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whispereons · 8 months

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Oracle!Reader Part 16

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 15, Part 17

Warning! This is sagau imposter so expect some gore and manipulation this chapter! At least no death this time :D

Each step of your dirty shoes on the bare rocky terrain held more weight than Azhdaha's heart and soul. His body shuffled and shifted, resisting the urge to ram the barrier trapping him.

"Don't be so impatient, Azhdaha. You've waited for millennials, surely a minute for me to reach you is nothing." You slow your steps purposely to tease him with a deceivingly gentle smile.

The ground rumbles briefly as Azhdaha settles in place and rests his head on the ground. If he had fur instead of stone, you would believe he was just a giant dog.

"Forgive me your grace. The leylines I command are constantly blooming with power at your every step."

"Was it not the people of Liyue who harmed the leylines causing the events that led to your imprisonment here?" You ask, selecting your words carefully.

Red eyes carved from ruby stare at you as you stop right outside of the barrier surrounding his body. Not wanting to accidentally disable the barrier, you rest your hand on the closest pillar.

Pillars with the same design and origin of the one who was a little too late to save his dear friend from this fate.

"Was it not the ruler of those people that failed to reach you in time?"

"Even you, your grace, are aware of the shameful state I have been reduced to. Morax may have provided me with these defective eyes but at least now I can view your glorious prestige."

Surprisingly there is no rush of anger and violence in Azhdaha's movement and tone. He moves closer till his face is gently pressing against the Geo-decorated barrier.

"I beg of you, Creator of all things. Let me feel your skin, your warmth. The memories of my creation are lost to the erosion of time. Whether it be your hand or foot, I will adore it all the same. I am nothing but the groundskeeper to your playground called Tevyat."

A originally blind dragon has no need for eyelids so all he can do is gaze pleadingly at your silent form. Blue crystalline clink on the ground as it drops from his eyes as the silence persists. Even still you stare at him with a blank expression until his head is completely bowed to the ground.

An isolated dragon desperate for even the slightest bit of affection was like wet clay for you to mold to your liking. The only thing that ruined any plans you had for him was that dreaded erosion. You seriously doubted that he could stay calm and lie to match your facade the way Beisht can.

"Rest easy now, Azhdaha." Your hand moves through the yellow barrier, which thankfully doesn't deactivate it, to lay on his rocky forehead. "A dragon like you, who I have created with my own hand before this vessel, is not easily forgotten. Many of your brethren have perished before I could return."

Cupping what little of his wide, rough jaw, you tilt his head to stare up at you. A delicate expression with sadness and love swirling together is what paints your face. "You have done so well to persist this long, Azhdaha."

A loud roar of anguish is let loose as he tries to move further into your touch. Ignoring the threat of scraps, you pet his stony exterior with a smile.

"Your grace! Your holiness! Those words are what fuel my pitiful existence. The feel of your skin on this degraded body brings memories of my creation from the clutches of erosion."

Mindlessly stroking the weeping dragon, you think deeply on his words. 'Memories of my creation' is what he called it. Azhdaha was struggling at first due to the contrasting information from the eyes corrupted by the Gnosis and the leylines of Teyvat. All it took was your touch on his body for him to fully give in to you.

Perhaps the other dragon sovereigns and primordial beings will recognize you easily with your touch as well. Could it work on the Archons too?

"Are you okay, your grace? I know that day, you were injured due to my own careless ruling. I failed to control my subjects and you suffered from it. If death is my penalty for my negligence then I will accept it wholeheartedly."

The strange and unexpected words laced with guilt made you confused. Caressing the rugged layer of stone near his eyes to grab his attention, you ask carefully. "What do you mean by that?"

His tail lowers onto the ground as he speaks lowly. "Not long ago, the Geovishaps were making their rounds on maintaining the leylines when two hatchlings got lost."

Oh, you knew where this was going.

"When they dug back up to the surface, they were in the city. While trying to escape, they hurt someone. They hurt you." That last word is said with bubbling anger. Resisting the urge to yank your hands away from the dragon capable of turning into a volcano, you brush your hands further to distract him.

"Teyvat had already warned us elemental beings about someone injuring you with malicious intent. To feel the leylines in your area go into a frenzy from that incident made my blood boil. It's only fair that the perpetrator suffers the bare minimum consequences."

So, it wasn't Teyvat that had the hatchling kill the other. It was Azhdaha.

Despite the harsh truth that Azhdaha just admitted, your hands seemed to move on their own to keep Azhdaha subdued. You aren't necessarily scared of Azhdaha, you're just more cautious on how to approach leaving him.

You couldn't just teleport out, who knows how Azhdaha's battered and worship-obsessed brain would interpret it. You didn't need a bunch of Geovishap and Geovishap hatchlings chasing you throughout Liyue.

But the thought of returning back to the city takes less priority than your current one. A dragon one head scratch away from rolling over at your command is vulnerable to your words. Just what could you strip from Azhdaha for future use?

"Azhdaha, you love me don't you?" You ask it with a deceivingly shaky voice as your hands halt their stream of pets. His reaction is immediate.

His claws scratch the ground as he stands to his full height. Even still, his back hunches trying to keep himself respectful to your much smaller form. "My love for you will exist even after my death. Every Geovishap that roams this world and every leyline that reacts to your presence is proof of my love for you, beloved Creator."

A small, sad smile crosses your face at the words he utters with zeal. It was so easy to get his deteriorated brain to fall for your expertly crafted facade of vulnerability. It's not like he was your first or last victim to this 'side' of you.

School faculty couldn't turn a blind eye to the way you paled at the cost of lunch. Empathetic, heroic, and kind students wouldn't resist the urge to defend, tend to, or help you when any bullying started. Even strangers with bleeding hearts had no problem giving you food or money when you were a roaming teenager with nothing but a backpack.

The money you saved by not paying lunch almost always went straight to the locked box you had for when you would be inevitably moved to a new guardian. All the bullying incidents were helpful in making the other students invite and accept you into any group of your choosing. It's not like anyone would believe that meek and polite you could jump the bullies on their way home with a malicious smile and a blunt weapon, nor would a passing stranger that helped you be aware of the man and cat that you returned to completely contrasting the story you spun.

"Then you're willing to protect me, right? Ei, that Bakufu was intent on seeing me as an imposter. She tried to take my life right when I just returned. It's due to that, that I have to live in fear of this mask being removed."

Moving closer, you rest your forehead against his head, trembling in fear of the horrid memory.

"I'm sure if I arrived in Liyue instead of Inazuma, I would be able to walk on Teyvat with you proudly on the surface with me. You would protect me, you would fight for me. You would die for me, would you not? Dragons are known for their loyalty after all."

Azhdaha continuously repositions himself as he breathes heavily. There's no doubt he's torn between anger against Ei, happiness at your trust, and excitement at the prospect of being on the surface.

"You have my word, my grace. I would fight any enemy, defend any stronghold, obey any command you have for me. Simply relay your order and I will fulfill it to perfection. And if it pleases you, allow me the honor of destroying the Shogun for her unforgivable sins."

"But can you really protect me with those imperfect eyes?" Your words are spoken gently with a smile laced with sweet poison. "You are putting me in danger by using those corrupted eyes to watch over me. Do you not know why I crafted you without eyes?"

A sole finger touches the edge of the red jewel eyes as silence permanence the air. He doesn't flinch from the fleeting fingertips despite the slow unraveling of your intentions.

"Geo lifeforms that stay underground don’t have eyes as they have no need for it. And as thankful as I am that Morax provided you with eyes to enjoy the surface, it wasn't my original design for you."

Experimentally tapping his eyes and smiling at the crystalline texture, you speak with a low timber. "You were always meant to stay underground to properly care for the leylines. You didn't know it at the time, but accepting these eyes had the same effect as accepting Celestia's lies."

You let Azhdaha think deeply on your revelation as you pet the area around his eyes. The mere fact that he was contemplating it was a good sign, those eyes are proof of his contract with Morax after all.

"Your benevolence, are you requesting the destruction of my eyes?"

"Of course not, Azhdaha!" Laughing reassuringly, your fingers dig into the corner of his eyes ignoring the way he flinches in pain. "I'm commanding you to give me those eyes. I cannot bring you to the surface with me, so bringing a remnant of you will soothe my aching and lonely heart. It's convenient that those eyes prevent you from doing your job correctly too."

A low pained groan leaves his jaw as your other hand mimics the action of the former. Nails digging into his eye cavities, you feel the ruby eyes lift from the force. Azhdaha's body shakes, alerting you that you pushed him far enough. Releasing his eyes you take a step back to be out of the barrier in case he makes any attack.

"I once yearned to see the sun, that blazing ball of fire that lights up this world providing it with the warmth to live. All because I knew that you must shine even brighter than it. In those days of old, envy and despair consumed me as did the love and joy I felt being embraced in this world that you crafted. I know better now. I know that even without these eyes that I enjoyed from that traitor I once called my friend, I could still make out your glorious form. Every leyline on this planet shines like dull cobblestone in comparison to the gold figure that stands in front of me."

"I have no way to wretch these crystal eyes out of the unneeded cavities. Take them from me, your grace, take any part of my body that you desire. My sole regret is that I could not offer you my original body to pick from."

An excited smile stretches across your face with a heartfelt caress to the bridge of his nose. "Thank you Azhdaha, do not fret. The day that I craft you eyes worthy of the dragon you once were is near. Thank you for being such a good boy."

Despite the condescending tone to your last words that slipped out, Azhdaha still rejoices with the same fervor of a real dog. The tree tail wags slowly, revealing his happiness.

Carefully, you dig your nails into his right eye. It's heavy and hard to pull out. This would surely be easier using your sickle but you didn't want Azhdaha to feel even more pain. At least with you using your hands, he feels some comfort in your skin.

After a tough tug, the eye is finally out and stuffed haphazardly into your bag. Blue crystalline liquid coats your hands and flows from the now-empty cavity. Wiping it off on your clothes carelessly, you give Azhdaha a break by petting him.

"Just one more Azhdaha, then it'll be done." He leans into your touch without a single sound escaping him. You aren't fooled by that tough facade. He's silent in fear that speaking will only result in his pained cries.

The red jewel chips slightly as you dig it out of his head. Beads of clear blue roll down as you grit your teeth. It finally comes out and that trickle becomes a stream. Putting the eye into your bag, you peek at the now blind dragon.

A slow, continuous dribble of aqua crystalline stains his face as the cavities slowly stitch close. The cavities closing simultaneously are heard by the cracking and grinding of rocks. Azhdaha curls into himself from the pain but refuses to allow any sound escape him.

Your body moves on its own to hug the suffering dragon. Murmurs of praise and thanks leave your lips as the rocks creak louder and faster. The tear tracks left on his face stain your clothing blue yet you can't find it in yourself to care.

A selfish person, that's what you were to your core. There are no words you can use to justify what you have done to Azhdaha. You may never have the power to craft new eyes for him. You may not even live long enough to research how. Yet, you still manipulated him into giving it up. The bitter self-hatred and burning feeling of loathing yourself builds up inside you.

"As sad as I am to surrender my eyes, there is nothing that brings me greater joy than to be of use to you your grace. I will readjust to living without eyes."

Releasing him, you stare at his now-healed face. The cavities have been completely sealed shut as if there were never eyes to begin with. His voice is deep and rumbles softly.

"The leylines of this world relay to me more than elemental crystals shaped in the visage of eyes can."

The words do little to ease the guilt you feel for your cruelty but before you can do anything, a loud sound interrupts your thoughts. Frowning, you adjust your bag back onto your shoulders and look at the entrance to Azhdaha's lair.

It's silent and it only makes you more suspicious. Taking a few steps toward the lair's entrance, a glow behind you makes you whip around quickly. Azhdaha's body glows with white cracks throughout his body as he roars ferociously.

Backing up in confusion, you watch in disbelief as Azhdaha's body shrinks and compresses. Loud bangs echo from the lair entrance in sync with Azhdaha's deafening cry.

That loud bang is accompanied by the sound of the seal covering the entrance shattering. Deciding to focus on the unknown intruder first, you catch the sight of a tall figure walking with powerful steps toward you.

A sole amber eye is what catches your attention first.

Brown hair with glowing tips loosely drapes over an earthy-colored hanfu. Only a stub can be made out from inside one of the dark sleeves as the tall man looks at you with an emotionless expression.

"Zhongli. It sure is a surprise to see you here." Your mind spins as it tries to comprehend just why Zhongli was here. Azhdaha's unwavering roars, his missing eyes, just everything about this situation was suspicious.

His other arm, which thankfully hasn't been cut off, raises to cup your face. Gloved fingers are featherlight on your dusty cheek as you stare up at him with perplexion clear on your face. He leans closer to speak with unwavering confidence.

"Why did you leave?"

He's got to be kidding.

"Why wouldn't I leave? I wasn't interested in being a third wheel to your conversation with the Creator." You answer back with a disbelieving tone before getting startled at the slam of a hulking body hitting the ground.

"MORAX! How dare you reappear in my prison after all that you had done?! What audacity have you fostered that let you dare to touch the Creator?!"

Fuck

Shit, oh fucking hell.

Thousands of curses swarm your mind at Azhdaha's words, you keep your face in its confused expression as you run through any plan or excuse to survive.

"You're making Y/N uncomfortable with your insane claims, Azhdaha. They're an Oracle sent from the world the Creator is residing in." Zhongli is calm in his refute to Azhdaha's tantrum.

Pushing Zhongli's hand off your face, you turn to look at Azhdaha who is now much smaller. His stature is exactly like you saw when you played Genshin. That bright light must have not only degraded his body to the erosion-damaged body but his brain too. It's simply too suspicious that he became this wildly angry at Zhongli's presence.

Looking up at Azhdaha with sad eyes and a kind voice you speak gently, as if trying to soothe the dragon with no idea of what he claimed.

"I know my presence is similar to the Creator due to my otherworldly origin, but I'm really just Y/N. The erosion must be so painful that it even brought you down to this point. The creator hasn't forgotten you, I can promise that."

Zhongli frowns as Azhdaha tries to refute you. "NO! Don't you see, your grace?! That traitor is merely trying to keep you from reaching your full glory to keep you to himself!"

"How can you say that when you can't see at all?" Zhongli's voice is chilly as he places his gloved hand on your shoulder. His grip is tight and you try to step away. He doesn't budge and merely pulls you closer to him.

"Solidify!" The familiar line is yelled before a dome-like shield completely covers you and Zhongli. Your confusion on his action is answered when rocks from the ceiling start to rain on the shield. His hand positions your head to look back at him.

"Why won't you look at me Y/N? Do you still hold bitterness against me for my doubts against you? I was proven wrong utterly and completely, I apologize for my rudeness."

His voice is pleading and his lips tug down into a sad frown. You really can't understand why Zhongli's just ignoring all the suspicious things in this situation. Was the attachment acolytes feel towards you already affecting him this strongly?

"I'm not mad at you. Sure, it was annoying that you kept suspecting me despite all my efforts but you do believe me now after sacrificing so much. Actually, just what and how much did you offer? The sky lit up quite a few times."

An excited smile graces his lips as he takes a step closer to you, but unexpectedly sways making you grab his arm in worry. He laughs gently before speaking.

"After I noticed your disappearance, I gave as many offerings of my body as I could. Not only as my repentance toward the Creator but also as an apology to you."

Your eyes trail down his change of clothes. The hanfu is black with brown, gold, and white parts to it. The Geo symbol sign is clearly stitched into the inner robe.

"Is that why you have a change of clothes and are swaying so much? Be honest and tell me what part of your body you gave."

With closed eyes and shaky breaths, he places your hand on the top of his head. His hair is ticklish to your bare palms. "This human body wasn't nearly enough to make an impactful offering. But my Exuvia is adequate for our beloved creator. Naturally, my horns were the first to go."

The slight nub you feel between his locks must be the stump from his horns. You aren't sure whether to be sick or amazed. But Zhongli doesn't stop there, he takes advantage of your bewilderment and takes hold of your other hand.

"My spines were the next to be cut off. Those jagged ambers were more helpful for flying than anything else." His head nuzzles your hand on his hair as he takes your other hand to the spine of his back. You can feel the ridges of the amber remnants.

"My tail was in a similar position, useless in my current form. If only they didn't bleed so much. If the creator took any longer to accept my offering, I would have passed out from blood loss."

Even more worried about his physical state, you try to pull your hand away from his back and graze his side making him hiss in pain. He's quick to grab hold of it again and press it deeper into his side. Your jaw drops as he groans in pain and gives you a pained smile.

"I severed my claws yet got no response. I really believed I would have to stop at that point but I remembered another draconic part of my body that I could offer."

Your eyes filter between his happy and pained smile and the hanfu that was starting to blossom with red. Just where the fuck was he going with this?

"My skin, or rather, my scales were still in my body. Each clink of the scales as they were torn or cut out of my body may have left me lightheaded from the gushing wounds. But nothing could compare to the feeling of the Creator accepting me."

Blinking in pure shock, your mind struggled to comprehend the mere insanity of his actions. You were joking about him having the possibility of sewing his mouth shut from finding his idle annoying. This motherfucker would actually do it!

Zhongli takes your reaction, or rather lack of reaction, in stride with him pulling you closer to him. Your hands rest on his body to not be pressed against him but that only has him wincing in pain. He stubbornly holds you closer as you cringe from the feeling of wet blood seeping through his hanfu and onto your skin and clothes.

"Stop. Doesn't this hurt you? Just how long will it take you to heal, let alone regain those dragon features?" Asking him with the purpose of distracting him, you speak in a rush. He merely hums as his arms stay around you firmly.

"Elemental beings like myself will always recover. I'm exceptionally strong with my status as an Archon, I'll be fully healed within a month at most."

You couldn't even linger on the idea that in a single month, he would be completely back to normal. The ground shook as more and more rocks fell on the shield. You couldn't stay trapped in Zhongli's embrace, at this rate you couldn't even stay in Liyue for much longer.

The slight sway of his movements, the slow speech pattern, and the rising of his body temperature permeating through his clothing gave you an idea.

Halting your resistance to his hold, your hands trail up his clothing with a pitiful smile. Rough and dirty hands from all the hardship you faced to get here cup his face enhancing the contrast of his smooth skin. His eyes immediately close at the contact with a deep rumbling sound coming from his chest.

"Still, it must be painful. Not just physically but mentally too. You have gained and lost so much over your lifetime. I have no doubt that it won't stop here. Just stay strong a little longer, won't you? Be patient till the Creator arrives and rewards you properly."

Zhongli's features soften till his eyes droop and his lips tremble. His full vulnerability is on display as he nuzzles into your palms shamelessly.

"Just what kind of ability do you possess? Young as you are, your ability to perceive and empathize with feelings is beyond your years. Do not stress for me, I have already been awarded by the Creator."

You frown slightly at his last words, not fully grasping at what his 'reward' from you was. The sacrificial method? The artifacts and weapons? He smiles at your confusion with half-lidded eyes.

Grasping your hands, he brings them closer to his mouth and kisses your knuckles with a smoldering grin. You aren't completely sure whether the pink decorating his cheeks is from embarrassment or a fever from his injuries.

"What greater reward than an Oracle sent from our God to soothe my soul?"

Suddenly you don't like where this is going. The thundering sound of rocks being thrown agrees with you.

"As fellow devoted servants to the Creator, should we not join in union? Marriage is a contract till death does us part after all."

There's no way this was happening. You were not getting proposed in a basement with a raging dragon just a few feet away from you.

Sensing your hesitation, Zhongli continues to speak with a romantic timber as he places a kiss on your palm.

"This may be sudden but I can assure you that I'll take care of you. I'll protect, provide, and love you as the closest person to our beloved creator. You may not love me now but just being from a different world has caused many problems for you. You are the only person who can match the amount of devotion I hold to our creator."

If this was a true confession of love at first sight or any other extremely fluffy trope, you would seriously contemplate saying yes. He wasn't wrong about your life being much easier with him by your side.

But it instantly died when he revealed that it was from you being such a strong believer and being the most intimately connected to the creator. It killed any romantic prospect of the situation. All you felt was dread and a longing to just leave.

You truly hope that he was only saying this shit from the blood loss getting to him. The annoyed expression you wear isn't even covered up, letting Zhongli see it plainly. His affectionate expression breaks and his lips part to ask you something but it's cut off by a bang.

It seems Azhdaha unknowingly agreed to break you out as a rock finally breaks the dome shield that had been protecting you all this time.

"Succumb to my fury Morax! Not even addressing the creator properly during your whole conversation is a disgrace to the Geo element and dragons alike!"

Wrath seemed to have consumed Azhdaha enough that one of the pillars of the barrier broke. Zhongli summons his spear and walks past you to stand protectively in front of you.

"Do not fret Y/N, I'll subdue Azhdaha so that he does not cause any more problems. Permanently." You absolutely did not want that but at the same time, you really wanted to escape this whole situation.

Azhdaha is going insane, Zhongli's bound to realize what you had taken from Azhdaha, and the duo of women are bound to get closer from the activity. That's not even counting how close this cave seemed to be from collapsing.

"Azhdaha is still the creator's loyal creation! He may have deteriorated from the erosion that you failed to prevent, but don't kill a loyal and faithful follower like him!"

Hitting Zhongli with such a sharp remark, you watch his deadly glare weaken. Azhdaha begins to make careless attacks toward Zhongli's vicinity which, unfortunately, you're still in.

Picking you up with ease, Zhongli dodges the many attacks and stops near the lair's exit. Azhdaha does his best to give chase but isn’t much of a threat in that size.

Setting you down and wiping away the small pieces of rock from your face, Zhongli gazes at you warmly.

"You should return to Liyue Harbor. I'm sure many things require your attention considering how much trouble you seem to get into. And when we meet again, I expect an answer to my question."

