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I'm excited to post this commission by @ oakyvii of a future scene in my Azula redemption / Azulaang fanfic. It's are moment of Zuko and Azula getting along as they wander the palace grounds.
if you're interested please check out my fic here on AO3.
My brain just imaged Kymopoleia and Melinoë talking to each other,in those therapy group sessions,about how they traumatized their demigods brothers.
It went like this:
Kym: I tried to kill my half-brother a couple of weeks ago.
Melinoë: I traumatized mine like,a year ago,and that's probably what made him disobey our father's orders. He almost got liquefied by dad.
Kym: Damn. Mine decided to kill himself with the poison I was going to kill him off. He took me totally off guard.
Melinoë:.....wtf-
In my mind they are fighting,trying to win the argument of which one of them traumatized their own brother the most. Melinoë is winning because it was Kym that got traumatized by Percy,more than herself traumatizing him.
Idk how to feel about this,my mind is weird asf,but I lowkey want a ff on this now,with Nico and Percy looking at them like they are crazy (yes,Poseidon and Hades made them go to a therapy session to strength their sibling bond after what happened).
The Anvil and The Spinster -Chapter 8: Banners Torn and Banners Mended
⚠️ Warnings
This fic contains themes of emotional abuse and toxic family dynamics, references to physical abuse, heavy angst and grief, forced marriage dynamics, power imbalance, and discussions of autonomy, consent, and identity, with emotionally intense scenes of separation and vulnerability.
Summary
The rain does not stop the day Emma leaves Ashford.
She walks away from the home that shaped her, from the siblings she loves, and from a father who would never stop breaking her.
In the quiet of a sept with no celebration, she binds her life to Prince Maekar—not as a prize, not as a shadow, but as something new. Something unyielding.
A marriage forged not in love, but in choice.
And in the silence of their first night, something unexpected begins to take root—
Not possession.
Not fear.
But the fragile, dangerous possibility of becoming.
The rain had not stopped.
It fell in a thin, endless curtain over Ashford, blurring the towers into gray shapes and turning the courtyard stones slick and shining. The banners hung heavy, their colors dulled.
Emma stood beneath the archway outside the inner ward, her wedding cloak clasped at her throat.
She had faced princes. Faced her father’s hand. Faced the weight of a kingdom watching her breathe.
This was worse.
Elinor stood several paces away, arms wrapped around herself as if bracing against cold that was not there. Their brother lingered behind her, jaw tight, eyes too bright.
No one spoke at first.
If they did, it would become real.
Finally, Elinor crossed the distance in three uneven steps and seized Emma’s hands.
“You cannot go,” she said — not dramatic, not hysterical. Just broken.
Emma’s composure faltered instantly.
“I have to.”
“He will be worse,” Elinor whispered. “Without you here to stand in front of him.”
The truth of it struck like a blade.
Emma swallowed. “Then stand beside each other.”
Elinor shook her head fiercely. “You do not understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“No,” Elinor said, tears spilling now. “You leave. I stay.”
The words landed.
Emma had endured cruelty so long she had almost forgotten what it meant to be chosen.
Now she was choosing to leave them in it.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her sister.
Elinor collapsed into her, sobbing — not delicately, not prettily — but with the raw grief of someone losing the only shield she had ever known. Edmund ran behind her coming into their embrace grasping at both of her siblings.
Emma held them tighter than she ever had before.
“You are not small,” Emma whispered against her hair. “Do you hear me? He wants you to believe you are small. You are not.”
“I am not you,” Elinor choked.
Emma pulled back just enough to cup her sister’s face.
“Good,” she said through tears. “Be something better. Be softer where I was hard. Be clever where I was reckless. But do not bend.Have a life fall in love make your own families your one life sweet ones”
Elinor’s hands trembled as she touched Emma’s cheek — brushing the faint mark that had not fully faded.
“He hit you.”
“Yes.”
“And you are still leaving.”
Emma closed her eyes briefly.
“I am not leaving because he struck me,” she said quietly. “I am leaving because he will never stop.”
That silenced them both.
“I will be lord one day,” he said, voice strained drying his eyes. “When I am, I will not be like him.”
Emma dropped to her knees in front of him.
“You must not be,” she said fiercely.
“I am afraid,” he whispered.
Emma pressed her face into his shoulder and wept.
Not the silent tears of endurance.
But grief — loud and ugly and unguarded.
“I know,” she breathed. “So am I.”
She pulled back and gripped his shoulders.
