#m-tyranny #m-i.quotes #kazuha x reader #kazuha fluff #genshin x reader #genshin incorrect quotes #moonlitartem #drunk kazuha is comedic #the one and only weakness

[sserpente]

The Weight of a Promise

“I want her.” Your heart sank when Gortash pointed at you with his chin. He leaned back, a waitress hurrying toward his table to clear the dirty plates because you were frozen in place, paralysed as if bitten by a Spectator. Hot needles pierced your stomach.

“M-me? But I’m not…I’m not a…”

“Then you shall have her. I’ll have her sent up to you shortly, Lord Gortash. Make yourself comfortable.”

A/N: Just hear me out, okay!

Words: 3721 Warnings: smut, dub-con, prostitute!Reader

Additional NSFW Warnings: CMNF, loss of virginity

“I want her.” Your heart sank when Gortash pointed at you with his chin. He leaned back, a waitress hurrying toward his table to clear the dirty plates because you were frozen in place, paralysed as if bitten by a Spectator. Hot needles pierced your stomach.

“M-me? But I’m not…I’m not a…”

“Then you shall have her. I’ll have her sent up to you shortly, Lord Gortash. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Excuse me?” Your voice was shrill, panicked. You turned to face Mamzell Amira glaring at you. It was a warning look, one she was daring you to defy.

“No!”

Gortash raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing on his handsome features. It resulted in Mamzell Amira huffing an awkward laugh, grabbing your arm and pulling you into the kitchen. The chef protested but she paid him no mind.

“Do not embarrass me in front of the Archduke! Have you got any idea how important it is for us to have his support for our establishment?”

“I am not a prostitute. When you hired me, I insisted it would be to serve food and drinks only, not to spread my legs for your customers. My contract doesn’t say—”

You admired the courage and the sensuality of your colleagues around here. Their life sounded like a never-ending adventure but it was one you were less eager to become a part of. Mamzell Amira was the only one who’d given you a chance. In exchange for your work, you were allowed to take shelter in one of the smaller rooms upstairs and receive three meals a day. You’d signed a contract for it, even.

Waitress, it had said. Not waitress and sex worker.

“I know what your contract says, girl. But this is Lord Enver Gortash out there.”

“Just tell him to pick someone else! You won’t make him pay anyway!”

“He doesn’t want someone else. He wants you.”

“Then tell him I’m not available!” You clenched your fists, anger and panic boiling up inside you.

“I will do no such thing! You either go up there now and make the archduke happy or I’ll kick you out and you’re back out on the streets before you can say ‘sex’!”

“You bitch.”

“Call me what you will. But I will not have you jeopardise my relationship with the very ruler of Baldur’s Gate.”

When he first entered the establishment with a Fist and a Steel Watcher in tow, the whole room went silent. Excitement rippled through your colleagues like electricity, you could tell. They went rigid, giddy, wide smiles spreading on their lips.

Others merely widened their eyes. Lord Enver Gortash at Sharess’ Caress? Unlikely. Outrageous! But then again even archdukes needed some release and fun every now and then, no? Well, you didn’t buy it, scoffing as you collected some empty glasses to bring to the kitchen.

Something was off with this man. His Steel Watch came out of nowhere and the way he made himself out to be the saviour of Baldur’s Gate…it didn’t sit right with you. This man was no selfless hero, one look into his eyes was enough to determine that. Funnily enough, however, no one else seemed to notice. Or perhaps they didn’t want to notice so as long as he protected them from this Absolute cult threatening the city. Either way, it was ridiculous. There were rumours spread by sceptics, even. Dark rumours that he worshipped Bane, the god of tyranny.

So here you were now, in a pickle. Sleep with the man who painted himself as a saint without payment or lose the roof over your head and starve out in the streets. You cursed, storming past Mamzell Amira and fighting the gag forcing its way up your throat when you realised what you were about to do.

“First room to the right. Do not disappoint him!”

It was a fucking walk of shame, it felt like every single person you walked past knew exactly what you were about to do. Some probably envied you. Others must have been relieved they were not in your situation.

Gortash had already made himself comfortable on the large king-size bed when you slipped into the room and locked the door behind you.

“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” he announced.

“Sorry, my lord. There were some…discrepancies.”

He chuckled. “Do you often contradict your employers? I would have expected more eagerness from a pretty thing like you.”

You gnashed your teeth, swallowing down the snarky remark dancing on your tongue. He waited. And waited. And waited.

“I’m not really, um…sure what to do.” Blood bit at your cheeks, embarrassment creeping up your spine. Gods, this was so absurd. Was it really worth it?

Gortash tilted his head. “You have done this before, have you not? Don’t lie to me,” he added.

You sighed. Well, fuck you, Amira.

“No. I haven’t. I’m not a prostitute. Mamzell Amira sold me to you despite her promise I’d only be working here as a waitress.”

“I see.”

Your eyes darted up, seeking compassion in his dark eyes. Perhaps he’d understand, perhaps he’d pick someone else after all and chide the brothel owner for breaching the contract she’d made you sign…but there was none. Only hunger.

“Come here.”

“Did you…did you not hear me?”

“I did. My ears work very well, dear.”

So he didn’t care. And if you refused him now…you could imagine more comfortable things than facing the wrath of a man who built an army of automatons seemingly overnight.

“Take off your dress. Let me see you.”

You obeyed—you didn’t have much choice, after all. It could have been worse, no? Gortash was handsome at least. Duke Ravenguard, as self-righteous as he was, would have been a less appealing option with how old he was compared to Gortash.

You weren’t exactly graceful when you stepped out of your dress, undergarments following quickly. Gortash made no move to undress himself in the meantime, instead watched every single one of your movements like a hawk, amused and greedy, even more so when you pushed yourself to climb on the bed.

Come to think of it…there was not a single man who had ever seen you naked, except for your father maybe when you were still an infant and needed a nappy change. This was new. Different, terrifying considering the circumstances and…exciting?

Fuck, you shouldn’t find this exciting! You didn’t want to do this, you only meant to survive, to…

You couldn’t finish the thought. Gortash leaned forward, pulling you against him. The cool metal of the demonic faces on his armour against your palm was only a small comfort as he rolled you both over and then towered above you with a smirk.

And against all reason, when he leaned down to kiss your lips, your eyes fell shut. Fuck, no!

“You can’t…” You didn’t know much about prostitution but if there was one thing you did know, it was that kissing was usually off-limits.

“Of course I can.” Gortash grabbed your chin, deepening the kiss. It felt…good. Intimate. Almost like he meant it. His tongue slipped into your mouth, battling yours for dominance you gave up far too quickly for your own liking.

