#Fatal Family Feuds

[markashtonlund]

In Character

[thesongoficeandfir3]

The burning mill, the family affair, and the forbidden love

Benjicot ‘Davos’ Blackwood x Fem!Bracken!reader

A/n: Based on the show version of the battle of the burning mill p.s currently working on part 2 of my first story 😋

Warnings: heavy angst, gore, descriptions of wounds, blood, smut is alluded but not described. Lmk if I missed anything

The sound of swords being clashed and men crying out in pain filled the air of the area that joint Bracken and Blackwood’s land. Blood dripped down from the tip of Benjicot's long sword as he looked at the carnage around him, his breathing rapid and ragged. What had started as a small dispute between the Brackens and Blackwoods turned into a full out bloodbath.

He had lost count of the number of Bracken men he had killed. His sword arm ached and trembled while his entire body felt like it was on fire. His body was begging for a moments rest, but Benjicot refused to give into his bodies wishes. He only had one thing and one thing alone on his mind and that was to find you.

As Benjicot struggled and pushed his way across the field he passed many dead or dying men, many of them being his own. They were the same men he knew since he was a boy. He grew up with them, drank with them , laughed with them… his heart ached at the sight, but still he wouldn’t stop moving. He couldn’t stop because not being able to get to you first ached his heart even more.

Benjicot grunted as a sharp, excruciating pain shot through his leg, taking him down. He looked down and saw the leg wound he had sustained earlier had gotten severely worse. The first few moments he got it, Benjicot believed it to be nothing more than a small cut, but now it was bleeding profusely from a deep gash. This along with many other fatal injuries Benjicot could already label himself a deadman. Despite that however….despite the pain he still pushed himself up, stabbing his sword into the wet soil for support and kept going forward. No matter what he was going to get to you even if it killed him.

He knew you were here and fighting. Being the only daughter in your family and growing up with five older brothers you had learned to use a sword and fight.

Benjicot never liked it, not because he didn’t believe a woman should hold a sword but because he was terrified of a day like this one.

He still remembers that night as if it was yesterday. It had been a week since you two finally confessed your feelings for one another despite being from rival houses. It was late at night and you two were deep in the forest far away from both of your families lands. Your naked bodies intertwined laying on a blanket on the forest floor, coming down from your high.

You broke the comfortable silence by saying whenever the day came you’d be fighting with your family, you’d be fighting as a Bracken. Though you loved Benjicot you couldn’t come to terms with the thought of slaying your own family. You knew the moment was not the best time to say something like that, but you had been wanting to say that the moment you realized you loved Benjicot. You wanted to tell him sooner rather than later so it wouldn’t feel like a betrayal. Benjicot didn’t get upset when you said it, for he felt the same he couldn’t fathom slaying his own blood.

You both knew deep down a war between your houses was inevitable. It was not a matter of if, but when.

Despite knowing that however, ever since that day you two never spoke about your family feud when together, as if not speaking on the matter would have prevented the inevitable.

When he finally spots you in the distance, he sees you fighting off a Blackwood man. You would’ve been dead a long time ago since the man was a bull compared to you, but his injuries were far worse than yours. This caused some of his movements to be sloppy and predictable. At this point the Blackwood man had looked like a walking corpse, but he was content on taking you down. It seems he wished for the satisfaction for taking down one more Bracken before the Stranger came for him.

Though he was in worse shape than you, he still managed to stab you in your stomach twice, missing your vital organs by a hair, but still driving the sword deep enough. He raised his sword again ready to go for the final blow. In the moment It seemed like he would have gotten his death wish when suddenly a Bracken man charged towards the Blackwood man, tackling him and causing them both to fall into the river with a large and loud splash. The murky river water slowly turned into a deep shade of crimson as the two men sank to the bottom from their heavy armor.

Once your attacker was gone, your knees buckled and you fell to the ground clutching your wounded stomach. The feeling was warm and sticky and the strong scent of iron filled your nose. Your body trembled and your breathing became heavy. You can feel your heart race quickens as your body desperately attempts to produce more blood than what was being lost rapidly.

You looked down to see how bad your wounds were and was met with the blood staining the gold color of your clothes a darker hue. Your house sigil, the horse, unrecognizable as the blood quickly continues to spread. Knowing there was no hope for you, you allow yourself to lay flat on the ground, staring up at the sky as you wait for death to overcome you.

Benjicot watched as your opponent was struck down before you slumped to the ground. His body had by far reached its limits, but seeing you in that state gave him a wave of adrenaline. He quickly limped as best he could towards you, pushing through the pain of his injury, desperate to reach you.

When he finally reached you, he could see like him you had sustained some injuries all over your body, but it was nothing compared to your stomach wounds. He dropped down to his knees, gently putting his trembling hand on your stomach wound. He presses down on the wound to slow the bleeding, but it attempts were futile as it seemed the blood was coming out even faster.

Benjicot was slowly starting to weaken, all the adrenaline starting to wear off. His wounds were bleeding heavily as well, the blood from it mixing with yours. Still he refused to take his hand off your wound despite his weakening state.

“Ben.” you choked out, your eyelids becoming heavy as you looked up at him, trying to get his attention.

He didn’t look at you, too focused on your wound. It was obvious that neither of you were going to survive, but he still stubbornly tried to stop the bleeding. He desperately wanted if any of you, it be you who lived to see another day.

“Please Ben,” your hand reached his on your stomach weakly trying to pry them off. “I’m so cold,” you say looking up at him through teary eyes, your once beautiful s/c slowly turning pale. “Please just hold me I’m so cold you.” You whimpered out trying your best convince him to stop saving you. You didn’t want either of your final moments wasting time on a lost cause. He finally looked at you, his green eyes filled with sadness as he slowly removed his hand from your wound.

He pulled his cloak off his shoulders and wrapped it around you tightly, trying to give you the warmth your body was no longer able to provide for you. Despite his own pain, he carefully lifted you into his lap and cradled you against his chest, holding you as tightly as he could, his arms wrapping around you as though he could protect you from death itself.

He held you closely, doing his best to transfer his body heat to you to keep you warm. He buried his face in your hair, his breathing ragged and labored. He could feel his strength slowly slipping away, but he didn’t let go of you. Using what little strength he had left, he used it to hold you in a tight warm embrace to ensure you he was there.

As Benjicot holds you familiarity surges through you. You suddenly remember all those cold nights where you found comfort, warmth and safety in his arms and now you realize you’ll never experience that again.

“Ben…..I don’t want to leave you- please I don’t want to go.” Tears streamed down your face, your body so weak you couldn’t even lift your head to look at him as you spoke.

He could hear the fear and despair in your voice, mirroring the same feelings within himself. He wanted to comfort you, to tell you everything would be okay, but he knew it would be a lie. Instead, he just tightened his grip on you, pressing you closer against his chest.

"I’m here," he managed to gasp out, his voice strained. "I’m not leaving you, I promise. He says gently trying to calm you. He could not save you from death, but he could at least promise you won’t be going into it alone.

“I love you Ben… I love you so much.”

"I love you too," he murmured, his voice filled with love and pain. "More than anything."

There were still a few standing survivors from both sides of your family struggling against one another, despite more than half of the field being filled with Blackwood and Bracken corpse. The sound was muffled but you still heard it and you remember why you’re in this situation in the first place.

“I wish our families-”

"I don’t care about our families,” he cut you off. “All that matters is that we’re together. You’re the only thing that matters."

As Benjicot says that you allow yourself to completely relax. He was right, being with him in this moment was the only thing that mattered. The generational feud in your families did not.

He then felt your body grow limp in his arms, your final breath leaving your lips. He pressed a long and gentle kiss on your forehead as tears began streaming down his cheeks. He felt himself grow weaker, his own strength slowly slipping away. With one final, laboured breath, he whispered your name, his voice hoarse and trembling, before his grip on you loosened and he too was gone. The last thing he saw was your beautiful face, peaceful in death.

The two of you remained in each others arms, your bodies lifeless in the aftermath of the battle. Despite the chaos and carnage around you, there was a sense of peace in your final moments together.

It was an odd sight the lord and lady of the rivaling houses, the houses that used the Targaryen conflict just to slay one another, finding peace in each other’s arms. Your deaths, although tragic, would be a testament to the indomitable power of love that can transcend even from the most deep seated of hatred.

[queenofheartlessdreams]

Punishment (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Fandom: House of the Dragon, Daemon Targaryen x Fem! Niece! Reader

Summary: The youngest born daughter of King Viserys is punished for her outburst against her bastard nephews. In doing so, Daemon ensures that her outburst is forgotten, replaced with rumors of their coupling.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: smut, harsh language, incest, oral (m receiving), dry humping, lots of banter

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It had all happened so quickly. One moment, she was in the courtyard, watching the knights train, and the next, she was in the middle of the Targaryen family feud. It wasn't a rare occurrence at King's Landing, even more prevalent when Rhaenyra and her boys would come to visit, always by request of the opposing party. 

But this time, the fight was her own. She recalled the events as they played out, thinking of what she would tell her father. News would spread quickly throughout the castle, rumors would start before she could even process what had happened. 

She had been in the courtyard, sitting next to Aemond as she watched the two eldest sons, Aegon and Jace, sword fight in the midst of a crowd of people. It was for practice of course, yet still the violent echo of metal on metal rang through the open air. Jace had pinned his uncle, who was laughing underneath him, muttering about how strong he was. And that was when the real fighting broke out. Curses spewed at the other side, yelling rang louder than blades, as the family was driven further apart. 