“You protect each other."
“I will.”
“You listen more than you speak.”
He nodded.
“And if he ever turns on you—”
“He won’t.”
“If he ever does,” she pressed, “you send word. I do not care how. I will come.”
Elinor let out a soft, shattered sound.
Emma stood slowly, feeling as though she were tearing something vital from her own chest.
She looked at Ashford one last time.
The stone walls.
The narrow windows.
The place that had shaped her.
The place that had hurt her.
“I love you,” she said.
It was the first time she had ever said it aloud to them.
Elinor broke completely.
Their brother did too.
When Emma finally stepped away, it felt like walking through fire.
She did not look back again.
If she did, she would not leave.
Prince Baelor received her in a quiet chamber near the sept, seated despite the stiffness in his bound shoulder. He rose when she entered anyway.
“You need not stand,” Emma said.
“I would,” he replied gently, “for my future goodsister.”
There was warmth in it. Not mockery.
He studied her face — and saw everything.
“You said your goodbyes.”
“Yes.”
“The worst battle of them all.”
She gave a faint, humorless breath of a laugh.
“I think I would have preferred another trial.”
Baelor’s expression softened.
Baelor's good hand rested on her shoulder.
Her dress was simple; her mothers wedding dress and maiden cloak had been taken out of storage for the occasion.
“May I offer you a word of advice”
Emma stilled.
“Do not let my brother push you away.”
“I have seen him do it,” Baelor continued quietly. “When he cares, he withdraws. He believes distance is protection. That if he hardens himself first, he cannot be wounded.”
“And you believe he cares?” she asked carefully.
Baelor’s mouth curved faintly. “I know he does.”
Emma looked away.
“He will try,” Baelor went on. “In memory of what he has lost. In memory of Dyanna.”
The name lingered between them.
Emma did not ask who she had been. She did not need to.
Everyone knew of Prince Maekar first wife sweet Dyanna gentle Dyanna dying of an unknown heart problem.
“A kindness he could not save,” Baelor replied.
Emma absorbed that.
“He will compare you,” Baelor said gently. “Not aloud. Not cruelly. But in silence. And when he feels himself caring for you differently, he may retreat. He may pretend to be indifferent. He may grow cold.”
Emma’s throat tightened.
“What am I meant to do with that?”
“Offer him something better,” Baelor said.
She looked at him.
“Not a replacement,” he clarified. “Not a memory rewritten. Something new. Something he has never had.”
“And what is that?”
Baelor’s gaze was perceptive — almost amused.
“Someone who does not need him to be invulnerable.”
Silence stretched.
“He has always been duty first,” Baelor said. “Sword before self. If you show him that he may be both… you will give him something no crown ever could.”
Emma considered that carefully.
“And if I fail?”
Baelor smiled softly.
“You survived your father. I suspect my brother stands little chance against you.”
For the first time that morning, Emma felt something steadier than grief.
“Thank you,” she said.
Baelor inclined his head.
“Do not let him push you away,” he repeated. “And do not allow yourself to disappear either.”
It was small — but it was not simple.
The Sept of Ashford smelled of wax and cold stone, of incense burned too long into the walls. Rain tapped faintly against the narrow colored glass. The Seven watched from their carved alcoves — Father stern, Mother merciful, Warrior unyielding.
No grand court filled the pews.
No cheering crowds.
But it was not empty.
Her father stood rigid near the front, hands clasped behind his back, expression carved from granite. He wore mourning black, though no one had died.
Not yet.
Elinor stood beside him, pale but composed, fingers laced so tightly together her knuckles blanched white. Their brother stood straight as a spear, chin lifted in fierce determination not to show weakness.
And before the altar waited Prince Baelor, solemn and observant, bearing witness with the quiet gravity of a man who understood the weight of what was being forged.
At the center stood Maekar.
Black and deep red — House Targaryen woven in silk and shadow. His silver hair was bound back from his face, his injured arm supported beneath dark leather, but he stood unbowed.
Emma walked the length of the sept alone.
She wore ivory silk, unembellished but for the maiden cloak fastened at her shoulders — her mother’s cloak. Ashford colors. Ashford sigil. The fabric felt heavier than it should have, as though it carried every memory stitched into it.
She did not look at her father as she passed him.
She did look at Elinor.
Their eyes locked.
Hold.
The septon’s voice rose, echoing softly through the stone chamber.
“We are gathered before the eyes of gods and men…”
Emma stood before Maekar at last.
The candles burned steadily between them.