You shivered when he pressed himself even closer to you, forcing your legs apart. The metal and the leather dug into your bare skin, your hands wandering, exploring his chest in a frenzy. Your body was…reacting to him in the most delicious ways.

You realised the very moment he freed his hardening length from his leather trousers that you were getting wet. The heat between your legs had you breathing heavily, even more so when you laid eyes on his arousal. Soft black hair framed the base of his erection, his tip red and eager and leaking precum. You were worried for a moment how it would fit with how inexperienced you were. If you tensed up out of nervousness…surely it would hurt.

Gortash released your lips with a deep breath, adjusting himself between your legs. With one hand, he guided himself to your weeping entrance, with the other he stroked your cheek before focusing on your left breast, his thumb teasing your nipple.

“Relax, dear. This is supposed to be pleasurable for us both.” Was it? You very much doubted the archduke cared if you…well, finished. Yet, with how breath-taking being with him felt in this very moment, perhaps he truly did mean his words.

Inch by antagonising inch, he spread you wide open, pushing inside. He went slow, savouring every last moment. His expression was calm, blissful, almost…beautiful.

He stretched you further and further, a light burn spreading between your legs and then…it was over, leaving nothing but pleasure behind. Gortash filled you to the brim, bathing in the sensation and perhaps, letting you get used to his size before he started moving. He withdrew slowly, propped himself up on one elbow and kept kneading your breasts with his free hand, before he plunged himself back in, fucking you in a slow and steady rhythm that had your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Gortash took his sweet time, savouring every single second. Grinding against you, he buried himself inside you as deep as he could, pounding you into the mattress. He was eager for his release, yet when he reached down to where your bodies met to find your clit with an easiness that made you flinch, you couldn’t help but allow a moan to escape your lips.

He chuckled in response, his thrusts getting harder, more uncontrolled. Fuck, you didn’t want him to stop. It felt good. He felt good. His thumb was massaging that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs even better than when you did it, hidden under your blanket at night. And whenever you did it, there was no one watching your every reaction like you were the most desirable woman in Faerûn.

There was amusement too though. It was clear by now he wanted you to come. Not for your sake—but for his. Whether it was to satisfy his ego, to confirm he knew what he was doing in bed or simply because you could only imagine how pleasurable it must have felt for him for your cunt to clench around him, to milk him for all he was worth.

Gortash left you no choice. You climbed higher and higher, unable to escape the bliss he bestowed upon you even if you wanted to. Part of you longed to deny him your pleasure, to not let him win this wicked game of his. But it was no use.

You were coming before a curse could leave your lips. You fell apart beneath him, pleasure coursing through you like a lightning bolt. Your toes curled, your muscles tensed, endorphins clouded your senses. Your moans made him smirk, your contracting pussy made him groan.

He seemed to grow even harder then, his sinful grunts the sexiest sound you had ever heard. He moved slightly, digging his fingers deep into your flesh as he grabbed your hips, surely leaving angry marks that would remind you of this encounter for days to come.

For a moment, he was no longer the fearsome archduke or the self-proclaimed hero of Baldur’s Gate. He was a man enslaved to lust and carnal desire—just as you were a woman of the same affliction. You moaned as he pumped his seed into you, his hard cock twitching and jerking against your walls until eventually…he collapsed on top of you with a satisfied sigh, leaving you both to process the aftermath in silence.

You swallowed as soon as the last waves of pleasure had ebbed away, realisation of what you had just done hitting you square in the face like a painful blow. You rose, shifting forward quickly in an attempt to climb out of bed and retrieve your clothes—to forget this ever happened before it could plant its roots into your mind even though part of you longed to do this again. Not with just anyone—with him.

Gortash chuckled and wrapped his arm around your waist, preventing you from leaving. “Are you in a hurry?”

“N-no.”

“Good. Then you won’t mind staying for a while longer.” His fingertips ghosted over your shoulder blade, leaving goose bumps behind in the process.

You should have resisted. Should have wailed, screamed, lashed out. You didn’t. Instead, you let your body relax and…enjoy the intimacy between you.

“Are the rumours true?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

“Are what rumours true?”

“Are you…a Bane worshipper?”

Silence. Long enough for you to regret your question.

“Bane is a god like any other, dear. And he can lead you to great power. He knows that power demands sacrifice—sacrifices not everyone is willing to make.”

It wasn’t an answer and yet it was. You refrained from another comment. After all, you intended to keep your head after losing your virginity.

He made you talk about yourself after this. Tell him your name, where you were from, where your family was. Light small talk you would have brushed off as mere politeness if it wasn’t Lord Enver Gortash you were conversing with.

You remained careful not to reveal too much about yourself. Trust came a long way and just because he had fucked you into the next year and proved that he was surprisingly good in bed that did not mean you would throw all caution out of the window.

After you’d gotten dressed again, you accompanied him downstairs where he was met by a smiling Mamzell Amira behind the counter by the entrance.

“I hope you had a good time, Lord Gortash?”

“A very good time indeed. Now…how much do I owe you for the time of this lovely flower of yours?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes even though part of you rejoiced. It was ridiculous just how much you enjoyed his attention and affection despite your suspicion and your fucked-up situation. Besides, his wordplay regarding your virginity did not go amiss. Mamzell Amira perchance hadn’t even been aware of your inexperience.

“Lord Gortash, please…you owe nothing at all. We are glad that you enjoyed your time here—and I hope we will see you again very soon.”

Your face fell. You had expected something like this. It hurt nonetheless. You had given your virginity to this man…and it wasn’t even worth a single gold piece.

Gortash smirked. “We shall see. I am a busy man.”

“Oh, busy men especially should take a rest every now and then. Enjoy your evening, Lord Gortash.”

The archduke nodded, shooting a final glance in your direction before he strutted off like he owned the place. Mamzell Amira’s eyes found yours.

“Thank you,” she said.

You walked away from her without a response.

Dunk the plate, wash it, dry it, stack it. Everything went back to normal in the following weeks. Except it didn’t. Nothing was back to normal. You’d lost your trust in Mamzell Amira, in your colleagues…and you’d lost what you’d been meaning to keep for someone special.

Gortash was special, there was no denying that. But the love of your life? Hardly. Amira didn’t mention again what you had done for her but she also didn’t ask you to do it again with another customer. After a few days, it almost felt like it never happened. Like it was all a dream. A nightmare—or a very twisted and yet exciting sex dream. Perhaps until today.

“Mamzell Amira wishes to speak to you.” It was one of the drow who stuck their head through the gap in the door with a sweet smile. You sighed, dried your hands quickly and abandoned the dirty plates in the sink.

The shit-eating grin on her face when you approached the counter was unsettling, to say the least.

“You will not believe the news I have.”