So she had intervened, pulling the two boys off each other by the collars of their tunics, turning to Jace to reprehend him. 

"A wise king does not quarrel over petty insults," she had said, "If you are willing to kill a man for a single spoken word, then perhaps you shouldn't be king at all, no matter how strong."

She shouldn't have said the last part, and the smile it placed on her lips was soon replaced with a frown as Aegon gripped her arm, pulling her back from the nearly fatal blow from Jace's sword. Next thing she knew, the cold steel of Aegon's blade was in her hand, and she was thrusting it at her nephew. The metal vibrated in her palm as it made contact with Jace's blade, as he attacked with much stronger force. Just as guards began to close in on the pair, she had managed to quickly flip him, pressing her lace decorated heels into his forearm as she looked above him. 

"Careful, nephew. We wouldn't want the future king to lose his life over such a petty quarrel." 

With that, she stormed off into the castle, sure to get lectured by her father, Alicent, and every other member of the Small Council for her actions. 

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Hours later, Y/N sat by the fire in her room, listening to the crackle of the flames as it consumed the dry wood below. She knew that she had faltered, she saw it in the eyes of her family that night at dinner. Rhaenyra looked at her with hatred, Alicent with sorrow, and her father had shunned himself from her gaze altogether. 

Guilt welled inside her as she looked into the flames. There was a knock at her door, the large oak creaking open before she could answer. Silver-blonde hair stormed into the room, attached to the body of Daemon Targaryen, brows furrowed as he made his way to his niece. 

The princess rolls her eyes, turning her head back to the flame, "Māzigon naejot vēdros issa hae sȳrī, Kepus?" (Come to hate me as well, uncle?)

The Prince Consort laughs, bitterness still etched across his face. He situated himself in the armchair next to Y/N, "ōregon aōha ēngos, riña." (Hold your tongue, girl.)

He doesn't give her the chance to quip back, carrying on in a low hiss, "I agreed to teach you combat under the condition that you would be sworn to secrecy and would only use it if absolutely necessary." 

"It was necessary," the girl counters," Prince Jacaerys swung at me first, I was only defending my honor."

"Your honor will mean nothing if word of this reaches outside the castle walls!" Daemon shouts, "I should punish you for your ignorance."

Y/N snorts, pushing herself off the floor to stand before him, looking down on the seated Prince," I assure you, you will get in much more trouble from my father for whatever punishment your sick mind can think of, then I will for defending myself from that impure boy."

Daemon's hands reach for the girl's hips, sliding down the silky fabric of her dress before pulling the girl to stand between his legs, "Do you truly think so little of me?"

"The contrary," Y/N replies, putting her hands on his shoulders, "I know you're good enough a man to honor my virtue, and smart enough a man to know anything you try will be disproved by my father." 

"Of course, princess," Daemon retorts, violet eyes staring into her own, " I would never be such a monster to dishonor your maidenhead, though, I'm not sure how many Lords would like to wed you given your brazen display in the courtyard today."

Y/N pulls away, turning her back to the prince, "If you only wish to rebuke me, then you may leave, Prince Consort. I am in no mood for it."

For a moment, silence fills the room, only the gentle crackle of the fire heard in the stone walls. Daemon makes no move to excuse himself, nor does the princess, her feet firmly planted on the cold floor below. The Prince lets out a sign, "There are other ways, you know."

Y/N doesn't move, eyes darting silently to the fire, not daring to look at the man behind her, "I don't know what you speak of, Uncle."

She shivers as she feels the Prince's hand grab her own, rough and calloused from years of welding a blade, and riding on dragon back. This thumb caresses the back of her hand, as he pulls Y/N back into his grasp, "Other ways of punishment, ones that don't involve giving up your precious virtue." 

This time Y/N faces him, a twisted smirk on her face, "Did one of your whores teach you?"

"You are aware that I do more than fuck and kill, aren't you?" the Prince Consort responds, a faint smile on his lips.

"And here I thought it was your only pastime," Y/N answers, "Anytime you return to King's Landing, you're always boasting of the women you've impregnated, the bastards you've fathered, and the men you've killed."

She looks for a retort, a flicker of anger in his eyes, yet cannot find a glimpse. Daemon's face contorts, eyes looking up at the Princess with an expression of sorrow, of sympathy, like warm honey against the flickering fire. 

Y/N exhales, "Fine, what ways do you speak of?"

"Dēmās," (sit) Daemon responds, smirking at the girl's surrender. He pats his leg, watching as she obliges, smoothing the expensive silks of her gown as she does. 

"You mustn't be so tense, princess," Daemon whispers, toying with the lace on the back of her gown. His nimble fingers trail down the criss-crossed strings of the gown, falling to the base of her back, where the strings were tied in a dainty bow. The Prince tugs at the bow, releasing the knot, and allowing him to pull apart the confines of her dress, revealing the soft, pale skin of her back, and shoulders. 

Y/N sucks in a surprised gasp as she feels his lips press against her skin, soft kisses trailing across her shoulder blades. She feels Daemon's hands wrap around her waist, one placed against her lower stomach, the other against her thigh, securing her against the warmth of his body. 

Slowly, the kisses turn to nips against her flesh, faint moans escaping from the young Princess's lips, a discernible, yet foreign heat rising from the apex of her thighs. 

"Daemon," she whispers, feeling his grip around her waist loosen ever so slightly.

"Laehurlion issa," (Face me), the Prince commands, watching her skirts slide up her legs as she straddles his thigh, stockings noticeable from beneath the pool of fabric along your waist. He could feel the heat of her core through the leather of his trousers, smirking as he recognized her arousal.  

"Move your hips," he states, looking up at the disheveled princess above him. He saw the way her lips parted, breaths heavy from the simplest of touches, the simplest forms of affection. 

"What?" she breathes, watching as Daemon places his hands along her hip bones, rocking her ever so gently. 

And then, she feels it. A jolt of arousal surged at her core as she rubbed against him. A whimper escapes her lips as she rocks herself, falling against Daemon's chest, inhaling the scent of his skin as her nose rubbed against his neck, face tickled with long strands of his silver hair. Daemon's hips buck up instinctively, feeling Y/N's warm breath on his flesh. 

Y/N moans into his skin as she continues to grind against him, overwhelmed by the feeling of pleasure that came from the simplest movement of her hips. She fell into a rhythm, feeling the pressure build in her core. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one that made her toes curl, and breath well up inside her, making her words feel caught in her throat. 

Daemon watches as the girl all but moans his name, feeling the rhythmic drag of her hips against him,  the smoothness of each glide as her undergarments become more and more wet. He sees her chest move against the loosened fabrics, deep breaths of air coming out as helpless moans, and pants, echoing  across the silence of the castle. It made him painfully hard, watching her chase her orgasm through the use of his body, her legs nearly brushing against his erect cock with every methodical rock of her hips. 

It is with a shrill moan that the Princess finishes, resting her forehead against his own, layered in a sticky sheen of sweat. Daemon moves his hands across her body as her movement stills, tracing the curves of her sides, her breasts, mesmerized by the enchanting sight of her body. 

His exploration is interrupted as soft hands find his cheeks, caressing his jaw, feeling the slightest bit of stubble that rested there. His eyes met her own, vibrant and violet, hazed over with the unmistakable glisten of lust. 

"I'd like to repay the favor," Y/N whispers, her hot breath against his lips, "I believe you have more to teach me."

Daemon watches as her delicate hand slides down his chest, down to the noticeable bulge in his trousers. His eyes flutter, as he lets out a shaky breath, "Of course, Princess."

He allows her to rub against him several more times, before directing her to the floor, kneeling between his legs. Her hands find the laces of his trousers, undoing the simple knot.

Y/N paused, a thrum of nervousness echoing over the overwhelming feeling of arousal. Her hands hesitate, hovering over his cock. Daemon's hands lift her chin, bringing her to meet his eyes, "Do you trust me?"

Y/N smiles, swiping her tongue against the plumpness of her own lips, "Never."

Daemon shifts in his seat, pushing himself back to lean against the plush cushions. It was nearly humorous, the obliviousness of his niece. She may have been a weapon with a sword, and a poison with her words, but deep down, she was still a maiden, innocent, and pure. 

"Give me your hand," he says, extending his own.

The girl obliges, watching as Daemon guides her hand to his cock, curling it around the base. He begins pumping himself slowly, Y/N's soft hand dragging along every thick vein that runs across his shaft. He watches as her eyes never leave the sight of his cock, fascinated by the beads of precum that leaked from his red tip. 

A sense of pride wells in his stomach as he tilts his head back, eyes closed, mind clouded by lustful bliss. Y/N's pace never falters, stroking his cock with a delicate, yet firm hand, grazing her thumb gently against his tip. Daemon's hips buck involuntarily as she does, and a small moan escapes his parted lips. 

"May I use my mouth?", the Princess asks, a small sultry voice as blood pounded in Daemon's ears. 

"Yes," he breathes, nearly pleading, not stopping to think of the consequences he may face for her boldness, for his willingness and persuasion. 

He was expecting a kitten lick, perhaps, an experiment of his niece's newfound pleasure, nothing like the long draw of her tongue against his shaft before his tip is engulfed, tongue swirling around the most sensitive part of his manhood. 

