#Bastard King [X] (R)

[taintedcigs]

˚ 　　　 . ✧ 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐄

vol 1; made to break your heart — king!steve harrington x fgirl!reader

summary: in which you see your ex making out with someone else leaving you with no choice but to fall right into the lap of his enemy, steve harrington. (wc: 5.2k+)

warnings: smut smut smut, minors DNI, or*l sx (receiving and giving oop), some good ol’ bj, drinking, drgs, weed basically, no use of ‘y/n’, degrading, praises, LOTS OF PRAISES, they are both switches but idk if that counts??, nicknames! reader is kinda heartless basically a maneater, steve is an arrogant bastard, and hes got a big BIG di–heart. some lil’ eddie mention that u might miss if u blink!

authors note: i am kinda thinking a pt.2 of this IM open to all ideas, but i kinda am thinking of making it like a mini-series? and maybe introduce eddie in the second part, and then make part 3 steddie? mmmhmm? what do we think? my asks r open for all and any ideass anyways not proofread bc of my lazy ass. ignore any mistakes.

please like + reblog + interact to support me ! thank u ily

read vol 2 here

Booming music filled your ears, sweaty bodies swaying away from you but you couldn't care less.

Whispers from your back, collected gasps, and all you could do was watch. 

Fingertips clutched on your dress in fury, gaze unable to tear away from the scene playing out right in front of your eyes. 

Tina’s lips were locked onto Billy’s, you thought it was pretty soon to be swapping salivas considering it had been barely two days since he broke up with you. 

The red cup in your hand was almost smushed from the hardened impact of your fists, with a quick go, you downed it, ignoring Tommy and Carol’s cackles as they watched you. 

With a roll of your eyes, you were quick to turn away from them, ignoring your friends calling out for your name—you didn’t need this, you didn’t need to be pampered. You just needed a generous amount of drinks, and maybe someone to keep yourself busy with. 

Tina and her lame-ass party could go fuck themselves.

Billy was an asshole, no real surprise there. And you didn’t care, because the relationship had run its course, again. Tough shit. You were used to it. Another break up with him. 

You didn’t care about it, the only thing you cared about was him crossing the line, making out with another girl in front of everyone. 

Each break, the two of you fucked whoever you wanted to fuck, just to end up together again, drunkenly. But this time he made it everyone’s problem, and you couldn’t let him get away with that. 

The whispers, and the collective giggles every time you passed by were making your blood boil.

You couldn’t let that dipshit ruin your reputation, you weren’t going to pathetically pine over someone who could barely make you cum. And you weren’t going to let any of those gossiping assholes think otherwise. 

You stumble onto the porch with a string of curses leaving your pouty lips, quick to fish out a joint courtesy to that Munson kid, always providing you with the best weed, either free or cheap, depending on how much you adjusted your skirt or batted your lashes at him. 

Maybe, you should pay him a visit. For fucks sake, you’ve seen him play, and he could roll a joint blindfolded, he knew how to put those fingers to use.

You could just imagine the scorching look on Billy’s face, his velvety lips scrunched together, a sickening feeling sinking into his stomach, knowing that you fucked Eddie Munson, the guy he always went to get his weed from.

The idea of it brings a delicious smirk to your lips. But it wouldn’t be enough, no. You needed something more, something bigger. 

“Need a lighter, honey?” A coarse, smooth tone has your head cocking, the joint sitting on your lips rising with the impact. 

Steve fucking Harrington.

Falling right into your lap.

Billy would’ve flipped the fuck out if he knew. He always warned you about him, telling you that Harrington was off limits, no matter what. Well, until now. 

Your gaze locks with his, dangerous, filthy, and exactly where you want him. Before you can drag out the joint to answer him, he acts quicker, brushing his fingertips on your chin, almost tugging you closer to him, he licks his lips, wetting them with a chuckle.

With a gentle flicker of his lighter, the tip of the joint smolders, casting a warm glow to your face that accentuates the smirk curved on your lips. 

Your dress rides up your thighs when you straighten up, taking an inhale from the joint, you blow the smoke in his face without a care. He eyes each of your movements, the stupid grin sitting on his lips growing wider the more his eyes move up and down your body. You almost want to chuckle at how easy this is. 

But you also know Steve’s type, you have to make them chase you a little bit, give them a little thrill, before you finally give in. And you had already been doing that, for the longest time.

Always teasing him, but never giving in. Your hands always brushed past his bicep just enough to let him know you were interested, eyelashes always fluttered at him, teeth biting on your bottom lip as you checked him out. 

The little game had been fun, but you never plucked up the courage to fully give in to him, Billy would’ve lost his shit. Besides, you knew his type, and you didn’t want to be one of his other trophies. And you didn’t have to be, you just had to use him to get yourself off, and piss Billy off. The second you walked into a room with him, you knew the party would be buzzing with the gossip.

You had the perfect excuse, the perfect excuse to finally divulge your fantasies, all the cheerleaders always blabbered about him, calling him an ass, but an ass who knew how to properly use his fingers and that dangerous mouth.

Exactly what you fucking need.

You had been pent up enough for the months you were with Billy.

This would be a little reward. 

“All alone?” He was smug, he absolutely knew about the break-up and possibly saw Tina and Billy’s show, so he knew this was the perfect opportunity to have you in his palm. In a fucked up way, that made you want him more, the unspoken game grew more intense with that gaze of his, he had the same idea you did. The fucker was smooth. 

You nod curtly, not wanting to just fall into his lap. No matter how good he looked in those Levi’s jeans that cupped his ass perfectly. Why was he so fucking interesting to you? Arms all toned, face adorned with tiny moles, he almost seemed mystical. 

And oh god, his hair. That soft, perfectly layered chestnut brown locks, so effortlessly cool that you just wanted to run your hair through it, tugging at it the more his lips sucked on your clit.

God, the thought had your thighs pressing together uncomfortably. 

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be all alone at a party,” he pouted mockingly. “Where’s that boy toy of yours?” He tutted, hand dangerously planted on your back, ghosting over your hips. 

That elicited a giggle out of you, “Didn’t you hear all the rumors, pretty boy?” You leaned further, hand extending to offer him a huff. His attention was somewhere else though, eyes widening the more he admired you in that dress, showing off your curves in all the right way, tits almost busting out of your chest.

God, he had been waiting for this moment, an opportunity to have you, the second he fucking met you. But Billy got to you first.  

“We broke up.” That brought his attention back to you, a smirk played on his lips when he leaned into your hand, lips wrapping around the tip of the joint, he sucked on it but his dark amber eyes remained on you. 

With an inhale, “Good.” He mumbled, “knew that dipshit couldn’t handle someone like you.” 

“You need someone better take care of you…” he hummed, nose dipping closer to your features, “someone who knows how to handle all of this.” His hands were placed on your waist, traveling all over your body. 

Your breath was quick to get caught in your throat, a whine leaving your lips with how forward he was being.

And shit, you understood the appeal, you always did, but this time, you were sure your hunger for him grew faster than you intended to. You were in his palm, and you were more than okay with it. 

“Yeah?” You teased with a giggle, head falling on his shoulder, brain getting fuzzier. 

“I can make you forget him.” He’s bold, and it has your thighs rubbing together.

“By the time I’m done with you, you won’t even remember his name, or how to walk.” He’s so close to your ear, breath fanning against your breath as you almost shudder, but you play it off.

“You’re all talk, Harrington.” You licked your glossy lips, head slightly tilted to the side, teasing him just enough. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I know you’ve heard the rumors, and I know you want this as much as you do.” The cocky bastard licks his lips, and you want nothing more than to bite them.

“Oh, yeah?”

“The way you press your thighs together, that little whine you just did when I barely touched you… Tells me all I need to fuckin’ know.” He whispers, and you almost whine out when a sloppy kiss is planted on your neck, harsh and needy. 

“You’ll be screamin’ and beggin’ for me, angel.”

Your brows raise in interest. “That a promise?”

“Uh-huh.” He gives you a boyish grin.

“You’re on, King Steve.” 

It didn’t take the two of you long enough to find an empty bedroom, lips, and teeth clashing as soon as the door closed.

The wandering eyes of the party had followed you up until that point, so you knew as soon as the two of you left the room with your sexed-up looks, everyone would know.

And you would finally have a sweet release after months of Billy’s selfishness.

A win-win. 

You let his curious hands wander around your body, quick to almost rip off your dress, he wants to savor this moment, wants the image of your body engraved in his mind, stuck into the back of it just so he can fish it out whenever he can.

But he’s impatient, he’s waited for this. Wanted you longer than ever, and finally, you’re putty at his hands, ready to take whatever he’s going to give—or at least that’s what he thinks— And he’s feeling greedy. His mouth is pressed onto yours, sucking on your tongue before he lowers you down on the bed, you giggle softly when you sink into it, and Steve has never felt like this before, the hunger in his eyes ignites a spark of pleasure within you, quick to dampen your thighs with need. 

A shocked gasp escapes your lips once he unhooks your bra with his left hand. Oh, he’s good. “Pretty baby,” he murmurs before his mouth is latched onto your nipples. “Perfect fuckin’ tits,” He groans into your chest, hand toying with your lace panties, shaky breaths escape his lips as he earns more whines from you. 

You look ethereal, with your mouth hung open, teeth biting on your glossed-up lips, head thrown back. Just like he knew you’d be. 

The more he circles around your panties the more you feel that pent-up desire burning inside of you, all those orgasmless months with Billy, and Steve was going to elicit more with just a flick of his fingers than you ever had through the entire relationship. 

Maybe that’s why he always called you a bitch. 

“Steve,” your whines come out pathetically as he looks up at you, layered hair already disheveled and that goddamn smirk sitting on his pretty lips. 

“Already beggin’, honey?” He mocks with a grin, tugging on your nipple, all teeth and no mercy. His tongue is making its way further down, soft, wet strokes tickle your body. 

“Fuck off,” You spit at him, barely, words dying down your throat when he’s quick to rip away your lacy panties. His light honey eyes are so much darker now, head thrown back when he visually drinks in your glistening pussy.  

You look so fucking perfect, thighs spread apart, him between them, mouth hung open and ready to take all of him. He makes a mental image of it, burning it to the back of his mind. 

“C’mon sweetheart, let King Steve know what you want, what you really need.” His voice is smooth and coarse, fingertips circling around your clit harder the more you whine for him.

“Do you need my fingers, baby? My mouth?” You moan at that, audibly. It has him chuckling darkly once he realizes how depraved you really are, one touch from him and you’re already soaking his fingers, whining like a pretty little slut. 

If he knew how much you’d be such a good girl for him, he would’ve done this much sooner. Would’ve ruined your pretty little pussy for anyone else, Billy would’ve had no chance over him. 

“Has that asshole not been makin’ you cum?” It was more of a rhetorical question, but the way you shook your head with a pout, had him melting. He really had you and didn’t know how to take good care of you? What a fucking loser.

“Holy fuckin’ shit… not even with his mouth?” His eyes widened, he really didn’t think Billy would be that bad, everything was working to his advantage. 

“He- uh- he never…” You stammered, getting uncharacteristically embarrassed because it was, truly embarrassing. All those months with him, and half the time you faked it. Selfish prick.

“Never? Oh, baby…” He coos with a dangerous smirk, lip all pouty and mocking, “No wonder you were so desperate for me. You really needed this, huh?” He almost gave a chuckle, caressing your pussy with his middle finger, getting you all ready. 

“Jerk-” You want to curse out his cockiness, tell him you don’t need him. Keep him grounded, but the whines he’s pulling out of you are enough to make him grin like a Cheshire cat. 

Your breath gets shakier when his finger easies into your walls. “Sshh, relax, baby.” He coos. 

“I’ll make you feel so fuckin’ good, doll.” His fingers are slickly working their way in and out of you, filthy sounds mingling with your moans as his nose brushes over your clit, causing your hips to start rocking up to him. 

“Had this pretty little thing, and didn’t even know how to take care of it, hmm? What a waste,” He hummed sweetly, index finger thrusting in and out of your sloppy walls.

“If I had known you’d be this fuckin’ soaked, I would’ve done this much sooner,” he taunts, fingers curling inside of you, enjoying the way you gasp out and buck your hips for more. 

He dives in, pressing the flat of his tongue against your swollen lips, enjoying, fully tasting you. With a satisfied hum, he brings his eyes to meet yours, all fucked out, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, had this sweet pussy but never even tasted it… What a fuckin’ dumbass… I’ll give you what you deserve, baby…” 

He’s going to explode soon, if he doesn’t make you cum and then fuck you senseless. He can feel his balls draw up more and more, each time you whine, each time you plead for his name as a whisper. 

He flicks the tip meticulously, giving you attention everywhere and anywhere, just like he knew you’d like it. “You know, I usually would never do this on a first date,” He mocks, grinning all mouthy and you attempt to dive his mouth further into you, to shut his arrogant ass up, and that fucker resists, “But god, you’re an exception… just begging to be fucked, you deserve this honey, can’t be selfish with you.”

His licks are heavenly, sucking on your clit like a man possessed, and his name falls from your lips in such a filthy way that you don’t even care how pathetic you look anymore. You accept it, you let him take full control, trashing beneath him. 

“You like that, angel?” His words are muffled into your cunt, the pad of his thumb still circling around your entrance while he sucks on your clit. Your head sinks further into the softness of the bed, eyes squeezed shut, breaking apart with just his tongue. He moans into your soppy walls, sending a shock wave of pleasure to ripple through you. 

He doesn’t even need your words, the visual of you squirming underneath him is enough to have him all bricked up, you taste like the sweetest sin. Velvety walls so tight that it has him bucking his hips into the bed, desperate for some friction, he needs you. And he’s sure he never wanted someone this badly before. 

“So fuckin’ special, aren’t you? Such a desperate baby…” You can feel his bulge against your thigh, sitting prettily and throbbing against his boxers. You always heard how big he was, but fuck, you finally get to feel it, and it’s glorious. 

And he twitched in his boxers just from eating you out? God, he was fucking perfect.  

He dips his head just enough to muffle out a few more words, “I wanna taste you fully, angel. Want you to soak my tongue.” He dives in before you can reply, eliciting dirtier moans from you, alternating between his fingers and his tongue. 

He doesn’t care about anything else but you, he wants you panting for him, cumming all over his tongue while you scream his name. 

Your thighs start to shake once he pushes two fingers inside of you, gentle but rough enough to have you squirming and bucking your hips more into him, you’re at his mercy, and he loves how tight you are. Just the thought of your tight cunt milking his cock dry has his eyes rolling. 

“S-steve,” you breathe out roughly, enjoying how his tongue is licking up that sweet spot. “I know baby,” he taunts all cockily, admiring the way your thighs shake with need. You’re going to cum soon and that prick can feel it. 

“N-need to cum, please,” your pleading is unintentional, you just need a desperate release, and he’s so fucking good. 

“Cum for me, angel, be a good girl for me, yeah?” Your eyes squeeze shut at the praise, and he takes note of that, admiring the way you tighten around his tongue and fingers at the praise. 

His fingers are quick, making you scream out his name louder and louder. “That’s it pretty girl… cum for me.” Arrogant fuck, you wish to say, but the way he laps up your juices has you whining like a little slut. And his smirk grows wider, a wet patch forming on his boxers with how hard he’s straining them, pathetically needing to be inside of you. 

You tremble, trash, squirm beneath him, his touches and stripes of licks finally enough to have your stomach twisting, with final screams of “Steve!” and “F-fuck!” the coil inside of you snaps, orgasm overtaking you with such force that your eyes are glued shut.

A gush of sweetness trickles along Steve’s tastebuds, you taste so fucking good that it drives him even crazier, lapping up at your juices and not stopping until he’s sure you’ve collapsed under him. 

He’s grinning like crazy, lips all glossy with your juices, and he looks so fucking pretty like this. It makes you want to return the favor. 

So badly. And the need to know if the title Big Daddy Steve really suits him or not stirs your stomach, your core pooling with need. If it’s true, your mouth waters with the desire to have him, he looks delicious, and you know he’ll look much more yummy while he’s fucking your mouth, pretty praises leaving his pale rosy lips. 

The avoidant part of you screams at you to not do this, but your core is begging for more. 

Maybe, just maybe, you could return the favor but still toy with him, take control, and mess with his mind. 

Enough to have him begging, pleading for more from you. 

As if he can hear your dilemma, he drags you back in, wrapping his fist around your hair as he pulls you toward him and draws your bottom lip into his mouth, all teeth, sucking with an exaggerated hum, “Do you like the way you taste on my tongue?” He mutters against your ear, licking a stripe of your neck. 

Jesus, fuck. Now, you had to return the favor. 

“Tastes so sweet,” you giggle, you are going to suck him off, but you are going to lead the way now. A smirk gleams on your lips. Teasingly, your hands trace the edge of his boxers, enough to earn a rude whine from him as you squeeze him through the harsh fabric. 

You’re quick to yank his shirt off of him without a warning, and he’s quick to flaunt his well-muscled, heaving chest. 

Asshole. 

With a strong flip, you manage to straddle him, taking him by surprise while you grin at him, and to say Steve is intrigued would be an understatement, his cock twitches at your brow raise. “What are you doing, baby?” He still manages to be so cool that your thighs ache. 

“Returning the favor,” you shrug with a smirk, eliciting low grumbles from him when you lower yourself on his chest, leaving sloppy kisses, mouth tracing a trail that leads to his delicious v-line. 

You lift the elastic away from his waist, freeing his throbbing tip, the red tip slaps against his abdomen, and your brows pinch together in astonishment admiring it. 

Jesus fucking Christ, he was not all talk. 

King Steve, indeed.

You had to hand it down to those gossipy cheerleaders, they had described him to a t, perfect girth, slightly bent to the left, and big, really fucking big, you probably needed to use your hands along with your glossed lips to take all of him in. 

He chuckled at your expression, basking in the glory of your widened eyes, “Like what you see, angel?” Another taunt, but you ignore it with a smirk this time. Pooling saliva in your mouth, you spit on the angry tip, Steve hisses at the impact and watches with a low grumble once you wrap your palm around his shaft. 

He reveled in how perfectly your soft manicured fingers looked around his delicate bubblegum pink tip, attending to his every need.