Your heart sank. Was Gortash coming back? Did he want…you…again?

“I’m shivering with anticipation,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your voice like venom.

“Watch your tongue, girl. Now. Lord Gortash has requested you to join him in Wyrm’s Rock. I can hardly blame him. The man is busy—that way, it won’t be necessary for him to make the journey.”

“What in the hells is that supposed to mean?”

Mamzell Amira rolled her eyes. “It means you are to pack your things. You will be staying with the archduke from today on.”

“You…you have no right to do that. I am not your slave. I am a contracted waitress!”

“I may not. But Lord Gortash certainly does. Now pack your things. There is a Steel Watcher outside waiting to escort you.”

You clenched your fists. “And if I refuse?”

Mamzell Amira narrowed her eyes. “Refuse and I will not take you back. I can only imagine the consequences you will face if you tell Lord Gortash you are not interested in his generous offer.”

“Generous?” You shrieked.

“Lord Gortash is requesting your presence at Wyrm’s Rock.” The Steel Watcher spoke your name, repeating the order over and over again. It didn’t quite fit through the door but its robotic voice could be heard a little too well regardless.

Fuck. Mamzell Amira had a point, of course. You would lose regardless of what option you chose. And if Lord Gortash truly did worship Bane as you suspected…you bit your lower lip. Starvation, hypothermia or death by the archduke, one that would never see the light of day…none of these options sounded very appealing to you.

And against all reason…you had enjoyed his company. His touch, his lips, his skilled fingers…his cock…

“Fine. I’ll go get my things.”

Mamzell Amira nodded.

“Lord Gortash is requesting your presence at Wyrm’s Rock” was the last thing you heard as you made your way upstairs and grabbed the other dress you owned, along with a small leather bag containing three gold pieces.

There were no goodbyes, no hugs, no “take care and good luck”. Most of the sex workers were busy with customers and Mamzell Amira, quite apparently, couldn’t give less of a fuck whether she’d just condemned you to the hells.

You followed the Steel Watcher feeling like you were being escorted to your execution, across the massive bridge, past stone walls, curious Fists and citizens and eventually, up a narrow set of stairs leading to Gortash’s office and private chambers.

The Steel Watcher closed the door behind you—heavy wooden doors you knew without trying you’d be unable to open all by yourself.

There he was, smirking at you from his luscious armchair. Your name rolled off his tongue almost pleasantly as he greeted you. You were supposed to bow so you knew, yet your limbs and spine refused to move even an inch. You clutched your bag tighter.

“Was I being unclear? I asked you to take all of your belongings with you. I have no intention of sending you back anytime soon.”

“That’s, um…” You cleared your throat, cursing your embarrassment. “…that’s all I own. My lord.”

“That? Is all you own?” He eyed the bundled-up garments in your hand. Surely you looked as pathetic as you felt.

“Are you telling me you own only two dresses?”

It was a hand-me-down from one of the prostitutes who no longer fit in it. Hence, it was a lot more revealing than you would have liked. The one you wore was plain, the fabric stained and worn-out toward the bottom.

“Yes.”

“Hmm…we shall rectify that. I’ll have someone sent to Figaro to retrieve some. As my concubine, you should look the part.”

You blinked. “What did you say?”

Gortash’s eyes met yours, amusement glistening in his.

“C-Concubine?”

“Why else did you think I’d send for you? To discuss political matters?” He chuckled. You weren’t quite sure why but it had you seethe.

“Mamzell Amira made quite a generous offer,” he explained.

“Which is?”

“You. In exchange for a lowered tax rate for the brothel.”

“T-that’s it? She…she didn’t even ask for payment for me?”

Gortash tilted his head and chuckled yet again. “Did you think you’d fetch a hefty sum? She did tell me she picked you up from the streets. Clearly, she must have thought your loss wouldn’t affect her business much.”

He might as well have reached for a dagger and plunged it deep into your heart. Tears pricked at your eyes, worsening your sight. You blinked them away frantically, unwilling to show weakness in front of him.

“Now, now…surely Mamzell Amira had only your best interests in mind when she sold you off. After all, I live a very wealthy life here in Wyrm’s Rock. First, we can get you some nice jewellery to wear.”

“I don’t care about jewellery.”

“Then what do you care about?”

“Bodily autonomy,” you murmured.

“What was that?” When you didn’t repeat yourself, he continued. “You are free to go if that is what you’re implying. But I think we both know what your alternative is.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s not? A shame.” Only he did not sound regretful at all.

“You expect me to let you fuck me whenever you please but you won’t pay me because I was a gift from the brothel! Are you even listening to yourself?”

“You are getting paid. You’ll have a bed, warm meals, clean garments…and my protection on top of that.”

“So I am nothing more than a slave in a golden cage.”

“If that is what you would like to call it, then by all means. I have business to tend to now. When I return, I expect you to have bathed. And—do throw away those hideous dresses.”

He moved toward the door but before he left, he turned around again.

“I will treat you well, dear. I can promise you that.”

“How much weight does a promise hold these days? The previous one got me into this situation in the first place.”

“I am a man of my word. I have no reason to lie to you. All I ask in return is that you behave. You can do that, hmm?”

He smirked, his expression playful. He left before you could utter another word.

Fine. You’d play his game. And may the gods help you, you will win.

#gortash x reader #gortash x tav #gortash x you #gortash imagine #gortash smut #lord gortash #gortash #lord gortash imagine #lord gortash x you #lord gortash x reader #lord gortash smut #lord enver gortash #lord enver gortash imagine #lord enver gortash x you #lord enver gortash x reader #lord enver gortash smut #enver gortash #enver gortash imagine #enver gortash x you #enver gortash x reader #enver gortash smut #enver gortash x tav #lord enver gortash x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #jason isaacs #baldurs gate 3 imagine

[barbieaemond]

Iron on Silk

Pairings: Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: mild angst at the beginning, definitely angst at the end, smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), choking, fingering, p in v, war dirtytalk.

Word count: 3.2k

Author's note: This was my little gift to you for the Aemondsversary. And it's still a gift now, for thanking you for 500 followers in such a short time since I remade my blog. There's a filthy extra in this filthy piece. Enjoy! :)

MASTERLIST

He wears it proudly. He wears it cruelly. It falls on his head like a halo, holy and dark. Black iron on white silk, and little stars of blood.

The crown is heavy with conquest, with tyranny, with the fire that forged it and the blood shed in its name.

"It looks better on me than it ever did on him."

It is true enough, but it does not make it any less heavy. He hides it well, but you can see it, as if looking down at a thick layer of ice, still and cold, and seeing the raging abyss underneath.

You can hear it in his deep sigh, even more in his short ones, when blinding rage is gaping its jaws to swallow reason.