Trying to ignore his last words, you wave to him before he jumps back into battle with Azhdaha. As soon as his back is turned you book it out of the lair. Leaving the small cave entrance the night sky shines above you.

Thousands of stars shimmer as you stand in silence. It felt good to have a break from everything going on below ground. Walking slowly your eyes gradually climb up the Dragon-Queller tree trunk to admire its full beauty.

It seems you were correct in assuming that the crystalline blue glowed brighter at night. The cerulean-colored branches pulsed with an eye-catching glimmer. The orange leaves blew in the night air as the pink petals of the flowers below you swayed.

You spot a familiar-looking constellation in the sky that seemed to twinkle for your attention. Lapis Dei, Zhongli's constellation, was lit up by four points. It was pretty incredible that you went from a C0 to C4 in a matter of hours.

But, just what effect did constellations have on characters other than making them stronger? It was closely connected to your creator power so it must be important outside of the game. Would whatever effect it have differ between humans and archons?

What would have happened if you had gotten Zhongli to C6 before coming here?

Setting those lingering questions aside, you gaze up at the Dragon-Queller tree one more time before bringing up your game screen. You've finally witnessed everything about this area giving you a sense of satisfaction.

Creak

The sound makes you pause and lift your head up from the screen in confusion. It's silent for a few moments until Teyvat bombards your mind with a sense of something going wrong.

CRACK

Ice. Lots and lots of ice spring up from the ground circling around your feet. Quickly moving back from the ice, a sharp and cold solid spike tears through your calves. A cry of pain leaves you as you stop in place. Red drops of blood stain the spikes of ice that impaled you.

Did it break your bones? Was it an important muscle for running? If you pulled it out, would you lose too much blood?

Those thoughts swirled in your mind as the pain blinded you from the fact that Teyvat never stopped warning you.

Keeping a hand to your heart trying to slow your breathing and push down the rising sobs, you focus on what you can do now. But it's already too late. Something glints in the distance and a swish of air is heard before pain blooms from your chest.

Scalding water leaves boils on the right side of your chest as an arrow stays embedded into it. Tears of pain and anger stick to your eyelashes as you carefully move your head trying to spot the woman.

You knew Yelan and Shenhe were somewhere here. Even with the tears sliding down your mask, your lips were curled into a defensive snarl.

The small breaths you let out don't feel wet or painful, therefore your lungs are unharmed. Yelan had the skill and power to hit your lungs if she desired. This means she wants to speak to you, she wants some information you have.

She won't kill you yet.

Commanding Teyvat to show you where they were hiding, you blink sluggishly at the elemental sight being activated. Teyvat creates a path of Anemo leading to two separate points making you smile through the pain.

"Yelan, Shenhe. Shouldn't you both at least reveal yourself when taking a hostage?"

There's no need to play dumb at this point. They already suspect and harmed you to the point where it just wouldn't be smart to act ignorant.

After a beat, both women leave their respective hiding spots and make their way to you. Yelan is relaxed with an easygoing gait showing that she has all the time in the world. Shenhe is more ferous in her approach, weapon on hand, and a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Except Shenhe begins to sprint at you once you lock eyes with her. Despite the rapid thumping of your heart at her stance, you stay still not wanting to show that you could escape when needed.

As expected; Yelan grits her teeth in annoyance and activates her skill to catch up to Shenhe. Shenhe is just a few feet away from you, her spear is held out prepared to slash when she's pulled back by Yelan's lifeline. A sigh of relief escapes you as you slump into place.

"Not yet Shenhe, I need them alive for my job first. Afterwards, you can kill them as you please." Dropping Shenhe from her lifeline Yelan sighs in exhaustion.

Shenhe doesn't react much to Yelan's attitude. Merely brushing off the dust and repositioning her weapon while watching you.

"Eyes over here Y/N." The sound of your name from Yelan's lips catches your attention. She smirks at your wary glance and spins her bracelet. "Why don't you and I have a little chat?"

It's done! This one didn't take as long since I have been getting settled into school. If everything is cool and I'm fast then I could finish a chapter every weekend. But let's be honest. I'm far too unlucky for that. This was edited by my annoying dear editor @serpent-benediction . Don't pay attention to him tho. That was mostly a joke! I know the Zhongli cutting limbs wasn't as much as one would think since he goes around without his dragon features most of the time anyway. I just couldn't find a good reason on him cutting off his legs and still managing to fight Azhdaha. So, I hope everyone isn't too disappointed by that and can enjoy the most yandere character so far! Personally, I would not accept that marriage proposal. But now we get to focus on Yelan and Shenhe! I've taken great care to keep Yelan's intention very vague, but I think those that have read her story have a good idea on why she's here. The next chapter should be quite exciting! Taglist - remember if you're username is in italics, that means I couldn't tag you! @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia

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504py · 6 months

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Its me again (i hope you don't mind i am in you ask again 😅)

So uh do you have headcanon for yandere russia and canada with their s/o?

Thx 🌻

holy SHIT i got carried away 😭😭😭 this was supposed to be a short post, but i got too deep into their characterization. and don't worry!! i appreciate your asks! anyways, here we go guys... please heed the warnings!

Yandere Russia and Yandere Canada Relationship Headcanons

Gender neutral, domestic violence, implied NSFW, self-harm, manipulation, forced feminization, dubious consent, stalking, long post ahead!

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

Russia

How the relationship started

Your relationship with Ivan first started with you doing some mundane thing, but he was there at the right place and the right time, and something about you intrigued him. Be it at a restaurant eating a strange food combination, seeing you early in the morning with your hair wet and rushing to get somewhere, or even getting a glimpse of your mismatched socks when you walked past him and didn't even pay him any mind. That was enough to seal your fate as his property. His mind can't seem to stop running with thoughts of you, how are you, why are you, and he needs to scratch that itch.

Ivan sends out a private investigator to stalk you basically, and provide him with your daily schedule. Once Ivan has your schedule, he dismisses the investigator, and takes matters into his own hands by stalking you himself, and trying to insert himself into your daily life.

Then, it was just a matter of getting to know you, courting you with expensive gifts and dates, then fully dooming yourself when you accepted him as your boyfriend.

Expectations

Ivan is very blunt with what he wants. Not very long into your relationship, around a month or so, he asks you to move in with him. Any sort of opposition or protest will be stonewalled by this; "We will be married and living together someday anyways. Why fight it? Don't you love me?"

So, whether you like it or not, you move in with him in his giant, lonely house.

There are no maids and none of the Baltic states to be seen, and this is because Ivan expects you to fulfill the role of a housewife, regardless of your gender. So he'd like for you to do chores yourself and to clean up around the house while he's gone. He doesn't expect perfection from your cleaning, in fact, he finds it a little charming when some areas aren't clean or spotless. His house was huge and you were only so small.

On the topic of fulfilling the role of his housewife, he expects you to do other things that make you fit the role even more, such as giving him affection, cooking for him, and keeping up a good front when guests are around. He wants the two of you to evoke the image of a traditional married couple so badly, and if you fail to meet those requirements...

Punishments

Ivan can be cruel. He doesn't tolerate rebellion very well, and his punishments are always physical.

He is a very touchy man, and if you fail to reciprocate his touch, or actively shy away from it, he'll only get more aggressive. His hugs will feel more suffocating, his grip on your jaw while he kisses you will feel bruising, and you swear, it feels like he's trying to crush your hand while he holds it, despite the sweet smile on his face..

If you continue to refuse him, he'll be much less subtle with his harm. One day, when you try to shove him away from you, his grip on your arm tightens to the point it feels like he might just snap it, and he pulls you close to whisper a threat into your ear; "Will you continue to be like this?"

If you say no and apologize, which would be your best option, he'll let out a strained breath and try to relax his clenched jaw, before letting up his grip on your arm and muttering an apology under his breath himself.

If you say yes... His jaw will tense up, and the look he gives you is bone-chilling. "Alright." He says, and doesn't give you much time to think before he drags you to the front door, and throws you out into the harsh cold, with only the clothes on your back.

You can cry and scream apologies and bang on the door all you want, but he's already walked away and drinking a bit of vodka to soothe his own nerves.

He'll keep you outside till you are on the brink of getting mild hypothermia. He waits there, thinking of how long it'd take for the cold to get to someone of your size and shape. He knows everything about snow, and he knows everything about you.

Right before you start to ebb in and out of consciousness, he opens the door, and drags you back inside, wiping the snow off of you and taking your weak, shivering body in his arms.

You cling to him, wanting to live in his house, his coat, and in his arms forever after experiencing the unforgiving hellscape that is the Russian winter.

Ivan mutters sweet nothings, the alcohol in his breath and the powdery smell of his clothing enveloping all your senses. He says that he wouldn't have to do this if you would've just obeyed him, that this is all your fault, and that he didn't want to do this and that he just loves you too much.

If you had any sense of self-preservation, you'll listen to him from now on, and if not... He wouldn't be above breaking a few bones. But you won't disobey him again, right? It's for your own good.

"I'm sorry, моя любовь.."

Rewards

Ivan is a very affectionate man, but he isn't the best at showing it vocally. He shows it in the lavish gifts and dates he goes on with you— Yes, he takes you out on dates. Only for special events or when he's feeling particularly affectionate, but he does it too because he feels he also has a role to fulfill as a doting, providing husband. He'd feel too bad if he just kept you locked up your whole life as his wife (and, also, he wants to test you.. He wants to see if you'll act up in public, and to see if he can trust you). Ivan feels it adds to the aesthetic of a married couple, too.

Besides that, he is INCREDIBLY physically affectionate. He has no sense of personal space at all, which may or may not be a bad thing to you, but regardless, what you think doesn't really matter, and he'll continue to invade it anyways.

He always calls you over to sit on his lap, he sleeps way too close to you, and he's always looming over your shoulder no matter where and what you're doing. As long as he's home, it's GUARANTEED he will be touching you in some way, shape or form.

Because of such things, Ivan is.. prone to getting intimate with you.

Unlike everything else, he actually sort of values your consent when it comes to the bedroom. Yes, he will make advances and be very touchy-feely, and maybe intimidate you a bit, but at the end of the day, if you keep refusing it, he'll let up, but his mood will noticeably be more tense.

Ivan is especially prone to this because clothing is one of his favorite things to gift you, he enjoys dressing you up in things he finds cute. And I mean literally. Whatever he buys for you, be it dresses, coats, or underwear, Ivan will want to be there to undress you and then dress you up in the things he bought himself. You're like his own cute little doll.

Regardless of your gender, Ivan will buy you feminine clothing and accessories. He may even be inclined to forcing you to grow out your hair.

He likes sniffing you. He rests his nose atop your scalp while hugging you, just to breathe in your scent. It calms him like nothing else in the world, and he feels alive again.

And during not-so-often times like these, he'll speak and voice his affections.

"I love you.. We are going to have a great life together."

࿐°*˖✧┊͙✧˖*°࿐

Canada

How the relationship started

Matthew would be completely enamored by you just.. noticing him on a regular basis. Nodding your head at him whenever you two walked by each other in the hallway, mumbling a hello whenever you two sat next to each other, and the mere act of your eyes meeting his. Fully looking at him, and not just straight through him. It always left him red and unable to calm his heart for the rest of the day, so it was only natural he'd fall head over heels for you.

His crush on you kept festering day by day, with him being too shy to continue the little interactions you have, and having such little experience with socializing that he wouldn't even know how to continue furthering this "relationship."

Matthew is rather delusional. He spends his days fantasizing about talking to you, hanging out with you, being with you romantically, and, more often than he'd like to admit, rather impure things... all while you're seated next to him, or while you're across from him, a heady stare through his foggy glasses.

Eventually, Matthew starts to believe that you two were already in a romantic relationship, despite being acquaintances at best, and he starts to get really insecure. What if you forget about him someday? What if you stop noticing him, and you just disappear from his life? He believes that other people you notice, any other person you notice, will jeopardize that oh so special relationship you and Matthew clearly have.

So, Matthew bites the bullet, and asks you out for lunch one day. You smiled and blushed at him so brightly as you accepted, and at that moment, he knew he'd dedicate everything he had in his life to worshipping you.

Expectations

Matthew still puts in an effort to appear like a normal boyfriend, unlike Ivan, so your relationship with him would progress much more naturally.

That doesn't mean he hasn't been doing anything weird, though.

Matthew's already been envisioning what it'd be like to have a family and grow old with you the first moment he heard your voice. All you said was, "Good morning." So what more now that you two are in a real, established, romantic relationship?

He fantasizes constantly about clinging to you like a lifeline and crying about how much he loves you, and to hear you feel the same way he does. He wants to pin you beneath him, letting him do all the work, and showing you just how much he loves you, while whispering praises and prayers to you with a crazed, devoted look in his violet eyes.

You two have only been together for three weeks.

...If it wasn't apparent, all he wants is for you to always, always be by his side.

He doesn't care much for appearances or services like Ivan does. If anything, Matthew wants to be the one to do nice things for you, though he would like it too if you did nice stuff for him once in a while. Though, just kissing him on the cheek is enough to keep him overjoyed for like a week straight.

He spends a lot of time doting on you and trying to prolong the time you guys have together for as much as he can. Honestly, for the most part, Matthew would play the role of a normal boyfriend rather well, and your relationship wouldn't be really turbulent, except for, well...

Punishments

Matthew hates it when you have to go. Usually, he very reluctantly drives you back home after a bit of a fight, but he's just so pitiful you could never find it in yourself to be mad at him. I think he'd be the type to cry whenever you two had any sort of disagreement.

When he's lucky, he can get you to stay the night, which absolutely sends him on cloud nine, but it's not often enough for his liking...

Things would boil over, though, when you had to leave earlier than usual because you had to go to do something, like hang out with a friend, visit your mother, anything of the sort, and Matthew gets really upset.

He starts this whole thing of begging you to stay, that "Aren't I more important than them? Please don't leave." and he's tearing up, his shaky fingers holding onto your sleeve.

"Matthew, please, just for tonight."

"I-I don't want you to go, though."

Then he's crying. Harder than he usually does, and he's looking at you like a kicked puppy.

How could you still go after seeing him like that?

Matthew then learns that he can win you over with his tears. If he just cries for you, you'll stay, won't you?

He'd never lay his hands on you, but he'd constantly guilt-trip you and manipulate you for things to go in his favor.

Violence is something he'd see as a last resort, but it's still something he'd use against everyone else and himself, but never you. He hates to hurt others, but if they get in the way of him and you, he'll do it. I feel like people forget that, while nowhere as strong as Alfred is, Matthew is still a pretty strong guy. He wouldn't ever kill anyone, but he'd severely hurt them, and he'd be hiding his face the whole time.

And yes, he'd hurt himself for you. Those crocodile tears are bound to stop working on you someday, and when that time comes, he'll harm himself and say that he'll just keep hurting himself if you aren't with him.

Then you'll just have to run back to him, tend to his wounds, and reassure him that you still love him and that you'll stay.

...But if you keep trying to run, he'll have to just lock you up so you won't look at anyone else ever again.

Rewards

Matthew is affectionate in every sense, though he tends to show it through the way he wants to do anything and everything with you.

He's always holding onto your hands, massaging little circles into it, getting your favorite snacks when he does his groceries, drying your hair after showers, arranging dates and cooking and cleaning for you as much as he can. He's naturally very doting.

He does his best for you, he really does.

Besides acts of service, Matthew just likes to spend time with you. Lazing around with you on the couch, playing with your hair, and gazing right into your eyes like you were heaven-sent. He always has the most lovestruck expression on his face whenever he's with you.

"...You're the only one for me, you know that?" He mumbles, almost as if he doesn't know he's even talking.

And he says this next line with such devotion dripping from his voice that it makes your blood run a little cold.

"...I love you so much. Never leave me.."

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

(....guys was that decent. anyways! all art used is mine so if you're reading this, go give the original posts some love on my blog!)

#aph canada #hws canada #aph russia #hws russia #yandere russia #yandere canada #yandere hetalia #yandere hetalia x reader #yandere x reader #russia x reader #canada x reader #yandere russia x reader #yandere canada x reader #hetalia headcanons #🛁#asks #matthew williams #ivan braginsky

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calisources · 2 months

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𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐋, 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒.

All sentences on this meme have been taking from different media and sources. They all touch on the topics of romance, difficult and forbidden love, mostly setting in the political schemes of war and peace and royal court. Change names, locations and nouns and you see fit. Some lines might have foul language.

Sometimes we hurt the ones we love, but hurting ourselves to avoid it doesn’t make it better.

Could someone treat you badly and still love you?

Even so, in the midst of this complicated love, there is a holy union.

Love is complicated. It’s sticky. It’s bliss and it’s a mix of emotions. It’s not easy.

I hated him now because I has loved him then.

I'm not like you. I can't afford to be reckless.

When have I ever, since the first instant I touched you, pretended to be anything less than in love with you?

Are you so fucking self-absorbed as to think this is about you and whether or not I love you, rather than the fact I'm an heir to the fucking throne?

You at least have the option to not choose a public life eventually, but I will live and die in these palaces and in this family.

She wears a crown that never should’ve been hers.

Your wish is my command, my queen.

You can always leave my service.

Don’t you see, Diana? If I did that, I’d break not one but two hearts. For I know you love me, though you haven’t said it yet.

You do know me. I love you so much, it sometimes terrifies me.

You are going to regret that, Your Magical Regalness.

Just because I am a prince doesn’t make my life a fairy tale.

So kiss the others for all I care, but don’t hold back with me.

You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees.

He didn't marry you to become king. He became king because he wanted to marry you.

I know I have but the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king.

I believe we are what we make ourselves, and as such, you, Crown Princess, are nothing.

You, what are you? The brat of lucky parents who were related to a childless king.

Rule with the heart of a servant. Serve with the heart of a king.

There’s a fine line between gossip and history, when one is talking about kings.

You can't treat royalty like people with normal perverted desires.

We kings do develop a certain ability to recognize objects under our noses.

...alone is such a nebulous state when one is queen.

I respect you as my king, and I respect you as my father, but I do not respect you as a man.

You're the most important person I've ever met. And I should have never met you at all.

Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.

I find that happiness can always be recollected in tranquillity, Ma’am.

It's almost impossible for those who have had an intimate relationship to return to a formal one.

I question if within you is any magic.

You’re my princess, right? You were always going to be my princess, no matter what you were born.

The king is a saint and cannot rule, and his son is a devil and should not.

For kings, the world is extremely simplified: All men are subjects.

A king deserves reverence when being addressed.

Yes, she had abused her title and station before, but for minor stuff, not to steal a warship.

You are a king worthy of their allegiance . . . with a queen full of fire and promise.

When God calls you into His Kingdom, your way of life will reflect royalty if you serve Him with loyalty.

My royal status is both a shield that protects me and a sword that impales my heart.

You know, for a pampered princess, you have a certain gift for violence.

I have to be seen to be believed.

Kings needn’t raise their voices to be heard.

That is your very own myth. The idea that how you are born or the name you are given dictate the sort of person you really are.

I know that names have power. That is why I cannot let her forget hers.

You’ll have to face it, Princess. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon enough. And you can’t be this scared when the time comes.

A bad king revels in his importance. A good one hates his office.

Crowns belong to those that serve.

She was their witch queen, and they adored her.

Beatrice is going to be queen someday.

Kings are only kings because one ancestor was quicker than another to place a crown on his own head.

Queen, do not allow a commoner to dethrone you. Own that throne. You are royalty.

A throne won in blood will soon be drenched in it.

My mother once told me that everything is fuelled by either money or sex, because both lead to power.

Even when she's dethroned by hardship, she still wears the sun as a crown.

She holds a nation’s fate within her shaking hands. She wears a crown that never should’ve been hers.

My reign has been anything but traditional. Let’s not start now, shall we?

Oh honey, someday a real man is going to make you see stars and you won't even be looking at the sky.

Every girl thinks about growing up in a palace. Few ever ponder living in a cage.

Climb up the family tree of any of them high enough and you’ll find a commoner who dared to take a chance.

Am I forbidden to do what all may do?

My arrival saved the kingdom, while his only reiterated that his blood would fill the throne one day.

Slow down there, princess. How do you know what kind of first impression you gave me?

So none of the young men we encountered during our season gave you hot pants for them?

If stubborness were all that was needed to be a good queen, I'd rule the world.

I’d decided that I was going to stop dressing like a princess and start dressing like a queen.

Don’t touch me. Don’t tell me how beautiful my eyes are, how soft my hair is, how you love to hear my voice. Don’t. Don’t pretend you are falling in love with me.

I know you are lying, and every word you say hurts even more.

Before the wedding, and the bedding, when I will have to take you as my lord and husband?

I may not be a king or a queen, but I'll be damned if I'm not treated like royalty.

He is fragile, like a prince of ice, of glass.

It is natural that men are going to gather round me, hoping for a smile.

Men only treat women like princesses when they want to use them like prostitutes.

You can smile when your heart is breaking because you're a woman.

I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't do anything but think about him.

Anyone can attract a man. The trick is to keep him.

To save my son, I would plot with the devil himself.

Only fools wait when their enemies are coming, to see if they may prove to be friends.

When a man wants a mystery, it is generally better to leave him mystified. Nobody loves a clever woman.

I wanted the heat and the sweat and the passion of a man that I could love and trust.

I am a fool to own it, but I am in a fever for your touch.

And you are the sort of mistress a man doesn't bother to marry. Sons or no sons.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #political scheme #royal schemes #royal betrayal #romantic heartbreak

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targaryenluvs · 10 months

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- NOT YOURS

pairing: prowler!miles morales x reader, miles morales x reader

summary - miles seemingly can’t let you go, but you know your miles needs to get home. maybe if you play along you’ll be able to get back home. PART TWO!!! part 1 here

word count: 1,305 words

warnings - not much really, profanity, lil bit of violence and non-con touchy touch

notes - well i didnt expect to do a part two lmao but holy shit you lot r crazy thank u for the love - sorry if this isn’t at anyone’s standards but yeaaahh here you go 🤍

TAGLIST: @pifuyue @afternoon-evening @myspacewhore1comz @ashleebooksblog @sophiaj650 @colossaltitannnn @the-rogue-robin @zaddyskye69 @loonalockley

he’s not moving.

you’d been trying to shake your miles awake ever since the other miles left the room but to no avail.