Your warm fingers are working their way around his cock, coating his length with your spit as you tugged at it gently, causing his eyes to nearly roll back in his head.

He tries his best to swallow his groans, but his hips desperately jerk up at your hand, desperately fucking it, rendering you speechless.

“You like that, baby?” Your tone was teasing, and if he didn’t feel like he was about to explode he would’ve gripped your hair and fucked your mouth with such roughness that all that you would be thinking about would be his huge cock, punishing you for being such a tease, but he was the one wrapped around your finger now, literally.  

“S’big, Stevie,” you coyly batted your lashes at him, and a shuddered breath left your parted lips as you looked up at him between his thighs. 

He almost wept at the sight, shit shit shit, you were all of his dreams wrapped into one, and he could barely speak. Your palm easily glided down his length, saliva working as a lubricant as you teased him further. 

Your other palm was quick to cup his balls, massaging them and giving them a gentle tug, while your other hand still glided down his length, enjoying the way he struggled not to let out loud groans in your hold.

Without any other word, your head tilted down, quick to mouth the tip of his intense tip, it was almost hot to touch, waiting to be attended to, so needy. Just like him.

You swipe his tip, collecting his pearl of pre-cum gently. “Jesus f-fuck!” Pathetic coarse whines leave his parted lips, he lets you take control, eyes clenched tightly. 

You give his tip more kitten licks, trying to get your throat ready for his lengthy cock. “Just like that, honey,” He praises with his head thrown back, he avoids looking into your eyes, knowing that the fucked out look on your face as your pouty lips wrapped around his cock would be enough to have him spill down your throat in seconds.

And it would be a bit embarrassing for Steve, to lose his reputation to you in a matter of seconds.

“More…” He demands, but you ignore it while you continue your teasing sweet flicks on his tip, feeling him twitch around your tongue.  “Pretty girl,” He whines and jolts his pelvis for more, desperate and needy. Just where you want him.

“Mhmm?” You whine with your mouth full, it sends a rush of pleasure through him, “Suck it, baby,” he whines again, this time pained with need. Your greedy eyes smile up at him and he’s sure you have done something to him.

Because he never wanted to cum this bad before. He wants to wipe that smirk off your face while you gag on his cum, struggling to swallow all of it as it spills down your cheeks, glistening your breasts, ruining that gloss forever, and instead, you walk around with his semen all over your face and lips.

It pulls a twisted groan out of him, you make him feel so perverted and he can’t fucking help himself. You finally accept his pleas, and with one glorious tug, you finally wrap your lips around his cock, fully, getting teary-eyed each time you try to take more of his flesh.

Steve can’t help himself, his head is dipped down, and he immediately feels his balls ache at the visual of you, crystal tears staining your cheeks, and even then, that lewd look did not leave your eyes.

“F-fucking slut, just like that,” His groans are uncontrollable, hips bucking further into your mouth. You don’t let him yank you by your hair, just yet. You let your mouth adjust to him, sucking him deep and tight. 

“Such a good girl, suckin’ my cock with all she has, mmpf.” His praise has your core clenching, damn him. 

He admires your pouty lips fully wrapped around his flesh, sucking and hollowing your cheeks as you wail for him, “Shit, shit, baby, l-look so pretty with my cock down your throat, mmhmm…” He coos, words incoherent.

“Will look even prettier with my cum shooting down that throat, isn’t that right, angel?” You hummed in agreement, looking up at him with your dark, hooded gaze, an unintentional grin playing on your lips.

He mumbled a string of curses, praising you, worshipping you. You continued your stroke on his base harshly, working the head with your tongue, a new angle that had him go absolutely insane. 

“Mmmhmm, need your cum, Stevie.” You mumbled, momentarily letting your hand do all the work before you dove back in, taking his stiff cock deep in your throat, he had been struggling before, but your words were his last straw.

Because it was exactly what he fucking wanted, owning your mouth, and fucking it with ease. 

His palm turned into a fist the second he held your hair, yanking it down as he pushed you further down on his cock, enjoying the way it hit the back of your throat, you gagged around it, all teary and Steve’s head fell back in pure ecstasy. “Y-yes, yes, fuck!” 

“Gonna cum, baby, mmmpf, god-” He panted, his cock twitching more and more you sucked on him.

“Gonna fuckin’ s-shit-” He shuddered, thighs shaking while your throat continued to squeeze the tip of his cock, and once you gave his balls some more attention, he knew he was a goner. 

“Fuckin’ give i-it to you,” He barely let out when his eyes glued shut together, almost rolling to the back of his head when you gagged around his cock, with a glorious groan of “Fuuuuuck!” Steve came in your mouth, hips still bucking into your throat as a spurt of his warm load spilled down your throat, coating it nicely. 

You only let go of his softened cock with a ‘pop!’ sound once you made sure you sucked him dry, swallowing all of it while Steve watched you with such a dazzled look that it almost made you want to do more with him. But, no. This had been enough.

You enjoyed his salty taste in your mouth and the way his fingers and mouth worked inside of you. And that was enough for you. For now.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” He grumbled a chuckle that had you grinning and winking at him. God, men really were easy. One blowjob and Steve was already looking at you like you were the most precious thing in his life. 

You had to go easy on him, tell him that you weren’t going to let him fuck you.

Because you got what you wanted, an orgasm, and the reputation of fucking “King Steve”, everyone would be gossiping about the two of you by now, it was a matter of time before that douchebag found out.

He tried to pull you in for a kiss, but you were quick to dodge it, getting up from the softness of the bed with a groan while Steve curiously eyed you. 

His brows were quick to pinch together, watching the way you easily slipped your tight dress on your body while you admired yourself in the mirror. Rubbing your lips together to fix your gloss, fingertips cleaning over the smeared mascara running down your cheeks.

“W-what are you doing?” He inquired, his face quick to fall down. 

You shrugged nonchalantly, “I want to go dance,” brows then raised in excitement “Ooohh! Maybe I could get some more weed, have you seen Munson around?” You questioned, that lustful look still dancing in your eyes.

“Uhhh…” he stammered, still confused on what the fuck just happened. “Y-yeah I think-”

“Thank fuckin’ god!” You hummed with a giggle, rushing over to his side, sloppily planting a kiss on his cheek, all shiny and smeared with his juices.

You were halfway through the door when Steve’s protests stopped you. “Wait, wait, wait!” He straightened up, softened cock and all, his glistening chest was begging to be touched, but as you decided, not today.

“What the fuck? I thought-”

“What?” You asked cluelessly, brows raised. 

“We were just getting started, angel,” He tried, but his voice wasn’t as arrogant or confident as it was before, and it took you so much to not let your lips twitch into a smirk. 

One orgasm and he was already broken? Steve was fun to play with it.  

Your giggle at him would’ve felt mocking if you didn’t do it so prettily, Steve just watched in awe. 

The poor boy. 

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, would you?” You tilted your head with a pout. Oh, you were good, he had to give you that.

Because once he literally got a taste of you, he wasn’t going to stop. 

His lips kissed his teeth, it was surely hypocritical of him to think this was unfair since that’s what he always did to other girls. 

“But–”

“See you around, pretty boy,” you cooed, throwing a wink toward his way, and shutting the door with that. Leaving Steve all alone. 

He had never felt this way before. The way his cock twitched just the thought of you again had his mind flooding, you used him, gave him the best fucking head of his life, and then left. 

Maybe this game would’ve pissed him off if someone else did it to him, if it was any other girl he would’ve lost interest, thinking she was trying too fucking hard, but it was you.

And all it did was drive Steve crazier, and make the chase all the more fun, and Steve was nothing, if not persuasive. 

[chokulit]

Hello, I would like to highlight another campaign by someone who has reached out to me

This is the campaign of the Iwais family, they are 27 people living in a tent and need money so they can survive the winter.

You can find their story here: x, please read it if you can.

They have created the page in May, but because there was not internet, they had to wait until June just to share it. Even now they have still not yet reached their goal

If possible, please donate as much as you can to this family or spread this campaign as far and wide as you can. I will keep updates on the amount of money achieved so far when I can.

kr 639,929/800,000 SEK

tagging for reach:

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@sayruq @tortiefrancis @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @vivisectionmoth

@belleandsaintsebastian @kordeliiius @brutaliakhoa @raelyn-dreams

@ot3 @the-bastard-king. @pcktknife

@queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @90-ghost @skatehani @awetistic-things

@baby-girl-aaron-dessner @variantsofblue @schoolhater @thedigitalbard @socalgal

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[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

RUN RABBIT, RUN RUN RUN. ( House of the Dragon x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: DARK! King Aegon ii Targaryen x Common Folk! Reader prompt: Aegon has been watching you from years. Now that he is King, he intends to make his intentions clear. key: Y/n = Your name, R/n = Random name, E/C = eye color word count: 1, 000+ words

He was six and ten when he first met you, well more of, he saw you from a distance. You were a pretty little thing⎯well, for some common folk girl, you were pretty. From what he saw from a distance, you worked as a barkeep, cleaning tables and sometimes serving ale or whatever shitty drink they served at that tavern. 

You were pretty, maybe growing more so in a few years, but enough for the other drunks to take notice as well. He didn’t like it. Even though he had never spoken to you, or really interacted with you at all. You were his pretty little barekeep to gawk at.

It took everything in him to not set Sunfyre upon all of them, burning the shitty little tavern up in flames. So then, he could take their charred remains and show what happened when others touched what was his. But, he digressed. For now. 

Slowly sauntering into the tavern, he searches for you in the crowd of common folk, his gaze predatory and determined. Since his coronation as King, he had been busy, far too busy to leave the Red Keep to go to Flea Bottom. All he wished for now was to have a drink and watch you as he had done a dozen times before. He was sure if he was going to speak to you yet. It wasn’t that he did not have the courage to speak to you. 

He was a Targaryen, and now King, he had nothing to feel ashamed of or worried about. But rather he liked the way you squirmed under his gaze. He liked the way you would grow stiff and then blush a soft pink when you realized that it was just him. It was adorable and a good ego boost to know that he could get you all flustered without even needing to speak. 

“All hail the new King!” Some drunk slurs aloud, “From the King of Flea Bottom to the King of the Seven Kingdoms!”

“Aye!” 

“All hail!”

Rolling his eyes at the drunken babbling that filled the tavern, he sits down at his usual table, kicking his feet up on a chair. Drumming his fingers against the table, he looks around for you, growing wary as he doesn’t see you in the tavern. Clenching his jaw tightly as his temper starts to rise, he holds back at lashing out, his mind running a million miles per hour.

“Where the hell is that damn girl?! Y/n!” A barkeep behind the bar rants, “Oi! You, go get Y/n.”

Not even the other barkeep’s knew where you were at. You weren’t here. You were always on time. Why the fuck were you not here? Where the fuck were you at?

Feeling his temper bubbling with each second that he doesn’t see you, the loud slamming of a door fills the tavern, nobody paying any mind to it. Seeing you walk inside all soaked from the rain, he instantly calms down at sight of you. 

Slowly trailing his eyes over your soaked figure, you look ethereal like this. Hair all soaked and clothes sticking to you like a second skin, accentuating  your curves. Feeling a presence beside him, he snaps out of his daze, seeing some other barkeep trying to speak to him.

“Can I⎯” 

“No, no, her. I want her.” He orders, pointing at you. 

Watching as you dried yourself off with a rag, he smirks at how your linen underskirt was practically sheer. He wondered, if he spilled his seed in you, would a bastard grow in your belly? Would then he be able to whisk you away to the Red Keep, far far away from the drunks and fools that surrounded you both? After all, you would be so grateful for him to do such a thing. You, some lowborn common folk girl, getting the luxury of carrying his child in your belly. 

“Bring me her. I will take nothing but what she brings to me.” He orders.

Feeling a familiar pair of predatory eyes on you, you slowly turn around to see the now King, watching you. He sat at the same table as always, in the center where he and those silvery locks could be gawked at. Furrowing your brows in confusion, you watch as R/n walks away from the table, rolling her eyes hard with a scowl. Cocking her head to Aegon, you didn’t even have to ask to understand that he had rejected her. 

Wiping your hands dry with the rag, your eyes locked onto Aegon’s, e/c meeting predatory violet eyes. Shivering at the gaze, R/n motions for you to go to him with a cock of her head, her iration clear as day at not getting any coin from him. Mustering up your courage, you walk over to him, coming face-to-face for the first time ever. He was a lot more handsome up close. Alluring violet eyes, silvery white Targaryen hair and pouty lips. 

“Do you wish to make your King happy?” He asked, his voice rough and low.

“I do, your grace.” You nod, “ How can I be of service to you?”

“I can think of many ways.”

Growing tense at the lewd comment, you shift in place, unsure if he was jesting with you or if he was being serious. You have never spoken to him up to this point, just watching from afar or in passing. You could not tell. Chewing on your bottom lip a little nervously, he places a hand on your waist, letting out a full belly laugh. Weakly nodding unsure, he slowly trails his hand down to your hip, not quite inappropriate but not appropriate at the same time. 

“Can I get you some ale, your grace?” You ask, attempting to change the subject.

“No.”

“Or mayhaps some bread from the kitchen?” You try again, “I am sure we can find something for you if that is what you desire.”

“No.”

Blushing under his intense gaze, he slowly stands up from his seat, looking like a predator stalking its prey. Tilting your head up as he towers over you, you resist the urge to cower, not wanting him to see your fear. In your time working here you learned men tended to like seeing women cower, it was like a game to them. Softly gulping as he digs his nails into your hip, a voice in the back of your head tells you to run away, that he was dangerous. But, your legs would not let you move. 

“Your grace?” You whisper, your voice weak. 

“Then you will not scream, cry, or protest as I take you back to the Red Keep.” He whispers, “I would hate to have to kill you when I have just gotten you within my grasp. Now walk, my little rabbit.”

----

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

[garagesesh]

HOTD headcanons

I can hear the bells // p. 2 & p. 1

gif source

⤷ pairing(s): aemond targaryen x reader, s*r criston cole x reader, jacaerys velaryon x reader

⤷ warning(s): unplanned pregnancy, angst, criston cole

⤷ a/n: idk criston cole is fun to write and it helps that he’s pretty, this isn’t my favorite work and I’m sure I’ll rewrite someday but I wanted to get it out now before my vacay

masterlist

―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―

★ aemond targaryen

You are not a highborn lady or any type of Targaryen or Velaryon Princess, you met Aemond in the bowels of Flea Bottom at a tavern by chance, not knowing who he was. The two of you connected, talking until dawn about adventure and the history of Valyria

Aemond was charmed by your ignorance of his standing in society, reveling in the secret but simple life affair

It wasn’t two months later that you figured it out. A gold cloak addresses him by his title out in the streets in a tavern. You’re not thrilled by this revelation and in fact swear to never see him again but he’s persistent, determined to keep you

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to resume your relationship and suddenly-

You’re pregnant a year into your affair with the one-eyed prince, he was overjoyed with the news but you were scared he was going to abandon you like his elder brother had done time and time again

You call him mad and laugh, thinking it's some sort of cruel jest when he confesses his intent to marry you and make you royalty. He will not raise a bastard, he says as you kick him out of your small one room

It takes a month before you finally accept his proposal, it took sleepless nights and worried days before finally talking yourself into his idea as a good one

There are no flowers except the ones he brought you at dawn on your wedding day, it is a warm sunny morning when you both enter the sept of Baelor, a skeptical high septon, and his sworn guard

It is rushed but Aemond is determined and ready as he swears his vows and barely waits for you to finish your own before kissing you hard

You have never met a dragon before when Aemond takes you before Vhagar and tells you that you’ll be riding south for a fortnight, there is no fear that runs in your veins but excitement

You spend a sennight in Dorne, hidden away from the world, unbeknownst to the wrath awaiting you and Aemond in the Red Keep

Alicent is cold and unwilling to understand the situation. It is not easy or happy meeting for you.

★ criston cole

After the dance of dragons, criston cole is given a choice. To be stripped of his white cloak die within the cells of the Red Keep or to be stripped of his white cloak, return to Dorne and live a quiet life out of the realms politics. Cole chooses the latter, of course. It’s far more kindly than what he assumed would be his fate.

Dorne is not what he remembers it being, it’s dry and vast with little in it’s lands. Cole doesn’t consider this desert his home.

His father was not proud of him, but he needs to still secure the house lineage and secures a marriage pact

As the youngest daughter of house Dayne, you’re not thrilled at the prospect of marrying the fool (one of many nicknames they’ve aptly named Criston in Dorne). You have only heard of the most vile and selfish stories about your now betrothed.

When you first meet Criston Cole, you’re shocked. He’s attractive, his hair has grown out to his shoulders and there’s a scar running down his neck but the weeks leading up to your meeting you had envisioned all sorts of monstrosities, considering you and the realm had decided he was a cruel inept monster

He is quiet and replies with a soft voice, you’re puzzled how the ex-Lord Commander and Hand of the King for the traitor king is gentle. However it is hard to see past what he has done to tear the realm apart

When your wedding day comes around, he replaces your cloak with a rough cloth with colourless dots adorning the back. House Cole is not wealthy and the dowry wasn’t large.

He kisses you well not really. His rough hands squeezes your own gently and barely brushing his lips to your cheek

There is no feast, just a family meal that is supplied well with meat and wine in the gardens well into the evening

The bedding is just like his kiss, hardly anything to recount to your sisters or companions. It isn’t romantic and your sure he doesn’t even finish. You hope that this isn’t what it’ll always be

★ jace velaryon

Growing up alongside your future husband isn’t the norm, but you are glad for it. As many ladies are stuck with brutes and old men for husbands

Jace has matured into a handsome man that you can’t bare to look at without blushing. With every look he gives you, you can’t help but turn your head with cheeks red

But despite your embarrassment, you are both more than excited to finally be married

You opt for a traditional Valyrian wedding, the same as Rhaenyra and Daemon had done. There was no fancy ceremony with cloaks of golden threads, just Jace and you

Sleep did not come the night before, as the excitement and giddiness ran through you like shots of lightning. You couldn’t even feel the exhaustion in your muscles as you readied yourself in the robes and headpiece

Jace could not find sleep himself, as he was too excited as well at the prospect of finally calling you his

Jace’s eyes watered while waiting for you, he choked on his Valyrian as you laughed at his sweet mistake

The kiss wasn’t needy or greedy, but it wasn’t the cordial kiss of the Lords & Ladies of the Seven would display. It was tender and loving and gentle.