You can feel it in the way he fucks you every night. Relentless. Ruthless. Merciless.

Hopeless.

Desperate to shake it off, to shake off the burden—the crown's burden, the death's burden. The one he lashed out on his family, the one who took Jaehaerys’ life, and Helaena’s. For Helaena is good as dead.

You tend to her every morning, at least you try. You try to get her to take a bath, to hold Maelor. Maelor, who cries and looks for his mother. Maelor who laughs and looks for his mother. You look at her and see her ghost while she still breathes. You look at the Queen Mother and see a shadow of flesh.

You look at him sitting in the Small Council, wearing iron on silk, and see a crown of thorns piercing through the skull.

“Does it hurt, my love?” you ask in the empty room while he strokes the skin around the sapphire. He mumbles something in return, and you walk to his seat at the end of the table, leaning your low back against it.

“No.” you say quietly “I meant the crown.”

He looks up and just stares at you, jaw clenched to trap words, the storm in his eye bubbling up from the depths.

“I have a war to plot.” He says, and that’s all he’s been saying for days.

“You have done nothing else. You look at your Lords and wait for a stab at your back. You look at our bed and see a battlefield. You lay with me holding a knife to my throat.”

He rests his lean shoulders against the seat and the wrinkles on his forehead unfold. "Tis' the first time I hear you complain about my marital duties." he says tilting his head with a cruel grin "It didn't seem much of a burden when you begged for more right after I spilled in your mouth last night." 

"Must it always come back to duty? If I wanted to spread my legs for a cock to warm me every night, I would've thrived in any brothel of Flee Bottom."

He laughs at this, but it comes out wrong, like a rusted gear, oiled too little. "Such lewd words for a Queen."

“Is that what I am?” You ask with a half-teasing smile “I thought you chose not to style yourself as King.”

“Hmm.” he muses, taking hold of your waist with his long fingers, to pull you to him. “I am wearing the Crown, am I not?”

You lean over him, placing your hands on his shoulders, looking at the sharp black edges cutting the soft white silk, wondering how it could have fallen on his head by mistake when it seems that the Gods have always meant to place it there.

Your back collides against the table and you slowly hop on it, your gaze fixed on him, whose eye widens slightly, mesmerized and thrilled. A rustling of paper fills the room, and he looks at the table and then back at you, lips curling up.

“Those are my war plans.”

“It seems my husband is not capable of talking about anything else these days. Fine, then.” You incline your head, mirroring his smile “Tell me about your war.”

He remains still and quiet for so long, looking at you with that glint you know so well, so much that your chest goes up and down fast, and his hands are not anywhere near you.

But then he stands up, forcing you to raise your chin, and leans over you, slowly, silky hair tickling your chest. “It seems my wife is in need of some warfare lessons.” he whispers, ghosting his lips against yours, and you eagerly part them to kiss him.

“Ah.” he counters, pulling his head back with a sly grin “First, we need to ensure our armies are ready.” his deft and long fingers climb on your corset and he starts to pull harshly at the laces, making you jump twice.

“What if someone enters?” you ask, as shivers run down your back like ice drops.

“Indeed, what if someone enters?” he turns your question around and stops his unlacing, challenge and hunger dance on his lips.

“Then you tell them you are the King and the King can fuck his Queen wherever he wishes to.”

His eye blazes under the candles, and after a moment of trepid silence, he brings both his hands to your corset, and with a swift and strong move he rips it apart.

You fall with your back on the table, your breasts are out, nipples hardening for the cold air and the arousal slowly coiling in your belly. He grabs your ankles and pulls you close to him, making you slide on the table to tie your legs around his waist.

You pull yourself up, holding onto your elbows and frantically reach for his belt but he stops your wrists. “Alreay eager to surrender?” he hums with amusement, eye roaming on your exposed body and the hold on your wrists grows impossibly tight, hurting. “If you were in charge, we would lose the war within a day.”

“Or win it.” you suggest, tightening your legs around him until you feel his hardening crotch, winning a quiet whimper from his throat. “Women could end any kind of war, my King. We own the most powerful weapon.”

“Say it again.” he orders, hands hiking up your skirt until it’s nothing more than a heap of fabric around your waist.

“My King.” You say, shuddering as his long fingers hover on your thighs, almost tickling—a gentle touch born out of so much violence.

“Again.”

“My—King.” The words come out wrong, broken by a soft gasp as his fingers unexpectedly breach your walls. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel him go deep inside, deeper than ever, and your mouth falls open.

“You are not so bold about your weapon now, are you?” he asks with a tone ridden with cruel enjoyment.

“Tis’ unfair.” You mumble, resting your head on the table.

“There is no fairness in war, my love.” he says, looking down at your damp flesh and how it clenches endlessly on his hand, and he watches and watches, wetting his lips as if pondering which move to strike on a war map. “It’s best not to be caught…unprepared when you expect an assault from your enemy. Do you know why?”

You whine quietly, biting your lip as he pumps his fingers deeper and deeper and his thumb draws circles on your apex. He does not accept that as an answer, so he slides out, and his large hand grabs your core, fully and almost painfully. “I said, do you know why?”

His tone is demanding, words laced with thunder as he does when commanding the Lords. “Why?”

“Because” he says lessening the grip on you “you give open field for what comes next.”

Air feels scorching in your throat as you look at him, black and silver and blue.

“What comes next?”

He grins like the most ruthless general at the front, the one who takes no prisoners and wipes the bloodied sword on his green cloak. “Siege.”

In a blink, your legs go up on his shoulders, a frame of flesh around iron, silk and sapphire.

He takes his seat again as if sitting down to feast, and you lift your head, breathing hard with anticipation, meeting his eye as his face hovers over your center, feeling his scorching breath lighting a fuse that quickly burns away every rational thought left in your head, if there ever was one since he touched you.

“Aemond, please…” you beg shamelessly, hands flying down to touch him, to bring his head closer and closer.

But he grabs your wrists and holds them still on your stomach. “Call me properly.”

“Please…” you say with your voice cracking, like the nerves in your neck because you can't stop looking at him “Please, my King.”

“Do you know how to conduct a siege?” he is speaking so close to your apex that you can feel his voice reverberating through your skin long before hearing it. “You strike first, hard. And then you wait, watching your enemy starve to death, until they surrender.”

He puts his words into practice by running his tongue flat on your folds and then he is sucking, hard, so hard you fear he is about to devour you.

He moans contentedly, closing his eye for a moment as his jaw moves nimbly and his tongue pierces inside. Your head falls back and you cry so loud you are sure the guards outside are aware of what's happening in the Small Council room.

Just when your hips are beginning to rock on their own against his face, feeling the bone of his long nose, he licks a long stripe and then pulls back.