“miles please, i don’t know how long we have. you have to work with me here.” you whispered as you shook his shoulders again. he was icy to the touch, the hard floor did not help.

you didn’t know where he was but you prayed he wouldn’t come back any time soon, as unlikely it was for him not to return.

he was crazy, indefinitely.

how the hell can someone be so delusional to think that their girlfriend who passed away, infront of them, whom they buried in the ground over a year ago, is back and with them in the flesh? you had no clue, but all you cared about right now was getting miles up and awake.

you’d managed to get rid of the chains after what felt like an eternal tug of war and you were sure he’d wake with countless bruises.

“fuck it.” you sighed as you raised your fist as it is collided with his chest. you couldn’t hit his face, he was to pretty for that.

miles was struggling.

he was dreaming. he knew that.

but for some reason he felt much more comfortable with staying in his dream then facing whatever was happening around his body at the time. maybe he was already dead. this other miles killed him, took his girlfriend, his y/n.

the one who he had loved since they were kids and he was too stubborn to get off the swings since he thought he should have extra time after being away visiting relatives.

the one who was also as stubborn as he was and decided that getting a plastic shovel from the sandpit and digging it into his sides was a more effective way of getting him off rather than asking politely or asking a teacher for aid.

the one who helped him up afterwards and apologised before running to the swings and hopping on.

the one who he saw everyday afterwards, the one who sat in his spot and made friends with his. the one who he knew he should’ve been mad at but he couldn’t help but admire.

her cute pigtails, her cute dresses and smile.

the one he grew up with, his first true friend, his first crush, his first kiss, his first girlfriend.

the one who helped him through his uncles passing and to come to terms with his new abilities. the one who always gave him the strength to get back up and fight.

he couldn’t stay here.

his father was waiting for his help whether he knew it or not and his other half was waiting for him to get back up.

get up.

Get Up.

GET UP

“get up! oh my god is one punch not enough idiot?” y/n whisper-yelled in his face as his eyes shot open.

you’d never felt more relieved at seeing miles’s wide eyes. “shit are you okay? i didn’t punch you too hard right?” you interrogated him as you looked over his face with concern.

“no, no i’m okay. are you? shit i should’ve gotten up earlier i’m so sorry. he didn’t hurt you did he? i’m so sorry, so sorry i-“ you cut off his rambling with a kiss.

as you pulled back you couldn’t help but smile, he was quite literally knocked out cold and the first thing he asked was if you were okay. “i’m fine miles. i’m okay, just breathe okay? you need to have your head on straight if we’re to get the fuck outta here okay?” you murmured as you nestled your face in his neck.

“come on up, we need to get out of here before that psycho comes b-“ you were cut off as you felt something buzz in your jacket.

you saw miles’s bewildered expression as you slowly reached for it, “i swear to god if this is a bomb.” miles whispered as you groaned, “seriously?”

as your hand grazed the object your eyes lit up as you recognised it. you pulled out one of the watches you’d managed to acquire through violent methods at HQ.

“yes! oh my god you are incredible you know that?” miles grinned as he asked for it. “i totally forgot i had it, god thank you!” you joked as you clasped your hands together whilst looking upwards.

“earth 1610, i know that much.” you smiled as he worked through it.

the two of you were so engrossed within the find of the watch you forgot to focus on the door behind you two as it slowly opened. miles’s head shot up as his senses went off. he shoved the watch into your jacket as the two of you turned around.

“see you got out of the chains.” miles spoke as he walked in slowly. miles stood infront of you swiftly, fighting stance slowly crawling through as his fists balled.

“and what about it? you needa move aside. no one has to get hurt.” miles threatened as he slowly walked backwards.

other miles looked at you before smirking. “i ain’t goin nowhere. neither is she.” he pointed your way as you couldn’t help but frown.

why couldn’t he let you go?

why wouldn’t he let you go?

“i’m not staying here miles. i’m going home, you need to let her go. i’m not her.” you spoke up as you lowered miles’s extended arm in-front of you to talk to him clearly.

“i can’t let you leave ma, ion want to, and ion have to. he ain’t gonna stop me.” miles grinned as his mask came forwards to cover his face, his claws on too as he rushed forwards at miles.

“run!”

and you were off.

you couldn’t think about anything else. you couldn’t look backwards it would slow you down. you decided to run upwards, hoping that your miles would fight the prowler off long enough to make it up to you on the roof.

you pulled out the watch and jammed numbers in as you continued upwards.

how many fucking levels were there?

you saw the door come into view just as you pressed enter. you slammed through the door to see the portal open.

your chance was here.

you looked back to the door, willing him to come.

you saw a flash of black and red and the door slammed in-front of you just as you moved forwards to try and find him. and it scared the shit out of you and resulted in something slipping from your pocket.

miles hugged you straight away. “you okay mi vida?” you hugged him tightly and kissed him. “yes, yes i’m okay, you? he didn’t hurt you did he?” miles shook his head as he looked towards the portal home.

“come on let’s go before he decides he wants a round two.” you said as you grabbed his hand and jogged towards the portal just as he barrelled through.

the two of you flew through as the portal closed on miles.

“shit! fuck!” he yelled as he stood in-front of where you’d left just seconds ago. he was too slow. too fucking slow again. he let you slip through his hands once and vowed it would never happen again the second he saw you and you were taken from him again.

after spending so long working, training to be the best version of himself to keep the person and people he loved safe.

as he sat down his eye was caught by something glimmering in the moonlight. as he picked it up he couldn’t believe it.

a watch. the one he saw you shove into your jacket. the one which most likely controlled the portal. the one which had the multiverse contained within.

the luminescent letters spelling out,

EARTH 1610

#prowler miles #yandere miles morales #miles molares #prowler miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #atsv miles

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wo-onu · 1 year

Text

╰₊✧ ﾟ⚬𓂂➢ [yandere!men in your harem x reader]

* ・✦⇢ contents :: wherein one day, the seven men in your life, decided to put aside their differences and pass you around. [reverse harem] [3,065 words]

* ・✦⇢ warnings/cw :: general yandere themes, filth, sexual themes, you’re getting used and passed around, slight dacryphilia, slight degradation, some m undertones (one of the concubines), smut !!, mention of violence (not to darling or the concubines), possessive behaviour, edging, overstimulation. those who are not of age (minors) dni !

* ・✦⇢ additional notes :: hello everyone! this is my first time (attempting) to write gn!reader smut so be kind ㅠㅡㅠ i am honestly not very sure if this is how you do it or if it’s written well enough but since a promise is a promise, here it is. do let me know if this is okay though ! now is the time i would greatly appreciate feedbacks regarding this since i want to know whether or not everyone liked it (or if you didn’t). hopefully, i was able to do it well and can convey what i wanted properly.

* :: this post is gender neutral and no explicit body parts are particularly mentioned for the readers, therefore, everyone is free to read it! although, if i missed it or something, let me know! because as far as i know, no particulars were ever mentioned. reader is smaller than all concubines tho ! if i missed any warnings/tags lmk!

* :: likes/reblogs and feedbacks are always appreciated! my ask is open for reqs~

CAN YOU STAY UP ALL NIGHT? FUCK ME TIL THE DAYLIGHT !

• the first one loves tormenting you. not in a sadistic sense, but more likely because he couldn’t get enough of you. raised in a holy kingdom where he spent most of his days training to become a paladin, and taking an oath to never let desire rule his life until he found a person whom he will spend the rest of his days with, he was eternally glad that he found you after fulfilling that oath. in his mind, if he were to see you in the premise of the holy kingdom, he wouldn’t be able to keep up the lifestyle he grew accustomed to. with his unlimited stamina, he kept going and using your body for both your pleasures. you remember how once, he fucked you for three days straight, only pausing between meals and catnaps (bath times are spent with him still inside you and depending on both your patience, you either just warm his cock until it’s over or you both end up fucking once more). you wouldn’t have believed your body was capable of having that much stamina— despite already having an above average one— it was all thanks to his healing powers. once he starts noticing your tired, fucked out form, he quickly provides your body with healing energy, and continues once your body regains its normal level. he’s a very eager man; so enthusiastic and so very attentive to your needs. he’s had you writhing in pleasure all by yourself before he even takes you, peppering your entire face with kisses until he gets to your neck and trails it with open mouthed, wet kisses. once he gets to your chest, he’s marking you like a madman while calling you the sweetest of names and singing praises, yet somehow, it all feels so inherently filthy coming from the very holy looking man. he fucks you hard and fast, as if afraid that if he slowed down even for a nanosecond, you’d disappear. he torments you with his insatiability, all the while, the only thing you could ever think is where and how can he learn to be this filthy?

• the second one loves taking his time. contrary to the very first time you did it with him, wherein he came undone before he even began fully touching you, the following times he took you, he savoured every inch of you like he has all the time in the world. and his hands calculatingly takes you apart; his large hands pressing at your thighs and spreading them apart. caressing your entire body until you’re whimpering and gasping for him. in full honestly, he is severely obsessed with how small you are against him. the visual drives him absolutely insane. from his entire physique, down to his cock, everything. revels in the way you suck his cock the most, even if he doesn’t admit it. he loved the way you struggle to take all of him in your mouth and how much you indulge him when he requests you maintain eye contact. he needs to come in your mouth, making you swallow all of it, at least twice before he’s lifting you up, making you bounce on his cock while standing up. he needed to leave a Mark on you, wants to ensure you’ll be able to still feel him even after he’s done with you. then when he’s fucking you, he loves the way he can hold both of your hands with only one of his hand, pinning it above your head as he watched you struggle take all of his cock inside you, completely entranced. but he especially loves the way you ride him, or tell him what to do. he loves when you take full control despite the size difference between the two of you. but he becomes an absolute heart-eyed fool when you’re on top of him, telling him how good he feels inside you. he also loves the way you make his cock sore, so sore. he loves the torture on his overstimulated dick, moaning at the feeling of you tightening around his already sore cock as you continue to bounce on top of him, riding out your high. he finds it rather difficult to leave you then, and the sweet pain of the proof of a little too much love making, concentrated at the tip of his abused cock.

• the third one drags you to filth with his mouth as he hammers into you. “you might be the most noble of them all in this empire, your highness,” he smirked, “but right now, you’re nothing but a filthy whore waiting for everyone to have their turn with you.” and you know it shouldn’t make you clench harder or make your back arch even more so you could take him even more, but it did. and as your body further betrays you, you tried to suppress the lewd noises you were making. “tell me, does your imperial father know that his most trusted knight and the commander of the imperial guard fucked your throat raw and had all of his cum swallowed, not a drop getting out of that greedy mouth of yours?” he taunted you, “or perhaps, you’re already aroused before we even began because your head was already filled with such obscene thoughts unbefitting of your status while you’re supposed to be focusing on the grand meeting?” and instead of answering him, you only made a noise of protest when he slowed down his pace. “answer me or you don’t get to come.” he stated, eyes serious. “i’ll come inside you again and again,” he said while pushing on your abdomen, “but i will stop every time you feel like coming.” he mocked your begging gaze, already spilling his seed inside you as he did so, a little smirk on his face as he proves just how much he meant all his words. he’s a sly one, while he’s not much into too much kinky stuff, he loves the way your eyes tear up whenever you’re desperately in need of an orgasm, or when the pressure of his cock is too much for you to handle so he teases you and your body until he hears you desperately begging, your previous attempts of not wanting to cease control, all but forgotten. gets drunk in the way you crumble underneath him.

• the fourth one has a lot to give, whether it’s room to breathe, praises, or when he’s filling you up with all of his cum. his big, calloused hands massaged your body as he infused a bit of magic to take away the fatigue he’s beginning to see. he eases the tension in your body, expertly moving his hands to your pressure points so you could feel relieved; despite how kind he’s treating your body, however, all he could whisper is, “how filthy, your highness,” he smiled sweetly, “you seem to enjoy being passed around us like this... was being with one of us not as satisfying anymore now that you’ve tasted this? if you enjoy it this much... maybe we, as your men, should put all our differences aside and use you like this more often, hmm?” his taunt could only make you softly grunt, burying your face in the crook of his neck, he laughs mockingly as he teased you some more, hands dangerously falling lower on your back. next thing you know, the hands that were expertly relieving your soreness, are now expertly moving onto even filthier places, caressing your body. feeling his finger against your tight hole, you let out a small gasp. he whispers, “now, now. be good for me, darling.” as he takes his stretching you for him and makes sure you’re ready enough. as he prepares to enter you, you could only wince as you recall how big this man holding you right now is. how is it possible that most of the men in your little harem has a cock to boast about? but your thoughts are cut off when he swiftly moves inside you; filling you up so, so perfectly. he’s got you completely weak that you slumped against him, mewling, telling him to move for you. then he does. and he’s whispering the sweetest praises he could give you, eyeing your other men provokingly, displaying you to everyone and gloating how good he can make you feel— especially, how easily he can make you submit all control to him. and as you let out a needy whine, chanting ‘yes, yes, yes’ like a prayer to whatever it is that he’s saying; whether it may be if you’re good for him, want his cock, or if he should fill you up with his cum. he has you mindlessly whimpering, while his teeth refuses to let go a section of your neck as he relentlessly pounds into you. and you beg for more, so he has you settled on your back, pressed in half, to ready you for the oncoming load of his cum and more to come. he has truly achieved fucking you stupid. so he coos at you, almost sincerely, telling you how much you look good for him this way, looking so stupid as you can only beg him to fill you up with cum, his thrusts never once slowing down. then he has you cumming, your legs shaking uncontrollably, spasming around him making him groan lowly, with your throat aching from a broken scream you let out. after a few more rounds and he pulls out, he watches his cum oozing out of you, pushing his fingers in to keep it back. overall, despite his godly hands and honey coated praises; he’s the one who wants to break you, he craves your body and wanted to make it submit to him and him alone, he loves the way your voice can’t even come out as your brain loses all its function and can only focus on the pleasure he can bring you.

• the fifth one loves depriving you. he’s a tease but unlike the others, he doesn’t do it as much. he’s got your eyes covered with the finest silk, something he couldn’t have easily obtained with his current status. as he takes you from behind, grasping and fondling your ass, he’s got his pair of psychic hands pin you to place. he finds out your little fetish of being held down and being helpless against someone as they take you to be very interesting, and something he can do— quite often at that. he didn’t care how much you whined when he upped his pace thrusting into you. the view of your ass jiggling every time he pounded into you harshly, blindfolded and held down was a sight to behold. instead of asking you what you want or even giving you instructions on how he wants you, he’s doing it himself; handling you as he makes you give absolute submission. he would do you in any way, form, or position that he’d like until you’re reduced into a mere blubbering mess. and whenever you try to catch up to him and move by yourself, his hands are already on you— psychic or physical, depending if one is busy doing the other. he loves the way you can utter such obscene language, cursing to death as you try to whine for an orgasm. “such a needy little thing, your highness. it’s truly unfortunate for others that only we get to see you this way. we’d have to have anyone who are not us never see you, nor hear you lest they wanted their eyes gauged, or tongue cut off as no one can ever know how lewd our perfect little royal highness is.”

• the sixth one, despite being a virgin, made you feel so good that you wondered whether or not he was telling the entire truth when he confessed never touching anyone sexually before you. with his innate flirtatious nature, and glib tongue befitting of the top merchant that he is, it totally could’ve fooled you. as the richest man in the empire, he has all the resources to know how to make someone feel good. and good, did he make you feel. the travelling merchant only got better as your escapades continue; if you’ve ever met a worshipper, he has to be it. he goes feral whenever he sees you in any pretty clothing— in this case, any and every clothing— and will not be able to resist you in anything. his confidence gets a huge boost whenever you chant his name in a whispered prayer, clutching at him tightly as he makes you ride out your own release. his love bites are more akin to vampire marks, he loves leaving it when he can and he absolutely loves it when you give up wearing something that can expose them. he loves the idea that he is the sole person who knows why exactly their precious little highness is wearing a high neck even if it is scorching hot. sometimes, he bites hard enough to draw a bit of blood. splurges on recording orbits from the magic tower so he can capture you during your sessions. when he can’t stay and has to be away from you because of how demanding his duties can be, he watches them and let’s himself cum at least four times. he made a rule that if you’re away with each other and touches yourselves thinking of the other, then you must send an emergency communication alert to the communication orb to ask permission if either of you can come. has a hobby of picking up your limp body by wrapping a hand around your neck as he fucks you from behind. as you whine out, “i can’t... i can’t take anymore,” he hushes you softly, lowly encouraging you to hang on a bit more, that you’re being so good and that he will make sure to reward you greatly for being so good for him.

• the last one has a propriety glint in his eyes, after all, he’s stopped time for every single one of you just so they could properly use you without minding how long they’re taking. one look at him and you know, how impatient this man right now is. he settled you on his lap, a quick healing spell casted upon you. then you started grinding on his thigh, turned on with his twisted expression of possessiveness, jealousy, and impatience, your hands trying to muffle the sounds of your own pleasure. in retaliation of the intense jealousy he’s experiencing, he’s not letting you reach the high you so desperately wanted. he heard you whimper a soft plea, shifting closer to him as you did so. he adjusts you, now with your back facing him, and his arms wrapped around you, one on your chest and the other on your inner thigh, fingers needlessly teasing. then, he starts pleasuring you once more, strangled moans as you pray to whatever gods out there for him to let you come. still, he continued to just tease you near your end, torturously stopping just before it drives you over the edge. he continues to do this until you’re a proper mess; desperately gasping for air, panting, and letting out the neediest whines. still dazed as he finally compliments you for doing well and listening to him. to you, his voice and everything in within your vision is hazy, you can’t make out what he’s saying or what anyone is doing; all you can feel is his warm, hardened cock poking your back and the ache of wanting to finally cum. so he doesn’t waste anymore time and drives his cock into you and he lets himself bask on the feeling of your tightness around him, the squelching sounds that came from your joint bodies driving him feral and making him thrust into you with unbelievable pace. his once prim, proper and elegant face is gone, only unadulterated pleasure is left as he enjoys taking you. he kept powering into you, only focused on ravaging you so completely that all your inhibitions would dropped, too; so utterly destroyed that you’d feel mastered, owned, and consumed by him. “are you close? i can feel you squeezing my cock so tightly, darling. but you have to wait—“ you let out a whining sob, a protest that you don’t want and are not willing to wait even a second longer for your approaching climax, and he chuckled, the annoying bastard. “don’t worry, all you need to do is wait for me. i want us to come together, darling. you’ll do that for me, won’t you?” soon, your orgasm has finally came; and you came with an almost violent tremor wracking your whole body. you felt him grabbed a handful of your hair, you let out a small hiss as you felt the room go cold. then he’s drilling his cock into you even more; every forward slam of hips unapologetically violent. feral. and unrestrained. he couldn’t slow down as he felt your orgasm wrack your entire body. he forcefully turned your face towards his, “yes, take a good look at who’s owning you now, your highness” his tone insolent, he couldn’t slow down his pace at all. soon, your reaching another high, this time, you can feel just how intense it would be and anticipation clawed at you. his hands weren’t gentle, nor were his mouth as he trailed bites along your upper back. when it came, the burning stings of pain only pushed all sorts of your hot buttons, highlighting the indescribable pleasure he brought you. he slammed into you one last time, then began emptying himself inside you, “come, your highness,” you didn’t think you could come again as your first orgasm has been so intense, but it did. if your first was intense, now you’re coming in an explosive orgasm, wrecking you from the inside out, shattering you into tiny little pieces and sending all of you crumbling. you felt so sapped out of energy, your orgasm— so explosive and devastating— pretty much drained you so entirely. you slumped on your bed, shuddering and fighting to breathe, your brain completely shutting out. and you barely registered as he picked you up gently to sprawl you over his chest while he lay on his back.

those who chose the reverse harem fic, here it is! thank u for the feedback on my og post. im not sure if you wanted to be tagged so do tell me if you want to be untagged: @nebulosa-lady , @beyzaakadeku , @aineloveslatte1 , @a-person-with-many-likes , @msvaniilabean , @ccurheart.

#yandere oc #male yandere oc #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere drabble #male yandere #soft yandere #possessive yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere smut #yandere x reader #yandere x you

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lokischocolatefountain · 11 months

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well if you are taking requests, itd be great to see more touch starved joel, joel who is so afraid of hurting you in bed but bruises you anyways, joel who flinches when you yocuh him after nightmares but then comes closer when you pull away.

I love this request 🥺🥺 You are very right and Joel Miller is a touch starved man and deserves to be fed. So, here you go

Our Normal

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: Mature (Mention of violence, sexual situations)

A/N: I loved writing this and I hope the anon who requested it has fun reading it 💜 Also, I have a Javi request that was sent before this but the man was being so uncooperative so I had to ditch him for Joel for a while.

Joel was never a physically affectionate man. His love is shown through acts of service for the people he loves, through protecting them from everything in the universe. That changes when he becomes a father in his early twenties. Sarah is just so little and so fragile and he needs to hold his baby girl because if he doesn’t, he might just explode. He gives her hugs and kisses and cuddles. She always gets kisses on the forehead and cheeks when he tucks her in.

When he loses Sarah, his world is effectively over and touch is no longer about affection. People don’t yet know how the infection spreads, so they keep from touching each other. Someone approaching you might be infected. If they touch you, it might be over. Touch is no longer a hug from his daughter or a pat on the back from his brother. It is deceiving a young man with a fake injury and begging him for supplies before putting his hands around his neck and strangling him to steal his car. It is a punch to his face, a kick to his stomach and an arm putting him in a chokehold.