Daemon gasps, eyes opening in shock to glare down at the hollow-cheeked girl between his legs. "Where in the Seven Kingdoms did you learn that?", he says, breath shaky. 

The Princess smiles, shying away with a blush across her cheeks, "I read about it."

Daemon nearly laughs at her answer, running a hand through his silver hair, "You read it... in a book?"

"Yes, there are many romance novels in the castle," Y/N elaborates, haste in her words, "Not every book is full of our histories, many are novels of fiction, which I find much more interesting than the accounts of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives."

"No wonder your mind is filled with so much filth," he says mockingly, tapping against her temple.

"I simply wish to be knowledgeable of the subject for when the time comes that my husband shall bed me," she says, swatting his hand away, resuming her ministrations of his cock. Warmth pooled between her thighs as she began giving open mouth kisses along his shaft. 

Her kisses now reached his tip, where he watched as she licked up the slit, swallowing the moisture that beaded there. Finally, she slides his cock into her mouth, inch by inch as she bobs her head, knowledge failing her as she attempts to take him all, only to gag around the sheer length of his manhood.  Daemon groans as he feels her, craving more as she wraps her hand along the part of his cock that she couldn't take in her mouth. His hand snakes into her hair, threading through her silvery-blonde braids, pins falling to the ground below. 

She moaned around his cock as he pushed her head slightly further, guiding her pace. Daemon's chest heaved as he hissed behind his teeth, eyes shut in torturous pleasure, feeling his release building quickly, craving that relief. 

Y/N watches through hooded eyes as Daemon throws his head back, breaths becoming ragged pants. She knew from her novels that meant he was close, continuing to sloppily bob her head, saliva running down the base of Daemon's cock like a precious elixir, dripping down onto the cushioned seat below. 

Daemon's hand tightened in her hair, digging into her scalp. Even in this state, so desperate for release, she could tell he was holding back, not wanting to hurt her. 

Y/N heard his loud moans echo through the room, feeling his thighs shake against the palms of her soft hands. She tastes his release on her tongue, seed shooting to the back of her throat, thick and heavy as Daemon finishes. She continued out his orgasm, letting the shaking mess of him finish on her tongue before slowly sliding her mouth off of him, to leave his cock exposed, sleek and shining with saliva, his cum bubbling from the tip.

Daemon pants, looking down at the Princess, watching as his seed drips from her mouth, masking her lips in a faint white glow. Smirking, he leans forward, shoving his thumb into the girl's mouth, pulling down her jaw to see his seed nestled sweetly inside, coating her tongue, her cheeks, her throat. 

He roughly pushes her jaw shut, a dominating, possessive urge fallen over him, the urge to claim the Princess as his own, "Swallow."

Obediently, Y/N does, feeling his warm seed trail down her throat. She opens her mouth again, revealing nothing but the pinkish inside of her gums, no evidence of Daemon's release only moments before. "Was I thoroughly punished, teacher?"

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Daemon awoke to find himself naked, yet surprisingly, alone, in his own bed. A faint breeze carried the scent of the sea through an open window, early morning sun shining on his pale skin. 

Daemon rolls over, smiling at the fond memories of the previous night, the Princess between his legs, her harmonious moans as she rides his thigh. He did honor his word, keeping her maidenhead intact, despite every masculine urge begging for him to go further once his initial release. Like a true Prince, he had kissed her hand goodnight, before returning to his own chambers, stroking himself to completion several more times before he rested. 

His impure thoughts are interrupted by a faint knock at the door.

"What?" he barks, watching as a nervous looking chamber maid enters, her arms tucked neatly to the sides of her baggy clothing.

"The King requests your presence in the Great Hall, Prince Consort," she murmurs, averting her eyes as the Prince stands, attempting to locate his trousers. 

"I shall be there in a moment," Daemon replies, shooing away the chambermaid to leave him to dress himself. 

He is true to his word, minutes later at the doors to the Great Hall, heavily armored guards hauling them open to their Prince. There was no need to announce his presence, as the only other person in the Hall was the King himself, seated on the Iron Throne, withered as ever, cane replacing the sword he once carried. 

Daemon knew this ploy, his brother's use of the throne for power. It had been used on him many years ago, when he had first been banished for declaring the "king for a day." Yet still, as the brothers aged, Viserys relied upon his throne, basking in the light of a King, rather than a man who Daemon had grown up sword fighting, and racing horses with. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, brother?," he says, head held high, bold voice echoing through the high stretched walls. 

"Did you do it?" the King growls, his voice hoarse, yet face stoic and unchanging. 

Daemon rolls his eyes, stopping at the base of the throne, right where the  melted swords jutted against the ground," I don't know what you mean."

Viserys stands, his cane clicking on the stone as stepped down the stairs, facing his brother, "My daughter, Y/N. Rumors have spread in a fortnight that you bedded her."

A smirk appears on Daemon's face before he can compose himself. Pain stretches across his leg as he drops to the ground, the heavy metal of Viserys's cane hits against his shin with enough force to bruise.

"Won't you even deny it?" the King hisses, looking to the Prince, now on his knees before him. 

"To discredit these charges I must know what you are accusing me of," Daemon returns, attempting to stand. 

The harsh blow of Viserys's cane comes again, this time to his back, causing him to fall forward, stomach hitting the floor. Daemon groans, face meeting the cold stone of the Great Hall. 

"You have defiled her. Your niece, my daughter. What Lord will wed her now, now that she has been ruined by such an insolent, whore-fucking beast!"

Daemon attempts to stand once again, only to be held down by the firm leather boot of his King. Instead, he rolls to his back, so he can look the furious King in the eye, "What would it matter? Any man has fucked their way through the Streets of Silk by the time he has reached Y/N's age."

Another whack of the cane hits his side, one that Daemon can feel against his ribs as pain radiates  across his body. It blinds him temporarily, white, searing hot, and when he regains his vision, Viserys has crouched down beside him, crown mere inches from his face. 

"You know why, Daemon! If you wish to speak foolishly then I shall have my king's guard cut out your tongue so you may not speak at all!" He shouts, before falling back, into a coughing fit.

Daemon takes this time to push himself off the ground, now in a sitting position. He inhales sharply, glaring at the man he had once thought so highly of, many years before.

"I didn't bed her, brother. Her virtue is still intact, her cunt will still bleed when she is penetrated."

The King looks to him, and for once, there is a flicker of sympathy in his eyes, mixed within the exhaustion that plagued his waking hours, "Don't let your tongue defile my daughter as your actions have, tell me what you did. Moans were heard from Y/N's quarters, brother, the quarters that you exited after the noises silenced. You have plagued this family enough, Daemon, the truth, swear it."

Daemon smooths his leathers, now coated in a thin layer of dirt from the castle floors, " I merely assisted her in achieving pleasure, to which she offered to return the favor. Your daughter is keen on keeping her maidenhead till she is wed, as a man of my word, I never touched her precious cunt. I swear it, on the old Gods and the new."

Viserys rubs his face with a tired hand, "You understand what this has cost our kingdom? What have you done for the future, what alliances have broken? What little honor we have left?"

"You are the dragon, brother, your word is law. Y/N is untouchable if you declare her so." Daemon hisses.

The King stands, leaning heavily on the metal cane, resuming his place on the Iron Throne, " You act as power is something that can be demanded, yet it can only be earned. I have worked hard to ensure the protection of the realm, of loyalty from our people, and you have dilapidated the foundations I have built, not just for the realm, but for her, for our family! I have given you resources, I have given you a wife-"

"A wife whom despised my being with every honor she stood for. A wife who is now dead!" Daemon counters, anger in his voice.

'What is it that you want, brother?" Viserys growls, "What will tame your path of destruction?"

Daemon hesitates, rolling the offer, as backhanded as it was, over in his mind, "I want Y/N. Give her to me, brother, and I will wed her in the tradition of our house, produce for you a true Targaryen offspring, one of pure, unsullied blood."

Viserys brings a hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples in exhaustion as the Rogue Prince continues, "Would it not bring you peace to know she is treated well? To know she is in safe hands, not forced to be bed by a prideful Lord in a house that is not her own?"

"You have never brought me peace, Daemon," the King says, spite and hatred lacing his words,"I want you out of my sight. Go, while I clean up the mess you have created."

"As you wish, brother.", the Prince exhales, nodding his head as he briskly turns to the door, boots clicking on the stone pavement as he does. 

"She sucks cock like a whore," he calls out, loud words echoing through the Great Hall, ensuring they were heard by the King, no matter the elongated distance between them. 

Daemon turns around, watching as a hateful glare appears on the King's face, red from anger,  or even the slightest bit of humiliation. A smile graces the Rouge Prince's lips, "I swear it."

[dontsh0vethesun]

christmas lights and tension

part two of home for christmas

natasha romanoff x reader

The hallmark movie inspired Christmas story that nobody asked for.

Natasha Romanoff fell out of love with Christmas, but perhaps a certain someone could help her find the festive magic once again.

Coming home to her small hometown from her life in New York City, the children’s author is reunited with the people of her past; some are happier to see her than others.