You raise your head with a sound of protest, but his hands are still pinning your wrists like iron chains, and he is looking at you with a victorious smile, face all wet. And he licks his lips, thoroughly. "If only my enemies tasted half as sweet as your cunt."

With cruel delight, he watches you writhe beneath his hands, breathing hard and unconsciously rocking your hips on nothing to soothe the painful ache between your legs.

“Perhaps I should say mine by now.” he ponders, roaming his gaze on your whole body “This siege seems to be surprisingly short. Do you wish to surrender, my Queen?”

“Yes. Yes, I surrender.” And you press your ankles on his shoulders, hands desperate to free from his hold and seize him, to force him to seize you.

He finally releases your hands and stands up, your legs sliding down and your hands going to his breeches. You pull two laces, but then your right hand locks on his wrist as you see him about to take the crown off his head.

"No, keep it."

His eye turns pitch black, making a deadly contrast with the sparkling blue of the sapphire, and your hands go back to the laces, pulling quickly until you have just enough room to slip your hand in and grab his hard cock.

His lips twitch as pleasure makes his head numb, makes his limbs heavy and his blood boiling and falling down, right where you can feel it, harder than the iron resting on silk. You feel his breath changing with every stroke of your palm, his waist moving almost imperceptibly as he chases your skin, like falling into the warm embrace of a siren’s chant.

The sight only makes you smile, though it stokes your ache for him so much that you mirror his heavy and slow breaths. “Who’s besieging who now?” you point out, almost regretting it when he grabs your neck, squeezing lightly with a dark promise curling his smirk.

“This is your lesson, not mine.” He declares, despite the labored breathing.

You swallow, quietly gasping for air as you look at him.

“Who told you to stop?” he asks, with the same cold purpose he questions the up-and-coming Lords who seek council in that very room, tightening the grip on your throat, almost relishing in the choked sound that escapes your lips.

“Did you forget, sweet girl? You surrendered.” His eye lingers on every detail on your face, and his free hand flies through your hair, tucking a lock behind your ear. The gesture is gentle, almost delicate, the opposite of the hold of steel around your throat. Hostility and devotion doomed to a ceaseless chase to purge one another.

“Siege is over.” He says, sliding his hand up your chin “Now it’s time to claim.” two of his long fingers breach into your mouth, grazing your tongue, and you sense the faint taste of yourself. “There will be some fool who will rebel against the new order. But the rest? They will kneel before their new King.” he leaves your mouth only to grab you by your cheeks, angling your head so he’s whispering to your ear “And who will you be, my dear wife? A fool on a spike or a dutiful subject?”

You recognize that tone, playful but dangerous—the one that will make you wonder if the next grip will be hostile devotion or the opposite. “What if I’m both?” you whisper, moving your head so you can look at him once more. “What if I want to serve you and die by your hand?”

“Then kneel.” He orders, but in your ears is the sweetest death sentence.

His eye glints as soon as your knees hit the ground; it thrills him, it always does, to have you like this and he’s not shy about showing it, for how his chest heaves more and more rapidly as you part your lips to pledge to him.

“No.” he croaks, almost sneeringly given the trepidation pulling his bones so taut, so close to snap. “Look at me and speak the words.”  

“I pledge my allegiance to you, your Grace. I vow to honor and serve you until the last of my days." you swear and there's no acting in it. "Long may he reign.”

Your mouth closes around him and he gasps deeply, jaw falling slack as he looks down, at your lips so perfectly laced around the tip, at your eyes looking up with devotion, no hostility. Never. “Gods, you are so beautiful like this.” He pants, pulling your hair away from your forehead and immediately thrusting his hips so you can take all of it, up to the base.

It's a matter of moments before his hand tangles in your hair, pulling and pushing slightly to give you a steady pace that leaves you breathless and gasping for air. It doesn’t matter though, not when his eye almost rolls back for the pleasure you’re giving him, not when he’s so lost for words that he has not even breath for his snarky remarks. He just moans and groans like a primitive beast, thrusting his cock as deep as he can, growling when you hollow your cheeks around his wet and hard flesh.

Suddenly he tugs at your hair harshly, pulling away as you recline your head to look at him, mouth open to catch your breath. “Why?” you whisper, panting “Did I not serve you well, my King?”

He helps you get up only to make you sit on the Small Council table once again. “You served me exceptionally well, my love. But you will serve me even better by taking my seed into your sweet cunt.”

He hikes up your skirts and revels in the way you spread your legs for him. “Do you wish for a King to fuck you?”

“Not a king, no. My King.”

“I shall do more than that.” He says, panting slowly, eye all foggy but urgent with pleasure, and he takes your face, cradling it between his hands. “I shall put a child inside of you, to strengthen the Crown and see you swell with my offspring.”

“Here?” You tease “On your war maps?”

“Fuck the war.” His delicate hold turns to iron, and then he’s kissing you, as he always does, harshly, smothering, slumping his tongue into your throat.

His hand moves yours away, and your jaw falls slack as he thrusts into you, sliding easily all the way in. You fasten an arm around his shoulders, your parted lips brushing against his, struggling to breathe. He ties your legs around his slender waist and climbs halfway up the table, leaning over you.

Papers rustle and fall to the floor, a sound soon covered by your flesh clashing hard against each other as he ruts into you, and you are utterly besieged. The air fills with moans and growls, and you are not sure whether it is him or you as you climb together toward the final peak.

"Look at me." He laces his fingers around your neck, squeezing lightly. "Look at your King."

You do as he asks, straining to keep your eyes open, frowning with painful pleasure. "Yes, like this, my good girl." He praises, panting loudly, "My Queen."

He thrusts even harder, sweat dampening your skin and his forehead, and he is the most beautiful and dreadful sight you have ever seen. Black iron and white silk, blue sapphire and fire, fire and fire.

"I want you to come with me." He whispers, grabbing your chin with his fingertips, his hand still clutching your throat. "Can you do that for me?"

"Y-yes." You manage to choke out, "Anything."

"My beautiful wife. So dutiful." he says laying wet kisses on your chest "So perfect for me."

His words, uttered so gently compared to the violence of his sieging thrusts, only pushes you up and up, staggering to not fall. "Aemond, I can't—" you whine, digging your nail into his shoulders "I can't last for long."

Your legs are trembling helplessly around his waist, but he fastens the grip on your throat, hard, making you gasp for air. “Hold it.” he orders, groaning because he’s close too, “Just a little more, my darling. I know you can take it.”

It is true, but it does not make the coiling pressure between your legs any less painful, beautiful and painful. He turns sloppy, panting and cursing each time more loudly while you whine, pleading under your breath for him to let you fall into a depth of bliss.