With Tess, it is different. It is a squeeze to his shoulder when he wakes up from yet another nightmare of his child, still a toddler, asking him why he let her die. It is a quick fuck on the ground in the woods to relieve some tension. It is her slipping into bed with him and holding him because they have both agreed they need this without any words being exchanged. It is more than anything he has ever had with other women in his life. But it is never spoken of, it never means anything more, it just is.

He is in Jackson and life has become normal yet he cannot adjust to it. After two decades of leading a life that is anything but normal, the comfort of three meals a day, a roof over his head and certainty that he’ll wake up the next morning is frightening. He knows he will never adjust. Everyone else seems happy living this normal life, but it is something he will never accept. People hug and kiss and marry. Tommy holds his newborn in his arms and kisses his wife’s hand like it’s normal, like the last twenty years didn’t happen. He wants it too. It shames him to want, but oh how he wants to touch you, to hold your hand and cup your cheek and graze your finger when you hand him something. But he cannot give in. If he allows himself to slip into such comforts, he will not survive when it is taken away from him again. If he accepts it as normal, it will mean that he will have moved on from the loss. The loss of Sarah, of his…Tess.

He touches you once. It is a necessity. It is during patrol and you were about to step on a trap someone left to catch animals. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you back, but he keeps his hands on you for longer than necessary. You thank him a little dramatically for “saving my life” and he smiles. For the first time in a long time, it isn’t because of something Ellie said. He lets you go, grunts and walks along on the patrol route. His hand is twitching nervously by his side because holy shit he just touched you. When he lies awake that night, he recalls the roughness of your skin, thinks about whether it used to be soft before all this. Whether he would’ve liked your skin soft just as much he likes your now rough skin.

Someone in town in teaching pottery to pass on important skills so that nothing dies when one person dies. Ellie forces him to go with her even when he tells her he doesn’t give a shit about making goddamn pots. He stops complaining when he sees you’re also there to learn, even though you are more advanced than he is. Pottery doesn’t come to him naturally and Ellie laughs at him for spinning his wheel too fast and touching the clay too hard, making the thing collapse on itself. You laugh too, but then you help him. You place your hands on his and show him how to mold the clay. You show him how to trim the edges with the fancy tools. You place your creating next to his and Ellie’s in the kiln and shake his hand to congratulate him on his shitty bowl that would’ve been shittier if you hadn’t helped. He wonders what it would be like to slot his fingers in the space between your fingers.

It goes from joint patrols to joint pottery classes to joint drinks at the Tipsy Bison. You touch his arm, you place your hand on his, you brush your shoulder against his and it takes him a longass time while to realize you are flirting. He hadn’t been the subject of it ever since he became a single father wearing T-shirts covered in snot, baby food, mysterious sticky substances from Sarah using his shirt as tissues, Sarah’s blood— He panics, he flinches when you touch him. He apologizes, mumbles something about Ellie needing dinner and storms out of the place. He forgets to pay for his fucking drink and learns you decided to pay for him with more coffee than you’d planned on exchanging with the bartender.

He apologizes the next day, offers his private stash of old whiskey he found somewhere to make up for the coffee you’d lost because of him. But you surprise him, offering not just reassurance that it was alright but offering your understanding, telling him you were sorry for whatever you did to unintentionally trigger him and that if he told you what it was, you would never do it again.

You have your fair share of terrible days. You find him after patrol and ask to exchange your music cassette for some of his liquor. He gives it to you for free and you down half the bottle. You tell him you are afraid of being alone that night and he doesn’t have to ask questions to know that it’s something serious. He lets you stay. He holds you in him arms even though having contact without another person kills him. He realizes it kills him because he likes it and knows he doesn’t deserve things he likes. Not when his baby has become nothing in an unmarked grave he should’ve joined her in.

He never intends to have sex with you. It is no longer as much of a need as it used to be. He is older and his body has been through too much. Sex isn’t the need. You are. Holding your hand in his trembling hand isn’t enough. Touching your cheek when he kisses you isn’t enough. His hand on your lower back. Your hand in his hair, your head on his chest as you hugged— it wasn’t enough. No matter how much you gave, he wanted more. More and more and more.

You invite him to your bed and he goes. He knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve whatever you’ve given him so far and definitely doesn’t deserve what you were going to give him next. He is afraid but he wants it so bad, wants you so bad. You are sweet, gentle, like you know he has a strange relationship with touch. You take your time when you get on your knees and nuzzle into his thighs and wrap your pretty lips around his cock. He tries to keep his hands away. He knows he should because if he got to touch you when you had his cock in your mouth, he would wrap your hair in his fist and fuck into your mouth, use you for gratification.

He digs into your thighs with his nails when he has them spread apart and his head between them, his lips devouring you like you were his favorite taste before the luxury of tasty things ceased to exist, like he was getting to experience his favorite taste after two decades of deprivation. He holds you in a death grip, leaves behind bruises and apologizes for them when he realizes what he has done. He tends to you, apologizes repeatedly, is gentler the next time.

He doesn’t sleep next to you. If he manages to fall asleep, he wakes up wishing he didn’t. Sleep without nightmares is a rarity. He could jolt up from bed or lie looking peaceful while his brain tortured itself with memories, both real and false. He doesn’t want you to see him in his most vulnerable moments. He doesn’t want to burden anyone with his anguish. He doesn’t want to look weak. He is supposed to be strong, be the protector, be the capable man you can rely on.

He wakes up after yet another nightmare and lies in bed, unprepared to face you as the weaker man he believes himself to be. You make him coffee and bring it to bed. You drink it with him. You hold his hand. He flinches, the effects of his nightmare persisting. So you pull away, allowing him his space when he pulls you back in. He doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t know if it is right to want you like this— being there for him, comforting him, giving him a shoulder to lean on. He shouldn’t, but he leans anyway. You don’t ask him to talk about it and he appreciates it. You don’t need to know the gory details to know he’s hurting. You don’t need to hear the turmoil in his head to hold him to your chest and let him cry.

Maybe not talking wouldn’t be enough in the normal world. But that is a world they will never have again even if the cordyceps ceased to exist at once. So he adapts in love like he adapted to holding a gun in hands that held hammers and nails with nails painted by his little girl.

He grows used to it, but he still flinches sometimes. You flinch sometimes too. You learn each other’s boundaries, apologize when they’re crossed. Sleep still eludes him and he remains starved of touch, but he satiates himself as little as he could without overwhelming himself. His hands sometimes tremble when he touches you. He could never fall asleep in the same bed as you. It isn’t normal, but it is the normal he has with you and you are both content in it.

My Masterlist

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quinloki · 11 months

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period sex and aftercare and /BUGGY/ are so big brained can i ask for those two plus dacryphilia with buggy and croco-baby and maybe a secret third character (your choice) if you feel up to it!!! Thank yooouuu!!! :o)

Alright, I got ONE MORE KINK ASK after this and I'll be all done with them \o/ Holy shit I can't believe how many asks I got for this (And how much fun I've had dealing with them.)

It helps a lot that I love kinks, kinky people, one piece characters, and learning/educating >.>

Alright we got Period Sex, Aftercare, Dacryphilia (the crying kink) - For Buggy and Sir Crocodile - and since you called him Croco-baby I'll add Donquixote Doflamingo to this.

I am surprised with as often as I feel like I've seen the crying kink pop up that I haven't already done it for ANY of these guy =O

And also yay \o/ AFTERCARE ASK \lol/

Go go alphabetical!

Buggy:

Period Sex - FUCK Yes - It's messy, it's red, it's kind of flashy actually, and Buggy loves it. You don't grow up on the most famous pirate ship in the world without being comfortable with all sorts of things. I feel like everyone under Roger's flag was, we'll say educated, and as such I can't see anyone from that crew being put off by menstruation.

Plus, orgasms are a cure for some, and there's one way to find out if it works for you to alleviate any cramping you may be feeling. You're going to be a complete mess by the time it's done though, Buggy's a little blood-lusty, surprisingly maybe, but he gets feral, and more so than with lipstick or makeup, he loves to "mark" you.

Aftercare - Oh god you don't even know - He is a terribly stressed clown, but I also think he's a big damned softie too. Buggy really is just as comfortable brushing your hair as he is ordering the crew around. Maybe more so, honestly. All that hair he has though, and that makeup he wears, the man's skin and hair care routines are on point as much as his eyeliner game. He will take care of you after every session, even if he subbing or bottoming some of it.

I think Buggy's desire to serve is almost as strong as Sanji's honestly. If you're an important person to him, he doesn't want to let you down, and he will devour your praises. But he's also The Captain™, and no matter what his role was, he's going to provide you proper aftercare.

Dacryphilia - No. - Sure sometimes tears happen. Sometimes you're so overwhelmed they slip out, sometimes you are chocking on the impressive package this man has. Sometimes tears happen, but Buggy doesn't like tears. He doesn't want to see you cry. If your makeup smears he wants it to be cause of sweat and pleasure and touch, not because you're crying. He's not even good at handling happy tears, let alone any other kind.

Buggy's more of let-him-do-the-crying-for-both-of-you type. He'd happily be the only one stressed to the ends of his capacity, than to have you worry. (Which probably worries you xD it's a bit of a cycle like that).

Sir Crocodile:

Period Sex - Yes - He doesn't mind the mess. The cause doesn't bother him. The only reason it doesn't rate higher is because it's hard to know if your period will heighten your pleasure or your pain - that lack of control bothers him, no matter how well or fast he can adjust accordingly.

He also doesn't see it as marking you the same way some others do. It's your blood, not his. It has a scent that isn't his or his cigars. If anything it's an annoyance because you should smell like him, and you shouldn't ever be hurt enough to smell like blood. You shouldn't be close enough to violence to even know what blood smells like, at least as far as he's concerned. But he'll soothe your cramps and discomfort in any way he can when it's that time.

Aftercare - Oh god you don't even know - As said before, Crocodile is all about control, and aftercare is required for control. You don't want to leave your little bottom/sub spiraling with all sorts of thoughts on their own. Whether we're talking toxic AU or not. Aside from the control though, he enjoys it. It's time to bond, to discuss, to connect. The more he knows about you the more control he can exert.

The more control you can hand over.

Plus, as beautiful as you are in his clutches, you're just as beautiful in his care.

Dacryphilia - FUCK Yes - Oh please cry for him. Sob in terror or pleasure or pain, he's not picky. Your face in tears is as lovely as your face contorted in pleasure. The only requirement is that those tears are his fault. No one else is allowed to make you cry.

As much as he will pull tears from you - and most sobs of pleasure as long as you're good - he'll kiss them away so sweetly. Brushing them aside so kindly, and with such praise.

Donquixote Doflamingo:

Period Sex - FUCK Yes - Not only is it a mess, it's a bloody mess. Doffy's a bit twisted and I can see him actually smearing the mess all over you while he's taking a break between railing you. He's not doing it so much to mark you, as he is to almost degrade you. He'll tell you how dirty you are, covered in blood and cum and tears - he 100% gets into degrading you during it.

Sometimes being on your period can make you more sensitive to pleasure, and sometimes it makes you more sensitive to pain - it doesn't matter as far as he's concerned. He'll get his pleasure at the least, and he'll enjoy turning you into a mess in the meantime.

Aftercare - Yes - Unless he's truly into you, don't take this as some kind of kindness. Aftercare is a good time to learn and bond, and for Doffy that generally means it's a great time to reinforce all his manipulations. It lets you think he cares (again, *maybe* he does), and pulls you closer into his grasp.

A truly skilled puppeteer doesn't necessarily hide the strings, he just makes sure you don't pay attention to them when you should be >.>

Dacryphilia - Oh god you don't even know - Cry for him, please. Crumble to pieces in pleasure, fear or pain - whatever it may be that you've earned at the point in time. If you're overwhelmed in pleasure he'll promise you such sweetness and devotion. If you're overwhelmed with fear he'll admonish you softly and forgive you magnanimously. If pain stains your face he'll have you begging for forgiveness, a forgiveness he'll bestow on you when he feels like it.

Perhaps after you've gone raw and hoarse from tears and begging.

Much like others who enjoy making their partners cry, it is a pleasure reserved entirely for him and no one else. Members of his immediate family may get an understanding pass, circumstances depending, but anyone beyond that is likely to be dealt with swiftly.

#kinky one piece head canon #buggy the clown #sir crocodile #donquixote doflamingo #x reader #buggy x reader #sir crocodile x reader #doflamingo x reader

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triflesandparsnips · 2 years

Text

stede bonnet is weird about touch

The beginning of a four-part journey of overwhelming nonsense, featuring more research than was strictly necessary. But fuck it, here we go.

Figure 1. Local man commits to least possible physical interaction imaginable with new fiancee.

Because it was driving me bananas that I was picking up on this thing that very few others seemed to notice, and also because I am desperate for a particular brand of hurt/comfort Stede-fic in this fandom:

I watched the entire series again and made up a bunch of charts detailing all the ways Stede is touched, touches others, and the degree of "closeness" of those touches.

You can find the finished product here -- first page is an overview, and remaining pages are breakdowns of each episode, including notes. If I missed something, or you disagree with a classification, pop in a comment. (You can also see my progress and original notes here.)

Broadly, though:

Stede is both touch-starved and touch-sensitive. And you can see it on the screen.

Because there's so much here, this essay got ridiculously fucking long. As such, I've divided it into four parts -- links to each section will be at the bottom of each post, but I encourage people to engage with whatever part of it they want.

Why is this important, though? Why go to all this trouble?

I think this behavior tells so fucking much about Stede, and that understanding his relationship with touch is crucial to getting a more rounded idea of his character.

I'm this close to calling it criminal that we aren't more thoroughly acknowledging how much nuanced work Rhys Darby and his various scene partners put into this, holy shit.

I want to see this in fic, damn it.

And with that, finally:

✨~My evidence, let me show you it.~✨

-----

1. Stede wants to be touched, but is afraid of it.

Stede expects either violence or withdrawal from loved ones (or ones he's supposed to have a close relationship with, at any rate) if he's done something to displease them.

Nearly every memory of Stede's father involves this on some level: blood on Stede's face (and castigating him for his squeamishness), yanking Stede's arm, bending over and getting into his face specifically to yell at him, and not looking at Stede when Stede's essentially asking for comfort prior to his marriage.

Some of Stede's memories of Mary at the dinner table show her as angry and physically distant from him (regardless of whether that memory is an accurate one). This is repeated later in episode 10 when we see her and the children again on the opposite side of the table.

The anniversary gift scenes in episode 4 are particularly telling: When Stede gives Mary his gift, he starts by dropping to a kneel next to her, his arm up on the table near her -- and then Mary, over the course of realizing what he's done/doing, proceeds to retreat from him three times -- once a little ways, then again farther to the other side of the chair, and then finally leaving her chair entirely to face him. As Mary does that, Stede mirrors her retreat, a few beats behind and in reaction to her withdrawal, finally standing from his kneel, curling into himself, and losing his consistent eye contact with her.

Figure 2. Totally okay and not-at-all concerning body language in response to an upset life partner.

Ed reinforces this belief when he leaves the Revenge with Jack (immediately after Stede has actually expressed anger at someone he believes is Ed's friend).

Considering all this, when Ed almost immediately runs off to find a dinghy in episode 10, leaving Stede alone right after he's participated in an act that's transgressive on multiple counts (gay AND cheating on his wife, tsk tsk)... well. It may not be what Ed intended, but there's a bit of Stede's brain that thinks "Ed left; therefore I did something wrong."

Interestingly, this means that Stede will sometimes initiate the withdrawal if he perceives that someone's displeased with him.

This could be for a couple of reasons: if he does it first, it makes it a choice on his part rather than a rejection on theirs; likewise, if he does it first, then perhaps that might placate the other person (by removing his "wrongness" from their presence). Most likely it's some kind of inseparable combination of the two. We see how this maladaptive practice bears out with:

Mary presenting Stede his anniversary gift. At the start of the scene, he stands next to her, leaning in slightly, with his hands to either side; when he realizes he's insulted her, he doesn't step away but he does clasp his hands in front of himself, effectively removing the possibility that he might accidentally touch her skin (or she, his).

Stede leaving Mary and the children.

Stede offering Ed a nature walk. Ed demurs (using language that implies Stede's suggestion wouldn't be acceptable to various people) and Stede actually subtly leans away from him as his smile drops. You can see it below, particularly if you keep an eye on his relation to the rope in the background between them.

Figure 3. The subtle tragedy of a man whose best friend has just said that maybe his interests aren't actually that cool.

Almost as soon as Ed lets go of Stede's face following the beach kiss, there is a very slow distancing happening between the two of them.

Stede leaving Ed.

Finally, one of Stede's ways of withdrawing from someone else's "space" is by losing eye contact.

This is something he developed after childhood -- while in flashbacks we see that tiny Stede holds eye contact solidly with Father Bonnet (and only turns his head away when he's shocked by the goose's violent death), by the start of the series he's pretty awful with it (dropping his gaze when Olu shakes him; closing his eyes to hide from the Nigel "ghost"; eventually dropping his gaze when Mary yells at him about the model ship).

He improves over the course of the show and as he gains confidence, though it's easiest to tell in scenes of threat/violence where he would previously have dropped his gaze-- this includes his steady stare at Calico Jack when he orders him off the ship, his violent twist of Doug, and his anger at Mary after the murder attempt.

However, when he feels uncertainty, that trouble with eye contact comes back again... including, unfortunately when Ed asks him to run away to China.

Figure 4. Local baby gay in middle of sudden revelation as to own sexual orientation is faced with object of said revelation asking for a life-changing decision instead of just, like, double-checking the kissing thing some more

-----

ONWARDS:

-> Review the raw data and notes

-> Go to part 2: Stede will avoid touch to protect himself.

-> Go to part 3: Stede has found/developed "safe" ways to physically interact with people.

-> Go to part 4: The top three people who touch Stede, or who Stede touches, are Ed, Mary, and Izzy.

#our flag means death #stede bonnet #meta #touch #multipart essay #pirate data science #had to make my own dang gifs for some of this #ofmdedits

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minimujina · 2 years

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𝑑𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. scaramouche drabble :)

ᴛᴡ. none, just cute fluff. use of scara’s real name

ᴀ/ɴ. i haven’t done the sumeru archon quest yet because i’ve kept procrastinating so i apologize if any of this is lore inaccurate </3 i mean it’s not really got anything to do with lore, i just wanted to write something soft for scara, but i figured i’d say this anyways kjglfkjfl

↳ scaramouche hates it when u do that thing

↳ u know.. that thing

↳ that thing where u are cute all the time and make him feel things. he hates that.

↳ how dare you have the audacity to be that amiable to an infamous fatui harbinger such as himself. how dare you!!

↳ he hates that he wants to protect you. like all the time. it’s like he has a new 6th sense for smelling potential danger. but like

↳ only for u

↳ he’d put himself at great risk if it meant you were safe

↳ i mean,, he’d also put himself at great risk because goddamn it he’s angry at the world and he just wants to kill things

↳ but. same thing

↳ yeah he couldnt give two flying fucks about anyone else. only u. turns out you are his darling whether u like it or not cause he just can’t stand how much he likes you and therefore he’s obligated to keep you around. or whatever

↳ will call u dumb and then immediately feel bad when he sees that you’re about to cry lol

↳ he learns with time that he kinda has to actually be gentle with you. ugh

↳ (but he actually grows to like it) (he comes to the point where he’s okay with being gentle and it comes naturally around you)

↳ comes home from yelling at his subordinates and collapses in ur arms while you pet his hair and hold him close bc god nothing feels better than your touch reassuring him that he’s loved by at least one person. doesn’t matter if the rest of the world wants him dead—knowing you care so much about this wretched, empty heart of his that you would hold him so tenderly is enough for him.

↳ at first he hates kisses. hates all forms of pda and kinda affection in general

↳ but as he grows more confident in his love for you and your love for him, he starts displaying it more

↳ will actually kiss your hand🥺

↳ even in front of his subordinates, he’ll greet you by taking your little palm in his own and bringing it to his lips, always always making sure to prolong eye contact because he knows how much it flusters you :)

↳ cue a bunch of fatui agents sniffling and clutching their chests bc holy shit scaramouche is soft for someone

↳ treats you like a princess. really does. he comes to hold you in the highest regard—he always did, really, but he was simply too embarrassed to admit it (even to himself).

↳ some of the fatui agents end up voicing their surprise that scaramouche keeps you around—they wouldn’t think someone so docile and plain would catch the eye of-

↳ thud. scaramouche’s vision crackles with electro energy, his hands clenched, while the underling who had run her mouth lay writhing on the cold, hard floor.

↳ “let it be known that the sole reason you remain alive right now is because my darling would disapprove of me ending your life,” the harbinger threatens, while the other underlings rush to aid the woman blasted off her feet.

↳ yeah,, he does not tolerate any gossip about the love of his life.

↳ yes, you were docile. so docile, in fact, that you were able to combat the violence erupting from scaramouche with a simple frown, reminding him that excessive cruelty was not the way to win your heart. and so he would change his ways gradually, allowing himself to give what the other fatui agents called “grace”, a grace which they’d never received from this ruthless man before.

↳ but plain? no. you were anything but. and scaramouche would defend your honor with all that he had—how dare those vermin call his darling plain. every day, scaramouche looked you in the eyes and found remarkable beauty, hidden affections, truths folded like a blanket, and universes. he saw universes in your eyes. so scaramouche found it almost offensive that the agents would dare to suggest you were anything but special—he knew you to be a precious gem full of universes. they didn’t understand you like he did; they could never appreciate you like he did.