The septon took her maiden cloak in his hands first.
“Who comes to claim this woman?”
The question hung like a blade.
Lord Ashford stepped forward.
“My daughter stands here of her own will,” he said.
The words were correct.
The tone was not.
Emma felt it — the final assertion of possession before relinquishment.
Maekar did not look at her father.
He looked only at her.
The septon lifted the maiden cloak from her shoulders.
The absence of its weight was sudden.
Sharp.
Ashford colors fell away.
Maekar took up the bride’s cloak — Targaryen red and black, the three-headed dragon worked in dark thread along its hem.
For a moment, his hands hovered.
Not assuming.
Asking.
Emma inclined her head.
He draped the cloak around her shoulders carefully — reverently — fastening it over her heart.
“With this kiss,” the septon intoned, “I pledge my love. With this cloak, I pledge my protection. With this ring, I pledge my life.”
The words settled like stones in water.
Maekar’s voice was firm when he spoke.
“I will stand beside you. In storm and flame. In honor and in ruin. I will guard your name as fiercely as my own. I will not silence your voice, nor diminish your fire. Before gods and men, I bind my fate to yours.”
Beside.
Not above.
Not over.
Emma felt something inside her steady.
When it was her turn, she did not lower her gaze.
“I will not bow in fear,” she said clearly, her voice carrying through the sept. “I will not yield in silence. I will not be broken into something smaller to ease a man’s pride.”
A faint tightening flickered across her father’s jaw.
She did not look at him.
“I will stand with you in truth,” she continued, eyes locked on Maekar’s. “Not as a shadow. Not as an ornament. But as an equal flame. I give you my loyalty freely — and I will expect yours the same.”
The septon bound their hands together with silken cord.
The knot was intricate, ceremonial.
But it felt heavier than iron.
Emma felt the warmth of Maekar’s skin against hers — solid, steady, real.
The septon called upon the Father to judge, the Mother to bless, the Warrior to strengthen, the Smith to forge, the Maiden to protect, the Crone to guide, the Stranger to witness.
Seven blessings.
Seven vows.
Seven witnesses in stone.
When the binding was complete, the septon stepped back.
“You are one flesh, one heart, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear you asunder.”
Silence filled the sept.
No roar of approval.
No drunken cheer.
Just the quiet weight of inevitability.
Maekar did not seize her in triumph.
Did not perform for the room.
He lifted their bound hands slightly — just enough to press his forehead briefly against hers.
A private gesture in a public space.
Then he untied the cord and did something far quieter.
He kept her hand.
Not as possession.
Not as proof.
But as promise.
Across the sept, Elinor’s eyes shone with tears.
Their brother stood straighter still.
And Lord Ashford watched in silence as his daughter stepped fully beneath another house’s banner — and did not once look back for his approval.
There was no bedding ceremony.
Maekar had ended any suggestion of it with a look alone.
“She is not to be handled like spoils,” he had said.
No one argued.
Their chambers were quiet that night.
Emma stood near the hearth, tension coiled in her spine.
Maekar removed his sword belt and set it aside.
Then he poured two cups of wine.
“I will not touch you,” he said.
She looked at him.
“I will wait,” he continued. “Until you want me to.”
The words settled into her slowly.
No one had ever offered her patience before.
“You are my wife,” he said quietly. “Not my conquest.”
Emotion rose sharply and suddenly.
“I do not know how to be this,” she admitted.
“You do not need to know tonight.”
He handed her the wine.
They sat near the fire — not in the bed — facing one another like uncertain allies.
“I am afraid,” she said after a long silence.
“Of me?”
“No.” She swallowed. “Of losing myself.”
Maekar considered that carefully.
“Then do not,” he said simply. “If I ever make you feel small, you tell me.”
“You are a prince.”
“And you are now a princess.”
She studied him over the rim of her cup.
“Your brother warned me,” she said softly.
Maekar’s brow lifted slightly. “About?”
“That you might try to push me away.”
A flicker — there and gone.
“He sees too much.”
“Will you?”
Silence.
“I do not know how to be both,” he admitted at last. “Duty. And… this.”
Emma set her cup down.
“Then we will learn,” she said. “Not in memory. Not in comparison. Something new.”
His eyes searched her face.
“Something new,” he repeated.
The fire cracked softly.
After a moment, he moved to the bed — but lay on the far side, leaving space between them.
True to his word.
Emma lay awake for a long time, staring at the dark ceiling.
She had left her sister.
Left her brother.