But, will rekindled relationships inspire the Christmas story she’s struggling to write? Or will she go home empty handed?

fluff, friendship, an attempt at humour, cringe of course, tension and bickering, meddling gyals, feelings good and bad, found family

wc: 2.9k | part one | part three

The night prior played on in your head the entire journey to work. You thought about the pathetic way she could still make your heart beat with just a look of her eyes into yours and how, even after all this time, a brief closeness still made the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight. As though, they too, just wanted her nearer. 

It was aggravating, the way you wanted her within your periphery despite the hate you’d accumulated with regards to the redhead in her time away. Since she left with little goodbye. 

The festive ornaments Wanda had decorated the cafe door with dared to annoy you when you let the door shut heavily behind you and each motion you went through was carried out with more force than necessary. You loathe how easily Natasha had gotten beneath your skin. With just one evening leaving you in such a way, you dare to think what else was in store. The mere fact only sets your plan in stone - you have to avoid her as much as possible. She’ll be gone in a week, it’ll be a simple task to execute. 

–

When Sam and Wanda arrived they only had to share a glance, darting their eyes towards where you huffed and puffed at each menial job you carried out. The annoyance bounced off you and they knew better than to drag you into a conversation. 

They let you stew in your Romanoff-stained head, plastering on your best customer service grins before retreating to make their orders with an obvious and venomous taste left on your tongue. 

Pietro, however, was the allegorical spanner in the works. The blonde hurried into the building when he knew you’d reached the afternoon lull, an expectant smile on his face for the gossip he was waiting to hear from your lips. Wanda had warned him, and she did so again with a muttered scolding beneath her breath. She’d told him all about it last night - of course. But he wanted your side of the ongoing feud (that had been significantly lacking ignition for longer than he’d prefer).

Despite what his sister may say, he will not deprive himself of hearing your angry retelling. 

“So,” he began with a playful lilt to his vaguely accented voice. “Anything interesting happen last night?”

He merely laughed at the glare you shot his way, a trait you’d grown to despise after all of these years. 

“I told you not to say anything,” Wanda sighed, slapping his hand away from the cookie he tried to help himself to. “She’s angry,” she finished with a stage whisper and a nowhere-near-subtle gesture to where you stood beside her, 

“I’m not angry,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes that proved just the opposite. 

“So you definitely didn’t almost break my favourite mug, huh?” Sam laughed, still milking the emotional wound of the morning. It wasn’t broken, which you had assured him multiple times, but the near fatality was enough for him to hold against you for the foreseeable. 

“It’s an ugly mug, Sam,” you mumbled, letting a huff of a laugh break through your tough exterior at his overly dramatic gasp. 

“Only an angry person would say such a hurtful thing,” he frowned. 

“I’m not angry. I’m totally over it. One hundred percent, completely, over it.”

You couldn’t even convince yourself, let alone the lifelong friends who stared back at you incredulously. You could just about kick yourself with the effect she somehow has on you. You could practically suffocate in it. 

“Right,” Pietro nodded, seemingly agreeing with the others to feign the slightest belief in your statement. “So last night was good?”

“It was great,” you nodded, possibly giving yourself whiplash with the intensity. “Right, Wanda?”

“Yes. Definitely,” she agreed. “Very, um, tension-free and comfortable.”

“Yeah. It’s not as though somebody I haven’t spoken to for years was just staring at me all night,” you grumbled. 

“Someone you’re totally over.”

“Exactly. Someone who has no hold on me at all. In fact, I actually forgot about the time she blocked my number, moved away and just never talked to me again.” 

“So the annual Christmas Eve party at the Romanoff’s is still good to go?” Sam chimed in. 

“Oh - I actually have plans that day,” you stumbled out - completely blanking on the tradition you’ve all kept up since high school.

It was an unconventional family you’d all found yourselves a home within; what began as a friendship group sitting together at lunch turned into gatherings during the holidays. Melina and Alexei had become parental figures for a few of you; large gatherings were held for all holidays celebrated within the social circle you’d accumulated, and the time you’d all spend together only grew you ever closer. 

When you were younger, the ‘adults’ would be forced into the kitchen whilst you had your own teenage gatherings in the living room. Yelena would sneak a bottle of vodka from her parent’s cupboard, Kate would supply pizza, and Kamala would always amuse you with the comic stories she’d write herself into. Maria had often fondly commented on her wish for you to just ‘go to a party and get the cops called on you for underage drinking’, but you were all happy with Monica bringing her telescope - her prized possession - to show you the stars. You’d all rather critique Sam’s baking endeavours and tease Carol about her weekly changing crushes on various cheerleaders. Watching Kate clumsily lose her balance in an attempt at a race against Pietro was your preferred way to spend a Friday night. 

You and Wanda would giggle at your friends, at the way Kamala would have to be practically carried home by her parents. She’d feign tipsiness and you’d all pretend you didn’t know it was just from all the Pepsi she’d drink. And then you’d gossip. Your favourite pastime for all these years, it was the pair of you against the world. She’d try to convince you of the obvious crush Natasha harboured for you, analysing each and every time she’d looked your way to see if you’d laughed at one of her jokes. Telling you of the eyes that constantly tried to find yours across a room as though she noted down each interaction - knowing her, she probably did. 

She’d told you for years that your feelings were mutual and just as you let yourself believe her, the girl that held your heart in the palm of her hand just took it with her to college. And then to New York. And now that she was here, you swear you could see it peeking out of her jean pocket. 

“Melina’s apple pie is literally your favourite,” Wanda spoke with a poke of her elbow into your side, knowing your stubbornness could easily subside if she had anything to do about it. 

“Just bring me a slice,” you grumbled. 

“No. You’re coming,” she returned with a shake of her head that never failed to put you in your place. “Besides, you’re over the Romanoff phenomena, right?”

“Right.”

And just as though the universe is desperate to see you in a fugue of embarrassment the bell above the coffee shop door sounded, and the hinges you always mean to tend to creaked, as the subject of your aching resentment sauntered in. You caught a brief glance of the soft smile that pulled at her lips as she looked around before you ducked out of view, hitting Wanda’s leg when she looked down at you with a laugh. 

“You’ve got a nice place here,” she spoke. You hate how much you still adore the rasp of her voice. 

“Yeah,” Wanda answered, you saw her nod from where you sat. And hid; your cowardice seemingly ever present only when it comes to her.  “We opened it a couple years ago.”

“She always said you’d open a shop here. I knew she’d do it.” You could hear the smile in her words and though Wanda is always on your team she couldn’t miss the fondness in Natasha’s eyes. The same glint from before; she made a mental note to tell you later. She does love romance after all, even if one half of the beloved couple is on her naughty list. She couldn’t completely let go of her matchmaking fantasies, even if she had to work with a friends-to enemies-to lovers debacle. 

You rest your chin on your tucked-up knees as you remember the day she’d walked with you through town, sharing a cup of ice cream whilst you spoke about your dreams for the future. You’d pointed at an empty space with a ‘for rent’ sign plastered to the window and claimed it would be yours, that you’d let Wanda decorate and give Natasha free coffees. She’d laughed and told you she’d write her books in the back corner and name a character after you. 

Neither of you mentioned the key elements of your desired futures. The presence of one another, sharing kisses and tender embraces. 

“My mom sent me,” you heard her say. “Something about cookies to have while we decorate? Apparently you come over to help?”

“You’d know that if you ever came back, Nat.” Wanda hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, she almost felt bad at the way the redhead nervously cleared her throat at the unspoken accusation but she couldn’t just forget the way she’d treated you. It was impossible to forget the way you only let her see you cry. 

“Yeah, I know,” she breathed. “It’s busy in New York, y’know? Deadlines and meetings,” she added, trailing off when she realised her excuses weren’t even good enough for herself. “I was hoping I’d bump into her actually, is she not here?”

“No, sorry,” Wanda lied seamlessly. “She had to go and chase up a delivery.”

“I guess I’ll see her tonight?”

“I’ll see if she can make it.”

–

She didn’t ‘see if you could make it’ at all. Each protest you made was debunked by persuasive words and puppy dog eyes she knew you couldn’t resist. You let any attempt she made of Natasha being a ‘changed woman’ glide right off of you, Wanda Maximoff’s belief in true love be damned. 

So, you were forced into attending the annual get-together where Melina sugarcoated her forced labour with promises of eggnog. She only enlists you to help because she knows Alexei and Yelena are less use than a chocolate teapot when it comes to festive decorations. 

You muttered beneath your breath as you dawdled your way to the front door, arms full with the box of cookies as requested (Sam’s own recipe), hoping to savour as much time as possible before you were thrust into close proximity with the woman you’d made it your mission to avoid. Wanda was orchestrating this on purpose, you’re sure. 

Before you’d even had time to fish the key out of your jacket’s pocket, the face you hoped not to see was smiling at you with the door opened wide enough to let you in. You didn’t let yourself pay attention to the familiar scent of the perfume she still seems to wear. 

“Hi, you made it,” Natasha smiled, taking the box from your hands, feeling the same pull as you when her fingers brushed against yours. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t let Yelena go without her cookies, could I?” you smirked, laughing when the aforementioned woman hurried over to take them from her sister. 

“Kate Bishop, I have acquired the goods,” she shouted through a mouthful of crumbs that you knew must’ve left a trail behind her on the carpet. 

“Wanda wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Melina promised eggnog, of course I’m here,” you smiled, directing it towards the woman who approached you with a glass and a grin. She couldn’t help the twinge of hurt that washed through her at your obvious coolness towards her, how you hardly looked at her, though she couldn’t blame you for it. 