↳ scaramouche becomes convinced that there is no one more worthy of respect than you, and he’s not ashamed to tell you so. when you shy away from his praises, he’ll grab your chin between his thumb and forefinger, guiding you to look at him so you have no choice but to pay attention.

↳ when you sheepishly avert your gaze, he murmurs, “eye contact, darling—we talked about this,” observing your plush, trembling lips and flushed cheeks. his thumb grazes over your bottom lip so softly, so gently, something you didn’t know he was capable of. and the kiss that follows somehow manages to be all the more tender.

↳ pulling away with a whimper, you quip, “i would hardly call this respect, kuni.”

↳ scaramouche grins, and for the first time you see something akin to joy in his gaze. “well, darling, perhaps you could just think of it as adoration. same thing, no?”

↳ your giggle rings in his ears like the clinking of glass—“sure, kuni. alright.” and you’re forced to let go of any further thought as he swoops in for another kiss.

↳ meanwhile, childe is watching from somewhere nearby, clutching at his chest dramatically while dottore smacks him in an attempt to get him to shut the fuck up. nobody gets caught spying on scaramouche and comes out alive.

↳ childe just can’t help it, though!! this is his comrade, his rival friend, finally experiencing love for another person!! if it hadn’t been for scaramouche’s quick steal, childe quite frankly would’ve taken you for himself—not that scaramouche would ever have to know that, of course. :) you were a gem childe regretted letting slip through his fingers, but it did bring him solace to know that scaramouche was actually treating you right. he could live with it as long as you were happy.

𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 ! ఌ

#threw this up on accident before school one morning. figured i’d add some more and post it lol #this one is incredibly self indulgent (like all of my writignHAHDIUSH)#mujimade #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #scara x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin scaramouche

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concussed-to-pieces · 5 months

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Wolves At The Door; Part Ten

Fandom: Resident Evil [Village]

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg/AFAB!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: Heisenberg puffed out a breath, gazing off into the distance. His factory was out there in the rain, waiting. Waiting for his return.

A/N: Welcome all, welcome to our tenth installment! Nearly to the epilogue, have a little faith. Enjoy!

Tag List: @cookiethewriter @amneris21 @topgirl17 @vodkafolie @a-smol-witch @clockworkmidnight @calwitch @silver-quinn01 @velvet-paradox @hijackser @mrs-wolfwood @nonstop-haikyuu @mic-sunderland @somethingthatsaysbubbles @fullofmoonsandstars @stargazerofgoldenwords @imthegreenfairy86 @karlskitten @nitrogennightmare @chunnies @thirstworldproblemss @highly-unknown @tartimaar-bloggeth @thesmartbiscuit @spoopyredacted @crowtrobotx @kotall-ohh @doggydale @jackie-loves-yalls-writing @simplysolo @teeheemax

x. Prelude

1. Indebted

2. Blood On Your Hands

3. Brush With Death

4. Come To Bed

5. Smells Like Snow

6. Hot Iron

7. Turnover

8. Backslide

9. Tender Gray Light

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains mentions of blood, canon-typical violence, gore, and graphic depictions of mental and physical duress. Stay safe!]

The rain was welcome to Karl, for it heralded the return of spring. However, it made for miserable walking. The former Lord forged doggedly onward despite the downpour, rainwater dripping from the wide brim of his hat.

The sky was still dark. He had no idea what time it was, whether early or late. It had been months since the time had mattered to him, the man all too willing to move through life at the pace of your choosing. But last night's events seemed to have ruined that.

Dinner had been silent, the two of you refusing to really engage with one another after…what had happened. Karl was irritated with himself and a bit irritated with you as well, if he was being honest. Granted, he knew he wasn't exactly emotionally mature, but gods almighty he had told you not to look at him! He had wanted to avoid this…weirdness, this strange feeling in his chest, and now he didn't know how the hell to fix it.

You eventually went to bed alone and he was still awake staring at the ceiling hours later when he had finally made his choice.

He knew what he had to do. To an extent, anyway. He cringed as he thought of how hard he had bitten you, so strong you ruin everything you touch.

He couldn't do that again. He wouldn't do that again. He couldn't keep slipping up. These moments of weakness, of forgetting himself, cutting loose…it was irresponsible. Risky. Wrong. He needed to put himself to use, take himself out of the equation.

He needed to go to the source.

For his own sanity, whatever was left of it, but also…Karl shook his head, feeling stupid.

He started sprinting.

…

You woke after a poor night's sleep to the sound of rain. Specifically, to the sound of a drip, drip, drip. You groaned, pulling the quilt up over your head. You didn't want to patch another leak.

“Karl,” you mumbled, flinging your arm out to the side. You met nothing but more sheets and blanket, and then you recalled what had happened the day before. Sitting bolt upright, you ignored the puddle on the floor in the corner as you called, “Karl?” Your fingers gripped the quilt in a stranglehold when there was no reply. “Karl?”

You moved from the bed, more than a little stiff, and hurried to pull on your shoes.

The living room was empty. The stove hadn't been recently stoked, the couch was cold when you touched it, and the blanket the two of you had…well. The blanket was folded and placed over the arm of the couch.

In a daze, you moved to the kitchen and picked up the large pot, then returned to your room to place it under the leak. Fix the roof. You would need to get the ladder, patch, the patching fabric…when was the last time you had even used the patching sealant?

You felt your eyes begin to well up, but you roughly dashed the tears away. Don't think about it. Do the job.

It was pouring outside, the rain washing away the last of the snow downhill into the river and exposing the muddy grass of your yard once more. You huffed out a shaky breath as you did up your rain gear, the front snaps still fiddly even after all these years.

The ladder was stored underneath the porch and still partially frozen to the ground. A few sharp kicks loosened it enough for you to yank it free. Your fingers were so cold already that by the time you realized you had somehow cut yourself on the cheap aluminum stepladder, you were halfway to the roof. Muttering several choice swears under your breath, you just ignored it and continued upwards. Leak was priority. You could handle that.

Once you found the leaking area on the steep roof, you propped yourself up with the ladder and got to work placing a patch. Load the putty knife with wet patch material, spread it evenly, carefully pat down a precut piece of fabric, and then smear the second layer of patch.

It was so quiet.

The only sound was the rain hammering on the hood of your rain suit. You felt like you could hear the absence of noise, but in reality you knew you were just imagining things.

There had been a time when you were thrilled with the quiet. When you wanted nothing more than this…deafening silence, just the susurrus of wind and the far-off calls of birds, entirely removed from human companionship. You had been content for years.

A few tears slid down your nose, landing on the fresh patch with a wet little splat. You sniffled, frustrated with yourself as you used the heel of your palm to scrub at your nose.

The ladder suddenly tipped, one leg sinking deeper in the mud and throwing you off-balance. A frantic noise escaped you and then you were slipping, falling off the edge of the roof.

…

Some stupid asshole had put up a chain link fence around the entire valley, the whole length of it covered with ridiculous signs.

KEEP OUT! This area under military surveillance. Trespassers will be shot. KEEP OUT! ENTER AT OWN RISK!

Karl scoffed, bouncing on the balls of his feet and then easily clearing the fence, landing silently on the other side. He felt a bit foolish for doing so once he straightened up; down the fence a ways was a section that had been peeled apart from the inside. Upon closer inspection Heisenberg found tufts of white, matted hair and crusty ichor coating the ragged edges of the torn fencing.

Lycans. Clearly they came and went regularly. Maybe the military presence was gone?

After using his power to secure the fence again, Heisenberg turned on his heel, squinting through the rain as he moved forward to the edge of the small valley the village was nestled in. Or rather, it had been nestled in.

The entire village looked like it had been sacked and burned. Massive tire tread marks were still frozen into the mud, criss-crossed this way and that. Some heavy equipment had been brought in to demolish the already-frail buildings, but over the tire marks were hoofprints, footprints, pawprints.

So there were still lycans here.

Heisenberg puffed out a breath, gazing off into the distance. His factory was out there in the rain, waiting. Waiting for his return. The former Lord shook his head, cautiously making his way down the slick road into the village proper. He had no idea whether the area was still under active surveillance (snipers specifically had him a little skittish), and the last thing he wanted was to be caught unawares.

The ground was littered with what seemed like hardened ash, chunks of it wafting into the air when it was disturbed by Karl's boots. With it came the scent of rot, of decay, and very, very faintly, the smell of mold. Heisenberg's nose twitched and he shook his head, as if to dismiss the familiar odor. They had burned Miranda's ‘god’, then.

As they should have.

He only vaguely recalled some towering thing briefly glimpsed through the back of the Duke's wagon, but if the tenacity of Winters was anything to go off of, he and that slinking, sneaky bastard Redfield had no doubt put the titanic growth and its root system dead to rights.

Karl found his thoughts growing more and more distracted as he crossed the marshy land that bordered what once was Moreau's reservoir. Judging from the frozen mud puddles, the sluice gate had either failed or been victim to the same demolishing that the rest of the village had suffered.

He ought to have been able to see his factory from where he stood, but to his muted dismay it also appeared to have been toppled. Not all that surprising when he actually thought about it, though. A majority of its structural integrity relied on (essentially) constant input from him. A comparably-small percentage of his power had been dedicated to keeping the factory upright. He had nearly forgotten about it, that's how much of an afterthought it was. Through his will alone the building had endured; he wondered dimly if it had collapsed when he had or if it had propped itself up until the militants crumpled it.

All that was left was to see whether the lower levels had survived.

The real chore was locating an intact bulkhead, but even that wasn't such a struggle. The problem with said bulkhead, however, was the goddamn Morlock-esque conglomeration of prints around the half-ajar door, and while Karl didn't fancy himself much of an Eloi, he also wasn't enormously fond of getting swarmed in the depths by lycans or their pet vârcolaci.

He stood by the door for a long while. Long enough that he was fairly confident even the world's shittiest sniper would have taken his head off. The signs had just been scare tactics, or just remnants of the military force that had since moved on to more important things. This site was back in lycan hands, whatever was left of them.

And he was about to delve into the belly of the beast.

Why? Why the hell am I doing this? Karl knew the answer to his own silent question but it had always been his nature to rail against the inevitable, the inexorable.

Poor Heisenberg, so strong you ruin everything you touch.

The ladder rungs were slimy with mud, coating his palms liberally. Karl swore under his breath. He had forgotten how filthy everything was. Hard for mold to thrive if the environment was spotless, after all! You just kept your cabin so clean…it felt like a loss, somehow, to descend back into the grime and darkness, the fecund catacombs that housed his quarters and manufacturing operations. His mind wandered anew to his Haulers and Soldats. Were any of them still left? Or had they all fallen to Ethan's unquenchable fury?

Again, that grudging respect for Winters, warring with his faint annoyance at the man for entirely razing the place to the ground. Bit rude, really, but understandable.

Through the inky blackness that closed over his head, Karl sent out a mental pulse on force of habit. Metal, all around him, gears and machinery, radios and televisions stirring at his proverbial touch. Once a fortress of science, now an uneasy, creaking tomb. His breath caught in his lungs. He had never felt so claustrophobic in his own damn factory.

You didn't have any electronics in your cabin. He hadn't realized until just now. The total absence of buzzing screens and subaudible hum of current had been such a blessing, and he hadn't even noticed until it was thrust upon him once more.

There was some commotion at the base of the ladder still far below him, startling Karl out of the reverie he had fallen into. He gritted his teeth and stretched out a hand, using his power to search the factory for his enormous hammer. From his left came a crashing din in the distance, crumbling stone and shrieking metal heralding the flight of his monstrous weapon.

Heisenberg grinned with a bleak sort of humor, catching the haft of the hammer and then releasing his hold on the ladder. “Papa's home, you greasy freaks!” He roared, plummeting like a rock to the floor below.

I can use this stupid, dangerous strength to make their home safe again, cut the lycans off at the source. I can use it…I can use it to keep them safe.

…

Rain was pattering against your face. You spluttered, opening your eyes slightly and then quickly closing them again in a grimace as a fat raindrop slammed into your eyebrow.

Ugh. Your back hurt.

You gingerly sat up and rotated your stiff neck, grateful that nothing seemed to have been dislocated. Your right leg was scraped badly through your rainsuit; you must have caught the ladder on the way down. At least you hadn't broken the leg! You could live with the deep abrasion and bruises, but if you had broken it–and with Karl missing…

‘Missing’? No, he left.

Tears closed your throat and you struggled to exhale, irritated by your immediate response to thinking about waking up alone. You were fine. You needed to get back inside and dry off.

Your head started to pound as you struggled upright, grabbing the side of the cabin to steady yourself. Your right knee throbbed anytime you so much as thought about it, so you did your best not to.

Just get inside.

You hobbled forward, fumbling with the stairs of the porch until you finally managed to get up them backwards. You were now sweating from the effort, nauseous and dimly terrified. You had never felt quite so alone as you did at this moment, your nails digging into the boards of the porch as you dragged yourself to the door.

Just get inside.

You collapsed inside the door, shoving it closed with your arm. Shaking fingers unbuttoned your rainsuit, and you carefully peeled it off. The right leg of the suit was ruined, but you might be able to salvage it. Numbly you continued to extract yourself from the suit, leaving it in a heap by the door. You then automatically limped to the kitchen, filled your kettle with water and placed it on the wood stove to boil. You would need clean water to take care of your wound, and unfortunately at the moment your largest pot was currently camped out in the corner of your bedroom. The kettle would have to suffice.

He couldn't look at you.

Don't think about it.

The bite mark he had left on your shoulder was still tender to the touch.

Don't think about it.

Your head ached and you squinted, trying to hold back more tears to no avail. They spilled down your cheeks after a brief struggle, causing you to huff out a shuddering breath and sink down on the couch.

In a rare moment of weakness, you opened your mouth to voice an honest emotion. “I…” You swallowed thickly, feeling foolish for talking to an empty room. “I miss you, Karl. Please come back.”

But silence was all that you received in return.

…

The only noise that met his ears was a steady drip, drip, drip. The ground beneath his feet had finally gone still, no more writhing bodies or snapping jaws to break.

It had been like a never-ending nightmare din ringing inside his skull. Squealing, snarling, biting, clawing, the baying for blood and his own voice shouting until he was hoarse. The abrupt silence was nearly bliss. Heisenberg mused on whether his eardrums had ruptured but, no, the dripping persisted.

His arms and legs felt like lead. How long had he been down here? Days? Weeks? Karl sank to his knees after a moment, propping himself up with what was left of his hammer.

From overhead came a creaking groan, the remaining structure of the factory dangerously close to failing. Karl had laid waste to the floorplan as he eradicated the den, the hive, so it wasn't really a surprise. He had no idea where he even was in the factory anymore. Even with his improved eyesight there wasn't much to see, and less still to orient himself with.

Had he gotten them all?

Gods, the exhaustion that was speedily overtaking his body was almost impressive. Clearly he had stretched himself a little too thin. How much blood had he lost? Down in the darkness all he could see was that his hands were a deeper gray than his upper arms, blackened tendrils writhing upwards along just beneath his skin. That was to be expected, he'd been bitten more times than he could count. His entire left hand hung at an awkward angle from his wrist and with a grunt Karl reset the appendage. The pain was what stunned him, its lightning-flash freezing him in place.

A huge piece of sheet metal hit the floor beside him, then another, and another. It seemed that even the lower levels were caving in on themselves, finally succumbing to the damage and his weakened state. Without warning a cinderblock slammed into his head, nearly flattening him before he caught himself. Karl snarled, mentally shoving upwards with all his power and hearing several more pieces of metal ricochet off of one another and bury themselves in the masonry.

A wet cough suddenly rattled his chest and Karl wheezed for breath, trying to remember what the hell had happened during his prolonged struggle. Black fluid splattered onto his hand when he hacked out another cough, and Heisenberg realized that there was a deep wound in his chest. He hadn't even felt it, hadn't noticed. Wasn't really a point to plugging it either at this stage, what with the whole factory coming down on top of him.

A sense of calm washed over him. It felt a bit like inevitability, and he just didn't have the strength to fight it any longer.

Karl slumped down by a retaining wall, the cold stone pressing comfortingly into his bare back. He tipped his head to rest it against the wall, squinting pointlessly upwards as more dust rained down. The framework beams had begun to collapse, finally yielding under the immense strain to careen to the ground below.

Heisenberg bowed his head, his palm covering the wound in his chest as an afterthought. He could feel the hitch of his own breath, the former Lord understanding in a cold, clinical manner exactly what the hell was happening to him. His lungs were in agony, burning, his chest felt like it was going to burst–

He heard the metal plummeting through the air right before it struck, an enormous, knife-like edge driving home in the meat of his shoulder and pinning him in place. Karl retched, his mind shying away from the brilliant stab of pain. Before he could draw another breath a huge beam crashed down on top of him, jamming his chin against his chest. His last conscious thoughts were strangely (or perhaps, not-so-strangely) about you.

Sorry sugar…guess I wasn't strong enough to make it out alive…

Buried there beneath the wreckage, crushed by the weight of his own hubris and surrounded by a mountain of corpses, Karl Heisenberg finally went still.

Epilogue

#karl heisenberg #lord karl heisenberg #eventual romance #fix it fic #au #resident evil #re 8 #re 8 village #resident evil village #resident evil karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg imagine #re 8 karl heisenberg #slow burn

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zeciex · 4 months

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A Vow of Blood - 58

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 58: A Missive of Ravens

AO3 - Masterlist

Daenera opened yet another drawer, her fingers gently brushing over the scarce horsetail sprigs within. She made a mental note to add them to her growing list, which had become surprisingly longer than she had anticipated. The air within her chambers was redolent with the comforting aroma of her dried herbs, mingling with the fresh, invigorating scent of potted herbs thriving by the windows. She had been relieved to see that the servants had taken good care of them during her absence.

“Are you ready to go to the market?” Jelissa asked with a gentle smile as she entered the room.

“Yes,” Daenera replied, her voice tinged with a sense of longing for a change of scenery.

Her supply of herbs had dwindled at an alarming rate, and she found herself in dire need of restocking, particularly her cherished camomile tea and spearmint leaves. She had taken to nursing a cup of tea each morning as part of her daily routine, a small comfort to soothe her unsettled stomach. The stress of the journey back from Storm’s End seemed to have thrown her digestion out of order, leaving her feeling perpetually weary and fatigued.

After closing the drawer with a soft thud, Daenera pivoted toward the sturdy wooden table where her list lay. With deliberate movements, she scrawled " star anise " beside the entry for horsetail , determined to replenish her entire stock. She set the feather pen back in its place beside the inkwell and lifted the list gently, letting her breath hasten the drying of the ink. Once satisfied, she rolled the parchment into a neat scroll. Reaching for her shawl, she draped it over her shoulders, feeling its comforting warmth envelop her as she readied herself to leave.

“I need a reprieve from this never-ending mourning,” Daenera confessed, her voice tinged with frustration. The months of pretense had been wearisome at best. Every encounter seemed to revolve around expressions of sympathy and the exaggerated praises of her late husband, accompanied by endless tales and anecdotes of his life, all underscored by pitying glances. It had become utterly suffocating.

In the wake of death, Daenera couldn’t help but observe how memories transformed like stained glass, casting a soft and forgiving glow over a person’s life. Flaws and missteps were washed away, replaced by fanciful imaginings that allowed the imagination to flourish. The once tarnished sinners were seen as holy, while the pious in turn would become blemished by human imperfection.

It was a curious phenomenon she had witnessed time and time again, as if death held the power to rewrite history with a gentler hand.

And still, it all depended on the person writing the histories, and whether they were of a forgiving nature.

As Daenera and Jelissa made their way into the hall, their footsteps echoing in the dimly lit corridor, they were met by the swift approach of Joyce. Her hurried pace and furrowed brow betrayed her concern.

“I’ve received word from the Captain of Meraxes that Vaemond Velaryon has arrived in port,” Joyce reported, her voice tense as she crumbled the report between her fingers, the black scribbles on the parchment detailing what she had just said.

Daenera’s expression mirrored Joyce’s worry, brows furrowing in surprise, and as she inquired, her voice was touched by her growing apprehension. “Do we know the reason for his presence?”

Joyce shook her head. “No. He will be here shortly.”

The unexpected arrival of a prominent figure like Vaemond Velaryon warranted Daenera’s immediate attention. She hadn’t heard a whisper about it, neither from her informants nor from any other source. Such arrivals were typically accompanied by grand announcements and festivities, but this seem to have been shrouded in secrecy.

A sense of urgency settled over the group, leaving Jelissa with a disappointed pout on her lips as she had been looking forward to their trip to the market.

“Joyce, would you keep your ear to the ground? I want every detail you can get,” Daenera instructed her capable maid, shifting her basket into Jelissa’s hand. “I want to know his purpose for being here.”

Jelissa interjected with concern, “Shouldn’t we inform your mother?”

Daenera considered the idea for a moment before responding, her voice tinged with caution, “I will not burden my mother with unnecessary worry.”

She thought about her mother’s announcement of her seventh pregnancy. While Daenera was genuinely excited for the impending addition to the family, she couldn’t help but be consumed by concern for her mother’s well-being, as she always was. She didn’t wish to add any unnecessary stress.

But Vaemond’s sudden arrival was warranted concern.

“I will send a raven when we have more information,” Daenera added.

With a nod of understanding, Joyce and Jelissa swiftly dispersed to fulfill their assigned task of contacting their informants.

Once Daenera reached the entrance hall of Maegor’s Holdfast, she paced back and forth the extensive space, her soft footsteps echoing against the high-vaulted ceiling. Her mind was consumed with thoughts about Vaemond’s sudden appearance and what it could signify. Her fingers fiddled absentmindedly with the ring on her finger as she ran through a range of possibilities. The faint chatter in the hall amounted to little more than the incessant buzz of a fly in her ears.