Left the only home she had ever known.
But she had not left herself.
And for the first time in her life —
She had chosen.
Aza Brother Angst (Spoilers for the end of the manga)
I don’t think this was intentional subtle foreshadowing, but I will take it as such. Chobe is pretty much immortal and has been reverted to the body of a five year old, meaning that he was there for Toma’s birth, and he will be there for his death. Put it differently, Toma will only be part of a small fraction of his life while he will be all of Toma’s.
With or without context, this quote has a lot of angst potential.
THE SANDMAN ꫂ᭪
So don't tell them what you told me
Don't even tell them that you know me
I would rather burn forever
A little late, but I finished a Christmas illustration of my d&d OCs. They're brothers. I cry every time i listen to this song.
Siblings angst is so much better than any other type of angst I fear
“PENITENCE” he regrets everything, wishing to turn back time to make up for his loved one.
╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ oneshot
࿐*ೃ feat : tetta kisaki
࿐*ೃ fandom : tokyo revengers
࿐*ೃ extra : fem! reader, angst, siblings!au, sister!reader
࿐*ೃ trigger warning : manga spoiler, blood, death, major angst
╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ YOU were seven when your parents divorced, and Tetta was four. The split was abrupt and messy. Your mother worked long hours to distract herself from heartbreak, and your father completely distanced himself, leaving the two of you with only each other to rely on. You took on the role of a caregiver, cooking simple meals, helping Tetta with his homework, and tucking him into bed at night.
Tetta adored you, looking up to you as both a sister and a surrogate parent. Your bond was strong. Despite the challenges, you managed to create a world of warmth within your small home.
As the years passed, your responsibilities grew. Balancing school and looking after Tetta became increasingly difficult. Yet, you persevered, driven by your love for your baby brother. Tetta, in turn, thrived under your care, excelling in school academically.
Although Tetta was not as outgoing as other children, you loved him as the way he was. He was a genius, a prodigy, so you didn't worry much about his reputation. He excelled in his academic journey.
But as Tetta entered his teenage years, things began to take a drastic turn. He started hanging out with a different crowd outside his school, kids who seemed to always be in trouble. The late nights, the change of his appearance, the defiant attitude—everything about him had changed. You tried to reach out but Tetta began to pull away.
Countless arguments ensued at home every time you confronted him regarding his dangerous behavior, to the point you raised your hand one time and slapped him. Ever since that day, Tetta despised you, while you drowned yourself in guilt. You blamed yourself for everything.
In the months that followed, the distance between you and Tetta grew. He became more deeply involved with his activities. The warmth that once defined your relationship were replaced with icy silence and tense confrontations. You threw yourself into studies, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy, while Tetta drifted further away.
You didn't understand, you couldn't fathom it. Where did it all go wrong? What did you do to deserve this fate? Tetta, the only family who loved and adored you..was fading away.
One day, you put all the puzzle pieces together. The fateful encounter with his childhood friend, Hinata, and her boyfriend, Takemichi, brought everything to light. Through Takemichi, you somewhat understood Tetta's reasoning.
That's what brought you here today, to the battlefield between Toman and Tenjiku; to stop your little brother's madness and acute schemes.
You sprinted through the streets, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. The night air was cool against your flushed skin, but it did little to alleviate the burning in your lungs. Ahead, you saw Takemichi's silhouette, his figure illuminated by the occasional streetlamp. He was running as he pursued your little brother, Tetta.
You pushed yourself harder. Tetta's small frame was just barely visible in the distance. Your footsteps echoed loudly in the stillness.
Every second counted, and you couldn't afford to fall behind. Your legs ached, but you forced them to keep moving. You couldn't let Tetta slip through your fingers again.
As you caught up to Takemichi. you saw him suddenly halt, his body rigid, his eyes locked on something in the distance. Confusion and a sense of dread washed over you. Why did he stop? You were about to call out to him when you finally see it.
Time seemed to slow as you took in the horrifying scene before you. Tetta was lying in the middle of the street, motionless. His body twisted unnaturally. His limbs were splayed out, and he was supporting himself weakly on his left elbow whilst trying his hardest to get up. Signs of bleeding and bruises were visible on his face, the blood trickling down the side of his head.
Tetta's mind felt foggy. His body felt heavy, every movement sluggish and uncoordinated. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the world remained blury.
Tetta groaned and attempted to push himself up from the ground. But to his horror, his body refused to respond. Panic surged through him, sharp and suffocating.