You were soon roped into hanging stockings along the fireplace with yours and the Maximoff’s still given a place. In hindsight, you wish less of your energy was focused on being on the opposite side of the room to Natasha and more on the sly whisperings between the women in the corner. 

It wouldn’t have been as much of a surprise when the two of you were given the task of fixing stringed lights on the porch. You could’ve wrestled Wanda to the ground at the way she laughed behind her hand at each subtle way you attempted to push the job into somebody else's lap. But their minds were made up and four pairs of eyes glinted with mischievous amusement when you begrudgingly made your way out into the cold Ohio evening. 

The yellowed light that filtered onto you both from within the house made her skin glow, her milky complexion just like cream. The kind that’d entice the swipe of your tongue across your bottom lip, wanting just a taste, but wanting to steer clear of its addictive elixir even more. You didn’t let her catch sight of your eyes tracing the side of her face whilst she attempted to unbind the tangled mess of lights bundled in her hold; mapping the contours of her jaw and the sharp turn it took as it dipped down to her exposed neck. You still knew each sporadic freckle and you chased a glimpse of each one before you darted your eyes elsewhere. 

It was confusing. How all those antipathetic emotions she stirred up within you, adding to the mixture with each passing year of being out of your life, were somehow joined by those old feelings flooding back. It all washed over you in a blearily muddled wave, filling each space it could find, bubbling and boiling, spitting out in ways that made you flinch. 

How could one woman cause you such upheaval? 

“Here,” she muttered, holding out the stringed lights that seemed to be in even worse condition than they had started with a scrunched up face of surrender. “I give up.”

You took them from her wordlessly, still hoping you could get this over with as quickly as possible. 

“Things like this take time, Natasha,” you spoke. Your voice was quiet and directed downwards with your chin against your chest as you picked apart the mess she’d handed you. “You can’t just expect it to unravel all perfectly just because you want it to.”

“Why do I feel like that has a double meaning?”

You only shrugged in response, weaving the wires with care so not to damage them further, getting there slowly but surely. 

“And here I was, hoping you’d talk to me tonight,” she murmured, scuffing her foot against the worn down wooden decking beneath her boot clad feet. 

“I don’t have much to say.”

“Alright.”

“Things don’t always happen the way you want them to, that’s all,” you breathed. “You can’t just come here and have it all fall in your lap all perfectly neat. Life doesn’t work like that.”

“Right, so this definitely isn’t about the lights,” she laughed. It was humourless and the second you dared to spare in her direction showed you the grimace that washed over her lips for just a moment before it faded again. 

“I don’t find any of this funny, Natasha. It’s a lot,” you sighed. “You being here after all of this time - after all that time I was just forgotten by you. You must be really dense if you’d expect me to just welcome you back with open arms.”

“I didn’t forget you,” she returned, brows furrowing at the way you truly believed that. “I could never just forget you.” 

“Then why’d you leave me behind?”

Any words that lay across the length of her tongue wouldn’t garner the courage to venture past her lips. Her mouth opened and closed. Opened and closed again. Words were never easy when it came to you. 

“I’m done,” you stated, doing all you could to push down the sting at her lack of reassurance. You felt foolish that, just for a moment,you’d thought that something heartfelt and profound would ease the ache. Sweet words spoken in her velvet-soft voice, saccharine enough to fix it all. You held out the neat and tangle-free length of string lights for clarification and she cleared her throat as she pulled her hands out of the front pockets of her jeans to take them from you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The woman didn’t shy away from letting her sights linger on your body when she held the ladder still for you to climb. Still, she kept her hands away as much as she wanted to feel the solidity of you beneath them, only instructing you with words. 

“Move them a little to the left, maybe?”

“I know how to hang lights, Natasha,” you grumbled, straining the muscles of your arms to reach above you. 

“I’m sure you do but they’re uneven,” she bit back. 

“Whatever you say.” You rolled your eyes out of her sight whilst she snuck a peek at the exposed skin of your back where your shirt lifted. 

“Alright, now just hook them over the corner and we’re done,” she added, smirking at the dramatised groan you answered her with despite the tension in her jaw at the thick atmosphere between you. 

“If I’d known you’d back seat decorate, I would’ve got you to do it all,” you scoffed when you could finally make your way down from the stepladder. 

Neither of you acknowledged the hand she lay on your back, fingertips ghosting your cool skin with warmth that bit past the winter cold. Neither of you said anything about the way it stayed there. And you definitely didn’t admit to yourself that it left you willing its return when it drew away. 

Wanda was going to have a field day with this.

[swanmaids]

The reason none of us are normal about the Silmarillion after reading it is because it’s about so many things. Even disregarding the Histories and the Unfinished Tales, the Silmarillion is about doom and brutal defeats and generational curses and fatal flaws and the breaking of cycles. It’s about flawed gods and family feuds and love that defies fate and the inevitable loss of all things beautiful. It’s about looking back thousands of years at the men and women of myth and legend. It’s about the wrenching tragedies and the glimmers of hope, it’s Feanor putting the first torch to the swan ships and Turin falling on his own sword, Fingolfin despondent summoning Morgoth to come out and face him and Beren and Luthien stealing a silmaril from his crown, Elwing saved against all odds and hope and Earendil climbing to the peak of the gods to plead for mercy - and winning it. And it’s also about getting naked and death battling a werewolf with your teeth.

[barkly-523]

About Dutch van der Linde

Hello tumblr rdr space! I do not go here, but I post on tiktok sometimes and have a dear buddy of mine who ive been talking to about some posts on here!

I will post a proper introduction at a later date, but for now I would like to put my own two cents in on some stuff ive been seeing recently, about Dutch.

Dutch is an incredibly COMPLEX character, and I feel that some people really horrifically miss that point sometimes. whether it be "Oh, he bonked his head!" or "Oh, this man is a monster!" both points are on opposite ends of the spectrum, but I believe they greatly miss the overarching theme of his character and who he is, and was, as a person. To merely dismiss all of his actions by saying "oh, hes just a monster, abuser, groomer, thats why hes the way that he is" shows nothing above a surface level understanding of his character, nor the characters of the people around him and those who choose to work with him. These characters were designed to have depth, to be studied, and understood on a deeper level. Why take such a basic explanation? I am not here to say Dutch is not without flaws (because he has alot of those), but I AM here to say that calling dutch a "groomer" or some sort of "cult leader, master manipulator" is just, factually incorrect.

Firstly, with the grooming point. This is an incredibly stigmatized word nowadays, so its crazy to use in general here, but by no means were people "groomed" into being outlaws. These people had flaws of their own, took bad paths, and ended up crossing paths with Dutch. Why did they cross paths with him? Well, I went through every "how they joined the gang" story I could find, and its about a 50/50 split between they tried to rob or kill dutch, Or that they were on the run and dutch gave them a safe place to stay, with some exceptions. The odds of these people bumping into someone far worse, in all cases, are exceptional. Most of the gang were in bad places when dutch found them, and they were getting desperate. Its incredibly possible they wouldve bumped into someone who wouldve killed them instead. John was saved from being hanged. Had Dutch and Hosea not been there, he wouldve died. Arthur outright says "dutch saved me, saved most of us." and although things did not turn out right at the end of the day, to believe that dutch was nothing more than a power-hungry manipulator is shown to be incorrect in the media itself. Colm exists. Hes literally right there. An antagonist who; doesnt know the names of the men in his gang, is shown to hit Kieran, who cares more for numbers than connection. Their feud goes back YEARS, and it all seems to stem from a fatal disagreement about how things were being run. When they split paths, Dutch keeps a tight knit gang of people who he considers family, Colm continues to grow his gang in numbers. At the very start of the game, dutch makes it clear that hed prefer the gang doesnt split up, that they stick together so *he can be sure everyone is okay.* He shows sympathy for Sadies situation, and takes her in to help her. Not once is it stated shes obligated to be there, in fact, its stated that she can stay as long as she needs to, to get back on her feet. She has the final say on whether she stays in the gang or not. The reason so many people stayed in the gang until it was actively collapsing, is not because dutch was forcing them to stay. They saw him as family just as he saw them.

Its why his character arc is so interesting. Its why watching his downfall is impactful. he ISNT a bad man, he does bad things out of desperation towards the end of the game, just as other gang members did in the very beginning. Dutch had bad tendencies, but he had people there to help him stay on the right track. His beliefs were good, its why he had people who stuck with him. They believed in what he taught. He had incredibly intelligent people in his gang, I'll use Lenny and Hosea as my examples for now. Lenny was taught by his father to judge peoples character, and even if his time with the gang was short he absolutely wouldve picked up on dutchs behavior if he was hiding behind some sort of mask. and HOSEA, has been with the dude for 20 YEARS. You cannot fake something for that long, and hosea is far from stupid aswell. He is a conman by nature. If dutch was trying to con everyone, surely he wouldve noticed. Arthur still regards dutch incredibly highly for a good majority of the game. He sees the man as a mentor and is clearly deeply affected watching dutch spiral and do bad things as the game goes on. At the beginning, when told Dutch had shot a girl on the blackwater job, his first response is to say that it "doesnt sound like him". Dutch is shown to have remorse for his actions, although he chooses to rarely talk about blackwater, and avoids the subject when its brought up, he explains to hosea, with shame, that he "really messed up" in blackwater. Micah had egged dutch on (as stated by John in a camp interaction) and dutch is shown to be regretful, that job really put everything in motion, but I truly believe micahs manipulation is what changed dutch.