The worried and curious gazes of the lords and ladies of the court followed her every step, their eyes seeming to scrutinize her pacing. She paid them no heed, fully aware of the mixed emotion they held–pity for her recent widowhood and curiosity about the unfolding drama of her life. In their eyes, she was the young widow who had lost her husband less than a year into their marriage, leaving her alone and seemingly bereft of any meaningful legacy. If her sanity unraveled, it would only add to the tragic narrative that seemed to surround her.

The entrance hall itself was grand and imposing, its tall stone pillars stretching towards the ceiling. Where once intricate tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of dragons and the conquering of the Seven Kingdoms, there were now simpler depictions of forests or even bare walls, stripped of their former glory. The symbols of the Faith of the Seven were scattered throughout the hall, giving it more of a resemblance to a sept rather than the home of The Great Conqueror and his descendants. The air was heavy with the scent of burning candles and sweet incense, and the soft hum of hushed whispers and murmurs filled the space, reverberating off the vaulted ceiling.

As she waited for Vaemond’s arrival, she strategically positioned herself on the second level of the grand staircase leading towards the King’s and Queen’s chambers, ensuring that he could not avoid her.

From the open balcony extending from the second level of the grand staircase, Daenera had a commanding view of the inner courtyard of Maegor’s Holdfast. Her keen eyes caught the glimpse of silver locks and the sigil of House Velaryon, a seahorse whose upper half resembled that of a horse, while the lower half remained that of a sea creature.

She turned, positioning herself in the middle of the grand staircase, her demeanor patient as she awaited her great-uncle’s ascent. Since the last time she had seen him, Vaemond remained largely unchanged. His liver hair still coiled in a similar fashion to that of his brother’s, albeit shorter. His eyes retained their characteristic hardness, giving her the same disdainful look he had directed at her during Laena’s funeral. She remembered the thinly veiled insults he had hurled at her family during his speech, the weight of his scorn, and how it had frightened her back then. But she was no longer a child to be frightened by such disdain.

It was evident that whatever misgivings or animosity he harbored towards her and her brothers had not waned during the six years they had spent apart.

“Welcome to King’s Landing, great-uncle. It has been a long time,” Daenera greeted with a polite smile.

Vaemond halted his ascent at the same level as her, his eyes conveying his sentiments even before his words did.

“Not long enough,” he responded dryly. “I extend my condolences for the loss of your husband. Boris Baratheon was a remarkable warrior and a man of great character. The fact that he met his end in a hunting accident is truly difficult to fathom, given his experience.”

“Mmm, yes, it was a tragic accident,” Daenera replied, her tone revealing her disinterest in discussing her late husband. “But you do not travel this far just to offer your condolences.”

“I come to speak with the King,” Vaemond admitted, though they both knew it was not the King he was seeking an audience with.

For quite some time, the kingdom had been managed by the Hightowers, especially since her husband’s funeral. The King’s illness had worsened, rendering him unable to fulfill his duties. Daenera couldn’t help but wonder how long they could maintain the facade of the King’s health. Despite her efforts to ascertain his condition and the extent of the Maesters’ or the Hightowers’ involvement, she had been consistently denied access to his chambers, forcing her to rely on word of the castle’s kitchen staff for whether he remained alive at all.

“What could possibly be so significant that you appear without any prior notice?” Daenera inquired with a raised brow, her eyes flickering over his tight expression.

“I did send prior notice,” Vaemond replied, his eyes narrowing smugly. “The Queen awaits my arrival.”

“I thought you were here to see the King,” Daenera drawled, her comment seeming to get under her great-uncle’s skin.

His eyes narrowed further. “I am here to meet with whomever is currently responsible for the Kingdom. For the time being, that happens to be the Queen, correct?”

“It is,” Daenera sighed inwardly. Unfortunately. She hooked her arms into Vaemond’s mustering a sweet smile, knowing how annoyed he was with her by the stiffness in his shoulders. “Allow me to lead the way. It has been such a long time since I’ve seen you, great-uncle.”

Vaemond visibly bristled, his face contorting with an expression of repulsion, clearly wishing to be anywhere but in her company. However, he could not refuse her, and so they ascended the final stretch of stairs together.

“How long do you plan to stay in King’s Landing?” Daenera inquired, her voice sweet and unassuming, as though she had no underlying motive for continuing the conversation.

“I shall depart for Driftmark as soon as I have spoken with the Queen,” Vaemond replied with a rigid demeanor, devoid of the charisma and charm that his brother, Corlys, possessed. If Aemond had a stick up his backside, Vaemond had an entire tree trunk lodged there. He was unamused and unforgiving.

“So soon? You’ve only just arrived.”

“I have pressing matters to attend to,” Vaemond stated, his answers clipped and curt.

“I’m sure,” Daenera muttered under her breath. “Has something happened?”

“Have you not heard?” Vaemond’s dark eyes gleamed with cruelty, the same malevolent glint he had harbored all those years ago, carefully polished and kept shiny for this moment. “My brother, the Sea Snake, has fallen gravely ill.”

Daenera’s heart sank, causing her to come to an abrupt halt. Her arm slipped away from his, creating some distance between herself and Vaemond, who watched her with a discerning gaze. She instinctively clasped her hands in front of her, her fingers nervously twisting the ring on her finger. A sense of dread and fear settled within her like a heavy weight, and when she finally spoke, her voice carried a fragility she hadn’t intended.

“Will he survive?”

“That remains uncertain,” Vaemond replied, his tone retaining its harsh edge.

Daenera’s brows furrowed even deeper as she observed him closely, detecting a glimmer of ambition deep within his eyes. It burned alongside his evident indignation and disdain towards her, and perhaps, there was even a hint of sadness for his brother.

“But shouldn’t you be by his side at this moment?” Her voice carried an accusatory understone, and she swallowed hard against her growing apprehension.

If Corlys was indeed in such dire health, one would expect his brother would be by his side. However, Daenera couldn’t help but be reminded of Vaemond’s long-standing criticism of Corlys, particularly his handling of succession and his apparent disregard for the meaning of blood. Despite their differences, Corlys was still his brother, and one might assume that that would mean something. Yet here he was, in King’s Landing, abandoning his brother to speak with the Queen.

Vaemond glowered at her. “The ship is already in passage; he should reach Driftmark within a fortnight or less, should the winds be in his favor. I’ll return home before his arrival.”

Anxiety welled up within Daenera, constricting her chest like a vice. She decided to abandon pleasantries and ask directly, her words sharp and probing. “Why have you truly come here?”

“To discuss pressing matters of business,” Vaemond replied with a practiced lie, his voice devoid of sincerity. “If you’ll excuse me, Princess, I have affairs to attend to.”

With that, Vaemond turned his back on her and allowed the guards to escort him towards the Queen’s chambers.

Daenera’s glare bore into Vaemond as she grinded her teeth in a mix of anger and fear. She spun around, clutching her skirts and hurrying down the hall, her eyes darting about in search for someone who could provide answers. She found Aemond sitting in the library, bathed in the warm, golden light streaming in through the tall windows. She slammed her hand down on the book he was reading, causing the leather to snap at the strain as it fell flat on the table, the sound reverberating through the quiet space.

Aemond looked up with his usual slightly amused expression.

“You didn’t tell me about Vaemond Velaryon’s arrival,” Daenera said angrily, the accusation poised on her tongue. “Why does he want to speak with the Queen?”

“Why should I tell you?” Aemond drawled, his head tilting to the side as he observed her.

“Are they making a move against my brother?” Daenera continued her barrage of questions, studying her lover’s face for any hint of an answer. “Is it related to the Step Stones? Or is it in regards to the succession of Driftmark?”

Aemond remained silent which only served to further agitate her. Though he seemed amused, there was a note of seriousness within his eye that told her how serious the situation was. She was of half a mind to pick up the book and beat him over the head with it until she gave her all the answers she desired, but knowing Aemond, she wouldn’t get anywhere with the threat of pain.

“You should have told me about his arrival,” Daenera sneered.

“You know why I didn’t,” Aemond replied, leaning back in his seat with a sigh. “If our roles were reversed, would you tell me?”

Daenera’s eyes narrowed, and she emitted an indignant huff, rolling her eyes upward. Aemond’s words were undeniably accurate, a truth she couldn’t escape, and the realization irked her more than she would openly admit. The gap between them seemed to widen, a growing chasm that threatened to separate them completely. Daenera couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment and frustration, even if those emotions were irrational. If their roles were reversed, she would guard her secrets just as closely, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Her lips pressed into a dissatisfied pout. “I will assume the worst.”

Aemond responded with a nonchalant hum, prying the book out from under her hand, returning his eye to the pages.

“Tonight, I think I shall lock my doors,” Daenera remarked as she turned her heels and walked away, accompanied by the sound of Aemond’s amused chuckle echoing through the library.

Upon returning to her chamber, Daenera found Jelissa waiting for her, her face etched with a familiar expression of worry that mirrored Daenera’s own apprehension. The young servant shifted nervously on her feet, her voice filled with sympathy as she spoke. “Joyce has told me to tell you this; Lord Corlys has fallen ill. They say it is a fever.”

Daenera swallowed hard. A fever, she thought. A fever could signify a multitude of ailments – infection, the sweating sickness, or even the shivers. It was difficult to fathom that something as seemingly common as a fever could be the affliction that brought down the mighty Sea Snake. She shook her head in disbelief.

“The men aboard The Black Horse say that Lord Corlys is on his way to Driftmark,” Jelissa continued, following Daenera and standing in front of her as the princess settled into a chair, making space on the table for a piece of parchment.

“Apparently, it will take him near a fortnight to get to Driftmark,” Daenera remarked, though she wasn’t sure she’d agree with that estimate.

“Do you think he will die? Lord Corlys.” Jelissa questioned, her eyes wide with anxiety, she shook her head, her curls bouncing around her face. “What does this all mean?”

Daenera lifted her gaze from the parchment, the feather pen hovering above the inkwell, allowing the excess ink to drip back into the pot. “Vaemond sees this as his opportunity to dispute the line of succession. He’s always harbored resentment towards us, and has never wanted Luke to be heir of Driftmark.”

“But you’re Velaryons,” Jelissa muttered, brows drawing together in a look of confusion. “He would see Luke disinherited?”

“He believes it’s his right,” Daenera answered wearily. “He believes he takes president over us. We may share the Velaryon name, but in his eyes, we don’t share his blood. He’e been trying to convince Corlys of this for years, and now, with his brother gravely ill, Vaemond will seize the chance to challenge the succession. By doing so, he puts my mother’s claim into question.”

“Do you truly believe he would go to such lengths?” Jelissa inquired, her voice quiet.

“I think,” Daenera stated firmly, “that he cares only for Driftmark, and forming an alliance with the Hightowers will help him achieve his goals. They can publicly cast doubt on my mother’s claim if Vaemond becomes heir to Driftmark instead of my brother. It would be a sign that we’re the bastards they believe us to be.”

The feather pen scratched gently across the parchment’s surface, its black ink gracefully seeping into the thirsty fibers of the parchment as Daenera composed her letter. She carefully crafted missives addressed to her mother, and also penned words for Baela on Driftmark, warning them of Vaemond’s ambition.

“Jelissa, would you find Joyce and Fenrick for me?” Daenera said, while she continued to scribble on the parchment, her letters in perfect arches.

Jelissa nodded, turning on her heels.

Mother,

I write to you with news regarding the recent meeting between Vaemond Velaryon and the Queen. I do not know the subject of the meeting, but with the news of Lord Corlys falling ill, I fear they may be conspiring against Lucerys and his claim on Driftmark, and by putting his claim into question, they put yours into question. It seems they intend to cast doubt upon Lucerys’s legitimacy.

I beseech you to take decisive action and journey to King’s Landing to assert your authority.

Your loving daughter,

Daenera Velaryon

She crafted a similar letter to Baela, alerting her to Vaemond’s ambitious designs and his audacious bid to assert his claim to Driftmark above Lucerys. It was a callous move, considering that Corlys was not yet in his grave and had a possibility to recover, however slim, and it amounted to a grievous affront to Rhaenys, who currently occupied the Driftmark seat while her husband was absent.

Daenera placed the second letter beside the first, her gaze fixed on them with a wary intensity, as if they might burst into flames if she averted her gaze. An unsettling feeling nagged at the recesses of her mind, compelling her to grab another sheet of parchment. She proceeded to rewrite the missive to her mother once more, meticulously blowing over the inky words to hasten their drying, before rolling it up and securing it inside a separate capsule. Each letter received its own protective enclosure meant to keep them safe from the elements.

Aemond positioned himself at the outer wall of the Red Keep, his gaze fixed on the sky as the sun made its descent, the blues turning into a warm orange and bright pink. He leaned casually against the old stone, bow and arrows at the ready, his alert to his missive.

As he patiently stood there, he watched as the ravens emerged from the rookery, their dark wings carrying crucial messages about Vaemond Velaryon’s dealings with his mother. Aemond’s fingers tensed around the bowstring, his eye tracking the bird’s flight with precision. When the moment was right, he drew the bowstring taut, his muscles flexing with practiced ease.

With a fluid motion, he released the arrow, immediately replacing it with another and firing it as well. The arrows streaked through the sky, hitting their intended targets before the ravens could evade them.

The birds plummeted to the ground outside the castle walls, their lifeless forms and their secret letters destined to the fire. He stepped up to the edge of the wall, watching as the man picked up the birds.

Aemond had anticipated this outcome from the moment he learned of Vaemond’s intention to visit his mother. He knew that Daenera would attempt to send warnings to her family, and he couldn’t afford to allow that. There was no room for guilt in this game; it was a matter of strategy.

Aemond descended from the wall, his eye following the guard as he collected the fallen ravens and their incriminating messages, tossing them unceremoniously into the fire of a nearby brazier. As the letters turned to ash, a plume of black smoke spiraled upward, carrying with it the acrid scent of burning feathers. With the disposal complete, Aemond abandoned his bow and arrows by the foot of the stairs, making his way towards Maegor’s Holdfast.

Passing through his own chamber, he entered the secret passageways. Each step brought him closer to Daenera’s chambers, and the burgeoning hope that she had left the door unbarred kindled within him. As he reached the door, his hand pressed gently against the wooden surface, and with a subtle click, it yielded to his touch. Aemond slipped into her room and her embrace.

Days later, a missive reached Dragonstone aboard a modest merchant vessel that had departed from King’s Landing. The letter bore news of Vaemond’s meeting with the Queen. However, by the time the tidings reached Dragonstone, they had already grown stale, for a raven had swiftly carried similar tidings from Driftmark, where Vaemond had brought forth his claim.

Silence had woven itself into the very fabric of the Red Keep, cloaking the grand halls in an oppressive stillness that clashed with Daenera’s ardent attempts to infuse warmth and hospitality into her gathering, which had been intended to honor the royal heir. Despite her earnest endeavors, the turnout was modest at best. Only Lord Caswell, accompanied by his daughter Tris, and Kaylys Merryweather had responded to her invitations, leaving the grand affair feeling somewhat diminished.

The conspicuous absence of both the Queen and her mother’s half-siblings cast a gloomy pall over the occasion. Their deliberate nonattendance, coupled with the Hand’s notable absence, suggested a carefully calculated slight. Joyce had informed Daenera that an impromptu council meeting had been summoned, compelling all council members to prioritize their attendance over the gathering.

This subtle affront, orchestrated with meticulous precision, would not escape notice.

Daenera paced restlessly along the steps of the Red Keep, her fingers instinctively twisting the rings adorning them as she battled a nauseating blend of nerves and apprehension. She keenly recognized that every action she had taken in King’s Landing, every intricately planned maneuver, would be subjected to intense scrutiny. She braced herself for the inevitable interrogations and the need to defend her choices, and she expected to be confronted about the omissions and calculated understatements that were present in her letters.

“You’ll wear the stone steps thin if you continue pacing like this,” Joyce remarked with a touch of concern in her voice.

“If I do, perhaps I’ll be lucky, and the Hand will take a tumble,” Daenera muttered softly under her breath, her anxiousness making her snappy. Her comment earned her a reproachful glance.

As the grand gates swung open, the royal procession made its entrance. Their arrival was met with a heavy silence that hung in the air, much like the dreary weather above–overcast and gray. The absence of the usual enthusiastic onlookers created a stark contrast, leaving the grand entrance eerily devoid of its customary fanfare. The Red Keep’s usual vibrant courtyard, bustling with life and chatter, stood eerily still and desolate, save for the guards and the few attendees Daenera had managed to muster.

“All hail Rhaenyra, House Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, and her royal consort, Prince Daemon Targaryen,” announced Steffon Darklyn, his voice breaking the silence.

With that, the carriage doors opened, and Rhaenyra stepped out, her brows seemingly raised in apprehension.

Daenera noted the slight jab of disappointment in her mothers gaze as it scanned the courtyard, gazing upon what had once been her home, what had once been all she had ever known, and now found it cold and desolate.

With exuberant skips, Daenera descended the steps and threw herself into her mother’s loving embrace, holding her tightly and savoring the familiar scent that was uniquely her mother’s. As she clung to her, she couldn’t help but notice the subtle bump of her mother’s stomach pressing against her own.

“I have missed you,” Daenera admitted, as though they hadn’t seen each other at the funeral.

“And I you,” Rhaenyra replied, her gaze filled with affection as she withdrew slightly, cradling her only daughter’s face between her palms. She leaned down, pressing her lips gently against Daenera’s forehead in a loving gesture.

Out of the corner of her eye, Daenera caught sight of Daemon, as he watched the two. Her heart beat a little harder within her chest as she turned to face him hesitantly, like a child preparing for reprimand. When he did not unleash one, she wrapped her arms around him in greeting, giving him a hesitant but sincere hug.

Afterward, she turned her attention to her younger siblings, hugging them warmly and placing affectionate kisses on their chubby cheeks as they looked around in curiosity.

Lord Caswell, showing respect and sympathy, made his way down the stairs. He bowed courteously to Rhaenyra, his eyes reflecting a soft and empathetic light. Taking her hand in his own, he spoke with an air of solemnity, “Welcome back, Princess.”

“Lord Caswell,” Rhaenyra acknowledged with a nod of her head, her gaze briefly shifting to Trish and Kaylys who each curtsey, heads bowing.

“I fear much has changed while you’ve been gone,” Lord Caswell stated, his voice carrying a sense of foreboding that served as a subtle warning.

“This is not the welcome we expected,” Rhaenyra remarked, her gaze sweeping up the imposing walls of the Red Keep.

Lord Caswell shifted uncomfortably, his eyes settling on Daenera as she gently handed Aegon back to Elinda Massey before rejoining the conversation. “Your daughter faced an uphill battle in her efforts to arrange a fitting reception for you. I’m afraid the influence of the Hightowers has left much to be desired.”

Rhaenyra’s expression grew more somber.

Lord Caswell’s words were an understatement. Daenera’s efforts to assemble a welcoming party had been systematically sabotaged at every turn. The musicians she had chosen to greet their return with music had abandoned their commitment, and the noble guests she had invited had offered vague excuses to avoid attending. It was clear that lines were being drawn in among the nobility, and many seemed reluctant to commit to any particular side, choosing instead to walk a fine line and wait for the right moment to declare their allegiances.

“The Hightower cunts have decided to finally abandon their facade of politeness,” Daemon muttered, his hands resting on the pommel of his sword, his demeanor wholly unimpressed.

“The Hand called for an urgent council meeting,” Lord Caswell explained, his eyes filled with apprehension, worry etching lines onto his face.

“And many have been discouraged from attending your arrival,” Daenera added. “I did my best, but the reason for your presence has left many uncertain.”

“Uncertain about their loyalties, you mean,” Daemon scoffed, and it was evident that he considered them all cowards.

Abstaining from the heir’s welcome was not just a question of loyalty. The Hightowers, by refusing, for whatever reason, to attend, were demonstrating their control over the power dynamics, sending a clear message to others that they should follow suit or risk facing similar isolation. It was a calculated move.

“I apologize for the disappointment,” Lord Caswell offered.

“It is not your fault, Lord Caswell,” Rhaenyra reassured him.

Together, they followed Lord Caswell into the Keep, leaving behind the desolate courtyard, only to find the halls of the Red Keep just as desolate.

In the grand hall, where crowds typically bustled, an eerie stillness now prevailed. The immense ceilings stretched upwards, only serving to solidify the profound solitude as the small group made its way in through the doors. Each step they took resonated through the expansive area, reverberating with a haunting clarity. Lacking the sun’s warm rays, the shadows enveloped everything in a cloak of dimness, while the weak light from the braziers flickered feebly, barely cutting through the chill that hung in the air. It did little to alleviate the growing tension, which seemed to feed off the quietude around them.

The restoration of the Keep had reached completion just a month prior. The once proud symbols of House Targaryen's power and prestige had been supplanted by carvings depicting the Seven-pointed star, symbolizing the faith's dominance. The historical tapestries that depicted the Targaryen conquests, which used to adorn the hall, were now absent. Similarly, the iconic three-headed dragon, previously emblazoned in the windows, had vanished, leaving behind a sense of loss for the house's storied past. The Keep now bore more of a resemblance to the sept, than the home of the Targaryen dynasty.

“I would say it’s good to be home, but I scarcely recognize it,” Rhaenyra murmured, her gaze seeming to fix on the seven-pointed star adorning a window. Both shock and disbelief flickered across her face as she glanced at Daemon.

Daemon responded with a low hum, his reaction less one of shock and more of abhorrent distaste.

“Jace, would you take Joffrey to get settled and cleaned up?” Rhaenyra asked her eldest.

“Of course, Mother,” Jace agreed, turning to his younger brother who scowled petulantly at his extended hand, his gaze narrowed.

“I don’t want a bath,” Joffrey muttered, resisting as Jace reached for him, narrowly escaping only to be trapped by Rhaena, who grabbed his hand and stopped him from running away.