The feast was celebrated through the night and full of laughter. When it came to the bedding ceremony, you and Jace instead fell asleep quite quickly in your now shared bed

However the next evening…

[harlothane]

Theon and Fear - And at the end of fear...

George R R Martin’s ASOIAF focuses on the "human heart at war with itself". In doing so, it provides a compelling, complex and deeply touching exploration of human emotions. One of the dominant emotions the characters are faced with is fear.

I especially love how fear is shown in Theon's storyline. His backstory and the events unfolding in his six Clash of Kings chapters and seven Dance with Dragons chapters, taken alone, constitute a raw, emotional and unsettling account on the many faces of fear. What it does to people. How it changes them, motivates them, corrupts them and may regenerates them.

“Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?”

“That is the only time a man can be brave.”

There is no need for a long look at Theon’s storyline to see in which ways Eddard Stark’s infamous moral lesson applies to his struggles. Here is a character that commits crimes in the beginning of his storyline, goes through hell because of his misguided choices (led by his fear), finds his courage as he faces true terror and accomplishes one of the most selfless and brave acts in the series to save a girl.

I do feel like I’m missing pieces of the puzzle writing that, aren’t I?

The misstep, I think, is to draw too hastily a parallel between Theon and the other Winterfell boys around his age – Robb and Jon (it's a common issue in fandom and actually had a negative impact on the reading of Theon's storyline, I think. Read : x).

Unlike them, at the beginning of the story, Theon already knows fear. Both Jon and Robb had a decent, secure childhood. While Jon surely has grounds to feel dissatisfied with what life has to offer a bastard like him, he did not grow up in fear. At the age of nine, he probably had faced rejection, loneliness and disdain. But not true, traumatizing fear like nine-year old Theon had to.

19 year-old Theon in Winterfell has already been scarred by fear. He is not a knight of summer in that regard, as his entire personality is a product of fear, to the point where it becomes hard to pinpoint what his true self consists of exactly (that becomes evident as we are invited to his internal monologue in Clash, which is full of inconsistencies, rewrites and contradictions related to the way he sees himself).

We know for certain that, as the story begins, Theon is already familiar with the fear of rejection and humiliation (inflicted by his brothers and felt as an outsider in the North), the fear of losing his loved ones and his home (inflicted by war and the soldiers fighting that war) and some repressed kind of fear related to Euron and possibly his magic. He’s been abused and is still suffering from the lingering fear of death, cultural isolation/exclusion and loneliness.

What fascinates me with this storyline especially is that there is never an easy answer. It is a feature of ASOIAF as a whole, to be frank. I suppose that as a horror genre lover, I am especially drawn to the way Theon's story deals with fear. How it corrupts, how it paralyzes, how it regenerates.

Fear as corruption.

Theon, a “shy” child, “in awe” of his brothers, has crafted a personality to guard himself against the threats most frightful to him (humiliation, being unloved and unwanted, abandonment).

A personality that existed to guard himself against the world and more precisely, the men in power who could use him. A personality tailored to please his captors and his father, the ones his life depended on. His clothes, in this regard, are another part of the armor. Their purpose is to please, seduce or appease the ones whose approval Theon needs at the moment (though I truly do believe he likes his velvelt and silks, he still immediately suggests his father that he would change it if it would please him).

Living with those fears of being unloved and unwanted changed him profoundly as harrowing experiences always do. Fear is the one constant in his early life. His personality developed around it.

Theon mimics Dagmer Cleftjaw’s smiles because the warrior was one of the bravest men he knew in his early days and a hostage far from home needs to channel that tough, invulnerable spirit.

Theon was a child who lived in awe of his violent brothers, so as a young man he acts accordingly, as if spilling blood makes you worthy, as if life were a game to win no matter the cost for the weak and innocent (no matter the price children and mothers pay, no matter the price he himself paid for his father’s ambition!).

I know the Theon we meet in Clash isn’t the most agreeable person ever. It’s the point.

In truth, he is a hardly a person. As in, a human entity with consistent memories to ground him (even before Dance, he represses memories, seems to have forgotten a great deal about the Iron Islands and I believe we may learn more about this in Winds), and autonomous desires and hopes (in spite of himself, he is constantly trying to fit the expectations of the men he fears/wants to emulate – Eddard and Balon).

Even the way he expresses his sexual/sensual desires feels at times as a performance meant to impress or prove a point… read : x or x).

He doesn’t even have a future, and he knows that deep down. As Robb is crowned though and devise a plan with him to ally himself with the Islands, Theon’s hopes rose up and that is how suddenly there was in the sky a comet that heralded his bright future.

He seems like a “closed book” to the world around him, but he was more of a blank page, really.

A mess of fears stitched together with a smile. Fear really is the constant.

What would you do, if you were constantly afraid? Cut from the rare people and places that gave you a sense of security?

What would you do, if – that’s the greatest irony – you were surrounded by people who thought of you as a thing to be feared, an animal to be tamed.

Interestingly, Theon is known to be brave in battle, perhaps even reckless. Robb states it plainly: “Theon has fought bravely for us.” Dagmer Cleftjaw knows Theon “is no craven”. In Winterfell, he is ready to die with the few men who stayed with him.

Being shaped by fear did not make him a coward. It made him desperate and unreasonable. For one, Theon knows fear intimately and there is no greater terror than the unknown, after all. He knows war. He knows death. He is still haunted by the battle of Pyke.

Still, he is eager to march with Robb’s army. Still, he wishes he could have faced Jaime Lannister on the battlefield. And still, he would have died for Robb, he would have died for his father.

He shouldn’t be so eager to march with an army led by the people who hurt his own family so deeply. War traumatized him already. It separated him from his family. It obliterated his future, destroyed his prospects. But his fear of humiliation, rejection, loneliness – it overtakes all. Then again, I understand that Theon in Clash can be difficult to empathize with to some, but if you read his reaction with the knowledge that this is a person who is constantly in a state of true, agonizing fear, I think it changes your perspective a little.

The horrible outcome of all this is that by trying so desperately not to be seen as a weak thing people can use for their political gain, Theon becomes it. For Ramsay and Roose. That is not karma. That is the definition of a tragedy.

It has been said before: Ramsay is a secondary-(tertiary) character, he exists to embody Theon’s worst sins and fears. That is his nightmare, breathing and living and flaying every piece of a carefully crafted personality Theon made in the North to stop being afraid, to reclaim power and control over his fate.

Fear didn’t allow him to be brave. It made him desperate, easy to manipulate. He takes Winterfell in a foolish attempt to be the person he thinks he must become. The self-made Prince. The heir who returned in glory. A worthy son of Balon Greyjoy.

That is the story he tells himself and others. In truth, it becomes apparent he took Winterfell in a desperate attempt to make his “almost-home” his at last.

In a desperate attempt to belong somewhere he could have everything – power and recognition and love. It is the type of extreme decision you make when you let fear overtake your reason. Any other choice would have been more reasonable. It wouldn’t have saved him from fear, though.

Most of Theon’s bad choices are a result of fear. It made him crave power with the same intensity as he secretly wanted love and recognition. In Clash, Winterfell itself, the castle, its people, embody his fear of rejection, of being unloved and unwanted. He represses it. Until he can't escape it even in his dreams.

The two desires, to have agency/power and love, clash violently in Winterfell, an arc in which Theon’s starts to completely unravel as he does everything in his power to be a hard man like his father, like Eddard (no matter how contradictory), while spying the tiniest hint of affection or gratefulness in his captives’ eyes.

After all, in his own experience, it is possible for a captive to admire and crave his captor’s love.

To want to help them. To be part of their family. And he seemed to expect the same from the people of Winterfell. Even in Dance (because torture doesn’t erase your past trauma!), he still believes he could have reasonably expected them to help him

His constant fear has twisted his view on loyalty (you cannot be loyal to someone who imprisons you), love and desire (he links lust and violence), power and justice (“hard men rule the world”).

It corrupts his desires, even. Of all the sexual encounters, or thoughts, he has, none seems genuine with the exception of Esgred, who is not a real person but the embodiment of the nonchalant, confidant attitude he wishes he could adopt as easily. She is everything he cannot be. She belongs. She commands respect. She has a family. And as she divulges her real identity to him, Asha becomes someone to fear. She is in his place. She is him, the heir, the son, while he is nothing and nobody.

Fear as a paralyzer

It is not surprising that Theon would smother from early on the parts of his personality that made him sensitive to fear.

His need to belong brings only fear (he will never be part of the Stark family, but he still dreams of it until he buries that dream as well).

His empathy brings only fear (he demonstrates in Dance his ability to connect with broken people used by the ones in power he could have shared experiences with but couldn’t because of his fear of humiliation).

It shows one limit to Eddard’s reasoning. Fear, sometimes, changes you in such a way that it hinders your ability to be brave (as in, to make the most moral choice against your own immediate interest).

Growing up with constant fear drove Theon to stifle his empathy, making it hard for him to protect other people, as you would expect from a prisoner whose life is a bargaining chip that hinges on his father’s and his captor’s will, from a man who cannot even help himself.

Growing up in constant fear jeopardized Theon’s ability to make long-term, realistic plans for his future, as he barely has any stable support to hold onto. His entire existence does not belong to him. NB: In this regard, it is logical that most characters he is paralleled with throughout his story (Jeyne P, Barbrey, the dead lady Hornwood, Holly who has the same cocky smile and arrogance as his old self, Alannys with her white hair and even Dany…) are women, who are more likely to be stripped of agency, must fight to claim autonomy and struggle to regain a semblance of control over their destiny.

He has many faults, though it cannot be said in my opinion that he did have a good choice to make and that he simply chose wrong by trying to please his father. There were only bad roads that led to imprisonment, death or ruin for him. Theon realizes this in Dance: he cannot bring himself to imagine a bright future. No, he regrets not to have died with Robb. He knows his path was filled with fear either way.

Fear is a paralyzer. It does, in a sense, alter Theon’s capacity to grow and evolve.

Fear makes him an apt survivor (he’d survive a horror movie in messy “final girl” fashion), with a great potential for adaptation. But it corrupted him in the process. Led him to embrace a (faux) cynical attitude, to be over-zealous with his own captors to the point of risking his life for them and most of all, to opt for cruelty over mercy contrary to his own (sometimes contradictory) values – in Winterfell, he hurt others, and it haunts him, but he stands by his choices.

His fear of being mocked, used and humiliated drowns every other motivator.

He is so afraid to be seen as he thinks the men of the world want to paint him: a weak creature to be used. Someone who needs to bargain and submit to keep his life. It is rather in line with his way of thinking that he would consider himself a whore after Ramsay subjected him to his power and abuse in Dance.

“Only a fool humbles himself when the world is so full of men eager to do that job for him.”

That’s it, that’s the philosophy. Theon has his moments of incredible self-awareness, and this is one, hidden beneath some moral lesson as a pretext.

It shows that:

He has a bleak, but rather realistic view relating to most men in power. They will abuse it. They will humiliate the weakest. They will do so eagerly.

He hasn’t met Ramsay at that point. He may instead be thinking of his brothers, of the lords who humiliated his defeated father, of his own father maybe, or perhaps (in my opinion) Euron.

His arrogance is a deliberate strategy designed to avoid the fate reserved to the most fragile people.

He doesn’t judge the men who abuse their power but doesn’t seem to view them in a positive light. Still, consciously or not, Theon sometimes acts like those men. Since he is mostly deprived of real political or military power, he does it in the context of his sexual relationships (that deserves an analysis, especially regarding how sexuality in his chapters is so often if not always depicted in a negative, degrading manner.). It’s a “eat or be eaten” kind of mentality he is struggling with during his Clash arc.

Fear instructs him to repress the slightest sign of weakness. There cannot be true loyalty, love or desire in such a state. You survive. You are barely living. You just survive.

The rare sincere relationships he forms are short-lived – Patrek Mallister is the son of an enemy family; Robb Stark cannot ever be his equal; his bond with Asha is poisoned by envy and fear, again, of his place being stolen by her.

Theon’s mind favors denial/dissociation and repression as a defense mechanism. It doesn't exactly help him to form sincere relationships with people. It’s a motif throughout his storyline that echoes the stakes relating to Ironborn culture in the story (they must remember their history or they’re condemned to repeat it – that’s the symbolic role of Rodrik the Reader in Asha’s storyline).

Most times, he tends to rewrite reality - consciously or not. Of course, he will be welcomed by Balon Greyjoy! Of course, his traditionalist father will agree to submit to Robb Stark! Of course, he, the hostage, will be given Asha's place that she (of course!) stole from him! Of course, he is destined to be one of those hard men who rule the world, not an eternal victim! Of course, he is not afraid, and even if he is, even brave men feel agonizing fear about other men seeing their weaknesses!

We soon discover how fragile this mechanism really is. The façade cracks more often than Theon would like. There are many instances of this, especially in his conversation with Dagmer ("I know you are no craven" "Does my father?") and Rodrik Cassel ("The noose I wore was not made of hempen rope but it chafed, it chafed me raw"). Worst of all, he allows Reek/Ramsay to amplify his fear. When I write "allow", I do not mean he did it on purpose naturally. But he is the one who freed Reek/Ramsay. He opened the door to a living nightmare. Reek/Ramsay quite literally haunts him in his Clash chapters.

What he cannot rewrite, Theon represses. It does not seem like it at first glance because he is prone to reckless decisions. It can lead one to categorize him as a vain egomaniac, not as a repressed person. His promiscuity doesn’t help, since we are wired to associate repression and modesty.

It is true terror that he is obligated to repress - and it is what comes flowing unbridled as he loses his armor in Dance. This kind of dread is mostly associated with Ramsay (there are so many instances I won't even go into it) and, well, Euron (the slight unease Theon felt about his uncle during ACOK can - and must - certainly be revisited with our current knowledge about him, the fact that in ASOS it is established that Theon revealed awful details about his uncle to Robb, and the now evident parallels between Aeron and Theon).

Fear as a regenerative force

In Dance, the "dread" Theon feels in the crypt of Winterfell is "familiar". And I think you can see it as his fear of being unwanted. Of belonging nowhere.

It makes sense: Theon fears what he truly is. A prisoner, a scared child and a pawn for men to use in their plans. It is the truth he can never escape, no matter how perfectly he plays the Hard Powerful Masculine Man.

Fear pursues him all his life. It is only when he has no fear left to feel (it was all spent in a cell of the Dreadfort; all his fear is caught by Ramsay, who is the embodiment of Theon’s insecurities) that he shows his more empathetic and gentle nature – although he still feels anger, bitterness and the occasional dread, of course.

Still, it is not a bed of roses. Theon is certainly more sincere. He is not putting on a performance for himself. When he lies, he is terribly conscious of it. He doesn’t manage to repress his traumatic memories anymore. It all comes back, flooding. Even such buried memories as the ones related to Euron.

In a way, Winterfell acts in his story as the theatre scene, the place where you can finally be yourself. I wrote a bit about this here. It serves as a catharsis for Theon. In Winterfell, he is able to find pieces of himself. Pieces he had forgotten. He starts to remember the childhood he had buried ("A son of the Islands" / the Euron related reaction in Winds).

Fear had been eating away at him. Fear had been controlling him, at times. Not that he wasn't responsible, but he certainly let himself be overcome by his crippling fear of humiliation (which, sidenote, I don't believe stems only from his status as a hostage but that is another story).

Fear had been breaking him piece by piece since childhood. Just like the rat he eats at the start of Dance - it had been eating him first! He had to defend himself against the threats even if it meant hurting and killing in the process.

It is in Winterfell that he finally confront his fears - that he meets the one essential fear he had been trying to escape: himself.

The lies become a motif, even. “False is all you were.” Theon never lied as a manipulator would, though. Most times, he does not seem to understand the coherence (or lack thereof) of his own actions – which is also a side effect of fear (or to be precise, the fear caused by childhood mistreatment). It causes confusion, alters your awareness and hinders such abilities as analysis and planning.

However flawed Theon was, he was a prince, he was a warrior and a friend, he was handsome, he took care of his clothes and weapons, he saw a comet and decided it shone for him. He wasn’t much of a real, sincere, coherent person, but it was the most functional version of himself he managed to be in his situation.

The man he pretended to be could never have survived the Dreadfort, though. He had to disappear. Was he even real? The façade barely made it through his Prince of Winterfell era. Chances are, had he escaped Ramsay, Theon would still have been forced to confront his true self one way or another.

He is stripped from all his usual defense mechanisms in a horrific torture labyrinth. He becomes the weak thing he always feared he’d be seen as. He cannot hide. He cannot lie. He cannot even smile.

Every single fear he ever had becomes his new reality.

Humiliation: check.

Being controlled and used as a thing: check.

Mockery and disregard: check.

Friendless and abandoned: check.

To escape from fear, he can only repeat the partition he learnt as a child hostage: apply the rules of the people who can cut off your head at any time, and be the well-behaved prisoner so you can rise again later and impress every the ones in power who can share their power with you (a very Ironborn strategy, actually).

Except, there is no escape this time. The flaying knife has cut through the armor Theon had crafted for himself. He has no way out (another motif throughout his storyline). He has no secrets left and no smile to hide behind. He cannot forget his status as Ramsay’s pet by exerting power onto others. He is the very last creature on the food chain this time.

And so, there is nothing to fear anymore.

The Dance chapters are filled with terror and dread, until Theon pieces himself together. Then he regains some composure, purpose and faith, even. He finds his courage within himself, where it always existed, in truth. And, in Jeyne, he finds a motivation. Saving her, a child prisoner, abused and terrorized, he also saves what little of himself he can.

The only time he can truly be brave is when he doesn’t have to fear becoming fully himself at last. Whatever that means, in the end. At the end of fear, something must remain. Something must be rebuilt. Piece by piece.

[midnightstar16]

I am done with this show.

I came into season 2 with hope and excitement. Season 1 ended so shockingly, and I was curious how it would play out in the next season with all these complex characters. Would Rhaenyra finally become the book Rhaenyra who fought her brother and kin for the throne? Would Aegon finally embrace his role as king? Would Aemond work with his brother to plot and defeat the blacks?