What's happening to me? Why can't I move?
"Huh?" His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled against the invisible force that seemed to be holding him down. His mind raced with terrifying possibilities. Was he paralyzed? Had he been injured in the accident?
As his vision began to clear, Tetta forced himself to take a look of his surroundings. He was lying in the middle of the street. His body felt twisted and contorted, his limbs splayed at unnatural angles.
A sickening wave of realization threatened to overwhelm him. He wasn't just injured. He was dying.
Tears stung his eyes as he struggled to come to terms with the truth. He wanted to rage against his cruel fate. How could it end like this?
"DAMMIT! THE HELL IS THIS?!"
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! I CAN'T STAND UP!"
"SHIT- ARGH!"
Tetta's screams echoed through the empty streets. He thrashed against the invisible chains that held him down, his muscles burning with exertion. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the sweat and blood that coated his skin.
Tetta's struggles ceased as he felt the warmth of a hand enveloping him. His heart skipped a beat as he heard the familiar voice, soft and soothing, calling out his name.
"Tetta," the voice whispered. "It's okay, Tetta. I'm here."
Tears welled up in Tetta's eyes as he turned towards the source of the voice, his vision blurred. There, kneeling beside him, was you.
"Sis.." Tetta choked out. You remained smiling for your little brother, cupping his face, You could feel his temperature dropping significantly. The realization broke your heart and tormented your heart with fear of the future. Yet you stayed smiling for Tetta.
"I don't want to die!" he cried, his voice hoarse with extreme fear.
"You won't. You won't." You tried to reassure Tetta, although you knew his fate was already sealed.
"You don't have to worry. I called the ambulance already. You will be fine, okay? Trust me." You reassured again, as tears began to well up in your eyes. You smiled tearfully at Tetta, and his chest tightened. The crystal tears glistening in your eyes dropped on his face.
Your smile was like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds, filling him with a sense of warmth and comfort he hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity.
As Tetta's memories flooded his mind, each moment of cruelty and neglect towards you felt like a dagger piercing his heart. The weight of his actions bore down on him.
Tears streamed down his face as he choked on his sobs. "I'm sorry, sis," he cried, "I'm so sorry for everything. Please, please forgive me."
He could feel your embrace, your arms holding him close with a tenderness that he knew...he didn't deserve. He begged for your forgiveness, his voice growing hoarse with desperation. "I never meant to hurt you," he whispered. "You don't deserve a younger brother like me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"
His heart ached, longing to make amends and undo the pain he had caused you. He vowed to himself that if he could just survive this, he would dedicate himself to being the brother you deserved and make up for all the hurt he had inflicted upon you.
Tetta clung to you, his tears mingling with yours, praying with every fiber of his being that somehow, someway, he would be given the opportunity to redeem himself. He needed to earn back the love and trust that he had so callously thrown away.
You shook your head, defying his words. "Don't say that. No matter what happens, you'll always be my beloved little brother, Tetta. In this life, or in another life and forever. Because I love you..."
As Tetta's desperate struggle against death continued, his heart beat with a fierce determination to cling to life for your sake. Alas, his strength waned. His chest heaved with the last bit of effort to draw in air, his body growing weaker with each passing moment.
"Sis, I...lo.." And though his lips formed the words, no sound escaped them.
He wanted so desperately to tell you how much you meant to him, to ask for your forgiveness one last time. But as he gazed into your eyes, he knew that his time had run out.
With a final shuddering breath, Tetta's body went limp in your arms. You opened your eyes to meet Tetta's gaze, hoping against hope to find a glimmer of life. But as you looked into his vacant stare, your heart plummeted, sinking into the depths of despair.
The lights that once danced in his eyes were gone. His gaze held no warmth, only an emptiness that chilled you to the core.
A strangled sob escaped your lips as the horrifying truth dawned on you. Tetta was gone. His spirit had departed, leaving behind only the shell of his earthly form.
You reached out a trembling hand, brushing your fingertips against his cold, lifeless cheek, wishing desperately for some sign that this was all just a terrible nightmare. But there was no denying the truth that lay before you.
Tears blurred your vision as you cradled Tetta's still form in your arms. Your heart felt as though it had been torn from your chest, shattered into a million irreparable pieces.
With a cry tear through the silence of the night, you collapsed against Tetta's lifeless body, your sobs wracking your entire being. Your cries echoed through the empty streets...
࿐*ೃ thanks for reading this short scenario! likes, interaction and reblogs are deeply appreciated ♡