“You may not want one, but you need it,” Jace answered his brother, scooping him up in his arms. “You stink.”

“No, I don’t!” Joffrey insisted incredulously, sniffing at his clothes.

“Yes, you do,” Jace argued, burying his face in his brother’s neck to earn a giggle, as he inhaled loudly. “You stink.”

“That’s you!” Joffrey argued, as Jace began to make his way through the Keep and towards Maegor’s Holdfast.

Daenera was about to follow Luke and Rhaena as they trailed after Jace, but her mother reached out and grabbed her hand. “Stay.”

Daenera nodded and followed her mother and Daemon as they made their way through the Keep towards the King’s Chambers. Their footsteps echoed through the dimly lit halls, where shadows seemed to come alive and play tricks on the eyes.

As the heavy door to the King’s Chambers creaked open, it revealed the sorry state of the room, causing them all to pause in somber reflection.

The chamber exuded an overwhelming gloom, its darkness swallowing everything in its path. The feeble light from a few flickering candles cast long and eerie shadows, adding to the unsettling atmosphere and a thick layer of dust blanketed every surface, bearing witness to weeks of neglect.

In the midst of this desolation, the stone map of Old Valyria stood as a poignant symbol. Once a centerpiece of grandeur and intrigue, it now lay forgotten, its intricate details obscured by layers of dust and clusters of webbing from spiders. The map, like the rest of the room, bore the weight of abandonment and disrepair, almost reflecting the sad state of its creator.

It served as a haunting reminder of the past, or perhaps a foreboding warning for the future.

Daenera’s heart sank as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through a spider’s web, feeling the accusing gazes of her mother and Daemon upon her.

“I didn’t know,” she admitted with a heavy heart.

The thin curtains, like lingering ghosts, fluttered gently in the wind, casting shifting shadows that obscured the view into the bedchamber. Within, the room was filled with raspy, labored breaths of an old man, each inhalation a painful reminder of his state. Daenera remained by the stone map, as her mother ventured into the bedchamber while Daemon seemed to hesitate just at the threshold. His head hung, and Daenera couldn’t help but wonder what made him hesitate.

A chill went down her spine, her attention momentarily caught by the scurrying of something furry along the mantle of the hearth. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, her stomach churning with unease. A king shouldn’t live like this.

Daenera moved closer, hesitating where Daemon had, hovering at the outskirts as Rhaenyra addressed her father with a gentle murmur, her words chosen with care, as if she feared that even a single syllable spoken too loudly might have the Keep caving in around them.

Daemon took a less gentle approach, his voice carrying the weight of urgency as he urged his brother to reaffirm Lucery’s position as the rightful heir to Driftmark. In contrast, Rhaenyra appeared more concerned with the state of her father’s health, her words laced with genuine worry as she inquired about his well-being.

The air in the chamber hung heavy, a stifling mixture of old incense and the sticky stench of disease permeating everything within the walls. It clawed at the back of the throat.

Rhaenyra cast a fleeting glance towards Daenera, who promptly retreated through the interconnected rooms and into the corridor. There, she scooped up Aegon, who had noticeably grown during her absence. Despite the time apart, the boy seemed to remember his sister, burying his tiny face in the crook of her neck. His fingers absentmindedly twisted a strand of her hair as she carried him back into the bedchamber, followed closely by Elinda Massey, who held Viserys in her arms.

Rhaenyra gently accepted Viserys from Elinda’s grasp, lifting the child to ensure his clear view.

“Father, this is Aegon,” she introduced with a nod towards the boy in Daenera’s embrace.

Daenera adjusted Aegon in her arms, planted a tender kiss on the side of his head, where his fine pale hair tickled against her nose. He leaned into her touch, shy and undoubtedly overwhelmed by the new surroundings, as well as the smell in the room. He reburied his face in her hair, as though the scent of it soothed him.

“And this is Viserys,” Rhaenyra continued, introducing the youngest of the boys.

Both Viserys and Daemon extended their hands towards the young boy, one gently caressing the back of his head, while the other patted his tiny hand. The boy leaned into his mother’s touch, his eyes blinking at the weathered face of Viserys who smiled, revealing the uneven line of rotting teeth, only a glimmer of his former glory shining through his sunken eye.

“Now, that is a name fit for a King,” he replied to his daughter, his chuckle a feeling echo of happier times.

Aegon nestled his head deeper into the comforting crook of his sister’s neck. It seemed that the unsettling odor of the room and the sight of his grandfather seemed to disconcert him. Daenera shifted her weight from one foot to the other, swaying gently in an attempt to soothe her younger brother’s unease as he began to fuss.

The fleeting moment of joy was abruptly shattered as Viserys let out a pained groan, his fragile frame sinking back into the pillows. His bony fingers gingerly rubbed his aching forehead. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… Oh, I’m sorry…”

Viserys’s anguish-laden voice sent rippled of distress through the room, causing Viserys the younger to fuss and cry, the sound piercing the heavy silence. In response, Aegon, exhausted from the long journey, began to wail as well, his voice joining in the chorus of unrest.

Daenera swayed from side to side more, attempting to soothe the crying boy, rubbing his back in circles.

Gasping for breath and wracked with pain, Viserys weakly pointed toward the nearby table. “My tea…my–my tea.”

Daemon reached for the cup and handed it to Viserys. With trembling hands, Viserys drained the cup, the liquid passing down his throat with audible and urgent gulps. As he handed the empty cup back to Daemon, his moans of pain began to transform into sighs of relief, his eye fluttering tiredly.

Daemon regarded the cup skeptically, raising it to the faint ray of light to examine the remaining pale liquid. He cautiously brought it to his nose, sniffing at it, and then turned to Daenera with a questioning expression.

Daenera approached Daemon, letting him hold up the cup to her nose for examination. As she inhaled the aroma, her brow furrowed in concentration. The scent was sweet and unmistakably that of milk of the poppy. However, beneath the sweetness, she detected a delicate blend of herbs–calendula, chamomile, echinacea and lemon balm. Each of these herps possessed anti-inflammatory properties and could aid in fighting infections. If there were any other ingredients in the tea, they remained concealed beneath the dominant fragrance and taste of milk of the poppy.

With a faint shake of her head, she confirmed, “It’s mostly milk of the poppy.”

Daemon responded with a curt nod, acknowledging her assessment. He placed the cup back on the side table.

The raspy breaths of Viserys had leveled out, soothed by the effects of the milk of the poppy. His eyes had fluttered closed, drifting off to sleep.

Rhaenyra motioned for Elinda and Shera to escort the boys out of the room and take them to her chambers for a nap, leaving the chambers to fall into a heavy, contemplative silence.

They all gathered in the common room, where the white stone city stood desolate, home to only ghosts and stories. The fire within the hearth sputtered in the quiet, casting a warm light into the otherwise somber room. Daenera’s fingers traced the edge of the stone map, a restless energy simmering beneath her skin as she faced the scrutiny of Daemon’s piercing gaze. The urge to defend herself welled within her.

“I didn’t know,” Daenera reaffirmed, her voice both annoyed and seeking understanding.

“You should have informed us of the severity,” Daemon reproached, his tone firm and disapproving.

“I mentioned in my letters of his deteriorating health!” Daenera countered, frustration burning within her chest. “I’ve repeatedly written about his condition and I’ve done my best to keep you informed on the matter.”

Rhaenyra interjected before the argument could grow, her voice laced with concern. “How long has he been like this?”

Daenera sighed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of their expectations. “Since I left King’s Landing for Storm’s End. Both the Queen and the Hand have rejected my request to see him…”

“And in his place the Hightowers rule,” Daemon remarked, his brows furrowing as he regarded her with accusatory eyes, as if searching for someone to blame. “He could have been dead, and you’d have been none the wiser.”

“I would have known,” Daenera asserted herself, narrowing her eyes at him. “I knew he was alive from the kitchen staff–”

Daemon stepped towards her, his proximity intimidating. “And yet you didn’t know of his condition.”

Daenera glared up at him. “If he’d been dead, don’t you think the Hightowers would have crowned Aegon by now?”

“They’re already ruling in my brother's name,” Daemon hummed, pressing the pad of his thumb into the corner of his eye. “I wouldn’t put it past them to keep it hidden, away from you and everyone else, until they were ready to crown him.”

Daenera swallowed hard, her lips pressed into a tight line, a scowl etching across her face at the thought.

A scoff cut through the room, frustration tainting his voice as Daemon sat down in the chair in front of the hearth. “They’ve kept him laddled with the milk of the poppy and hidden from the public to rule in his stead. Perhaps it is not an illness at all.”

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and alarming.

Daenera shook her head. “Viserys is most definitely ill, Daemon. It is not an illusion. And I’ve found no definitive evidence that they’ve made him so.”

“We should have Maester Geradys examine him and see whether he draws the same conclusion,” Rhaenyra interjected, her voice a soothing presence amidst the tension. She reached for Daemon’s hand, offering a gentle squeeze, while her other hand cradled the swell of her stomach. Her reproachful look directed towards her husband seemed to convey that this was neither the time nor place for a heated discussion.

Daenera’s brow furrowed as a rat skittered past her, bounding across the floor and disappearing into the shadows under the table. She couldn’t help but wonder how they could keep the King’s Chambers in such a deplorable condition.

Just then, the doors swung open, and Daenera spun to see the Queen enter.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” the Queen greeted with a dry voice, her hands clamped piously in front of her. Her attire was modest, covering her skin completely and rising high at the neck. Around it hung a gold pendent of the Seven-pointed star, resting heavily against her chest and rising and falling with each breath. “Prince Daemon.”

Daenera locked eyes with the Queen, her expression pointed. “And Princess Daenera.”

“Your Grace,” Daenera replied in a similarly dry tone, her curt greeting laden with underlying tension.

Rhaenyra addressed her daughter, her voice calm yet authoritative. “Daenera, would you leave us to talk?”

Daenera acknowledged her mother with a nod, then turned on her heels to execute a curtsey to the Queen before she exited the chamber.

Jace’s voice broke the silence, accompanied by the sound of her bedchamber door closing and the echo of two sets of footsteps as her brother’s made their way through her apartments and towards her bedchamber.

“How are you holding up?” He inquired, his tone laced with both concern and somewhat wry amusement. “I am guessing not well by your position on the bed.”

Daenera lay sprawled across the bed, her face buried in the pillows in a display of a childish exasperation. She was stretched out over its width, her feet hanging off the edge, and her black dress spread out around her like a dark fan. The warmth of her breath was trapped against her face by the pillow’s fabric.

She shifted her head, allowing her face to emerge from the pillow’s embrace to respond with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Oh, certainly, as you can plainly see, I’m in excellent spirits.”

“Is this about your husband?” Luke’s voice floated in, tinged with speculation.

Jace’s scoff was audible, and his disbelief palpable in his voice. “This isn’t about her late husband.”

“It might well be, it’s only been three months since his passing,” Luke countered. “She might still be grappling with his loss, and Daemon certainly won’t help the matter.”

Pushing herself up on her elbows and sweeping her hair from her face, Daenera arched her back and craned her neck to look back at her brothers. Jace leaned casually against the entrance of her bedchamber, arms folded over his chest as he watched her in amusement, a smirk playing on his lips. Luke, on the other hand, looked sympathetic.

“I’m not mourning his death,” Daenera hummed, a grimace tugging at her features, waving a hand dismissively as though waving off the sentiment.

“Because he visited every brothel on the Street of Silk?” Jace probed, head tilting in curiosity. “Or because he fathered a bastard on a whore?”

Daenera’s reply was sharp and to the point. “Because he was unbearable. I’m quite relieved he’s gone.”

Daenera’s responde was a gross understatement, but she had no desire to unpack the full extent of the dark realities of her marriage or reveal the true nature of the man she had been wed to. She had kep the details of Boris’s behavior to herself, sharing only the fact of his infidelity. She wasn’t inclined to share more, not even with her brothers–the idea of doing so seemed like exposing herself, like bearing her back for their scrutiny, regardless of the fact that the bruises were no longer visible.

Absentmindedly, her finger traced the outline of her ear, lingering over the noticeable groove–a stark reminder of her husband’s cruelty, where he had split her ear. The scar was still fresh, the skin around it tender to the touch. In her heart, she knew she didn’t want to burden her brothers with the truth, and so she swallowed her words.

Jace turned to Luke with a self-satisfied air and a smug curve to his lips. “See, I told you. You don’t know our sister as well as I do.”

Jace, with a playful nudge to Luke, made his way into her bedchamber and settled himself on her bed, resting against the spiraled bedpost that rose up to the canopy ceiling. “Daemon wasn’t exactly overjoyed to hear about your husband’s unfortunate accident.”

Daenera rolled her eyes and adjusted her position to sit up, leaning against the bed’s headboard. She drew a pillow into her lap, fidgeting with it as a distraction. “But I managed to preserve the alliance, didn’t I?”

“By vowing not to remarry until either mother claims the throne or one of us weds one of his daughters,” Jace replied, grimacing at the thought of marrying one of the Four Storms. “A prospect, I must add, that neither of us finds appealing.”

“Oh, quit whining. I never wanted to marry Boris,” Daenera retorted with a hint of bitterness, playfully kicking at Jace, who responded by teasingly catching her foot and driving his thumbs into the ticklish curve. She kicked at him again, before drawing her foot back. “Maybe now it’s your turn to do your duty and marry someone you don’t want.”

“We’re still uncertain about who our wives will be,” Luke interjected, taking a seat on the opposite side of the bed.

Daenera gave a knowing hum. “It’s likely you’ll wed Rhaena, and Jace will marry Baela, and I shall remain a widow until Viserys dies and mother ascends to the throne. How easy it is to do your duty when you marry someone you actually like.”

“His end might not be too far off,” Luke commented with a certain callousness that made Daenera chuckle. “Viserys has been on the brink for years; it’s bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Such heartless observation, Luke,” Jace chided with a smirk, playfully prodding his brother. This earned him a slap on the wrist as Luke swatted his hand away in mock irritation that bordered on genuine annoyance.

Their playful banter faded, and Jace’s demeanor shifted to a more solemn tone as he turned his attention back to his sister, his eyes not the same as his sisters. “But really, how is he doing?”

“Dying,” Daenera replied succinctly. There was no other way of describing it. His life hung in a very delicate, tenuous thread. One she hoped remained strong enough to keep him in this world for a while longer.

Truthfully, Viserys had been in a state of decline for years. It was as if the Stranger himself was denying him the mercy of death, leaving him to endure a slow, agonizing deterioration. His condition had worsened since she last saw him; his body had become more skeletal, his skin sallow and mottled, his teeth rotting in his mouth. It was a sad, wretched state, the kind she wouldn’t wish on anyone.

A crude murmur fell from her lips. “It would be a mercy to let him die.”

“You shouldn’t speak like that,” Jace said, a note of concern in his tone, his face drawn into the familiar expression of the Heir to their mother. “He’s the King. It is treason.”

Daenera gave a nod of agreement, her expression reflecting a mixture of resignation and empathy. Internally, she acknowledged the harsh truth of the situation. It would be a kinder fate to let him pass away, a mercy for him above all. Even though his death would likely throw the kingdom into turmoil, it would at least end his prolonged suffering.

“Will he sit the throne to hear Lucerys claim?” Jace inquired, a worried expression flattening his brows as he glanced towards Luke, whose eyes lowered to his hands nervously.

Daenera made a face, her expression a mixture of pity and realism. “No, I don’t think he will. The Hand is responsible for such matters, and Otto Hightower will make sure to tip the scales in their favor.”

A quiet stillness settled over the room, each of them lost in their thoughts for a moment. Breaking the silence, Jace let out a sigh and shifted his position, half-reclining on the bed with one leg still hanging off the edge. “There’s something else I need to discuss–a matter that needs to be addressed.”

Daenera responded by raising her brows expectantly.

Jace, feigning nonchalance but with a hint of accusation in his gaze, said, “You neglected to mention how much Aemond has changed.”

“And how proficient he’s become with a sword!” Luke added, his voice rising with accusation.

Daenera glanced back and forth between her brothers, a touch of amusement flickering in her eyes at their reactions. Yet, alongside this amusement, a trace of incredulity also crept into her expression, reflecting her surprise at their unexpected concerns. “Did you really expect him to stay the same scrawny kid forever?”

“ No ,” Jace replied, clearly exasperated, “but a little warning would have been nice. And let’s not forget, he wasn’t exactly ‘scrawny’ when he was breaking Luke’s nose or splitting your lip.”

Daenera rolled her eyes dismissively. “So, you wanted me to alert you that he’s matured into a tall, strong, and handsome man, who also happens to be quite adept with a sword?”

“I don’t remember mentioning ‘handsome’,” Luke mumbled, his words trailing off as Jace quickly cut in, his voice rising to an indignant exclamation. “Hold on, you think he’s handsome?!”

Daenera let out a groan and reclined against the headboard, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Yes, Jace, I find him objectively handsome. And for the record, Aegon might be too, if he weren’t so insufferable and would bathe more often, and I’m sure Daeron is off being charming in Old Town. But what’s this sudden need for warning about?”

As she ranted at them, Jace and Luke exchanged a glance that only served to annoy her.

“Because, dear sister, it would have been useful to be forewarned about Aemond turning into a formidable, skilled swordsman. He’s quite imposing,” Jace admitted, every word sounding like a petulant accusation.

“Did he threaten you?” Daenera questioned, knowing that Aemond was very likely going to threaten them.

“No–”

“Are you planning on causing a scene?” Daenera asked, her gaze sharpening as she scrutinized her older brother, knowing that Jace had the stubbornness of a dragon. “Is that what this is about?”

“ I have no plans to cause issues, yet I wouldn’t be shocked if he’s the one who instigates them,” Jace retorted, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Don’t provoke him.”

“What if he provokes us?” Jace argued, pointing between him and his brother.

“Don’t rise to the provocation,” Daenera advised with a tone of finality. “Avoid any confrontations. Stay away from him if necessary. We can’t afford any disturbances caused by either of you.”

“I’m more worried about the trouble Aemond will cause for us ,” Jace remarked with a hint of bitterness, clearly convinced that Aemond was the source of any and all potential problems. Which, were likely, if Jace allowed it to happen. “I refuse to tolerate any insults towards us, and I certainly won’t let the Hightowers insult our Mother.”

Daenera exhaled deeply, massaging her tired eyes. Her attention then shifted to Luke, her younger brother, who seemed to bear an immense burden. His face was a canvas of constant concern, a reflection of all that he felt.

“Don’t be intimidated by Aemond, Luke. He wants you to be afraid,” Daenera said gently.

Jace’s voice carried a tone of unwavering support as he turned to Luke.

“You haven't done anything wrong,” he said, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze. “You acted to protect us. Remember, he was about to hit me with a rock. You intervened. If anyone is to blame for what happened to him, he only has himself to blame, not you.”

Luke’s response was hesitant, his voice breaking. “But if I hadn’t taken his eye…”

“He got what he deserved,” Jace asserted with unwavering conviction, one he had not faltered in once since it all happened. “If it were me, I would have gone further. Losing an eye is getting off easy in comparison.”

“ Jace ,” Daenera cautioned, her tone a blend of reproach and warning.

Jace, undeterred, continued passionately, “He deserved it! He stole Vhagar, attacked you, Rhaena, and Baela, not to mention broke Luke’s nose. He branded us bastards and nearly killed me.” His face was a portrait of defiance as he added, “Everything that happened to him, he brought upon himself.”

“You cannot ‘steal’ a dragon, Jace,” Daenera argued, her voice rising with exasperation despite her brother’s heated demeanor. She felt a flame of anger flicker within her chest, but before she could continue, Jace spoke up again.

“Vhagar should have been Rhaena’s!”

“Will you let me finish?” Daenera shot back, frustration evident in her tone.

Jace rolled his eyes and threw his hand up in a gesture of exasperation.

“Yes, Aemond shouldn’t have claimed Vhagar before Rhaena had her chance,” Daenera conceded. “But you don’t understand what it’s like to be without a dragon.” She remembered her own childhood, lingering in the shadows of the Dragonpit, enviously watching her brother’s bond with their dragons. That sense of exclusion, that longing, was something she understood all too well. Even Aegon and Helaena managed to claim their dragons.

Aemond had felt the sting of not having a dragon more acutely than she had, and primarily because he was constantly subjected to his brother’s cruel taunts. While Daenera had come to terms with being dragonless, Aemond had seized his opportunity when it presented itself.

“That doesn’t make what he did right!” Jace exclaimed.

“No, but it offers some context,” Daenera replied, her voice steady. Locking eyes with her brother, she elaborated, “Rhaena should have been given a chance to claim Vhagar, in that I agree. A dragon isn’t a heirloom to simply be handed down. Dragons choose their riders, not the other way around. And in this case, Vhagar chose Aemond. There was no certainty that she’d have chosen Rhaena.”

A tense silence enveloped them, a charged atmosphere as they processed her words. Daenera continued, her voice a bit softer yet unwavering, “Aemond’s loss of his eye was not just because he claimed Vhagar. It’s because Vhagar chose him over others, and we didn’t agree with it.”

“ He attacked us ,” Jace retorted angrily.

“ We attacked him ,” Daenera pointed out evenly. “We were five on one, and we should have gotten one of the guards if we really thought it was a thief and not taken matters into our own hands.”

“If he hadn’t called us bastards, nothing would’ve happened!” Jace sneered with a certainty that Daenera didn’t have.

Luke’s voice was a faint murmur, “He was going to kill Jace.”

Daenera softly agreed, sliding down on the bed to be closer to Luke. She gently took his hand, offering a reassuring touch. “Yes, you protected your brother. Never second guess yourself or apologize for that. Protecting your brother was the right decision. But remember, Aemond perceives it differently. In his view, we were the aggressors, and he was merely defending himself.”