It is safe to say I was disappointed. As the show progressed, I felt my enthusiasm falter and destroy. From the top of my head, I can only remember episodes 2 and 7 living up to their expectations. Why is this? If they couldn't make a book-accurate show, they should never have thought to make one in the first place.

They've omitted characters (nettles) and ruined others. Somehow sheepstealer is in the vale?

The above picture is from Martin's blog posted this month. It is obvious that the writers think that they can do whatever they want.

Rhaenyra who was supposed to be ready for war, is suddenly against war again. Alicent, who wanted her son on the throne and hated Rhaenyra, is suddenly yearning for her. Daemon is in his "haunting of Harrenhal" era. Criston Cole, who was named Kingmaker is such a useless shit in the show. He sits around, has s*x with alicent and then sulks.

I will not say that they butchered everyone. Aemond and Aegon's writing was done nicely. Leaving the rook's rest part. That didn't make sense in many ways.

This show has just become men bad, women good. It is obvious. Aemond, Aegon, Cole, Daemon, heck- even Jace; they're all portrayed as insecure, abusive and bad.

It was jace who came up with the idea to get Targaryen bastards to claim Dragons but they made him insecure and gave his plot to Mysaria. Oh and talking about Mysaria... She was talking about her abusive father and how he r*****d her and Rhaenyra became horny and kissed her? That scene was actually suggested by Emma Darcy, Rhaenyra's actor and it shows. But the fact that the writers actually allowed it shows their naivety.

Criston was a GOATed character in the book, he was a father figure to Aegon and Aemond but he acts and looks younger than them.

Daemon is in his haunted movies era. After laena showing up in s2, I predicted we'd get Viserys all rotten up and we did.

The set is amazing, the dragons are amazing, the characters are supposed to be amazing and so is the writing, but it is not. Season 8's cinematography, music, set, everything was groundbreaking but its writing was bad. This is exactly the same.

From what I've seen so far, episodes 2 and 7 were amazing, I can't lie, episodes 1, 3 and 4 were on the average side. For episode 4, many might criticise me because it was rook's rest, but this was a huge battle that shook the ground. It was downplayed to what? 10-15 minutes? As for episodes 5 and 6, I don't even remember what happened in them, because there was nothing to remember.

Episode 7 was good indeed. I thought they finally redeemed themselves. Until episode 8 leaked. Indeed. Last time, about 2-3 episodes leaked and this time was no different. The finale leaked.

While I will not talk about it until Monday, I will say this: I, who watched season 8 twice, who is a huge a song of ice and fire fan, will most probably not watch this show from now onward.

[whencyclopedia]

Ptolemy XII

Ptolemy XII Neos Dionysos (r. 80-51 BCE) was king of Ptolemaic Egypt and father of Cleopatra VII (r. 51-30 BCE). His illegitimate birth and drunkenness inspired ridicule, and he was nicknamed "Auletes" ("the Flute-Player") for his musicianship. He reigned for nearly 30 years, bribing leaders of the Roman Republic like Pompey and Julius Caesar to prevent the Roman annexation of Egypt.

In 58 BCE, amidst a surge of economic turmoil and anti-Roman sentiment, his throne was usurped by his daughter Berenike IV. Ptolemy XII bribed the Roman proconsul Aulus Gabinius to restore him in 56 BCE. These increasingly large bribes forced him to borrow money from Roman bankers, and his children Cleopatra VII and Ptolemy XIII inherited crippling debts. However, his actions also ensured the continuation of the Ptolemaic dynasty by safeguarding Egypt from Roman warfare.

Early Life

Ptolemy XII was a member of the Greek Ptolemaic dynasty, which ruled Ptolemaic Egypt after Alexander the Great's conquest. Ptolemy XII was born at an unknown date, probably after 100 BCE based on the Roman contemporary Cicero's description of him as a teenager in 80 BCE. He was the illegitimate son of Ptolemy IX and an anonymous mother. Modern historians have speculated that his mother may have been a Greek or Syrian courtesan or an Egyptian aristocrat. Children born out of wedlock were viewed with contempt in Ptolemaic Egypt, and he was called "Nothos" ("the Bastard" in Greek).

In 88 BCE, Ptolemy IX's rival and half-brother Ptolemy X Alexander died while trying to take over Cyprus. Before dying, Ptolemy X allegedly bequeathed Egypt to the Roman Republic in his will. Rome ignored this bequest because Ptolemy IX was in control of the kingdom. Additionally, the Roman Senate feared that whichever general conquered Egypt would be rich and popular enough to become a tyrant. The threat of Roman annexation was constant throughout Ptolemy XII's life.

Ptolemy XII spent his adolescence in Syria for unknown reasons. Mithridates VI of Pontus (r. 120-63 BCE) may have taken him captive when he conquered the Egyptian-controlled island of Kos in 88 BCE. Some modern historians have theorized that he was actually one of Cleopatra III and Ptolemy VIII's sons, who were sent to Kos before 113 BCE. However, these princes were legitimate and much older than Ptolemy XII.

Continue reading...

[luv4slts]

Ultraviolence

- aemond targaryen x f!reader ˖⋆࿐໋₊

tags: targcest, smut, little angst, childhood friends/lovers wc: 1.4k — team black but i love him so bad y'all don't understand. anyways as you can tell by the title, i was listening to ultraviolence while writing this LMAO "...cause i was filled with poison but blessed with beauty and rage. aemond brought me back, reminded me of when we were kids."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

No one truly knew who your mother was, as that would only be known to your father but even he most likely had forgotten her. It wouldn't matter either way as she had died in childbirth soon after delivering you. In the year of 112 AC, two years after the birth of Prince Aemond and two years before the marriage of Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor, you were born. They say your father had gotten drunk that night to soothe his pains and sought out a maid to bed. The result of that night was the birth of a bastard. The beloved bastard of King Viserys Targaryen. Viserra was what your father had named you. For you resembled his great aunt with the same deep violet eyes, silver-gold hair, and fine features that she was renowned for. The similarities ended there though, as you often thought to yourself. However, as you got older your father would often comment on how similar you were with her when it came to things such as vanity. For most of your life you had bore the surname, Waters, as was the custom for all high born bastards. However, at the age of 5, your father had legitimized you as a Targaryen. You were the apple of his eye along with your elder sister. You loved your father dearly but loved your sister far more. When she left for Dragonstone, you followed her. You couldn't stand the Hightower's and they didn't take a liking to you either because of your heritage. Queen Alicent, your stepmother, would often make remarks but you didn't mind it too much. The only Hightower you tolerated was him. The elusive enigma, Aemond. You often pitied him as he was always picked on by your nephews for the dragon that he seemed to not possess. His older brother, Aegon, would often remind him of how unlucky he was if the gods provided bastards such as you and your nephews dragons before they did him. The only memories you have of him before the incident in Driftmark were fond. Often, you would both read stories of Old Valyria under the Godswood tree in the Red Keep. Or when you would take him to ride your dragon, hoping that he wouldn't feel as left out. Maybe you didn't know him well. That day he took the dragon of your cousin's mother who had passed, mocking them after doing so. After that day, any love you had for him was buried deep in you. Or so you thought.

“We’re almost here.” you snapped back from your thoughts as you got shaken from them by your nephew, Jacaerys.

“Good, my back hurts from the ride. I don’t know why she wouldn’t just let us ride our dragons to King’s Landing” you say while stretching out your back

It had been years since you had last visited King’s Landing. Most of your time had been spent on Dragonstone. You preferred the warmth and populace of the city but you would rather die than spend a second alone with the Hightower's.

You went to your chambers that you used when you were younger. Nothing much had changed in it, everything remained untouched. Opposed to the rest of the Red Keep where everything had been renovated in preference to heraldry of the Faith instead of the Targaryen tapestries and decorations. Must’ve been the Queen’s doing, you think to yourself. She was a fanatic of the Faith, after all. 

“Your grace, you will be expected to meet for supper later in the day.” 

“Thank you, Lelia. I will take a walk for now. You and Roslin may rest after unpacking everything.”

The first place you wanted to visit was the library where you had spent much of your childhood. You took a stroll to where it was located, many nobles passing by. You never liked the pleasantries of court life. Another reason for you leaving the Red Keep.

Finally, you reach the library. No one seemed to be here but that was common. Even as a child, this place was never one to be too lively. Aside from you, Aemond, and a few nobles coming here, no one else bothered. You liked the peace and quiet of it. It was a place to wind down after spending the day in court. You make your way over to the Valyrian Histories section, you probably read every book in here. Your interest in Old Valyria was probably one of the things you had inherited from your father. He was always building his sculptures of it from what you remember.

“Ēza issare iā dorolvie jēdri, mandia.” (It has been a few years, sister.) says a voice that you seem to recognize. Though it sounds much older and mature, the tone is the same nonetheless.

You notice him leaning on one of the shelves. He had grown comely these last years even after the loss of his eye. He was much taller too, no longer the boy you remember growing up with.

“It has. What brings you here? I thought you would’ve been busy practicing your swordsmanship.” you bring your attention back to the books, looking through the different titles and trying to find one you haven’t read before.

“I get tired of it” he trails off before continuing again, “and plus, nyke jeldan naejot ūndegon ao.” (I wanted to see you)

“I didn’t think you would’ve missed me so much, jorrāelagon lēkia. (dear brother) If I remember correctly, last time we were together, you had called me a lowly bastard.” you weren’t bothered by that comment that he had made all those years ago but if it made him feel worse then it would be all the more fun to resurface it.

You notice him out of the corner of your eye walking towards you but continue browsing the books before you feel his hand on your lower back. He seemed to be holding a book in his other hand, it had something written in High Valyrian but you couldn’t decipher as it was cut off by his leg. You straighten your back from your position, taking a look into his face. He was truly handsome, even the scar couldn’t take that away from him. You think it added to his beauty.

He hums before speaking, “I thought you would like this, I know you’re fond of Valyrian history, jorrāelagon lēkia. (dear sister) he says the last words in a mocking tone, imitating your own.

He extends his hand, revealing the book to you. Se jorrāelagon hen Meleys (The love of Meleys), it was the tale of the Valyrian goddess of love and fertility, Meleys. The same name given to the Red Queen. You were always a fan of the mythologies and tales of Valyrian gods. He would’ve known it better than anyone.

You reach out and try taking the book from him but he clutches it closer to him, “Shouldn’t I get some words of kindness and love before giving such a gift that took me ages to find?” he says teasingly while lowering his head to face yours, bringing the both of you face to face.

“Thank you so much.”

“Tsk tsk, that won’t do, my Viserra. Say it with more affection, now.”

My Viserra. You felt your face heat up at those words, the way he said it made you flutter. The years that passed had made his voice sound much more manly than boyish. It was as if it was laced with honey and ale.

You lean in closer, your lips almost hovering over his own, “I am very thankful for the great effort you went through. Is there anything you would like in return?”

“Hmm, maybe if you read the book with me. You know I have a love for the histories as much as you do.”

“Fine, can I have the book now?”

“Of course, my Viserra. You know I would never deny you of anything.”

You control yourself from not rolling your eyes at his comment. Was he always such a tease or had he developed this habit in the years you were gone? Who knows.

You grab the book from him before walking to the exit of the library, “I look forward to reading the book, thank you.”

You wonder back to your quarters, your maids weren’t in the room and your things were unpacked so you assumed they were in the kitchens. You called out to the guards, requesting that they come to prepare you for the supper as it was getting closer to nighttime. You weren't too fond of the idea of seeing your stepmother and other brother but you complied for the sake of your father whom you had missed these past years.

[heliads]

can you make a nikolai lantsov x reader?? i've been thinking about one where reader was one of sturmhond's crew as a tidemaker and they were together for a long time, but when nikolai became king, the two separated because royalty had done too much harm to r family and she didn't want to become one of them (besides her being Grisha). maybe after RoW they finally talk and get back together??

yesss pirate!reader x nikolai my beloved

masterlist

If Nikolai Lantsov were to regret anything in his life, anything at all, it would be how he handled her. It’s not that he regrets her, he wants to make that clear. He couldn’t if he tried, and Nikolai has tried many times to get over her, to find some flaw out of an improbability of perfection so he might not feel as achingly heartbroken as he always does.

But when Nikolai lies awake at night, unable to sleep despite a gilded bedroom and dozens of lush pillows and luxurious blankets, the worries troubling his mind are not of a country to run, nor the endless cycles of politics constantly reinventing new problems to crush his world beneath his boot. No, he thinks of one woman. He thinks of you.

Before Nikolai was the latest Lantsov king, before he was a homeward bound prince, he was a boy, and a boy who wanted to run. A much younger Nikolai in body and spirit had signed onto a pirate ship the second his guards turned their backs. It was a terrible decision for a golden prince to make, but the best choice for the bastard who never wanted to see another silver spoon again unless he was stealing it.

When Nikolai was a young man, he determined that he would be the captain of a ship, and a captain always needs a crew he can depend on to carry him through thick and thin. Nikolai sailed to countless foreign shores, finding friends and enemies in oceans sapphire and stormy, cerulean and calm. He wore dashing waistcoats and ruined them with the blood of slashed throats. He blockaded and benefitted small towns with equal joy.

And, most importantly of all, Nikolai found his first mate. It is a difficult thing, of course, choosing someone who could be your successor. If he picked someone a little too captivating, he ran the risk that they could depose him in a mutiny. If he gave that spot to someone the crew hated, though, his leadership would be undermined all the same.

He was just starting to think it would be impossible to find the right sort of figure, and then this young woman he’d never met before had simply walked up and asked for it. Technically, it wasn’t such an easy meeting as that. She had actually stolen one of the rowboats off of his ship while it was tied to their ship in the harbor with her abilities as a Tidemaker, then used the water to ferry her over to him.

From anyone else, Sturmhond would consider that a punishable offense. However, the privateer in him was also a politician, and one used to fronts and facades at that. Nikolai looked at the woman in front of him and realized that she wasn’t looking to use him as an avenue for a coup to captainship. She’d done her research and figured out that he was the best captain to serve under, and was simply ensuring that she made a good impression.

There is nothing Nikolai can appreciate like a fine display of showmanship, so he’d accepted her acceptance of his non-offer and told her to move her belongings into the first mate’s cabin that night. The crew woke up to a new member, and they took to her as readily as Nikolai himself.

After that, it was easy. Nikolai skimmed over frothy waves and he had someone by his side, a proper companion. He has liked his crew heartily all this time, but Y/N– he likes Y/N even more. Saints, he loves her. It takes him a while to realize that, but he does. Once that knowledge is common to him, the fact that he could have felt anything else is nothing short of absurd.

He’d given her his name a long time ago. Part of it, at least. They’d been on night guard together one shadowy twilight and she’d begged him for some sort of name she could use. Sturmhond, although great for inspiring fear and leadership as he saw fit, wasn’t personal enough for a friend, and Captain was too formal. Nikolai had witnessed many years of his father forcing everyone to refer to him as the king and nothing more. Never will he force a title on anyone.

So he’d said Nik, she could call him Nik, and that was more than good enough. It feels like cheating, a little, to have her bypass his real name and go straight to the familiar nickname. If anyone could do it, though, it would be her. Captains aren’t supposed to have favorites among their crew, but this is Y/N, and he loves her, so she calls him Nik, and he– he lets it happen.

All this truth, this love, and he never told her who he was. Not by choice. How could he? Y/N hated the monarchy, and so did he. The elder Lantsovs did not treat Grisha kindly, only tolerating them in the confines of the Little Palace. There was nothing Nikolai could do to protect them, to protect her, half as well in Os Alta as he could as Sturmhond, so he kept it a secret.

You could call that selfishness. You would be correct in doing so. Nikolai did not tell Y/N he was a prince because he was terrified of how she would push him away. In the end, there was nothing he could do to avoid that. The Darkling called on his help in capturing Alina Starkov, and Nikolai revealed that last ace in his sleeve the night before he was to dock in Ravka and personally escort the Sun Saint and her friends back to Os Alta.

He will never forget how Y/N had looked at him when she finally learned what he was, not as long as he shall live. He had asked her to come to his office, to lock the door so no one could hear. Y/N has been host to a great many of his secrets, good and bad and terrible, so she thought she could handle just one more.

She was wrong. Nikolai stood before her, and said, “I am the son of the king.”

She’d laughed, actually, but that had dried up when she realized he wasn’t joking. “No. You can’t be serious. All this time we’ve been out here, and you haven’t told me? You would have told me.”

Her eyes were desperate, pleading. Y/N L/N is one of the finest pirates Nikolai ever had the pleasure of meeting. He’s seen her go into no-luck gunfights with a grin on her face, and now she looks like all of her luck has finally run out. How awful, that he would be the one to finally crush her spirit underfoot.

“I knew you wouldn’t like it,” he tries to explain.

Y/N shakes her head. “No. I don’t like it when Tolya borrows my knives to slice fruit. I don’t like it when we stay in small towns too long. Nik, it’s not that I don’t like it that you’re a royal. It’s that you’ve betrayed me. You know how the Lantsov kings have treated Grisha, how they’ve treated anyone who isn’t an elite.”

It occurs to Nikolai that this might be how he loses her, in truth. “Y/N, please. We can change everything. Why do you think I came out here in the first place? I want to help Ravka. I want to help my people. Just come with me. We can do it together.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “No. I don’t want to be one of them.”

Not like he is, at least. Nikolai is endlessly, ineffably them, but she doesn’t have to be. She’s safe from them. From him. “Y/N. I love you, and I want you with me. Please, come to Os Alta with me.”

She turns to him abruptly, eyes violent. “No. That’s final, Nik.”

Ah. So it ends. And so Nikolai had gone to bed alone, heart a bitter mess of hurt, and he had disembarked from his ship with Alina and Mal and the rest. He had taken them to Os Alta, he had reclaimed his position on the throne, and all the while, he knew that he would never want anything in the world half as strongly as he just wanted her. 

It’s funny, isn’t it? Nikolai is a king now, and despite all his reach and power, the one thing he desires most will never be in his grasp again. She will always be the sea’s, and, as of late, that means she will never be Nikolai’s. Nikolai is chained to the crown; he will never leave it, he can never leave it. Y/N will be out there on the storm-tossed waves forever, as wild as the night he met her, and that will cause him grief until the day that he dies.