And finally, when your muscles were starting to ache for how much you were holding it back, you hear his breath change, slow and labored, and you know the end is near.

At last, he comes with a choked groan, making sure that not a drop of his seed goes to waste. And you are falling with him, spasming all around his waist, shoulders and cock.

His head falls on your chest, covered by silk and iron, and perhaps the crown has never been less of a burden as it is in this moment, while he rests against your collarbones, as a place where he can lie, or even die.

When sunbeams filter through the bars of your cell, you look through them, though no heat is able to warm you anymore. Except for the life growing inside you.

From a distance, you hear a clamor of men in the courtyard, guards getting ready to carry out the sentence.

If you stand up on your toes, you can even catch a glimpse of the pike on which your head will be mounted in a few days, or perhaps a few moments.

It doesn't really matter.

You look at the puddle of mud on the ground and think of the lake.

You wonder if, at least under the Gods' Eye, the raging abyss beneath the ice has gone quiet, or if the waters have simply swallowed him.

#iron on silk #liv(in la vida loca) #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond x wife reader #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fanfic

[varuunsith]

i feel like the star wars fandom sleeps a lot on mace windu. dude's an absolute whole Man with capital M. He seldom used his lightsaber. He used his hands to crush droids barehanded. He protected clones that weren't even his battalion in a battle he was sure he would've died and he dis so gladly and with no hesitation. He saved an alien fauna species from extinction. He defeated Palpatine in a 1v1. He has a purple lightsaber. He serves lowkey cunt. Yeah all that business with Ahsoka but let's be real this fandom can excuse literal genocide and tyranny of characters because they are "sad", we can manage to excuse Windu following the goddamn evidence he had

#star wars #mace windu #he's my literal husband idk what else to tell y'all #star wars prequels

[thegnomelord]

CH 1: With a Spark It Starts Just Like It Ended

CW: NSFW Blood, gore, cannon typical violence, M reader but can be read as GN, Mage reader, Monster 141 AU, reader is described as having thick fucked up arms.

AO3 3.7k words, more of an intro to what's to come lol.

Old man Abdul had lived a good life. A harsh one. But a good one.

He was amongst the first to grab a gun and raise the fight against the Russians, risking life and limb for the freedom of Urzikstan even as members of his pack bled and died to artillery fire and noxious gas. And he alone had survived to see his country set free of tyranny and chose to stay in the military long after his hair had greyed.

And how was he rewarded for his service?

With a 'promotion' to guard the basement of a conference hall. They even called it the 'Peace House' as if that made his position grander, though in his humble opinion the only peaceful thing happening within the halls above was the lack of physical violence.

"Hey, did you fall asleep on me old man?" Taim, a bright eyed and gap-toothed human private so young he could've been one of his grandsons, asks as he throws down five playing cards on the floor between them. Royal flush, again.

Old man Abdul's eyes are soft with a glare and he throws down his own cards, already knowing he'd lost. "Go fish." He huffs, leaning back into the chair they'd been able to squirrel away.

It was embarrassing to think that boredom could torture him more than the Russians did, but they were only a few hours into their shift and he was already thinking of biting a bullet. Chances were they'd stay down here long after the diplomats up top finished bickering about who knows what...

"Hey," Taim perks up, and from the few weeks he's known him, Abdul knows the glint in his brown eyes heralds something stupid. "How about whoever loses this round takes a shot from your leg?"

He is proven correct.

"How about I throw you into a minefield so we can match?" Old man Abdul responds, his tail wagging from side to side. His tail looks more at home on a rat than any werewolf, the fur there an accidental casualty of a Russian fire mage's spell that had taken his leg off. The prosthetic leg only fitting on his human body isn't nearly as insulting as the warding totem they'd given him to protect against lethal magic after his leg had gone flying.

Taim gulps and holds his hands up. "There's no need for that sir." He quickly adds, clearing his throat and reaching to the floor to pick up their cards and shuffle them.

Taim's warding totem slips out from beneath his jacket, but it's different from old man Abdul's. Not in appearance, with the same materials every mage will make theirs differently, but in feel. It feels different...wrong.

Eyes narrowing he reaches out and holds the piece of faintly glowing rock between his claws. Heat radiates into his fingers, the magic inside pulsing in a steady even thrum like a machine instead of beating like a heartbeat; like something not quite alive.

Abdul had been in combat long enough to know how good a warding totem is with how his body reacts to it.

The shit one he'd been given barely gets the remaining fur on his tail to bristle.

Taim's makes his skin want to melt off.

"Where did you get this?" Abdul asks, tail curling up as he lets go of the totem with disgust clear on his face. "That rock could probably protect you from L3 mage without cracking, maybe even L4." Call him paranoid, but a private getting a totem to protect him from mages rarer than unicorns doesn't make any sense.

"Oh, that-" The young man clears his throat, the totem laying flat against his chest like an insult to life. "Came from up top a few days ago, guess all those terror attacks spooked command and they want to keep us normal people safe." He realizes his words and quickly adds. "-not that I'm calling you not normal or anything sir, it's just that-"

"-You're squishier than me, yes, I know." Old man Abdul rolls his eyes, leaning back into his chair with a huff.

Taim gives a nervous little giggle, scratching at his curly dark hair. "No offence sir. It's just...you know."

"We all look out for our kinfolk first." Old man Abdul sighs, going to wave him off.

His pointy ear twitches and immediately he's jumping to his feet when his sensitive hearing picks up the sound of the elevator mechanism running. No one is supposed to come down at this time, and Abdul already has his rifle raised to point at the elevator doors by the time Taim is able to get to his own feet. The old werewolf doesn't even need to say anything for the young man to stand on opposite side of him, they work together well, both guns aimed at the person revealed by the opening elevator doors.

It's just the janitor.

Taim lets out a small breath and lowers his gun, relaxing as the janitor gives them a small greeting both of them have to strain their ears to hear as a face mask muffles their words.

"That was a bit embarrassing." Taim chuckles weakly, nodding his own greeting and taking a step back so the janitor can push the heavy cart past them. Abdul notes the janitor's hands are thick and large, the veins poking out beneath latex gloves. Murky water sloshes inside the mop bucket, the trash bag filled to the brim and budging.

It's just a janitor.

But like an annoying tick on his ass, something doesn't let old man Abdul relax.

There's a buzz in the back of his mind like the one he'd get when he was being watched, and when he catches sight of the janitor's eyes beneath the wide-brimmed cap that buzzing stops; Instead replaced with a flash sense of wrongness in his bones and the feeling of tar inside his heart and an indescribable scent — like stale beer and burnt grass and deep dark rot — it has his fingers moving to the trigger before the sight of magic melting through latex can make the short trip from his eyes to his brain—

Glowing lines spring into thin air to form magic circles before their eyes.