Jace muttered under his breath, “Well, with one eye, he’s only able to see one side of the story anyway.”

Despite his attempt at humor, Daenera’s focus remained intently on Luke. She understood his sensitive and caring nature, how he struggled with the necessity of defending his brother yet was burdened by the guilt of the harm he had inflicted.

“Aemond will never forgive you for what happened,” Daenera gently told Luke, her voice tinged with understanding. She tenderly brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “But you shouldn’t hold yourself at fault either. You did what you had to do to protect Jace. Always remember that.”

Luke gave a small nod, and a hint of relief seemed to wash over his features.

“This is precisely why I didn’t invite you to my wedding” Daenera commented, earning an amused scoff from Jace and a smile from Luke. “Can you imagine the spectacle you three would have created? The chaos? The bloodshed?”

“I thought you were just embarrassed about your husband,” Jace quipped, as Daenera settled herself back against the headboard.

“I was more worried about your terrible hairstyle stealing the attention from the bride during the ceremony,” Daenera quipped back, teasingly kicking at his foot.

Jace instinctively touched his hair. “Rhaena said she liked it.”

“She was just being nice,” Daenera retorted with a teasing smile.

“Who’s just being nice?” Rhaena inquired as she made her way into Daenera’s bedchamber. The trio on the bed turned to look at her as she paused at the foot of the bed, leaning on the wooden frame with her forearms, a lock of hair spilling forward and dangling in front of her face until she pushed it back behind her ear.

Daenera responded without hesitation, “You, about Jace’s hair.”

Rhaena’s lips twisted into a slight grimace. “But I do like it.”

Jace couldn’t hide his smug satisfaction. “See?”

And Daenera could only shoot back, “She’s just being nice, Jace. Honestly, your hairstyle is terrible and whoever tells you otherwise is lying to your face. You should consider growing it out.”

Luke twisted to look up at his step-sister. “What’s your real opinion?”

Jace, shifting the topic away from his hair and running a hand through it somewhat sheepishly, asked, “How did things go with Rhaenys and Mother? Will she support Luke?”

Everyone leaned in, keenly interested in the response.

Rhaena let out a groan and mirrored Daenera’s earlier action, flopping down on the bed, sprawling out over it, the top of her head resting against Jace’s shin. He shifted and tugged it to him.

“It’s hard to predict what Rhaenys will decide. Rhaenyra proposed allying through marriage… To marry Jace and Baela, and Luke and me, in exchange for her support.”

Jace and Luke gasped simultaneously, surprise etched on their faces, a faint blush coloring their cheeks as though this was wildly unexpected news.

Daenera let out a frustrated groan, banging her head against the bed’s headboard in a display of exasperation, lamenting it all. “I knew it! You all get to marry each other, while I was stuck with that swine of a man!”

“And now you’re destined to be a widow until Mother claims the throne,” Jace chided, unable to resist.

“Thanks for the reminder, brother,” Daenera retorted sarcastically, lobbing a pillow at him. “At least I can take solace in the fact that I didn’t end up marrying you. Poor Baela, she’s the one who’ll have to endure your presence for life. In comparison, widowhood doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Baela will be a queen,” Jace pointed out. “And you’ll be a widow.”

“I could make her a widow as well,” Daenera threatened dramatically.

“And slay your own brother? Absurd, you’d be a kinslayer and a kingslayer.”

“But wait,” Luke cut in before Daenera and Jace would devolve into more banter that would eventually lead to a physical tumble. “Did Rhaenys agree? Will she… will she support my claim as heir to Driftmark?”

Rhaena sat up, her big eyes gleaming with sympathy. “I don’t know…”

“You are the heir to Driftmark,” Jace assured his brother. “Corlys and the King have declared it so. Vaemond is overreaching.”

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond x oc #A Vow of Blood

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emcandon · 6 months

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the ballad of fancy uncle chucklefuck pt. 6

(previously on fancy uncle chucklefuck: 1, 2, 3 (look at the reblog for the update), 4, 5)

a long one! so this time, a cut!

GUESS WHO HAD A BAD TIME THIS WEEK HAHAHAHAHA

my plans to have fancy uncle chucklefuck idly making breakfast for the recently re-traumatized (BY HIS GOD) party were thwarted bc he instead woke up to being physically threatened by another, different god

bc lol the party weren't the only ones his god had pissed off -- an old god of the land itself had come to menace this sad old dandy and make its complaints Known

old god was understandably pretty upset that yet another power was throwing its weight around in barovia -- and even worse, possibly making itself available to strahd?? you idiot!! you asshole!! what's wrong with you!!

sidebar: feral hagdaughter tried to wallop the old god MULTIPLE TIMES bc it was the sensible thing to do! something seem dangerous? whack it until it goes away! DUH.

anyway btwn the old god's ire + the rest of the party's comments about "worst night of our lives" and "truly fucked nightmare" and the like, fancy uncle chucklefuck started to piece together that his god had maybe FUCKED AROUND only to leave him to be the one to find out! come on!! ¯\_(ಠ_ಠ)_/¯

anyway he went from protesting that he didn't really know anything to, well, protesting that he didn't really know anything, but with more detail.

you know, like admitting this power is something he recognizes but could never have expected to wield bc he doesn't even go here. (in terms of both being not of the royal bloodline, also not even technically from the kingdom, so like ¯\_(ಠ_ಠ)_/¯ !!!)

but also in terms of how, well, the power doesn't look like he remembers it looking. he's used it to make light and to heal -- and he only ever saw it used for violence, or to change the course of a mind.

which, to be fair, it has very obviously been fucking around in everyone's brains so ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

tl;dr it's new, he doesn't like it, he's never seen the god -- or whatever it is -- do anything for anyone that wasn't directly harmful, and the only time it ever saw fit to talk to him! it gave him a migraine! so like! ¯\_(ಠ_ಠ)_/¯

but the worst part was arguably when the old god made some comment about how this god loves him.

uh oh

oh no

why

tangentially, uncle chucklefuck asked Seasonal Affective Disorder: the Warlock a thing he'd been meaning to ask her ever since she said something about how there are "different kinds of dead"

namely whether it's possible for the soul--the self--to be carved out of a body, only for the body to still be breathing

(which was probably the most intense rush of emotion i'd felt at the table thus far bc holy shit not the time he wanted to ask that, if he ever even actually wanted to)

turns out this question hit HER in a terrible and unexpected way, but tl;dr the horrible answer is "YUP"

anyway that was around the point the old god decided it was satisfied -- which it articulated by suggesting they all go walk into a lake so as to not bring any more problems down upon its people or its land. buh-bye!

to which the dragonborn herbo was like "actually that sounds great, byyyyeeeee" and promptly exited stage left

the dour divine bard and SAD: the Warlock went to go talk her through her stress/ongoing powerful aversion to God Shit

which was DARLING esp bc the dour divine bard proved far more emotionally deft and gentle than they had yet dared to be!

but THEN the dragonborn herbo was like "THAT. CHUCKLEFUCK. TOLD ME NOT TO BE VULNERABLE. AND THEN WENT AND EXPOSED HIS ENTIRE FUCKING RIBCAGE TO US." (see 3)

here pictured: me, offscreen, wailing with laughter

SAD: the Warlock's answer to this was along the lines of "to be fair, uncle chucklefuck's probably going through it, and i suspect that awful god is too -- but ALSO, if they touch our brains again, i will kill him :)"

which made the dragonborn herbo feel better so we're all good now! we're fine! we're great! it's chill!

meanwhile fancy uncle chucklefuck had offered to make food for the group before answering any questions they wanted answered and feral hagdaughter was Extremely Interested in breakfast.

which was the most sensible thing that happened all morning and made him finally confess she's his favorite.

while they tended to that, a very distressed farmer's wife politely asked the utena butch bard whether the party planned.....to stay....any longer..... and desperately pretended the farmhouse was SO haunted by the most OBNOXIOUS ghosts so they would probably be MUCH happier if they just CONTINUED ON DOWN THE ROAD...

breakfast ended up remarkably chill all things given. dragonborn herbo (NEEDLESSLY!!!) apologizing for her "outburst" and committing to sticking with the group -- and making clear she keeps her fucking promises.

followed by fancy uncle chucklefuck cautiously offering to part ways with the group bc lol! didn't expect to be contagious! sorry! haha! fuck!

tho he was also talked out of this by the double-punch salvo of 1) we've already caught the contagion and distance probably won't help, 2) strahd has already proved Interested in your god and none of us really want him to get it, so!

ultimately we hit the road again with fancy uncle chucklefuck having changed into the farmer's spare clothes bc 1) god he's tired of putting on fancy face, 2) when he runs out of money, the fancy clothes will also be good for bartering.

and we left off on debating how best to deal with hags who have the bones that we want, with the conclusion that we definitely should not bargain with them, probably could not kill them, and therefore ought to steal from them -- so uncle chucklefuck has a new mission! which is teaching these whippersnappers how to do CRIME.

relatedly, two of the party members who are decidedly not actually whippersnappers due to various circumstances (dour divine bard + SAD: the Warlock) had a sidebar where they were like "hey i maybe Get you in a weird way. anyway are you also feeling 'i just met this dragonborn herbo but if anything happened to her i would kill everyone in this room and then myself?' yes? awesome. good talk."

great and functional party with tremendously admirable coping mechanisms you got there. would be a shame if they were to trauma-bond or something.

#dnd #fancy uncle chucklefuck

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rallamajoop · 2 months

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Twist my arm, why don’t you? XD Well, I did tell you guys to ask!

What the hell, let’s open this one by sharing a few pics from a Sims household created by a good friend of mine, made up of Heisenberg (mad scientist), Mia (secret agent) and Ethan (just really wants to be a dad). The three of them immediately became the most delightful sims-land trainwreck imaginable.

Their neighbourhood is full of werewolves, because you can do that in the Sims. Ethan’s apparently made friends with some of them. But because this is Sims-land, when he and Mia tried to have a romantic dinner together, it ended with Ethan passed out on the kitchen floor while Mia set herself on fire, with Heisenberg running in in his underwear with some passing hippie, and being no help whatsoever. Aren’t Sims wonderful?

Beyond the land of the Sims, though… I mean, let’s be honest, my desire for mithanberg comes from how I ship both Ethan/Heisenberg and Ethan/Mia, and refuse to choose between them. I could see it working either as a proper OT3, or a poly arrangement where Ethan’s involved with both of them, but Mia and Heisenberg aren’t involved with each other (on which note, I also ship the hell out of Mia/Zoe, so Mia is not missing out here).

For the few really mithanberg-ish things I’ve ever posted so far, Follow Me Home is headed for the former category, whereas that other one is more likely headed for the latter. Going for the proper-OT3 option does come with the extra hurdle of trying to figure out how Mia/Heisenberg would work when they’ve never even met in canon, but I am fully up for the challenge.

But there’s way more to this ship for me than just the convenience of ‘why not both’. Seriously, wintersberg fic is missing out on so much by writing Mia off so quickly.

For one, Ethan’s somewhat-complicated relationship with Mia is the best evidence you could ask for that Ethan might actually be up for getting involved with someone as fucked up as Heisenberg (or even Chris, if you’re more into winterfield). Mia has canonically lied to Ethan, (accidentally) drawn him into mortal danger, and (while possessed) sliced off his hand with a chainsaw. Ethan’s still with her in RE8, so clearly he’s willing to forgive.

Fig 1: Apparently not a dealbreaker!

Heisenberg, meanwhile, opens their relationship by stabbing Ethan with a fucking spear-headed fencepost, chains him up, drags him off be put on trial, and ‘rescues’ him only by throwing him into a gauntlet of lycans and spike traps. He later sends Ethan through the second gauntlet that is the Stronghold, before finally trying to make a deal with him. When Ethan refuses, Heisenberg throws him to a chainsaw-propeller-faced monstrosity made of engine parts sewed onto a corpse.

Fig 2: Also not a dealbreaker?

I will make some excuses for Heisenberg, given that he’s been trapped in a repressive cult for decades and seems to have internalised a lot of bullshit about the strong destroying the weak, but holy shit is this guy red flag city (and I love it). And that’s not even touching on all the violent bullshit Chris pulls in this game. You may also note that neither Heisenberg or Chris have Mia’s convenient mind-control or replaced-by-a-shapeshifter excuse for their worst behaviour.

Ethan asks for none of the madness all these maniacs have injected into his life, but goddamn, does he learn to roll with it and come back swinging. Whether or not you assume Ethan ever found out the truth about Mia’s past, she offers us some solid proof that Ethan’s ‘type’ does not exclude covert special agents with a talent for violence, who’ve spent years working full-time for evil bioweapons manufacturers. Ethan may not be ready to admit to himself that he’s got a thing for dangerous people, and Mia may be a lot better at pretending to be normal than Heisenberg, but the fact Ethan’s still with her could say a lot.

Basically, if you wanna ship Ethan with either of these other guys, Mia Winters is the best ally you could ask for!

There are other problems with writing off Mia too quickly so you can ship Ethan with someone else, one being that it makes Ethan look like, well, kind of a psychopath. Fic after fic presents him as the kind of guy who can witness the mother of his child being brutally murdered in front of him, and within a matter of hours, he’s apparently realised he was never that happy with her anyway, so it’s just fine if he’s fucking some other dude. The fact the ‘Mia’ people are so quick to dismiss as an abusive bitch wasn’t even the real Mia apparently doesn’t necessitate any sort or reexamination. It’s basically a meme at this point.

Thing is, even if his relationship with the real Mia was unhealthy, you just aren’t going to make a guy like Ethan process that within hours of watching her fucking assassination. Try and make him face it, and you’ll push him straight into defensiveness. Even at the best of times, Ethan’s just not the kind of guy who could leave the mother of his child without a fuckload of heartache and a few rounds of ‘what does this say about me’ at the very least (and Mia loves Ethan far too much to leave him, except in a misguided attempt to protect him). Even if you're writing an AU where Mia really does die (rather than just suffering the usual round of character assassination), at least let that poor boy ANGST about it! C’mon, people – that’s the juicy stuff!

Of course, the real problem fans are grappling with here is that in the current fandom climate, the idea that Ethan would willingly hook up with a guy who stabbed him in the gut that morning is still somehow more palatable than having to consider that Ethan might be capable of being (gasp!) less than completely faithful to a partner who doesn’t deserve it. So it’s not enough that he thinks Mia’s dead, she’s also got to be a horrible person and a complete non-entity who can be forgotten as quickly as we’ve brought her up, just to get her out of the way – as if that somehow makes Ethan look better.

People are so eager to get rid of Mia that I have legit read multiple different fics where, even after being mysteriously reborn post-game via horrific mould-magic, somehow one of the very first things Ethan wants to talk about afterwards is divorcing his wife. Can we not even give the poor guy a single scene to have a proper existential crisis over not being human anymore before finding a woman to blame for all his problems?

Fig 3: Ethan's actual thoughts on his wife right before his death

On the greater subject of that whole inconvenient marriage poor Ethan's saddled with, I can only say ‒ again ‒ c’mon, people, that’s the juicy stuff! A good story needs conflict, and Ethan having had this weird hook-up with/confusing attraction to an incredibly creepy guy in the middle of an incredibly confusing day and while he thought his wife was dead, only to later discover that she’s alive? GOLD.

You don’t even necessarily have to wrap it all back around to a happy OT3 scenario. An Ethan who's struggling with Mia’s (actual) death, or even the realisation that he truly can’t deal with all her lies, all while telling himself Heisenberg’s just a rebound fling that doesn’t mean anything – that’s all the angst and pathos and opportunities for filthy smut you could ever ask for! Lean into it! Heck, the Duke tells Ethan outright that he can’t go back to his old life anymore – you could have Ethan decide his own status as a mould-creature makes him too dangerous to go back to Mia and Rose. More angst, more drama, more actual material for narrative conflict!

tl;dr: Write Mia off in a sentence, and not only have you made Ethan look like an asshole, you’ve made your story boring. And thus (thank you for bearing with me) ends my tangent about The State of Wintersberg Fandom, and why Mia deserves more love (from Ethan at least, even if the author can't completely bring themselves to join in).

Getting back to the real topic here: if you are up for letting your resolution involve an OT3 scenario, you’ve got some great options to play with.

Mia bossing the other two around is certainly an angle you could go for, but I think I’d prefer watching Mia and Heisenberg working together to drive Ethan out of his mind (not that options like these are ever mutually exclusive, mind!) But I’m broadly more interested in how you get these three together than what it would look like once they get there. In other words, it’s time to talk Mia and Heisenberg.

As I touched on above, these two do have more in common than it might look at a glance. They’ve both been infected by the mould, they’ve both spent years (or even decades) trapped in dysfunctional, cult-like, mould-controlled families, and had to bottle themselves up and hide behind a persona while working for truly terrible people. They’ve both done some truly terrible stuff themselves, probably watched even worse happen to other innocent people, and presumably internalised some pretty awful excuses for themselves along the way. They’re also both madly in love with Ethan (what, is anyone into wintersberg going to argue with me on that one?) In short, there is no lack of stuff for these two to bond over and find common ground.

I can’t see Mia being too hard to convince if Ethan does want to try an open relationship either. Heck, the first thing we ever see from Mia involves sending Ethan a message where she tries to let him go, because she doesn’t think she’s making it back alive. Her guilt throughout RE7 is palpable, and how much she loves Ethan is the same. I don’t think it’s any stretch to say Mia would be willing to contemplate almost anything if it would make Ethan happy (and frankly, she’s pulled enough shit herself in this relationship that she doesn’t get to get judgy anyhow).

That said, I do think she’d have reasonable concerns about Ethan’s new boyfriend being someone like Heisenberg, but then, he’s hardly any more dangerous than what Mia’s brought to the table herself. If anything, your bigger obstacle would be convincing Ethan that he’s sure enough about whatever’s going on with Heisenberg to admit it at all. But then, I don’t think getting Mia and Heisenberg involved with each other too would be too difficult either.

It doesn’t hurt that Mia has a lot of the same characteristics that probably draw Heisenberg to Ethan: a badass survivor, tough and determined enough to be a little sassy even in the face of danger, but still very vulnerably human underneath. That vulnerable side of Mia is a very important part of her to me – it’s the main aspect in play in the longest thing I’ve (yet) posted with any Mia/Heisenberg interaction, where she’s locked up in Miranda’s lab, and has no good reason to trust him. There’s nothing openly shippy going on in that story, though Heisenberg makes no bones about what he wants with her husband. I’m not sure exactly where things are headed in that universe, but you know there’s drama coming on in that front.

The main point there is that Mia’s not too badass to be intimated by Heisenberg, especially when she’s got her back up against the wall. Take them out of the village, though, and I can see Mia being a much tougher nut to crack.

Which is mostly my way of leading into mentioning that the longest thing I’ve written between them that I haven’t posted yet basically flips the previous scenario: instead of Heisenberg coming to tell Mia he’s after her husband, now it’s Mia coming to tell him she knows what he’s after, and he's about to receive some serious grilling about his intentions. What I realised in writing it was that somewhere in the middle of this conversation, Heisenberg goes from seeing Mia as an obstacle between him and Ethan to seeing her as a potential bonus. He’s impressed with her gall and starting to look at her in a whole new light. This is one ficbit that's definitely going places ‒ only problem being the usual one: I’ve still got to write the rest of the damn fic to get to that scene. (I’m working on it! But you know how it goes.)

That isn’t the only way I can see you getting the three of them together, of course. One interesting alternate possibility might be to suggest that Mia and Heisenberg have met before. Mia seems to have met Miranda (they’ve been photographed together, at least), and it’s not completely beyond the realms of possibility that Miranda might have brought along an ‘assistant’ (slash-bodyguard-slash-whatever else she thinks he’s useful for). And if she’s going to bring any of her ‘children’, Heisenberg is by far the best qualified to pass as normal, hilarious as that should be.

I don’t imagine either Heisenberg of Mia would be eager to admit any of their personal reservations about their respective ‘bosses’ to each other, meeting under circumstances like that. But the possibilities are intriguing nonetheless.

For complete AU territory, however, I don’t think you could find a better start point for an Ethan/Mia/Heisenberg scenario than to introduce Heisenberg as Mia’s ex. He’d be back in her life for Reasons, and Ethan would naturally be more than a little threatened by this huge, hot guy with history with his wife, little realising that Heisenberg’s as interested in Ethan as he is in rekindling anything with her.

Or for doing the whole thing on easy-mode, suppose Mia and Ethan have always been in an open relationship from the start – or that they’ve already had that conversation because Mia’s also in love with Zoe (I meant it when I said I ship them too!) Doesn’t mean there’s no angst or drama potential for Ethan getting involved with Heisenberg: he’s still going to be questioning what’s wrong with him that this guy is turning his crank, or whether it’s remotely appropriate for him to be seeing someone new while he’s got a six-month-old daughter at home. But if nothing else, I can promise you that having a third person around to babysit while Ethan’s ‘busy’ could only do good things for his sex life at this point. ;D

So, yeah – those would be My Thoughts On Mithanberg in a nutshell (or possibly more of a nut bowl, I can never resist the urge turn out a full essay on this stuff). If you’ve got any interest in writing mithanberg yourself, please do consider all these ideas free to a good home! Treating Mia better makes Ethan/Heisenberg better for me, and all those possibilities are right there to explore.

But to finish, have some more random Sims!

There are many more of these if anyone wants to see them, though most are less G-rated ‒ the friend running this household has installed ALL of the porn mods to enhance this little trainwreck.

(Also, before I'm done, just throwing a quick tag at @macgyvertape, since I had to screenshot their ask rather than reply 'officially' so I could reply to the both of them at once.)

#mithanberg #wintersberg #mithan #Ethan Winters #Karl Heisenberg #Mia Winters #Resident Evil Village #asks #meta #LetThatBoyAngst!#Mia Winters week

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