Nikolai grows up and it gets no better. He watches friends lose themselves to war and misery. He wears the crown upon his head, and then, surrounded by the clamoring voices of those who wanted him gone, he relinquishes it. Nikolai had tried to do his best while he was in office, but, walking back from the meeting with a strangely light feeling upon his head and shoulders where a great burden no longer rests, he wonders if it had ever been enough.

No one can ever be enough for Ravka. This he has known since he was a child. He had tried, though. The trying should at least get him somewhere. Nikolai passes blind laps around the Great Palace, attempting to remember every garden and room before he leaves it. He’ll have to pack his bags at some point, move out and find somewhere else to call a home after so many years in this one place.

Zoya has already offered for him to stay here, albeit in a different room. He’s a valuable advisor thanks to all his years on the throne, and he’s still as good a diplomat as ever. Nikolai will probably take her up on it; he wants to help Ravka, and this seems like the best way to do it.

About a week later, Zoya knocks on the door of his new rooms before letting herself inside when he invites her in. She’s taking to her new royal title very well, even if this seems to include her stealing his tea far more times than is strictly proper. 

This time, though, she isn’t here to stop and talk. Instead, Zoya hovers hesitantly at his door, and says, “There’s someone here to see you.”

Nikolai arches a brow. “I didn’t realize relinquishing my crown meant I got to have the Dragon Queen herself here to announce my visitors. Will you do this every time?”

Zoya laughs sarcastically, but her voice is still stilted when she adds on, “Just this time. She says she knows you. She was on your crew. First mate.”

Nikolai swears his heart stops in his chest. This is– no, it couldn’t be. He told Zoya about Y/N a long time ago. She’d asked why he hadn’t been more invested in finding a suitor and he’d admitted that he was pushing it off for as long as possible, knowing he couldn’t love unless it was her.

He nods a little frantically. “Alright. Where is she?”

“Here,” says a voice behind Zoya, and then the queen of Ravka is disappearing back down the hall and Nikolai is alone in a room with someone else and– and it’s Y/N, Y/N after so long, and he doesn’t really know how to think straight, let alone say anything at all.

She pauses over the threshold before finally going inside and shutting the door behind you. “I suppose I should be glad you’re speechless. Shows you still care, at least.”

“Of course I do,” Nikolai chokes out. “But– you do too? You’re here.”

She inclines her head, taking a seat on the chair opposite him. “I came as soon as I heard that you would no longer be king. I thought it would be hard. To lose this one last thing from your family.”

Nikolai frowns. “You hate my family.”

“I don’t hate you,” she says simply, “and even if they treated you harshly, they were still your blood. That means more than any of us want to admit, I think.”

Nikolai sighs. “You’ve always been the wise one, Y/N.”

She smiles at that. “Isn’t that why you hired me, Nik?”

The nickname again. His heart contracts painfully in his chest. “I should have told you,” he blurts out. “I should have told you everything.”

“I knew a lot,” she replies, “Enough to love you. I’m glad for every moment. There would have been fewer if you had told me sooner.”

Nikolai grimaces at the truth in that. “So you’re alright with me being a Lantsov now?”

She furrows her brow. “I heard some whispers that you aren’t entirely a Lantsov at all.”

He can’t really argue with that. “Who am I, then?”

“You’re Nik,” she tells him, “My Nik. My captain. And yes, my king, even if you’ve given over the throne. I always kept track of what you were doing during your reign. I was always proud of you.”

A bright burst of pride flares in his chest. “What do you advise I do now, if my reign is over?”

She stands, extends a hand to him. “We could always go back to a good time. The sea only gets bigger.”

Nikolai looks up at her, and he thinks– this is what he’s missed. Nikolai makes a fine king, but he has always missed adventure. He’ll have that now. And, when they both get old and tired, they can come back here, and continue making policies now that they’ve lived the lives of both the rich and the outlaw. It sounds wonderful to Nikolai.

He takes her hand. “Shall we go, then?”

She smiles. Radiant. He loves her just as much as he did at the start. “I think we shall.”

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @budugu, @aoi-targaryen

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[katshuya]

If Elia and lyanna's positions were reversed

If Rhaegar left his willful, tomboyish, and not like other girl wife for assumingly more feminine, Elia, would the reaction be the same?

Would R x L shippers say it's not their fault and we shouldn't blame R or E because R's marriage was forced to Lyanna?

That we just hate Elia being a girl who chooses who she wants to be with?

Or was it going to be a man who can't bear a woman being independent and strong and feeling challenged because Lyanna has a strong personality?

Would they say that Lyanna wouldn't mind as long as her child is heir and she gets to be queen and get rid of her jerk husband? or would it be humiliating for her?

Or maybe they would say Lyanna wouldn't mind because she is Brandon's sister as Elia is Oberyn's sister, and she is too independent her rough northern self doesn't care if her husband left her ? since she absolutely doesn't love him and because complicated relationships mean zero attraction/love and zero attempts to love each other

Would they say that it is alright because Rhaegar and Elia can be together? or are they going to blame Elia's Dornish nature for thinking she can be with a married man because she sees nothing is wrong with having bastards nor being with a married man? Are they not going to slut shame Elia?

Would they blame Lyanna's impulsive and more tough self for Rhaegar leaving her? like how it's justified that since Elia isn't as fiery or healthy as Lyanna for Rhaegar to leave her? or would they blame Elia for seducing Rhaegar with her more feminine and more allegedly submissive AND her seductive Dornish nature?

Would they write fanfiction about how Rhaegar prefers more feminine delicate desert flower than willful impulsive winter rose like how they do with Elia? Or maybe in their fanfictions, Elia's thrones would represent the stings she caused for Lyanna?

Would they accept the North not being angry and hateful with the Targaryens like how the Dornish shouldn't because the Dornish understand true love and don't mind mistresses or second wives at all in all scenarios?

Would people think Elia was kidnapped and raped? or are they going to be sure that it was consensual since Elia was adult and the sterotypical seductive Dornish, who doesn't mind mistresses and taking married man as lover?

Would they be it's fine because True Love! ? Or would they be furious for Lyanna because she helped and gave Rhaegar everything only to end up overshadowed by Elia?

Would they accept it if George's made it thay Lyanna was fine with Rhaegar having Elia because Lyanna was forced to marry Rhaegar and she and him have a very understanding paltonic love to the point Lyanna care not for her dignity nor all that she gave because she only cares for her child to be king and herself to be queen? Maybe Arthur Dayne, the knight who took his vows seriously, would break them to be Lyanna's lover in this scenario, so everything is ok?

Would they doubt that Rhaella ever cared deeply for Lyanna and Ashara was actully never close to her and just one of many handmaidens, as they do with Elia? Would they say it is because Lyanna is so minor and just a plot device for the North to hate the Lannisters, like how they did this with Elia and Dorne?

Or perhaps Lyanna would be fine because she wants Elia too?

Would the fandom be as apologic with Elia as they are with Lyanna in case she eloped willingly and say that she was totally faultless? and shouldn't be held accountable because of "girl's girl" and "don't put woman against woman," so no accountability? Or that Elia was manipulated by Rhaegar?

And Rhaegar, would the fandom see him as blameless/not that guilty as they see him when he left Elia? Would they also sympathize with the melancholic prince and say: let the poor man have a break and be with his true love! ?

is it a work of art and star-crossed lovers between Rhaegar and Elia in their eyes now? And as someone said, a progressiveness?

Or Would they criticize George for doing this to the cool willful not like other girls Lyanna?

Anyone associated with polygamous culture knows how unrealistic it is for Elia to accept a second wife without being upset about it and has no other choice. And we all know that most will not just be unbothered by it. Women in polygamous/polymorous culture do/would not simply accept it, and when they do, they aren't happy and ok with it. We are humans, and the Dornish are humans, too.

That's just in George's head.

[starkskeep]

And the life I gave away (r. stark)

And the life I gave away r. stark imagine

Pt. 4 of Oh, all I used to do was pray, Right when I felt the moment stop, And I might be okay, but I'm not fine at all

Pairings - Robb Stark x female!Reader

Summary - A letter from your father spurs Robb to take action to become a better husband.

Word Count - 1,551 words

Warnings - Angst, Walder Frey's A+ parenting

Songs I listened to while writing: Midnight Rain, All Too Well (Taylor Swift), Moral of the Story (Ashe), We Go Down Together (Dove Cameron & Khalid)

The days following are long for you. You stay in your chambers and refuse entry to anyone but the maids. You eat only broth and bread, unable to stomach anything else. Despite the child being a bastard. Part of it is worry. News has no doubt already reached your father of the events at Winterfell and it deepens the pit of dread thinking of the letter that will no doubt arrive from the Twins. However, you do not allow your grief to disrupt Winterfell the birth of their lord’s child. Robb is a good person who would not allow his child to be ill-treated and you would never hold the circumstances of a child’s birth against them, especially a little girl. The world is already cruel enough to women even without their status being held against them. 

The days are equally long for Robb. From the moment he left your chambers to see Talisa and his child, he had wanted nothing more than to return to you, wrap his arms around you, and tell you that he was sorry for everything you have endured since leaving your father’s household. But he knew he wouldn’t be accepted. The pain was something that you two would have to take separately. The king of the north hoped that by some miracle of the gods you would call for him, but you never did.

You were alone in the Godswood reading the letter that had finally come from your father. It’s the first time that you have ventured out of your chambers in weeks. 

To my worthless daughter,

How stupid do you have to be not be pregnant yet? There must be something wrong with you. Instead, I should have given one of your sisters or nieces to the Stark boy. They would have likely been impregnated already. It’s not that hard to lay on your back and take it. It is your duty and you have failed. It’s evident by the existence of a bastard that he has no issue producing children and the problem lies with you. You are a disgrace to the Frey name. If you don’t produce an heir for Robb Stark soon, I will have you dragged away from Winterfell and you will be replaced with another one of my other girls. This is not a threat to be taken lightly.

Remember your duty.

Lord Walder Frey

You sob as you read the letter. Your tears end up smudging some of your father’s words. No mention of your injury or how you almost lost your life. The letter only contains threats and reminders of your failures. You don’t know why you expected anything else from Walder Frey. It’s not like the man ever acted as a father. But still, you would have thought there would have been at least the tiniest bit of concern that he almost lost you. 

It is this scene that Sansa comes upon when she enters the Godswood. She stops in her tracks when she sees you: first surprised that you are out of your rooms and then startled that you are crying. She walks over to where you are and read the letter as best as she can from over your shoulder. Sansa’s expression oscillates between worry and outrage. There is nothing she can say to you that she believes would alleviate your pain so she instead chooses to sink to the ground beside you and rubs your arm in comfort. “Can I do anything for you?” Your good sister asks and the words come from the bottom of her heart. The letter was cruel and undeserved. Sansa truly wants to help you, to make your pain go away.

You hastily wipe your tears as Sansa sat beside you, standing up after her question as if it scared you off. “N…n…no. I’m sorry that you had to see me in this state. If you would excuse me, I must be off.” You rush out of the Godswood.

In your haste, you had dropped your letter. Sansa notices it in the grass and walks over to pick it up. She knows that she needs to let someone know how Walder Frey is writing to you. Even though you are his daughter, you are now the Queen of the North and you require respect from everyone. Not wanting to disturb Robb and not believing him to be the best person to handle this, Sansa decides to show it to her mother. Lady Catelyn will know what to do.

Catelyn looks down at the letter that Sansa had brought to her. An expression of disgusted disbelief spreads across her face as she reads it. What a cruel, cruel man Walder Frey is. When for him, this is shocking. She could never imagine her late father sending a letter such as this at the beginning of her marriage to Ned. Catelyn shakes her head and purses her lips, letting out a deep breath in an effort to calm herself and organize her thoughts. Something needs to be done about this. It is despicable and she refuses to let you be subjected to this kind of vitriol. Robb must be told about this. He is the only one with enough power to take action. No one deserves to be treated as such, especially someone such as yourself.

Robb stares down at the letter that his mother had just brought to him. He is livid. This is the very last straw for Walder Frey. The man shall truly become his name, the Late Lord Frey. 

The king’s anger only grows as he reads line after line. “Did he truly say this to her?” He asks incredulously as he shakes the letter in his hand. “How dare he!” The rage building in him is undeniable and hard to contain. He clenches his fist and when he finally looks back up, there is fire behind his gaze.

Catelyn speaks to Robb, rubbing his back the way she had done when he was a boy in an attempt to calm him down. “My dear boy. You need to go speak to your wife about this. This is her letter, from her father, with these vile words written about her.”

He looks down at the letter again, making sure that he saw everything correctly; that this letter is as disgusting as when he read it the first time. When Robb is finished rereading it, his face shifts from anger to contempt. The words stab at his heart. “How could someone say as much to their daughter? To someone with a heart as kind as my wife’s? She sacrificed her safety for Arya and Rickon without expecting anything in return even after the way this family initially rejected her presence at Winterfell. She is the best of us and to have these words written about her should be met with removing the writer’s hands.”

“While I detest Walder Frey even more for writing this and vehemently disagree with most of the letter’s claim, there is some truth to his claims. Not the threats about y/n being worthless, which is very much not true, but about you and her not having a child together yet. A woman’s position in the household she marries into is only secure so long as she provides her husband with children. Even more so when those children shall be the heirs to a kingdom. As much as I love my new granddaughter, the birth of your natural-born child has put your wife at great risk. People will begin to speculate whether or not she is able to bear children when in reality, it is the fact that you do not lay with her.”

Robb’s heart begins to race. Not only is it embarrassing to hear his mother talk about his relations with his wife, but the guilt that has already been building since your accident worsens. The facts behind Walder Frey’s letter were true but to say what he said to you was monstrous. He would not let anyone talk about or to his wife like that. 

“That doesn’t excuse the cruelty of the letter. This is disgusting.” Robb grits out as he throws the letter down on his desk. He really wants to throw it in the fireplace until it becomes nothing but ash yet he decides to keep it should he ever need evidence against your father. Catelyn watches as Robb storms out of his study.

Meanwhile, you are back in your chambers. Sitting in front of the fireplace, Jon has his arms around you as you sob. He pulls away slightly in order to procure a handkerchief for you. After wiping away your tears, Jon pulls you closer to him. He places a kiss on the top of your head and smoothes your hair. 

You choke back tears as you speak. “Jon. I can’t find the letter that my father wrote me. The contents are mortifying. I can’t bear the thought of someone finding it. Will you check the Godswood for me? That was the last place I remember having my letter. It’s where I read it. 

“Of course. I would do anything you ask of me.” Jon replies to you sincerely. Neither of you has noticed that Robb has entered your chambers. 

Next Part

[sugarprincessbitch]

Yandere Ramsay Bolton x Half-Sister! Reader

Warning ⚠️ Incest/R*pe

You are the second child of Roose Bolton and Bethany Ryswell, The little sister of Domeric.

The relationship between you and your brother is a close one, with your mother too because of you being her only girl and also your passive nature was a great company for her sweet one.

Your father was absent through out your childhood, him believing that your mother and the septas were enough to raise you didn't help with the situation.

He paid more attention to your brother because of him being the heir and all, but beside of that, he wasn't very affectionate with him too.

The two of you met during one of Domeric's visits to his mother will mill, it took a lot of convincing from your brother to take you there to visit your suppose "bastard brother", you weren't very fond of the idea of going against your father back, you were very scared of him.

When Ramsay first saw you he didn't felt resentment or was annoyed by you, like he surely felt about your brother. No, he was mesmerized by you, and curious about the beautiful girl that Domeric claims to be his new sister.

In the other hand, Ramsay deeply disturbed you. The way he look at you with those colorless eyes appear hungry with something at the time you didn't know.

As the days passed and the visits became more frequent (you weren't always present in all visits, you couldn't be always there because of your embroidery classes with the septa), the looks turn into physical advances, like invading your personal space.

Also, Ramsay would touch you when your brother wasn't looking, you didn't stop him at first believing they were innocent and without malicious intentions.

When your father found about where you were going with your brother he strongly reprimanded the two of you, specially you, because a lady from a noble house doesn't do such things.

Knowing that his son would continue to visit Ramsay anyway he couldn't stop him, but instead prohibited him to take you with him. From that day on you didn't visit Ramsay anymore.

Each passing day you were not there to visit him, he grew more and more annoyed. The explanation from his brother about your whereabouts didn't calm him down a bit, instead he become angry.

He wanted to be with you, not with the pitiful thing you call your brother. That's was the reason to pressure Domeric in taking him to the castle, in were he could pester you all day long as he pleases.

In the weeks your brother brought him against your mother and father pleadings, he died from an "illness", but everyone knew Ramsay poison him out of jealousy.

Destroy by your brother and mother sudden passing (she took her life out of grief days after Domeric died) you found solace in Ramsay, for his gratification.

He was the only one that open his arms for you instead of ignoring you like your father did. That is were he became more and more possessive with you, isolating you from everyone, specially any man that wasn't him (if one of them were that stupid to come near you, the next day a new body was found unrecognizable near the forest).

Everything became worse when he was legitimized by the king. That is when his touches became more than the affection a brother and sister show.

Scared by his threats of what he would do to you if you denied him, you let him kiss you and touch your chest or back as he pleases against your modesty as a lady.

One night he entered your chambers and tried to force you into something more, alarmed you forced your way out and ran to your father's study. He slap you after hearing your accusations, telling you to never say such things to anyone.

That same night was the one where your life as you knew ended, Ramsay rape you as a form of punishment of conspiring against him and told you that he was going to take great care of the bastard he will put in your belly.

Months after, your father was killed by him. Now everything was his, even you, no one could stop to get what he wanted.

For his joy, the baby you had with him was a boy, your little Claude.

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twenty-Five

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I'm in my George R. R. Martin era, besties. He told me it's okay to take my time with my writing and not force myself. I mean, who am I to say no to the king himself? As always, thank you for reading!

Chapter Warnings: Violence, non-consensual knifeplay aka stabbing, we don't know how to cope here we have Daemon Targaryen as a father.

"Her hands do violence, but there is a different dream in her heart." - Dishonored.