Micah fed into his impulsive side, and tried to reassure him when things went wrong. When Arthur was kidnapped by Colm, Micah explained that Arthur was the type to wander, and surely, theyd see him back at camp. Dutch, ONCE AGAIN, shows regret. He shouldnt have put Arthur in such a position, and knows it. Dutch has impulsive tendencies, he has paranoid thoughts. This is shown in multiple camp interactions and even stated in one of the games first journal entries about the land they were going to settle on before the ferry job. To simply blow off all the depth of his character by saying "oh, hes bad" is so,, lame? Why focus on dutch specifically to say he did all of these bad things on his own accord when micah is, right there. Dutch literally goes crawling back to him in the epilogue. Partly for revenge, since seeing arthur on the cliffside was able to briefly break him out of the funk hed been in for the last few months (albeit far too late), but also partly because I dont think he knows how to be alone. I dont think he can handle it. Hosea and Arthur had been by his side the longest, and he had to watch both of them die. Late game conversations between dutch and arthur have always been fascinating to me, and even in Guarma dutch is still set on going back to keep the gang together. Thats his family, and he cannot lose them too. He outright states he'll do whatever it takes to make sure they survive. Arthur is startled by this, as dutch has been shown to be deadly and irrational, he isnt processing things well, and cannot handle the pressure on his shoulders, and it certainly doesnt help that Micah is in his ear telling him that Arthur and John are betraying him. He clearly doesnt want to believe it, but he cannot wrap his head around hoseas death, and assumes that the only way it couldve happened was if someone ratted, completely overlooking micah.

Dutch is not a smart man, and truthfully, he should have never been in a position of power, but he is not evil. He was desperate, and he was trying to keep his family together. Although I do not agree with the "Trolley Theory" for reasons stated above, I highly doubt him bashing his head like that helped with his mental state either. Dutch is desperate. Dutch does bad things, but he is far from a bad man. He helped the people in his gang, and although the found family turned sour in the end, they mattered to him, and it mattered to the gang. Dutch, CANONICALLY, was not always "bad" either. Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea robbed a bank, took what they needed, and gave the rest to the local orphanage. Dutch scolded Arthur for robbing someone who was "too poor" and said that doing that made them just as bad as the system they were fighting against, Dutch helped Hosea get on the right track and stopped him from stealing just about anything he could get his hands on. Dutch is a man who had good ideologies, and wanted to help people in his own way, but the pressures kept adding up and it broke him. Dutch, in RDR1, is a more objectively "bad" character, But look at how they fleshed him out in rdr2. Was the cliff scene nearly as impactful before the release of rdr2? absolutely not! Playing as john, we were thrown in with a baseline knowledge of their history, and now knowing the full story makes the cliff scene quite the harrowing experience if youre able to grasp the intricacies of dutchs character, to look at him as more than "just a villain".

This turned out to be far more ranty then I wanted, but I am so tired of seeing so much mischaracterization and demonization of a character with literally days worth of content to look at and study that shows some of the points I see from people to just be blatantly wrong. Lol

[nezumikozo6th]

Pulptober 2024 Day 24-Team of Elites-Lupin III gang

I stumbled across this funny activity that based on Pulp Hero prompts and it seems to allow for anyone participation(hope I didn't misunderstand),so I took the liberty of coming uninvited(And I'm obviously posted late).I think Lupin the Third is one of the most pulp-style long-going anime series that still going now,and one of the most common story templates is how the protagonist and his companions become a team of adaptive anti-hero,so they deserve to be put under this topic.

This adventuring team consists of four capable criminals who are equal and independent,Lupin the third is usually the mastermind and the one leading the action,but he isn't a real leader and the gang isn't named after him or anyone else.All of them can carry out theft or other criminal work alone.Compared with professional criminal groups with clear division of labor,they are more like a family of professional thieves with their own specialties,and it's interesting to see how they work closely together while maintaining their own independence and sometimes conflicting for that.

Daisuke Jigen(次元大介) is the closest one who is literally an assistant of Lupin on the gamg,even though he actually isn't,and he is definitely the member who drives and smokes with Lupin on screen the most.The two interacted so frequently and naturally that some fans jokingly called Jigen the gayest man alive(On the other hand many fans believe they're bisexual).He is the best gunman of them and known for his extraordinary shooting ability and familiarity with various firearms,on the contrary he rarely shows his (not bad) hand-to-hand combat ability.I think sometimes people put too much emphasis on his feuding moments with Fujiko,he was often angry at her betrayal,but most of the time he did not blame her any more than Lupin and Goemon did except verbally.

Goemon Ishikawa XIII(石川五ェ門) is a character who is a symbol of Japanese/East-Asian culture that deliberately placed in this Westernized(for the Japanese at the time) gang,although it's far from a stereotype,he is undoubtedly the member who has the most clearly culture marked,that includes a samurai/ronin costume,a Japanese sword and his Iaidō skills,which makes him the only member who does not use firearms and has a irreplaceable skill(swordsmanship).He is often as a handy member to cut through bullets,obstacles or various things in front of them,and the one most often leaves the team for personal reasons(Except Fujiko when she betrayed them).

Fujiko Mine(峰不二子) is the regular femme fatale in this series,but in my experience,even few of characters of this type could be like her that able to maintain the companionship with a gang she betrayed multiple times,especially considering she isn't the leader.Fujiko is a wind card between Lupin gang and their opponents,she often betrays them,also often betrays their enemies and returns to the gang after considering the situation,or is rescued by them after being betrayed by their enemies,and fairly,working with them in good faith many times.Regardless of her initial decision,finally she always ends up siding with the gang at critical moments since of luck or intentionality. 

Koichi Zenigata(錢形幸一) is the Inspector Ganimard of Lupin the third,he is an Interpol police officer who has traveled around the world for many years to hunt down Lupin III,but they respect each other and have a special friendship with each other.Of course Zenigata can't be a real member of the Lupin gang,but like other empathetic inspector characters,he is often involved in their fights with other criminal forces,and is usually willing to join them in fighting against more evil elements for the sake of morality and justice,whether both are acting independently or actually working together.This happens so often that make Zenigata deserves to be considered a special member of the gang,and becomes the best and worst cop:he is unable to arrest Lupin most of the time,but thanks to this he has achievements in fighting crime that ordinary police officers cannot match.

[clumsyghosts]

Numb3rs 06x12: Arm in Arms:

Charlie Eppes grows so much during the series: he matures as a person, expands in his academic career, and develops more positive relationships with friends and family. But consulting with the FBI changes him, and 06x12 illustrates that by including Professor Bahnhoff with the case of the day.

When Otto-Bahn sees the covered bodies in the road, he is distraught, shaken so badly that he has to escape into his work.

Hey, hey, Otto, are you all right, man? I just... I-I need to get to a chalkboard.

Otto-Bahn is a flashback to beginning-of-series!Charlie, the timid Charlie that shies away from the aftermath of violence, the one who escapes into his head.

Theory just collided with reality. It's not about equations anymore.

Charlie still doesn't like seeing the bodies; the deaths weigh on his mind and heart, but he has been desensitized enough to visit crime scenes without having to look away. But he shouldn't have gotten to that point. Charlie's not an FBI agent like Don or Nikki or David. He's not a former soldier, like Colby. Charlie's an academic; his 'ivory tower' life shouldn't be heavier than pranking feuding colleagues or squabbling over supercomputer access. 

Charlie shouldn't have PTSD from being shot at multiple times. Charlie shouldn't be burdened with seeing bodies. He shouldn't know what it feels like to be caught in a gun fight. Charlie shouldn't feel responsible when the data is wrong and his brother gets injured. Charlie shouldn't have to use his time thinking about serial killers or preventing crime.

And Don, lying in his hospital bed after being fatally stabbed ages ago (yes, fatally, he flat-lined for a minute), told him, "Charlie, I didn't want this life for you."

[scotianostra]

On November 8th 1752, Seumas a’ Ghlinne / James of the Glen was hung at Cnap Chaolis Mhic Pharaig, near Ballachulish.

Seamus a’ Ghlinne mounted the gallows above the narrows at Ballaculish with the reproach of Psalm 35 for his persecutors:

"False witnesses rose; to my charge things I not knew they laid. They, to the spoiling of my soul, me ill for good repaid."

James of the Glen, or just James Stewart — had come there that day to die for the ambush murder of Colin Roy Campbell.

The victim was stock of Clan Campbell, one of the largest Highland clans and one whose loyalties to the Hanoverian kings were being richly rewarded. The Stewarts, who had backed the recent ill-fated Jacobite rebellion in favour of the exiled pretender Bonnie Prince Charlie, were in the opposite predicament.

Colin Campbell was said on that fatal May 14th to be en route to expel the Stewarts from the village of Duror so that Campbells could move in. But even Campbell’s everyday job of extracting resentful rents from estates repossessed from Jacobite sympathizers would have turned many a murderous eye his way.