The warding totems shatter.

'Pop' goes a head.

Both bodies drop to the ground.

"Could have told me there was a dog." Your words scrape against your throat like shards of glass from the disuse, melted latex stretching into long strands as you take off the cleaner gloves and throw them away, your fingers steaming and glowing hot with mana before you hide them away in tactical gloves.

"I-" Taim tries to say but his voice fails him, eyes and mind still blinded by the harsh glare of magical fire.

"Save it." You cut him off, pulling open the lip of the trash bag to dig out your facemask helmet. It's both a full face helmet and a gasmask, scratched up from years of use but still able to protect your head while keeping you anonymous. A shame it can't filter out the stench of burnt flesh, but you've gotten used to it.

Taim's vision clears and the moment his eyes settle on the charred remains of Abdul's head— the hollowed out skull where concentrated flame had burned a hole straight through everything in it's path, the flesh and bone charred black —he's scrambling away as fast as his feet can push him, the shattered remains of your warding totem crumbling beneath his fingers. Bile rises in his throat and he coughs when he breaths in, but his stomach is thankfully empty so he ends up dry heaving.

"On your feet." Your words are hard to understand under your gasmask, but you don't need to raise your voice. The tone you use has him scrambling to his feet in seconds.

"I- I- yes sir!" Taim manages to stutter out, doesn't even have to fake his fear as he stands at attention. He watches you reach into the dirty water to pull out a Handheld Personal Computer and shake off the residual droplets to ensure it still works before putting it in your pocket.

"When is the next check in?" You ask, reaching further into the trash bag to grasp the handhold on the heavy gas canister hidden beneath office trash. You pull it out without much effort, setting it carefully on the ground so you can recheck that the release valve is intact.

"20 minutes sir." Taim responds and he doesn't need to know Arabic to know what's inside the canister when a grinning skull is printed on the metal.

You let out a low sound, and Taim tries not to peer too closely at you. Sometimes he wonders what face a person who burns people alive without a single second of hesitation could have, but then you look at him and he sees that unnatural glow of mana in your eyes behind the darkened lenses of the helmet and he's glad he's met with the emotionless visage of the mask rather than the one beneath it.

"You have 10 to get out before Hell opens up." You say, standing back up and picking up the canister without complaint. "Use the emergency tunnels, don't spook the VIPs."

Taim is human, not sensitive to magic like the monsters are, but even he can feel the latent mana in your veins that strengthens your body. Like maggots at the back of his skull. It makes a second round of bile rise to his throat. "Yes sir."

You pay close attention to him until he disappears down the corridor before going the opposite way. Alone, it is easier to calm the lingering heat in your veins until the eternal engine of mana in your chest fizzles down to embers like a sleeping beast. Can't have your mana mess with sensitive electronics, even if that does leave you exposed on the cams (as if there's anyone alive to watch them)

"Ifrit, status?" The small radio in your ear crackles.

"Moving to the target, encountered and neutralized a wolf." You answer, taking sharp turns as you follow a path you'd memorized beforehand. "No other monsters to report."

You were lucky to run into one down in the bowels of the conference hall instead of at the front gate. Otherwise your espionage mission would have turned into a frontal assault. Not that Khaled would have minded, you were getting paid to send a loud statement after all.

"Good." You don't need to see his face to know he's smirking, your employer wasn't a huge fan of subhumans. "Continue to the objective."

You respond in affirmative, coming to a heavy metal door, locked with a passcode and even a palm scanner; It's all a valiant effort to keep sensitive data safe, but it may as well be cardboard to you. You summon another circle, this time right on the door, biting your tongue. You're not good with 'subtle' but you haven't forgotten what Taurus or Sierra had taught you; first pushing a bit of loose ash magic between the large atoms making up the metal to disrupt the bonds, then a single pulse of fire ignites the volatile ash and has the entire bottom half crumbling into red hot shards.

Molten slag drips down to the floor when you duck down under the remaining half of the door to find yourself in the server room. Steam rises when the cold air meets your hot skin, but you hardly notice as you first head to the ventilation system at the back of the room. It's dark, but you don't bother turning on the lights, the subtle mana in your eyes enough to give you primitive night vision.

"Ifrit to Alpha-Actual, connecting the payload right now." You say, setting the canister down. The ventilation collects the air from the server room to push it through the entire building and then outside, so all you have to do is melt a hole through the exit pipe until it's big enough for the hose on the canister to fit snugly inside.

"And the files?" Khaled's voice sounds in your ear once you're finished.

"Going now." Standing back up you head to the central server. Taking out the HPC you hook it up to the mainframe, watching the screen until it shows 'connection secure'. "I'm connected."

"Copy that." Your eyes scan the cracked screen (which you broke less than a week after getting it), seeing the file transfer start before Khaled even finishes speaking and trying to read and memorize the names of dozens the files but they change too quickly. "File transfer ETA 5 minutes. Sit tight."

Giving confirmation you keep an eye on the doorway. Though you are positioned in such a way that you'd see the shadow of someone coming in before they see you, years of being behind enemy lines and acting as a friendly to your foes has taught you to be careful. Especially when you can't use more than a smidgeon of mana without frying the entire server system.

You are lucky that no-one comes, the remaining guards too busy guarding the diplomats above you to check what's beneath their noses. While waiting you access the public stream to watch the peace talks, setting the sound to the lowest possible setting so you can keep an eye on the diplomats in case you need a change of plan.

"Got the files, you're clear to finish." You're moving before Khaled can finish speaking, leaving the HPC to hang by the cord from the server. "Oh, and remember: Loud."

"You get what you pay for sir." Kneeling down next to the gas canister you check to ensure your gas mask is firmly on and breathing in deeply; It restricts your breathing and makes muscles work harder, but your body is so used to it that it feels like coming back home.

"Letting the gas out now." Even with the gas mask you still hold your breath when you open the valve, the gas hissing as it escapes the canister, the fan right next to you helping push it through the system. You know there's not enough gas to reach the diplomats on the top floor, it's part of the plan, so when the gas pitters out you cast another circle inside the pipe.

The servers around you flicker meekly and crackle with electricity when you use your mana fully; Something intense and suffocating burns behind your sternum for just a second before liquid mana is rushing down your veins into your hands and coming out through the magic circle as copious amounts of ash.

The rotating fan right next to you spews some of your ash right back at you, flooding the server room in magic that has long since accepted your body enough not to hurt you. But even your seasoned stomach feels tight when you breathe in the mixture of ash and toxic gas, the chemicals turning your magic a nasty shade of green, and you make a mental note to change the filter when you're done with the op otherwise the toxified sediment collecting in there will poison you for months.