The Red Keep was in upheaval. Maids hurriedly carried baskets of clothing throughout the halls, servants checked over their shoulders at every turn, and every entrance and exit was guarded with at least two Gold Cloaks. A curfew was set in place by order of the Hand. No one was to roam through the Keep past sunset unless necessary.

There were no more unaccompanied excursions to the training yard, and if Arryk hadn't been overbearing before, he was practically an extension of you now. Everywhere you went, whether to the library or the Godswood, Ser Arryk was always five paces away. He was almost breathing down your neck at every turn, hand on the pommel of his sword, ready for the unseen threat.

You did suppose it was your fault, having murdered a member of the City Watch, but it was still rather annoying. You understood, of course, why there was a need to be up in arms about it, and you couldn't blame them for it. There was a murderer in their midst, and if they could best a trained killer, a man hardened with battle, what would they do to a defenseless Lord or Lady?

No one suspected you. Of course, they wouldn't. You were just one of the many bastards of Daemon Targaryen who had the sheer luck of becoming legitimized. You were only mindless court gossip, an object for men and women to gab over, not a human being. And while you did resent the fact, it worked in your favor.

"Who do you think could've done it?" Fiora asked Jeyne as she washed your scalp. "They said it was violent, that his head was severed from his body!"

Jeyne rolled her eyes, using a bristled brush to scrub at your nails. "Do not believe such rumors, Fiora. You're just as gullible as the lot of them," the older woman dismissed, gesturing her head.

"But Jeyne, Lottie told me herself! She was the one who discovered his body; the Mother rest his soul." The younger maidservant silently prayed as she brought a curved finger to her lips, looking up to the stone ceiling.

"How did a servant discover his corpse?" you questioned with your eyes closed, body adjusting within the warm water of the bath.

"Well, you see," Fiora started, suddenly stopping her ministrations, "Ser Lorgan was known as... umm... oh, what do you call it?" You glanced over at Jeyne with a brow raised. "He... Well... Ser Lorgan Sunderly had many friends. Many."

"Oh, Gods Fiora," Jeyne blurted exasperated, rolling her eyes. "He was a harlot. He had rotations of women in his bed, only to leave them wanting and waiting in the morn. It seems only fitting that he should be discovered by one."

You frowned, though it was not one of sadness but more of a believing surprise. Judging by how easy Ser Lorgan was as you led him to bed, it made sense. As you spoke, you relaxed into the tub, shutting your lids again. "Do you think it was one of his companions? Scorned by his lack of care and repertoire of lovers?"

Jeyne snorted, placing your hand into the water as she started on the other. "That seems likely, but have done it with such," she paused, staring at the furthest wall of your chambers as she thought of the correct word, "malice. But that tends to happen when one has been slighted, no matter how insignificant it seems to another."

You nodded with her sentences as Fiora rinsed the soap from your ebony strands, massaging rose oil into it once done. As the two women assisted you in leaving the bath, wrapping a thick cotton towel around your body, a knock sounded, leaving the three of you puzzled and slightly inconvenienced. You gestured to the maids to bring the bamboo partition over to your dressing vanity so they could continue their nightly routine.

"Enter," you called from behind the intricate paneling. The artisans nailed a cream-colored canvas tarp into the wood to protect your modesty, leaving you and the others outside to see dark shadows.

"Princess," you could see the figure bowing, still keeping formalities despite the informal presence. "I beg your pardon. I am here to do my nightly rounds before rest."

You hummed, Fiora gently rubbing your hair with the towel. It weighed heavily on your scalp when wet, and you gave the servant a grateful smile to have the weight taken off your neck.

"Ser Arryk, I should have known it was you. Who else would knock at my chambers at an inconvenient hour?" Jeyne rubbed the lavender oil you loved onto your skin, mixing a few drops of clary sage to help calm your nerves before sleep.

"Forgive me, Princess, but your wellbeing is my utmost priority," he replied smoothly, not thinking of the implications his words could mean.

Huffing a laugh, you raised your arms into your porcelain nightgown, the sleeves short for the late summer heat, ending just below your ankles.

"Your priority or the Crown's? Is it not you who pledged to obey the King's commands, to keep his secrets, to counsel him when requested, and to keep silent when not, to defend his name and honor?" You grinned as you recited the oath the seven members of the Kingsguard took in a mocking tone, Fiora running a comb through your damp hair at the vanity.

"Yes, Princess, but-"

"It seems near treasonous for my wellbeing to be your priority," you interrupted with a condescending tone. "Was it the King who assigned you as my shield?"

"No, Your Grace. It was the Hand." Arryk's voice lowered an octave, causing you to feel slight remorse.

"Then, why do you serve me so steadfastly? Should you not be guarding your King in these perilous times? There's a murderer on the lose, ser."

"The Hand's word is the King's," the knight countered, an odd occurrence for the obedient man.

You hummed again in response as you rose from your dressing vanity, your hair still damp and smelling faintly of flowers. You revealed yourself from behind the partition, hands clasped behind your back and chin held high.

"So it would seem," you replied lowly, stopping your movements a step away from the kingsguardmen. Arryk's eyes quickly flickered downwards before snapping to the wall behind you. "By all means, Ser Arryk, survey my chambers to ensure the killer is not hidden between my dresses."

You gestured to the space around you as you sat at the head of your bed, back resting against your pillows with your legs crossed. The knight made his rounds, looking inside your wardrobe, curtains, a trunk at the end far corner of your room filled with winter dresses, ridding leathers, and a quilt Ma sewed for you for your last nameday. You watched with an unimpressed smirk, your brows raised as he stood straight like a rod announcing his task was complete.

"Aren't you forgetting something, ser?" Arryk gazed at you, puzzled, his shoulder-length hair tied back at the base of his neck. "Why, Ser Arryk, you forgot the most obvious spot underneath my bed! Don't you want to keep me safe? As you said, there is a murderer within the castle," you teased mischievously, a toothy grin rounding your cheeks.

He begrudgingly followed your orders, ever the dutiful knight, though they were a jest. The Kingsguard's armor clanked as he kneeled at the side of your bed, using a gloved hand to balance himself on the mattress as he searched the area. As you suspected, there was no one hidden within the shadows of your room, and when Ser Arryk deemed all was safe, he rose and was met with the sight of you on your haunches, a playful expression on your face.

Once again, his eyes flickered downwards and then to the wall behind you. Your lips fell into a thin line, annoyed with his avoidance as you caught him looking again. You lowered your gaze as your skin blanched, swiftly cowering the prominent outline of your nipples, the textured skin around them peeking through the white fabric.

"You may go, Ser Cargyll," you declared hurriedly, pivoting on your knees as you hid underneath your sheets. "Why did you not tell me you could practically see my breasts beneath this gown?" You exclaimed at your maids, the two ladies staring after the door.

Fiora couldn't contain her giggles, covering her freckled cheeks as Jeyne barely withheld a smile. "We thought you knew," the older woman answered.

You groaned, rolling over in bed and shoving your face into your goose feather pillows. "You're wicked. Both of you! Leave me here to rethink of this at the last moment before I fall asleep."

They both chuckled, curtsying with their red woolen dresses before exiting and leaving you to wallow in shame and self-loathing.

***

A light rain drizzled outside the red rock walls of the Keep, a hazy grey mist blanketing all of Kings Landing. All the inhabitants, even the poor folk, hide indoors and underneath awnings, the humidity suffocating. Your daily luncheon with Helaena was eaten within her chambers instead of the typical garden surroundings, and you stared longingly out of the high-paned windows.

The rain had been perpetual for the past few days, never exceeding a delicate sprinkle. It seemed to be making up for the lack of thunderstorms that usually cracked the night sky during summer, and a part of you hoped that the Gods forsaken thing would pour and be done with it. You couldn't stand another hour trapped within the castle; it only served to remind you of your surroundings and the ache for Dragonstone.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera played a few steps away from you and the Princess's place at her dining table, a well-worn wooden dragon in one hand and a finely sewn stuffed doll in the other. The twins had grown so much in the past moons, each saying their first word within weeks of the other, and since then, they had a habit of imitating every sound they heard.

Helaena was delighted when her little Jaehaera mimicked a noise that sounded like "eat," though when she prompted her daughter to repeat it; it was the prefix elongated. Still, you smiled and matched her excited expression, trying to coax more words out of the tot. Jaehaerys followed a fortnight later, but it was a less joyful experience. The young boy was amid his infamous tantrums, screaming, "Up, up, up." The nursemaids were at a loss of what to do when he kept wailing in their arms.

You were unsure of how they concluded, but soon, you were brought into the nursery, having been the only person able to calm Jaehaerys down in the past, and it worked. Soon, the only sound out of the boy's mouth was "up," which sadly meant he wanted you and would scream and cry until he was in your arms. Being at someone's beck and call was irksome, but you couldn't deny the warm feeling and bright smile at being wanted.

Helaena's muttering threw you from your thoughts, her lilac eyes glassy as she stared at her children before her. Her fingers pressed against her thin, peony lips as if she were in a trance, feeling the soft muscles as they contorted.

"Beast beneath the boards... a fool's parsley... a sacrifice... peace reborn." The delicate words left her mouth in mumbles, straining your ears to fill in the missing gaps in her sentences.

Nothing made sense. It was all scattered pieces and fervent rambling, purple eyes flickering too fast for Helaena to genuinely see what was in front of her. You had seen her like this before, but it was many moons past, and some of you thought you might have made the two instances up since it had yet to happen since then.

She continued her words, her trance unbreakable as her son whacked his twin with his toy, causing the poor girl to burst into screaming tears, the nursemaids rushing to their sides. Jaehaerys soon began to cry like his sister, too young to understand that what he did was wrong and why his sister was crying.

"Helaena," you gently called, placing a timid but reassuring hand on her silken tan gown sleeve.

"Up! Up!" Jaehaerys began to wail, waddling over to your seat with his Mother. You delicately dismiss the boy, motioning to the nursemaid.

"Your Grace?" you repeated more forcefully, squeezing her forearm. "Princess, are you all right?"

Suddenly, in time with her son's sobs, Helaena's wide eyes met with your concerned ones, gripping your wrist with a strength you hadn't known she possessed.

"A sacrifice of blood; peace reborn in flames," she nearly shouted, causing you to flinch at the abrupt shift in her mood.

"Up!"

You turn to Jaehaerys, standing and scooping the upset child in your embrace as you tenderly stroke his soft silver hair, leaning his face into the crook of your neck. Helaena plugged her ears, moving away from the crying children as she stared at the tapestry of a viridian meadow, sheep, and lambs grazing on the tall grass, unblinking.

After a few moments, the twins finally calmed, the pain of poor Jaehaera's injury subsiding and her brother content in your arms. The poor maidservants looked exhausted after the situation, frizzy strands of hair peeking from their white caps as one placed a cool, damp cloth on the sniffling girl's afflicted area.

The Princess released a shaky breath, removing her thin fingers from her ears as she faced adequately in her chair, taking a sip of juice from her cup and eating a slice of the goat cheese she requested. You gave Jaehaerys to the unoccupied nursemaid, the boy releasing an unhappy coo as you stroked his plump cheek with the knuckle of your index before returning to your place at the dining table.

You both continued to eat in silence. The only sound was occasional sniffling from one of the two tots and your chewing. The atmosphere had never been uncomfortable with Helaena, even with the rare appearance of her Queen Mother, and you were unsure of what to do, your lip curling between your teeth.

"I am with child again," Helaena spoke, her announcement cutting through the quiet like the blade of Dark Sister. She placed her hand affectionately on her lower stomach, a small smile on her angelic visage.

Your heart stopped at the revelation, sucking in a sharp breath as your nose began to itch, a telltale sign of tears. You were at a loss for words, not immediately congratulating her as was expected. A maelstrom of emotions surged through you, all in conflict with each other. Of course, you were happy for Helaena; you knew how much she loved being a mother. How much joy she held even when her children overwhelmed her. You bristled at the notion that some women were meant to be mothers, an idea you felt reduced the woman to her offspring rather than her being with autonomy, but with the Princess, it did not seem to dwindle her humanity. It was simply a quality of her that made Helaena all the more endearing.

"My congratulations, Princess. I am certain you'll birth another healthy babe as before," you responded. Your words were precise and calculated, as if you were speaking to a Lord and not your closest friend.

You swallowed the feeling of anger and crushed the green claws of jealousy. Emotions you had no right to bear. Aegon was her husband by law and the divine. Their duty was to create as many heirs as possible, but the sheer rage burning within saw no reason. You felt scorned by Aegon. Betrayed. The whore Prince wasted no time stuffing his cock inside anything it would fit, and you felt foolish to think he would ever do anything else.

He never cared for you, as he claimed. You were just a plaything to use and discard whenever you were unwilling. Did he indeed mean what he said? That the years you spent tucked away at Dragonstone were agony for him, or was that some ploy to disarm you and make you pliant in his bed? Aegon was an intelligent man, but you did not think him cunning.

Perhaps you would accept Ser Dalton Greyjoy's proposal and have the realm descend into madness. You would have the Greyjoy's fleet, army, and the Houses who already pledged loyalty to your Mother. Aegon would be dead before the end of that year if he were ever to take the Iron Throne.

"Yes. I will be a mother once more," Helaena spoke, a slight blush on her porcelain skin. "You are my closest friend, sweet cousin," she began, becoming bashful. "I would like you to assist with my birth in the coming moons. I-I know it's not for quite some time, but it would ease me greatly if you did."

You inhaled a shuddering breath, your polite smile slightly faltering. The idea of witnessing a birth firsthand frightened you deeply. You knew of the complications that could happen during the process and after it and how painful it was. You often wondered why women were chosen for such an act. It was men who ruled the world. Why was it not them who dealt with the burden? Men were free to do as they wished, take as many mistresses as they pleased, and govern countries as they saw fit. Why did they not have to carry the burdens of life? Why must it fall on women?

"Of course, Princess," you answered, your tone clipped though it seemed lost on the dreamy-eyed girl. She smiled in thanks, her lithe fingers intertwining with yours.

"Soon you shall be married and you'll understand the joys of child bearing. You're already so good with Jaehaerys. Some might even think he's your own if they did not know better." You couldn't hide the involuntary downward twitch of your mouth, your gaze changing into that of a frightened doe as she spoke. "I've heard whispers of Lord Dalton Greyjoy considering a betrothal. I wouldn't want you so far from me and the children, but I know you will do your duty should it come to that."

Helaena, oblivious to your discomfort, continued about different Houses that would be worthy of your hand, absentmindedly stroking your knuckles with her thumb.

In the naivety of your younger years, you believed your bastard status would prevent Lords from seeking a marriage. You planned to stay with your family for the rest of your days, assisting in politics and courtly matters while Rhaenyra ruled the Seven Kingdoms. Your life as a spinster would be happy without worrying about dying in the birthing bed like your Mother. But as all things did, the Gods seemed to have different plans for you.

You cleared your throat of the lump that had formed during Helaena's conversation, tentatively patting the back of her hand as you made up some excuse of promising Ser Arryk that you'd meet him in the library after your luncheon. The Princess was downtrodden to see you go but understood nevertheless, placing quick kisses on the tops of the twin's heads.

You exited Helaena's chambers in a flurry of gold embroidered black skirts, your sworn shield struggling to match your pace. The thick air of the Keep made sweat instantly seep from your pores, your exposed skin becoming sticky and uncomfortable.

You couldn't take it. The tears you had kept at bay finally stung your eyes, blurring your vision as you furiously wiped them away. Even when Aegon wasn't near you, he still affected your life. He was like a disease, infecting your mind with his plague, making you unable to think clearly and feel things you had no control over. Aegon's rot festered inside you like mold, its inky black tendrils invading your heart until it was a cold, immovable stone.

"Your Grace, wait!" Arryk called, his heavy silver armor clanking with his hurried movements. "Your Grace, what," he paused, inhaling an exerted breath as he saw your tears, "what's wrong?"

The knight placed a comforting hand on your shoulder that you shoved away as if it burned. "Nothing, Ser Arryk. I simply tire of the soupy weather."

He stepped back, a mixture of shock and hurt gracing his features. You had never rejected his affections before, and Arryk was at a loss for how to proceed.

"Princess, what ails you?" he insisted.

You flashed an indignant look at the knight, grimacing. "What ails me is nothing of your concern, Ser Cargyll," you snapped, continuing your brisk pace to your rooms.

"But Princess-"

"No," you interrupted, turning to face him and clenching your fists with your teeth bared. "Tis nothing of your concern. You are my sworn shield, not my friend. It would do you well to remember that."

The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them, regret taking hold of you. Arryk's usual stiff posture slackened, his shoulders slightly slumping, mouth parted in shock, and blue eyes wide with hurt. You wanted to rescind the vile sentences, but it was too late, for they had already cut the man deeper than any sword.

Sighing, you buried your face in your palms, hoping to rub the sweat and shame away. There was no purpose in apologizing. If you did, you wouldn't know if Arryk truly accepted it. He would follow your orders mindlessly, forever upholding his duty to the royal family. You looked away from the kingsguardmen, taking a breath to speak, but closed your mouth instead, resigning to your fate.

"Once you escort me to my rooms, you are dismissed for the day," you expressed, your voice holding a hint of passivity as you gesture.

Arryk nodded curtly, his body resuming its normal posture as he followed behind wordlessly.

***

As Jeyne and Fiora braided the last few strands of your ebony hair, you played with one of your daggers, observing the flickering metal in the vanity mirror as you spun it with the tip of your finger. Your eyes reflected someone who was not yourself.

Once bright orbs that burst with a ring of purple were now dull and lackluster, with a thin veil of fog clouding their color. Blue half circles decorated your lower eyelids, your cheeks devoid of the typical pink glow they held. Your lips were red, splotches of white skin healing from where you had bitten them raw.

Was this a sudden change, or did the features of you slowly drain until there was nothing left but a husk of your joyful self? The image of Queen Alicent flashed in your mind's eye; the woman always shrouded in green and pain you could never put a name to. For a moment, you felt pity for the poor woman, forced to marry a man twice her senior when she was but a girl, producing heirs for the King before your Mother was married, moved to sacrifice her girlhood for the sake of the kingdom, her family, and duty.