Someone that day shot Colin Campbell in the back from wooded cover, then vanished, murderous eye and trigger finger and all, never to be never apprehended. So they got James Stewart to answer for it instead. This wasn’t a tragic case of well-intentioned police developing tunnel vision on the wrong suspect so much as repaying tit for tat in a family feud. The trial was held at the Campbells’ Inverary Castle. Its presiding judge was the Campbell alpha male, the Duke of Argyll. Eleven more Campbells sat on Stewart’s jury. But then, from the Campbells’ side, or London’s for that matter, what was to say that this one murder might not be the germ of a new rebellion if not ruthlessly answered?

Still, there was “not a shred of evidence,” says present-day Glasgow barrister John Macauley, “The whole thing from start to finish was a farce.”

James Stewart was, however, the foster father of a man who actually was suspected of firing the shot, Allan Breck Stewart, a former Jacobite soldier who had returned from exile in France to collect rents for the Stewarts. Known to have threatened the Campbells previously, Allan was also tried and condemned to death — but only in absentia, since he suspiciously fled to France immediately after the so-called Appin Murder.

Many years later, Robert Louis Stevenson would use this dramatic crime, and Al(l)an Breck’s flight to safety, in Kidnapped. “I swear upon the Holy Iron I had neither art nor part, act nor thought in it,” Stevenson’s Alan says to the fictional protagonist in the novel, just after both have witnessed the murder.

And in reality, Alan too is thought by those who know the case to be clear of guilt in the matter. The Stewart family reputedly knew all along which of their number was Campbell’s real killer, but refused to give him up and kept the family secret for generations. It’s even said that that man had to be forcibly held down on execution day to prevent him giving himself up.

To judge by the most recent research, that man was likely Donald Stewart, the son of Stewart of Ballachulish and the best shot among a group of several young hotheads who resolved together to slay the Campbells’ hated Factor. The conspiracy also goes as the reason — or at least excuse — for keeping Donald silent, since in giving himself up he might see all four of them to the gallows. The late Lee Holcombe makes a comprehensive case for Donald Stewart as the gunman in the 2004 book Ancient Animosity: The Appin Murder and the End of Scottish Rebellion; Donald Stewart was also fingered publicly in 2001 by a matriarch of the Stewarts of Appin, though others of her family have not publicly confirmed that that’s the secret name.

James Stewart’s decaying corpse remained gibbeted on the spot of his execution for 18 months as illustrated in the pic by the late Andrew Hillhouse, after, a rotting warning to the Stewarts or any late Jacobites. In 1754, a local man called “Daft Macphee” finally tore down the gallows and threw it into Loch Linnhe … but its former position overlooking the modern Ballachulish Bridge is still marked by a mossy stone monument to James of the Glen, “executed on this spot Nov. 8th 1752 for a crime of which he was not guilty.”

The image was commissioned as a book cover for “Grass Will Not Grow on My Grave” by Mary McGrigor. The image was also used on a descriptive panel at the site of James’ execution at Ballachulish. If you stop before the bridge (travelling north) and climb up the footpath where the bridge begins, you will see it.

For the full story on this infamous story check out the link here http://archaeol.wwwnlls6.a2hosted.com/.../James%20of...

[mahuhumaling]

patpran x star-crossed lovers trope

"Two lovers, often teenagers, are doomed to be kept apart no matter how hard they struggle to be together. It may be fatally-Feuding Families. The archetype dates as far back as Mesopotamian and Egyptian Mythology."

[inspo. TV Trope Quote | visual | textpost] [x]

[icecoldwilliams]

|| (Fair warning, I'm sleep deprived & hella depressed but let's see how putting thoughts into words goes lol)

So right off the bat, personal opinion, this might be a translation thing to look into, but I don't think Harada means "loving" here in the doting sense. Especially when everything else we've been shown about Richard & Helena thus far suggests otherwise. – I more so think he means "loving" in the sense that growing up, they absolutely spoiled Nina & Anna w everything they could ever ask for - clothes, toys, luxury, etc. - everything except adequate attention and (in the case of Richard) affection.

We know for a fact that one of the biggest issues Anna has always had with Nina is how she believes Richard never loved her as much as her. We know Richard would put Nina through emotional suppression experiments. We know the whole reason why Anna got into cooking in the first place was to get their fathers attention by being good at something Nina wasn't, only for him to outright dismiss her new talent as a "useless skill".

To sum up, we know so much utter shit about this guy, that there is no way in the hell he now lies in that he could ever be considered a truly "loving" father. 🥲

I'm sure in brief snippets of their memories here and there he could act the part. I'm sure Nina saw his better side more often, just as I'm sure he himself probably believed he was always doing what was best for his daughters. By whatever means necessary.

Which ties into the other part Harada mentions, about how Richard "properly thought of both Nina & Anna." – I think he absolutely always took his daughters and their physical safety into consideration, he just went about it in... horrible, awful, toxic to say the least ways. – For example I think he absolutely knew Anna who was more sensitive, emotional & "naive" as Harada mentions, would be in more danger as she got older, so he was harder on her than he was Nina. To the point of 1) Anna and her foreseeable future were likely constant stressors for him, 2) Anna mistaking how strict he was on her as he didn't love her as much as Nina, and 3) Nina seeing Anna as a problem as well, just not in the same light.

I even think Richard passed on this stress to Nina in a smaller form. I've always headcanoned that growing up, Richard tasked Nina with being the secondary protector of the family, and sole protector should anything ever happen to him. But needless to say uhhhhm.... my girl took after her father by not using the best methods to do so either. – I've always believed Nina escalating their feud to near fatal measures in T2 prior to the cryosleep was her own kinda messed up way of ensuring Anna knew how to protect herself. ( w a pinch of added trauma from y'know.. what happened in the T1 days that we don't talk about much )

But then enter the cryosleep. Nina may take after her father but she's still her own person. The same sister she was trying to protect - *cough* again in warped ways *cough* - just helped kidnap her, imprison her in a cryogenic slumber against her will for nearly two decades, and thus played a hand in all the horrors that happened during & after. That's that. Would you stick around?

Which finally, to save a few more paragraphs, in part is why:

Please don't tell me that's the sole motivator for why she suddenly seemingly randomly turned around and chose violence again. I've been going off that being part of the reason why for years now, but it needs some extra sensical flavor I beg you 🍽️

[la-pheacienne]

Hi! I asked @aemontargaryen-bloodraven this question, who kindly directed me to you.

I would like know if you think Rhaenyra was intelligent throughout the book, if she made for a good political strategist, knew how to command her people, would make for/was a good queen?

I also sent this question other people I was directed to, I’m sorry if that is somehow wrong and if you have covered this questions before… thanks

Hi! So I will redirect you to this post by @alinahams that I personally love about book!Rhaenyra.

I can't respond to this question in length right now cause I am kind of drained, but I will say that Rhaenyra was admired by many people, trained by her father for the role of heir to the throne from an early age and she thrived as a ruler in Dragonstone. Her dynamism, perseveration, defiance and charm made her an ideal Queen. Sure she dismissed certain rules and had extra-marital affairs cause her husband was gay but we would never say that a man who had extra-marital affairs (one specifically) is not fit to be king, now, would we?

That is until the usurpation. After the usurpation, pretty much every single person in this game went into a fatal spiral, including Rhaenyra. But that's the whole point actually. It's a tragedy, fuelled by the combination of the Greens' betrayal and Viserys' incompetence, negligence and passivity. Rhaenyra is not to blame in this.

That's my stance, I unapollogetically stan Rhaenyra. Did she kind of lose her mind in the end? Yeah. Did she become authoritarian and obsessive? Yeah. Does that mean she would not make for a great Queen? No. That's the point. She is not the flawless heroine, but she's in the right. She was meant to be Queen, she would have been a good Queen. If they had let her.

And in any case, I don't really like the question. What does that mean exactly, "was she a good strategist"? This is a literary text, it's not a political discourse. This is not a football game, the endgoal here isn't to see who is the best ruler lmao. The author imagined certain characters and a certain plot to serve a certain message, to tell a story. Nobody actually cares if she was a good strategist. We care about how the house Targaryen and the entire realm was literally torn to pieces because a woman was named heir.

And who exactly was more fit to rule? Aegon? The alcoholic, gluttonous rapist who got poisoned like a clown by his own men? Aemond the psycho who eradicated entire villages for fun and started a war that killed his entire family over a personal feud? Does that make him a good strategist? Or Alicent "mayhaps the whore will die in childbirth" Hightower who literally destroyed her entire family with her own hands and died in a cell alone and delusional? Was she a better strategist? All three of them barely cover two pages of characterization (and I'm being generous) in the entire 700+ pages of Fire and Blood.

[beardedmrbean]

A social media feud turned deadly in suburban Northern Kentucky when Amanda Turner brought her children there for a fight, including her teenage son who was carrying a gun.

Turner, 40, was sentenced in Kenton County Circuit Court on Monday to 12½ years in prison for her role in the August 2023 fatal shooting of 23-year-old Seth Burns.

The sentence handed down by Judge Kathy Lape matches a recommendation from prosecutors negotiated as part of Turner’s plea agreement. She pleaded guilty in September to criminal facilitation of murder, rioting, unlawful transaction with a minor and illegally permitting a minor to possess a handgun.

It’s less than half the prison term imposed on her younger son, 18-year-old Jackie Turner, who was sentenced to 30 years in prison after pleading guilty to murder and admitting to firing the round that killed Burns.