You can hear the diplomats begin to cough over the livestream in the HPC, but it all feels so distant when you shift and feel cold dog tags press against your burning chest. They're light like a noose around your neck, yet the absence of weight mocks you in a way their owners no longer can.

There's a familiar sting in your bones when your mana reservoir begins dwindling, but it's easy to push through it until the engine in your chest goes into overdrive from the stress the magic puts on your body. You only stop when the burning mana in your veins starts burning small holes in the sleeves of the janitor jacket, revealing bits of your mage marked skin.

Stopping the flow of ash your hands find themselves in your pocket, taking out a lighter. It's one of those old zippo lighters, the exterior is rusted from years of action and numerous initials are scratched into the metal, but somehow it still functions; It's the strange thing about it— the more you use it, the longer it lasts. Stop, and it dies.

"It's a bit like you, firebug."

Absentmindedly you trace the scratched initials in the metal, trying to ignore the hollowness in your chest when the screams beyond the smokescreen of ash start sounding familiar.

"Going dark." You say to them, flicking it open.

One spark is all it takes.

. . .

With Makarov having gone underground like a wanker after his escape from the gulag, Price and Laswell had been stuck with their heads in mountains of paperwork searching for the bastard. Price had known he'd be in for a headache the moment he agreed to let the boys watch a live football game between England and Scotland, but he reasoned they'd all been working hard enough to earn even a small break.

At the very least it gave them all a moment of reprieve from the stress of a possible world war.

It didn't stop Soap from being a bloody muppet.

"Oh fockin' 'ell!" Soap roars and jumps to his feet, growling at the teli where a ref held a red card above her head. "That should've been a yellow! Fock, one more eye and the ref's a right cyclops." He waves obscenities at the teli as if the ref can see them, his tail hitting Gaz every time it wagged.

"Soap!" Gaz groans and stretches one black wing to smack the werewolf over the head with his long flight feathers to stop him blocking the screen.

Though Gaz's wings are hollow, the smack still hurts. "Ow, what's that for?" Soap groans, rubbing the back of his head.

"At least take your defeat with a wee bit of dignity." Gaz smirks, folding his wings.

"Bold assumption he has any." Ghost mutters next to Price, making him chuckle.

“Oh ho! I’ll get me dignity when the bloody ref gets off 'er knees an’ stops blowing the entire game.” Soap turns to playfully snap his teeth at Gaz. "And what's tha-"

The football match cuts out, replaced with a news segment.

"-Oh, what the fock?" Soap grows quiet when the newscaster begins speaking.

"We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you breaking news. As we speak, the conference hall in Al Mazra, where diplomats from over 40 countries had come to discuss peace and trade agreements with the newly reinstated Urzikstan government, burns in the flames of another terrorist attack."

The footage shifts to a drone filming a bird's eye view shot of violent flames spewing from every hole and window to engulf the entire three story building in consuming fire, heavy plumes of smoke rising into the sky like a maw of a hungering beast to spew a storm of ash and cinders down to the ground. The clouds of ash have a sick green undertone to them.

"Shit." Gaz sucks in a breath.

"Mokarov's done hiding." Ghost notes, leaning in to look closely at the screen with narrowed eyes.

"How the fock did we miss this?" Soap asks the question in their minds, turning to look at Price. "This popped up like bloody whack-a-mole."

At that same time Price's phone rings. The dragon quickly fishes it out of his pocket, seeing Laswell's name as the caller ID before he picks it up while the reporter drawls on.

"Price, are you-"

"Yeah, I'm watching the teli." He cuts her off, knowing what she's going to say. Distantly he can hear the same news report sounding on her end.

"Authorities warn citizens to vacate the immediate area as toxic gas has been detected in the air. Military forces are already enroute, but the prospects for the diplomats survival are nonexistent."

Price's draconic eyes focus on the screen when the footage shifts to that inside the conference hall. Two diplomats argue about something Price can't begin to try and untangle, his focus on one man near the back who begins coughing. More follow suit, and even over the screen Price can tell the signs of toxic gas inhalation by the way more diplomats begin wheezing and coughing wetly.

"This isn't the Russians." Kate says after Price has put her on speaker.

"How come? Looks like some terrorist shite Makarov would pull." Johnny says, his tail curled up and the tip wagging occasionally as he pays attention to the screen.

Seconds later plumes of blackish-green smog erupt from the vents above the diplomats, spewing out with such force it knocks the the camera and the man behind it down to the ground. Ash Magic, Price realizes when he sees smoldering cinders drift almost peacefully in the all consuming fog. Seconds later something causes a spark and the volatile ash magic explodes.

"Ash mage." Ghost grunts, "Just great."

"Makarov doesn't use mages." Price says, scratching his beard.

"No, but Al-Asad does." Kate's voice drifts through the silent room as they watch several APC's arrive on the scene, armored soldiers exiting. But without any monsters who can stomach the heat like Price and with the fog of ash so thick it could be cut with a knife, the best they can do is secure the perimeter. "The CIA intercepted his broadcast before it went public, this is just the start."

Gaz hops off the couch, crossing the small distance to tap one claw at the screen. "What is that?" He asks. Seemingly hearing him, the drone camera focuses on where the main entrance of the building had been.

A dark silhouette of a person can be seen in the flames, growing darker and more refined until finally a featureless helmet emerges from the flames, a deep glow emanating from behind the lenses. It's followed by a body, clothes burnt away in some parts but the flesh beneath unharmed. Price can tell immediately it's a mage by the state of the arms — even from far away it's easy to tell the mage marks, the skin turned rough and dark like cooled magma, veins brimming with volatile mana.

Before the soldiers can fire a single bullet you lift one hand up, the dark mage marks turning to bright like fresh lava when mana flows from your chest to your fingers. A magic circle etches itself into the ground in an instant, so large the surrounding buildings fall into it's perimeter.

And with a second motion of your hand everything erupts into an all consuming cloud of ash.

Laswell's voice rings out. "That's Khaled's new attack dog."

Price and Ghost share a look, both know what will happen long before some nervous soldier caught in the ash cloud pulls the trigger. The cloud of ash explodes the second a spark is created in a weapon's chamber, plunging everything into chaos.

Great, a new wanker to worry about.

Price sighs, brows furrowing. "That's trouble all right."

Tag list: @resident-cryptid @diejager @lovingtyrantkitten @lieutnt

Masterlist <- Chapter 1 (you are here) -> Chapter 2

You can imagine the helmet however you want, but it's in the style of the Devtac Ronin helmet.

#centerpieces of the hoard #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #top male reader #captain john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #fanfiction #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #cod x male reader #cod x reader #monster 141 au #monster cod au #not betaed #next chapter coming soon