You released the dagger from your finger, letting it clatter on the polished vanity as Fiora flicked rose water into your braided hair. You would not let yourself feel pity for the woman who stood idle when shown the death of two innocents. She deserved whatever harm befell her and whatever pain is to come, the green bitch.

"Will you leave the window open tonight, along with a water basin? The room is still quite stuffy from the day, and I'm afraid I'll grow hot throughout the night," you asked the two maids, who nodded in acquiescence, forever kind and dutiful.

You would never let trouble befall them. They were innocents like Lyra and Sara. They needn't know more difficulty than what was already their station. Fiora and Jeyne left with small bows, bidding you a peaceful night's rest and promising to bring some citrus tea in the morning.

You stared at the stone ceiling above, the dark oak rafters, and a crisscross of different beams connecting like trails on a map. No spiderwebs were spun in the corners of the wood like Ma's little house. Every minute detail was accounted for. There was no dust resting on any surface like the pillow house. No loud lecherous moans sounded through thin straw-packed walls or rhythmic banging that used to lull you to sleep.

You sometimes missed the groans and whines that accompanied Ma's establishment. On your first night alone in the Red Keep, you could barely find rest in the silence, not because of the anxiety of what lay ahead but because it was noiseless, bone-chillingly so. One could sneeze, and the entire castle would hear it. Now, you had grown accustomed to the quiet and were sure that if you spent a night in your old bed, you would not find sleep.

You needed to visit Madame soon. It felt like an era since the last time you spoke to her, and she most certainly felt that, too. Despite what people believed, she was an excellent maternal figure in your life. She did her best to teach you the ways of life at a young age, and perhaps she did too well at that, for you knew things no child should know at the fresh age of one and ten. You learned how to steal, sew, and cook by eight, and by ten, you could lure men faster to the brothel than any whore could. At the time, you were proud of it, proud to excel in a task someone you looked up to gave you, but you understood now why you were so good at it, the hairs on your arms standing.

Swallowing your thoughts, you rose from the bed, going to your wardrobe and securing a long robe across your body. You stared at the discarded dagger atop your dressing vanity, the curved blade engraved with the body of a dragon, its head emerging from the widest end. The black leather of the hilt felt comforting against your scorching skin, tracing the smooth scale pattern that separated the silver dragon head that consisted of the cross guard and pommel.

You couldn't recall where or who gave you the thing, most likely another gift from Daemon. If you didn't know any better, you swore that your Father believed you to be a boy with the Harvest, Maiden Day, Yule, and nameday gifts he gave you.

Grabbing your dagger's holster, you buckled it just below your knee, admiring the contrast it created against your skin before dropping the hem of your nightdress. You brushed your digits through your braided hair, releasing a breath.

The maids left a single candlestick in its holder lit on your dining table, letters strewn about the obsidian-colored wood. You stared at the most recent letter of Lord Greyjoy, stating there had been sightings of a dragon near the border of the Iron Isles, burning the small plots of fields of his bannermen, though nobody had seen the coloring of it to be sure of who it belonged to. You knew it couldn't be your Father. Daemon liked to make statements with the Blood Wyrm and would be sure to be seen. Your Mother would never do such a thing, and Jace and Luke had no reason to fly across the entire continent of Westeros to burn little Lordling fields.

Vhagar was a beast in the skies, so one would see her flying. Dreamfyre, Tessarion, and their accompanying riders would only venture so far and reek dragon fire on unsuspecting people. Aegon was the only one whom you needed clarification on. His dragon was not particularly fast, but the golden scales of Sunfyre would reflect the sun's rays and blind those below. Still, you couldn't understand why the first son of the King would burn crops of unsuspecting civilians, but then again, Aegon was not the man you believed him to be, and he continued to prove that true.

You were unsure why you did it as the candle's flames licked the inked parchment, watching as the soft glow became bright orange, consuming the letter whole.

You cared not for any word of Lord Dalton since the announcement of his marriage proposal. The time your Father granted you to think made the reasoning for a refusal all the more apparent. The Lord Reaper of Pyke was a bloodthirsty man who was uncaring for the women in his life if adding three new Salt Wives since your courting was any indication. He was cruel to them, and you knew you would be treated no differently. Women were just commodities to the man, tiny tokens and treasure he collected on his travels to use as he pleased. You would not become his ornament nor any other man's so long as the dragon's blood flowed through your veins.

Once you reduced the letter to ashes, you pressed your ear against the chamber doors, listening in the silence of the night for the evening guard to snore. It was not more than twenty minutes before you heard the telltale noise emanate from the back of his throat, exiting the room with noiseless steps.

Your bare feet were sure in their strides, carrying you swiftly to your destination, knowing when to hide behind a corner and when to turn. You had traversed this pathway before, though it had been in the day and not lit by a single candle. The white streak in your hair was stark compared to your ebony locks, a single silver strand glowing in the moonlight as you padded to the lower barracks of the White Sword Tower.

Ser Edder would be readying for bed. He often spoke of his love for a good tome before sleep; you had even recommended some of your own. You didn't know why. Perhaps it was a tactic to soothe the guilt that knocked on your ribcage whenever you smiled too wide for what could be called acting. It was no matter. A man would be found dead by sunrise, and your pain would be vindicated.

There would be more men guarding the entrance to the knight's quarters, but it was late, the hour of the eel before the night's watch, and they would be craving rest like a drunkard to a bottle. You quickly slipped past a sleeping pair, found some awake, and threw a loose pebble left on the floor from insufficient cleaning.

Immediately striding to the door you knew was Edder's, you knocked thrice, glancing over your shoulders. You heard a soft shuffling from behind the wooden slab, a metal clanking, and then the creek of a hinge. Ser Edder's sword tip was pointed swiftly at your chest, eliciting a soft gasp from parted lips.

"Princess? What are you doing here? It's not safe," he chastised, placing his sword against the wall.

"I-" you stuttered, bringing your fingers to your lips as you looked around nervously. "I do not feel safe in my chambers, Ser Edder."

The knight glanced down both ends of the hall, staring at you briefly before opening the door wider. You stepped into his space, observing your surroundings much like Ser Lorgan's, save for a bookshelf filled with the appropriate items.

You turned towards Edder. Your body curled in on itself as you placed your candle and its holder on a small table. "I apologize for the impropriety of this visit, but I do not feel safe here."

Edder stepped closer, keeping a respectable distance as he observed your attire. "Princess, you are a member of the royal family. You're more guarded than the walls to Casterly Rock."

You laughed mirthlessly, a glint of bitterness behind your gaze. "You think too highly of the Hand, Ser. I believe they would sooner have me dead than waste a guard that could go toward his kin." You took a calming breath, placing the palms of your hands on your stomach to unwrap your robe, placing it next to your candle. "I'm frightened that the murderer will come for me. I was acquaintances with Ser Lorgan. What if I am next on his list? The Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks would not think twice before leaving me to protect the King."

Edder extended a comforting hand to your bicep but quickly placed it back at his side, turning it into a blanched fist. You had to fight the urge to smile.

Men are easy, simple creatures.

"You have your sworn shield, Ser Cargyll. He would stop at nothing to protect you, your grace," he protested softly, speaking like you were an untamed horse.

You hastily closed the distance between the two of you, grabbing his arm the same way he wished to do to you. "He cannot protect me at all hours of the day. The guard outside my room was asleep. That's how I was able get here. If-if I could so easily sneak by him undetected, how would I survive a trained killer? I would be dead by morn and no one would be none the wiser." You rambled to the knight above you, his moss-green eyes boring into your peculiar ones.

Edder thought they shimmered like a pool of amethyst, the purple and brown glimmering with undeniable beauty. You were enchanting, and the Gold Cloak was momentarily distracted by it in the dim glow of the room. You were the pure embodiment of the Maiden as you gazed up at him, your plump lips quivering with intensity.

It was only a moment, but you noticed how Ser Edder's gaze flickered downwards before returning to yours. His emotions were written plainly on his face, a picture book straightforward enough to read for even the simple-minded. You were pleasantly surprised how effortless it was to make him melt. All you needed to do was bat your pretty eyelashes and pout your plush lips.

"Will you protect me, Ser Edder? I fear no one else will," you pleaded doeishly.

"I-" You could spot the hesitancy in his voice as his muscles rippled beneath his cotton undershirt.

"Please, Ser, I beseech you." Edder swallowed thickly, the notch in his throat bobbing. "I need you, Ed. Please."

And that was all it took for the man to fall, his hand resting over yours as he nodded. You swiftly embraced him, hoping the action would ease him of regret or second-guessing. The knight slowly reciprocated the affection, loosening his tense posture.

Gods. Would they all act like this if a lady came crying and begging for their services? Would they forget propriety and respect simply due to a woman's moment of weakness? Or was it because you were a bastard, a Lady in name only, that Edder and Ser Lorgan felt comfortable enough to act in such a way? The thought only served to fuel your anger, and you squeezed His broad torso tighter.

"Thank you, Ser, thank you," you said breathlessly, releasing your hold as you gazed back into his.

You left no room to protest as you slammed your mouth onto his, all teeth and panting breaths as his lips remained stock still. You tangled your fingers into his cropped hair, digging them into his scalp to force him to reciprocate, but failed. Pulling away, you sucked in a much-needed breath, your eyes searching his face for any response to your actions.

Ser Edder looked down with reddened cheeks and bruised lips, a mixture of shock and pity on his features. Your body flared with the burn of rejection, your stomach churning with disgust at yourself, at your actions. Bile burned at the back of your throat, threatening to spill past your tongue as you separated from him as if his mere touch scorned you. You should've killed him before entering the room and saved yourself from this embarrassment.

"Princess," Ser Edder began, his voice so soft and kind that it made you want to scream. You turned away from him, cheeks flaming as you held your stomach, a wave of vile shame overtaking you. "Let me escort you back to your chambers."

You stepped toward the table where your candle was and gripped the edge, bracing yourself on the side of it as you inhaled deeply.

"Tis not safe for you to venture back alone, your grace," he continued. You rolled your eyes in response, your white-knuckled grip loosening as you faced him.

"You're correct, Ser Edder. It is not safe. Please escort me back to my rooms." The knight nodded, reaching the door as you hastily rucked up your nightdress and unsheathed your dagger.

Your legs carried your body on quick limbs, plunging the curved blade into the space between Ser Edder's shoulder and spine. The man hollered in pain as you jumped on his back, attempting to slice his throat, more wildling than a woman. He effortlessly pushed you to the side, falling onto the stone floor like a ragdoll, cracking your skull against the stone floor. Your vision swam, unable to open your eyes as fast as your mind told them to as you felt a hand grasp the wrist holding the knife.

"Princess, stop this. You're feeling unwell." You yanked your arm from his grasp, blinking rapidly to try and clear your head.

You refused to dignify the man with a response, freeing yourself from Ser Edder as you scrabbled away, putting your body in between him and the door. You assumed a guarded position as the knight glanced at the sword on the wall beside you. Before Edder could think to reach for it, you lunged forward, using the height difference to your advantage as he tumbled to the ground below you. You poised the dagger above your head, ready to drive it downward, but Ser Edder blocked it.

Your years of training were little compared to his lifetime as you struggled, using your body weight to aid the force. His arms shook below you, realizing his life would be forfeit if he didn't think of some way to stop you. Edder brought his knee to your side, faulting your movements as the blade slipped between his hands and cut through the meat of his shoulder, letting out a cry of pain.

You groaned in displeasure, curling in on your side as you regained your balance, gritting your teeth and smacking your head against his. Blood trickled from his nose, the positioning slightly out of place as he blinked rapidly. You repositioned the dagger, plunging it into his chest with a growl. Edder's squirming caused you to miss the vital area of his heart, puncturing his lung as you went to do it again, only to be stopped by a strong arm, thumb digging into the tendons of your wrist until you dropped the weapon.

You clabbered off the knight as you crawled to the knife, your fingers dusting the leather hilt as you were pulled across the flagstone floor, nails scraping. Kicking and flailing your legs, Ser Edder subdued you, kneeling on your back to keep you flush with the floor as he pinned your hands behind you.

"Princess, we must get you to a Maester. You are not well. I'll explain to him that it was a bout of Hysteria and we shall forget the whole thing," the Gold Cloak attempted to reason, only to be met with a feral snarling as you wriggled beneath him.

"Get off of me you, bastard! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you for what you did!" you screamed, the muscles in your neck and back cramping.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Princess. I-I apologize for not returning your affections, but I am a man sworn to the City's Watch, my duty comes before-"

"You stupid fucking man! You are dead! You're fucking dead for what you did to them! I'll have your head sitting on a spike just as you did for them!"

Edder was silent above you, and you kicked your heel into his back, his grip loosening enough to where you could wiggle your arms free, propelling upwards and hitting your crown against his already injured nose. You grabbed the sides of his head before he could recover, slamming his bloodied face into your knee as he collapsed. You swung your bare foot into his stomach next, then his chest, knocking the escaping air out.

Scooping the dagger up from the ground, you quickly stabbed it between his ribs, ensuring it pierced past the flesh and into his guts, just as your Father taught you. Blood poured out of the line-shaped hole, staining his undershirt and the soles of your feet. Edder's arms immediately went to the wound as you kneeled, grabbing him by the roots of his perfectly cropped hair, sneering.

"Years ago, you and Ser Lorgan Sunderly put two innocent women to death. One a humble servant to the realm and the other a whore. My only family, and you killed them. Chopped off their heads and left them for the birds and maggots to eat. I wish I could afford you the same treatment, but," you pause, inhaling a deep breath as Ser Edder slapped weakly at your face, "we can't all get what we want. I wonder how your dearest Mother will fare after the news of your gruesome murder reaches her. Will she weep for you as I did? Will she curse the Gods for taking away her beloved son?" You chuckled darkly, the sound foreign, like it didn't belong to you.

"If the Gods are truly as merciful as we believe, perhaps the stranger will greet the woman before long. I wouldn't want her to live with the pain." You released Ser Edder's sweat-dampened hair, rising from your knees as you wet to his cot, wiping the blood from your hands and face.

Soft groans sounded behind you, and you turned to see the man standing, staggering toward the door and cradling his side as if that would change his fate. He would bleed out before any guard came to his rescue; you ensured that. You observed him silently as he stumbled to the wooden door of his chamber, tilting your head in a peculiar curiosity as if you were studying one of Helaena's insects. Edder's attempted escape was endearing, and it almost hurt your heart as you walked towards him.

With the curve of your blade pointed towards you, you wrapped your free arm around his skull, slowly sliding the hair-like edge across the thin flesh of his throat as blood sprayed onto his only exit. His body dropped to an unmoving heap on the floor, his gurgling drowned out by the crimson liquid spurting from his neck as it seeped into the cracked stone below.

Masterlist of Series

Yes, I support women's rights, but most importantly, I support women's wrongs. Like, yeeeesss, get it, girl. Slay! SLAY YOUR ENEMIES! SMITE DOWN THOSE WHO OPPOSE YOU! She's such a girl boss.

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[celebrimbor-apologist]

Liveblog of 2x08

Spoilerssss

Not ready. 

Not today, Recap 

Oh no, we are starting with Durin. 

DISA IS ALIVE 

KISS KISS KISS Oh I love them I will not survive this episode. 

….hi Balrog. 

Oh Durin oh love. No, this is not about strength. Please King Durin. But it won’t work because… I just don’t think it will.

Durin please, do not give in. Please. 

…hi Balrog properly. 

Oh well 

DURIN???? DURIN YOU OKAY???? 

Okay he alive 

YES TAKE IT OOOOF

Oh he is dad again, he leaves the ring and is- 

"Forgive me my son. King Durin"

Oh my HEART. 

DISA

Oh FUCK

Durin and Elrond recovering side by side manifesting NOW 

Yes I am watching the intro sequence because I need the comfort of it. 

Okay hello Rhûn

Hello stranger. 

MANWE????? MANWE PROMISED?? I DON'T THINK SO?????

“Old Friend” will forever sound homoerotic, X-men did that.

“My people were once kings” Whelp. Sauron's gonna make you kings again, babes, don't worry

I am so weary of this Dark Wizard.

“Pity will not defeat Sauron” Hahaha, Samwise disagrees, though I’d call it Compassion but that might just be 3000 years of language change in action

OH YOU BITCH 

Oh Stranger you beautiful son of a-

OH THE TREE OH THE TREE 

Númenor <3 

BEWITCH THE SEA???

OH YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE I AM TAKING YOUR FUCKING KNEECAPS 

Oh Númenor you are so fucked 

Elendil? Elendil where are you? 

The tears of the Valar themselves. Jup. 

Oh come on Elendil. 

Eärien, you have won back my love. 

No Míriel he really don’t wanna leave you, and I support him

Elendil. Oh Elendil and Mírel I love you both so much. 

NARSIL 

WHAT WHAT WHATAHEHJJCÄPJefpojdfknvkehräp

RECLAIM YOUR LORDSHIP

NARSIL 

Aaaaaand back to Eregion 

Okay Eregion Elf Archer you will not be forgotten 

Galadriel 

I WILL GIVE YOU NINE 

GALADRIEL 

NO 

Oh no

No 

No… No please, please…

“Look what you have done to yourself” I will personally end you. I will- I don’t even know what is really horrible to do?? I WILL- 

And he still resists. 

Defiant beloved Tyelpe

“Hear the dying words of Celebrimbor”

“The rings of power shall destroy you” THEY WILLLLLLL 

The haunting theme 

TYELPE 

Oh my dearest love 

TYELPERINQUAR 

Tyelpe 

Tyelpe died in his forge 

Tyelpeeeeee I’m not kidding, I am actually sobbing. Violently. Had to pause

THE MUSIC 

THE FUCKING TEAR OH ANNATAR I WILL FEED YOU TO THE DUCKS

“I have many names” Yeah, idiot, same, I'm trans too, but I’m not a fucking bastard asshole dickhead... I don't like insulting people so I'm out of insults.

Oh hi Isildur great, it’s about Estrid, means I can chill for a second 

I mean, at least we didn’t see the torture happen. But you know what?! I can fix this. I don’t fucking care anymore, fix it number seven if I need to but I am NOT LETTING TYELPE GO OKAY. Five stages of grief? NO, I am not moving past Denial. Deal with it.