After an online dispute partly between the girlfriend of Turner’s older son, Xxavion Turner, and a woman he’d previously been in a relationship with, the family went to Archer Court in Independence on Aug. 25, 2023, for a planned fight, prosecutors said.

Prosecutors say Amanda Turner was involved in text messages instigating the fight and doorbell camera video showed her leading her children down the street while screaming.

Turner admitted in court that she drove her younger son to and from the fight. She also told detectives she knew both of her sons routinely carry guns.

The feud stemmed from social media posts related to “insults about children and parenting skills, or lack thereof,” according to Kenton County Commonwealth’s Attorney Rob Sanders.

After a brief exchange of words before the fight could begin, then-17-year-old Jackie Turner fired once into the air and then once at Burns, striking him in the torso, and the Turner family fled, prosecutors said.

Burns didn’t know the Turners but went to the Archer Court home with his girlfriend, who was part of the feud.

“I feel like you and your family acted with complete disregard and malice for any human life,” Burns’ mom, Barbara, said in court.

Burns' family said they don't believe the Turners have shown remorse. But Daniel Schubert, Amanda Turner's attorney, said the opposite is true.

"She does wish it didn't happen, for what it's worth," Schubert said.

Son sentenced alongside mother

Xxavion Turner, now 22, was also sentenced on Monday to three years in prison. During a four-day trial in November, prosecutors painted Turner as the central figure known by everyone in the dispute.

A jury ultimately found him guilty of tampering with evidence but not guilty of murder, unlawful transaction with a minor and rioting.

Prosecutors said Turner lied to police about taking his younger brother’s gun after the shooting and told his sister to delete her text message history. Investigators later found the murder weapon in Turner's possession.

His attorney, Joseph Holbrook, declined to comment on the sentence.

Throughout his trial, Turner's lawyers argued that he wasn't complicit in Burns' death because he didn’t communicate or spend time with Jackie Turner that day, at least not until they met for the planned “girl fight.”

Xxavion Turner’s sister, Lakera Hughes and Keavier Turner, and his then-girlfriend, Emma Ryan, were each charged with rioting and unlawful transaction with a minor but have since pleaded guilty as charged.

\'It makes no sense to me\'

Even with six criminal cases related to the shooting all ending in convictions, Barbara and Greg Burns said there’s been little justice delivered for the death of their son, who wasn't involved in the feud but paid the price anyway.

They said Jakie Turner’s was the only just sentence and that his mom and older brother should’ve received similarly harsh punishments.

“She’s the one that instigated all of this and being their mother she just acted with complete disregard for anyone and anything,” Barbara Burns said of Amanda Turner. “I don’t know what kind of mother takes their kids to go shoot someone else’s child. It makes no sense to me.”

“I think they all deserved at least 30 years for what they did,” she said.

[blackboar]

What exactly was William Hastings killed for? He did not receive a public trial, did he really cooperate with the Woodville family? Was he killed at the banquet or a week later?

Oh it was a coup and murder. He still likely received a hasty and rigged trial before.

I'm not very interested and versed in the debate concerning the exact timing of his execution; however, the why is very clear.

Richard decided to usurp the throne and depose his nephews. He had supporters: Lord Howard, the northern Peerage and gentry and more amazingly the only other duke besides himself: Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham. Henry Stafford's support despite his seeming lack of relationship with Gloucester and his marriage link to the Woodville allowed the effect of surprise needed to capture Edward V and become the most powerful faction. The Woodville were a spent force by June 1483: Anthony Woodville and Richard Grey were in jail, Thomas was in exile, Edward Woodville failed to attract the royal fleet's support and the queen was secluded in Westminster Abbey.

Hence why the accusation from Richard that Hastings was plotting with the queen was a bit ludicrous: What is there to plot with? They're all in exile or in jail. They can't raise levies in the short term or do a strike attack. Hastings had serious squabbles with both the queen and Dorset, and there was no reason for him to support them over Gloucester, with whom he had a cordial relationship. I get people who say that he was afraid of either Gloucester's rise or Buckingham gaining importance but this isn't enough for him to do a speedy 180° turn back to a family he hurt and with whom he has some serious land feud.

The most probable conclusion was that he was killed because Gloucester wanted to overthrow his liege's heirs. Hastings couldn't accept that alongside the probable civil war it would trigger, which would destroy Edward IV's legacy. There is the theory that Hastings was plotting to block Gloucester's usurpation but I don't believe it considering he was utterly caught by surprise at the Council.

But why kill him by surprise and so quickly?

Richard knows Hastings' role in the Edwardian regime. He is the figurehead of the Household and most non-Woodville-related supporters. He is also a big source of manpower that was instrumental in Edward IV's triumph in 1471. From his lands and his personal retinue in the Midlands, Michael Hicks calculated he could raise thousands of men (I do not have his book with me so from my recollection it's either 3,000 or 8,000 men). Hastings is the king's friend, well-connected, popular and with a good military record and great control as Chamberlain over the Royal Household. In other words: he is a key player and a dangerous one on top of that.

But his fatal flaw is that he wields institutional power more than feudal power. He's powerful because he's the king's friend, his chamberlain and well-connected to his household and various official of the council. His son doesn't have the same connections. That's why Hastings disappearing is so attractive to Richard: he does not have an heir with enough might to avenge him as Edward IV did for his father.

Hence why I don't think that Richard even asked whether he would be open to Edward V's deposition. He couldn't afford a no and lost the effect of surprise. So he just went for it, struck before Hastings realized his intentions and executed him before his friends and servants could react.

Afterward he made his peace with Hastings' son by not attaining the father and seizing his lands. Edward Hastings was simply too young and not connected and experienced enough to pose a genuine threat to Richard.

So to sum up: I don't think he was cooperating with the Woodvilles and he was clearly killed because he could become an opponent to the usurpation that would happen soon after his death.

Thanks for the question!

[ashleyfanfic]

HELLCHEER REMIX 2023

(Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham)

The concept is very simple: participants choose from a list of famous couples (historical, folklore, literature, movies, television, etc.). Then they "remix" the original couple’s story using whatever elements of the original story that they find inspiring to create a brand new piece of HellCheer fic or artwork! All pieces must be originals and not part of a previously posted project.

To get your creative juices flowing, here are some plot bunnies for remixing Romeo and Juliet:

Chrissy and Eddie are lovers from feuding families. Chrissy and Eddie die in the end. Chrissy and Eddie are the owners of the apothecary shop from which the fatal poison was purchased.

It’s up to you! You choose your prompt and interpret it however you wish!

If you have any questions, you can contact me on Twitter and tumblr @ ashleyfanfic

READ MORE

[kmarie-experience21]

Imagine this…. Bayley goes to wrestlemania wins the title from io. Either moments after she win or the smackdown after she wins Sasha banks returns. Now last time Sasha and bayley collided or cross paths storyline wise was when Bayley betrayed her and they fought in hell in a cell with Sasha ending Bayley historic 380 day reign.

I will say damage control is bayley’s karma. Bayley created the force that is damage control she helped them achieve things etc only for io someone who bayley thought of as family + friend was influenced by her friends to betray bayley. The same way Sasha who helped Bayley throughout her career and made history beside her and thought of Bayley as family as her sister only for Bayley to betray her. Some could say the heel version Bayley we got was a result of the influence Sasha had on Bayley and that could parallel to Bayley and damage control. With Bayley being the monster Sasha created and damage control being the monster Bayley created. And Sasha overcame Bayley and now Bayley may overcome io and win the title.

Now granted bayley is not the same person now that she was when she betrayed Sasha at least not fully the same person.

I remeber a segment the two had back in 2018 when they had tension and they went that counseling sessions and later Sasha would help bayley during a match and Sasha said backstage “I love you, I always have and I always will” but she also said “it’s one thing for me to beat you up”. Now Sasha stilled cared about Bayley even after Bayley betrayed her we can tell from the hell in a cell match and the emotion they radiated. But storyline wise we could Sasha comes back not specifically to take the title from Bayley but to climb her way back to the top of the division. Sasha can through a feud with Bianca cause personally I wanna see a rematch or she could fued with some else. Anyway Sasha could end up winning the rumble and choosing Bayley. Now Bayley and Sasha outside of wwe has always talked about one day facing each other at wrestlemania specifically the main event and when Sasha wins the rumble with that thought of that in mind would go on to choose Bayley. They would have a segment….

And Sasha could say “I meant what I said bayley all those years ago.. your my sister and I love you and despite everything that has happened between us, despite the fact that I may never forgive you ik that but I also know there is not a thing in this world that’s gonna stop me from kicking your ass and taking away that championship from you so what do you say bayley, how about one more fight?

Bayley says well it was always our dream and who am I to deprive the wwe universe of a match like this so for old times I sake I say, your on sister.

Bayley line parallels when Sasha wanted to beat Bayley for the nxt women’s championship at respect and Bayley said your on sister….

And they shake hands after which is something that could happen again as they both stand in middle of the ring and the wrestlemania sign could been seen between them.

AND THE SASHA BAYLEY SAGA WILL END AT WRESTLEMANIA 41

The next time they ever cross paths again storyline wise will be when the fourhorsewomen finally clash in an epic storyline that will culminate with a fatal four way at another wrestlemania (it doesn’t even need to be for a championship cause their is already so much story and depth between the four of them. The four of them are the devils or demons on each other shoulders.

Somebody tell Triple H to hire me🤣