Oh Theo hug nice.

Hi Estrid 

Well she is honest I can appreciate that

KEMEN FUCK OFFFFFFFFFFFF DIEEEEEEEE

Horse more useful than Kemen confirmed

Everyone wanting to punch Kemen as much as I do huh?

Galadriel if you give him the Nine I will end you

OH NO HE IS WEARING HER RING

OH YOU CLEAN UP NICELY

NAME??? GIVE US THE FUCKING NAME PLEASE

He gives it back??? ADAR REDEMPTION??? I STAN I LOVE I LOVE I LOVE 

"No more flames and no more darkness" Yes pls

Please I NEED his name now. 

Oh… Oh that’s Glûg… 

Oh I KNEW IT. 

They Sauron’d him. But hey, Adar looks less like a loser than Sauron in his Straight Era so.

Galadriel-

Oh hi Annatar 

OH THERE IT IS 

THE R 

THE R IN GALADRIEL I FUCKING LOVE THIS, Galadrriellllllll

OH NO. NOT THE FUCKING PARALLEL 

“Bring me their leaders” 

I still need Adar’s old name. This is such a Darkling moment. I neeed. (I caps-locked too much, my goddamn shift key is broken)

Yes fight him 

Never make war in anger Galadriel 

OH NO 

Gil and Elrond 

Ereinion <3 

Oh Elrond 

Ereinion is mad <3 

HOLY SHIT VIOLENT ELROND????? FOR EREINION???? YES PLEASE????

ARONDIR 

GIL WITH A KNIFE TO HIS THROAT 

I AM NOT OKAY

This is still not as bad as last episode hahaha.....

The way I fucking Screamed when she dropkicked him 

OH NO OH NO IT’S HOT SAURON (hysteric giggling)

Okay but Halbrand never looked so baby as Sauron does now sorry, loser man (derogatory) , si

Oh well but Sauron does not SOUND like her, similar but not the same, Morfyd Clark your SKILL 

“I know your mind” Oh go fuck yourself 

YESSSS GIRL GET ITTTTTTTTT “THE DOOR IS SHUT” FUCK HIM UPPPPPP 

YES HE HAS BEEN CUT THE-

Galadriel no 

Nononono

No, you have your ring you must be okay you must be okay you have plot armour 

I love how today Sauron gets told off by all of his exes <3 Celebrimbor, Adar, Galadriel <3 <3

Fuck he has the Nine

Horns?? "DWARVES" Ereinion stop looking so annoyed they are here to help, Gil-galad, king of standing in places prettily and autism you are the love of my life.

GIL BATTLE BRAID GIL BATTLE BRAIIIIID EREINION GIL-GALAD BATTLE BRAID OH I LOVE HIM. NO LONGER PRETTY STANDING IN PLACES BUT PRETTILY FUCKING SHIT UUUUUUUUP 

(Someone please hug Elrond by the way)

Oh Annatar you can’t take the ring can you? She has to give it up. Oh I love it because this is not his ring - he had no part in it. 

FUCK 

NO GALADRIEL REMEMBER CELEBRIMBOR DON’Ttttt

“You wish to heal middle earth? Heal yourself” That is the BEST way anyone has ever been told to get therapy ngl

Arondir and Gil? 

Ring Time 

GIL IN ACTION 

Oh I love him, oh Ereinion my love. 

But the ring can

“I can” 

Oh Elrond. Oh my love. He hates this, but he loves her more. 

Oh Poppy

And the forge falls

Oh Elrond

Míriel 

Elendil 

OH YOU FUCKING DICKHEAD FEANOR’S HAMMER REALLY

I HOPE TYELPE HAUNTS YOU INTO THE FIRES OF MOUNT DOOM

Well. Gandalf it is. 

They say goodbye now, huh? 

Ah there is his stick huh

Hi Tom

Old Tom Bombadil <3

“Valley north of here” Good. Good that is Imladris 

Oh Ereinion. OH EREINION.

Oh Elrond.

Oh he smile <3 I needed this 

Remember the council of Celebrim-

VOROHIL VOROHIL VOROHILListen that end scene????? I AM FINE HOLY FUCK I AM FINEEEEEEEEE

[multific]

Aegon Finding His Lost Love - Blurb

Aegon II Targaryen x Reader

You used to live with the Targaryen family when you were young. You were one of Helaena helpers growing up.

Aegon and you found comfort in one another. 

He was a broken boy who needed love, and you were a young girl filled with love.

Stolen moments were not uncommon. 

But he never touched you like that. He said he wanted you to marry him, be his and then he would take you.

However, his mother and father saw this as a threat. 

A bastard like yourself with their son? Not going to happen, and so, they sent you away.

And who were you to fight the Queen and the King?

They sent you to a place you never heard before.

Aegon's heart broke as did yours.

His hatred towards his parents only deepened. Aegon lost his light, he was told you were dead, and the thought started to rot him from the inside out as he got worse and worse.

Years passed, many years.

He was supposed to wed his sister but that also never happened. Aegon had one love, and he was not going to marry another.

As he became king, he was told visitors would come to congratulate him. And one King, had a gift, you.

You were bound by chains, dragged along like a dog. The King said "She is my best maid, she cooks, and washes and a young King such as yourself might find other pleasures. She is pure, I can assure you." 

First, Aegon was shocked, the woman he thought was dead stood right in front of him. Then Aegon felt his blood boil, seeing the bruises on your arms as the King handed him the chain.

"You will hear from me, Lord. You just brought My Queen in chains." Aegon's eyes were spitting fire. The man felt the air tense up, hearing a dragon's yell, the man ran.

And you ran into his arms. Aegon's family could only watch as he held you. 

"I thought you were dead." he said as he guided you to his chambers, never once letting go. He only left after the servants arrived.

You were washed and dressed. 

"My Love." Aegon rushed into the room, seeing you sitting on his bed.

"I heard a lot about you Aegon, second of his name, protector of-." but he cut you off.

"Nothing good, I assume." he knelt down in front of you, holding his hands on your knees, as he reached for your hands.

"I do understand why you fell off, My Prince. I wasn't in the best of mindset after they made me leave."

"What happened? I want to know everything."

"Not today, today I just want to be held by you, like many times before. I'll tell you one day." he nodded as he kissed your hands.

"I'm no Prince, My Love, I'm the King now."

"So I've heard." you smiled as you placed your hand on his cheek. "I love you, Aegon."

Those words, sending shivers down his spine. He finally heard them again after so long. 

He thought you were dead, murdered for loving him, but here you were, laying in his arms. 

He swore nothing and no one will separate you from him ever again. 

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[whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell]

Vatic - Chapter V " Bastard "

Series Description : The youngest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent grows up split between the two sides of her family. With dreams plaguing her sleep of people she does not know, and a war looming ahead of her. She will be forced to choose between the two sides of her family, between the love for her brother, and the loyalty for her sister. 

Chapter Description : Y/n Targaryen learns discovers the truth of her nephews.

Warnings : none in this chapter

Pairing : eventual Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 2.4k

Y/n had laid her eyes on baby Joffrey that morning. A sweet babe, with dark hair like his brothers, and dark eyes as well.  She had spent well over an hour with Rhaenyra sitting in the lush seats by the hearth in Rhaenyra’s family chambers. Y/n was fascinated by the infant. He was so small, and she was absolutely in awe at how something so small could be so strong to make it to adulthood, or even grow into someone her own size. Yet, she was aware that she was once Joffrey’s size, though,  she was certain her mother had described her as smaller than most newborn babes. 

Y/n knew very little about babies, and knew nothing about how a woman came to be with child. All she knew about childbirth, was that it must have been painful from the vague descriptions both her mother, and her sister had given her, and that having a child so soon after another could be dangerous, and unhealthy to both mother and babe. Y/n had been evidence of it. Having been born smaller than the rest of her siblings. 

But when Y/n had left, her sister had stopped her, and asked her to remind her lady mother of the proposition she’d given. When Y/n had asked what it was, Rhaenyra had explained it. 

“Jace shall rule over the kingdoms one day after our father and I am gone. I proposed that we betrothe the two of you. To allow the two of you to rule together. I also proposed that if Syrax were to lay another clutch of eggs, your brother, Aemond, may have his pick of the clutch.”

So Y/n had rushed to her mother’s chambers, hair falling from the style that the maids had put it in that morning. The prospect was exciting. It was only at the top five steps of the staircase leading up to corridor that led to her mother’s chambers did she trip and began to fall forward. She however, caught herself with her hands, and much like a dog would, used her hands to help her climb the stairs before she finally reached the top and continued running to the large wooden door, pushing it open and past the guard as soon as she arrived, with no notice to her mother. 

As she entered the room, she noticed that her mother was hardly dressed. She was still only in her stays and her petticoats. Before her mother’s ladies had realized that it was only Y/n, that had rushed to conceal the Queen from eye sight, all the while Alicent let out a yelp. That of a woman who had nearly been exposed to a stranger. 

The door was quickly closed behind Y/n, and she began to speak

“My lady mother! Please agree to Rhaenyra’s proposition!” 

Alicent looked at Y/n over the shoulders of the ladies who were shielding her from view. “Leave us.” She told them, and within seconds, the ladies were gone from the room, and Alicent stood before her daughter in her stays an petticoat. 

“What proposition would that be, my darling?” Alicent questioned, stepping down from the small step she’d been standing on and approached Y/n, her auburn curls bouncing with ever step she took towards her. As Alicent finally reached her, she brough Y/n close to her, an arm around the back of Y/n’s shoulder’s, her other hand holding the side of Y/n’s face to look up at her. 

“Me and Jace being betrothed.” Y/n told her, a fist ful of the cream colored petticoat in her hand as she looked up at her mother. “If I am betrothed to Jace, Aemond could have his pick of Syrax’s next clutch of eggs!” 

Y/n watched as her mother’s face dropped right before she pulled away from Y/n. “No.” Was the only response Alicent gave to Y/n as she walked towards one of the windows, staring out at the rest of the keep below them. 

“But, mother, It’s all he wants for! If my betrothal to Jace will allow Aemond to have a dragon I’ll do it!” She was pleading at this point, quickly approaching her mother. “You and father wouldn’t have to worry about finding me a husband, I’d be marrying the next king. Aemond would have a dragon!” 

Alicent quickly turned to look at Y/n, the contorted look on her face scared Y/n so much she was frozen in her tracks. Alicent then began to take large strides towards Y/n, and as she reached Y/n, she grabbed her face with one hand, her grip so hard it began to hurt Y/n’s jaw. “I said no, Y/n! I will not allow my daughter to marry a bastard! It is an insult for Rhaenyra to present them as true born heirs to the Velaryon and Targaryen household, to even dream of putting Jacaerys on the throne! No daughter of mine shall ever be wed to a bastard! I do not care if it will allow your brother to maybe someday have a dragon! Do you understand me?!” 

Y/n’s eyes were wide, staring into her mother’s with fear etched into her face. She was frozen in place. She’d never once been yelled at by her mother. She wasn’t sure she’d ever truly been yelled at. 

Y/n gave a struggled nod, finding it difficult to move her head when her mother had such a strong grip on her jaw. Alicent released Y/n, and gave a hand gesture that the young princess took to mean as a dismissal. 

Her eyes had begun to sting as she left the room. Tears trying to force their way from her eyes, and her throat began to burn as she avoided crying. She was doing her best to mask the emotions as she walked what felt like an eternity to her own bed chambers. And as she did finally reached her chambers, and the door closed behind her, she allowed the tears to fall as she lay in bed. 

Later in the evening, as the people of court became lively, celebrating the birth of yet another prince born to Princess Rhaenyra, Y/n left her chambers and went to the celebrations as well, finding herself mostly by Maris’ side. Both of them wearing green dresses, but Maris seemed to be enjoying herself far more than Y/n was. In the brief time that Y/n had known Maris, the Tarly girl was certainly the type for people. She’d make a fine lady one day. Y/n thought to herself. It wasn’t the life Y/n dreamed for herself. She did not wish to be kept away in a castle and have enough babies to fill every room. Sometimes at court, Y/n realized that's what had seemed to happen to some of the ladies. Lady Reyne seemed so dreadfully bored of her children and husband whenever the young princess spotted her at court. Much like the Lannisters, the Reynes always stood out like a sore thumb. Y/n knew pride when she laid eyes on it. She’d spent her whole nine years of life looking upon her mother’s pride. Alicent took pride in the house she was born into, her children always wearing green to represent it instead of their own house colors of black and red. the Reynes and Lannisters had a certain pride that put a sour taste in Y/n’s mouth, much like the taste of the northern ale that her father had once let her try at dinner. Y/n still recalled the bitter taste that had lingered on her tongue for the rest of the night. 

Y/n also knew how to spot something that would wound someone's pride. Her mother’s pride.And the one thing that would certainly wound it would be no other than Aegon. He stood leaning against a stone pillar by a stained glass window, it was only when the young princess had spotted her oldest brother did she leave Maris’s side and approached him. 

His hair was frizzy, and his skin looked dry. “Brother,” She greeted meekly as she reached up, looking up at her father’s oldest son. 

It was a good thing that Rhaenyra would one day be queen, and Aegon not the king.

Aegon’s violet yes peered down at Danara with disinterest before he looked away. “What do you want?” it was only then, as Aegon lifted a wineskin that was clearly full by how little he needed to tilt it back to get the light red liquid to his lips, did she realize he was already going to make their mother upset. She’d already angered her mother once, she didn’t wish to again. 

Y/n furrowed her brows and looked her brother up and down before sighing. “What exactly are bastards? Why are they a bad thing?” 

Aegon’s violet eyes then looked down at her once more, and she could see a fainted look of amusement on his facial features as the corners of lips were slightly pulled up in a grin. He grabbed Y/n’s shoulder and pulled her to stand next to him. “Do you see Lord Upcliff over there?” Aegon gestured to the blond-haired lord. “He’s been married to his wife for seventeen years, and he had yet to sire an heir on her. But he has children.” 

Y/n’s brows remained furrowed and she turned her head to look at her brother, who held a smug look upon his face. “That’s not possible, brother.” 

“Oh, yes it is.” 

“Mother said that children can only be sired by a man and wife.” 

“Legitimate children can only be sired by a man and wife.” Aegon corrected. “Bastard children are born when their mother and father are unmarried. And Lord Upcliff is said to have dozens of bastards wandering around the towns on Witch Isle. He sires them on the whores and servants in the town.”

The young princess was still confused. “But why are they bad?”She reiterated the question from earlier. 

“Why are you asking?” 

“Mother said that Jace and Luke were bastards.”

Aegon snorted a laugh and then scanned the crowd for the two dark-haired Velaryons that were bound to be either here, or by their mother’s side in her chambers with the newborn babe. “They are.” He responded. “Bastards can be sired upon married women as well. It’s clear to everyone at court, especially our lady mother, that Rhaenyra’s sons are bastards. They look nothing like herself or Ser Laenor. . . Yet, they bare a striking resemblance to the commander of the city watch.” 

“Ser Harwin?”

Her brother hummed in response. And in the crowd, Y/n saw the commander, standing with his father, the hand of the king off in the corner. And she couldn’t help but realize, that Harwin and her nephews did bare a striking resemblance. Jace and Harwin particularly. A similar facial structure. “Is it just the hair?” 

“It’s what mother noticed.” Aegon shrugged. 

“But Ser Laenor’s mother, Lady Rhaenys, her mother was a Baratheon. . . with black hair. . . could our nephews not have gotten it from her?” 

Aegon scoffed and shook his head. “If anyone was going to get Jocelyn Baratheon’s black hair that wasn’t Rhaenys, it would have been Laenor or Laena. Not our nephews. They’re bastards.” He was firm in his statement. Set on the idea that Jace, Luke, And Joff were all bastard from Ser Harwin Strong. 

“Why are they bad?” Y/n asked for a third time, growing frustrated by his lack of an answer. 

“Because women should save themselves only for their husbands. It’s against the faith to commit adultery, and bastardy is considered a sin. They are not the same as you and I. They were sired through sins of the flesh. Their very existence is based on lust, lies, and weakness, sweet sister. They themselves are inherently wanton and treacherous just based upon their birth. And Rhaenyra had placed one in line for the throne, and one in line for Driftmark.”

Y/n looked up at her brother. Was he himself a bastard then? But just the thought of it and Y/n knew it wasn’t true. Their mother was the most pious woman she’d ever met among the ladies of court. If it was against the seven gods, her mother wouldn’t have ever given birth to a bastard. 

“But Ser Laenor still calls them his sons. . .” 

“That is because Ser Laenor has. . . a queer appetite. They are the only sons he will ever have. Even if they are Ser Harwin’s bastards.”

It didn’t make much sense to the silver-haired princess as she walked away from her brother and back over to Maris who was conversing with one of the ladies of ladies of the Riverlands, Lady Morya Tully. She was a kind older woman, married to the heir of Riverrun, Ser Elmo Tully. The only daughter of the late Lord Lymond Mallistor. 

Y/n could easily look around the hall and name each house that everyone came from. If it was a noble or great house, or just a vassal house to another one. She knew which province they all came from. The word bastard didn’t feel like a new word to her. Yes, she’d heard it from her mother, but the concept didn’t feel entirely new to her. 

She still didn’t understand the significance. True-born and Bastard-born, the difference only being if the mother and father exchanged vows in front of the seven or in front of the old gods, or drowned god. She knew her nephews were not treacherous, so if they were bastards, then certainly the stigma wasn’t true? Or, their lack of treachery meant they were true-born. That’s the version she preferred. 

Yes, she knew that Luke and Jace teased Aemond, but they teased Aegon as well, and even herself. Aemond teased her. But she also knew that a majority of the cruel jokes played on her sweet brother were a result of Aegon’s true distaste of Aemond. The two were different, yes. Aegon had no true care for most Targaryen things, and Aemond, did. Aemond loved dragons, and the history of their house. Aegon spent his nights sneaking out of the castle to go out to Flea Bottom, and Aemond was always in bed when you expected him to be, and if he wasn't? He was either reading her to sleep in her own bed, and then promptly falling asleep beside her, or he was hidden away in his favorite corner of the library, a candle being the only light granted to him in order to follow the words along the pages he flipped.

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