#First Noble Truth

[hkunlimited]

Buddhism: Lost in Translation 

Beware re-translations. The Buddha spoke a Sanskrit-related language. Sanskrit never went extinct. ‘Dukkha’ still means ‘suffering’, sorry. Many Western Buddhists try to manipulate the message, however slightly, to make it more appealing to Western tastes, but that says as much about Western tastes as it does about Buddhism. The issue in question, of course, is the First Noble Truth, which states…

[vulpine111]

I might address these questions soon too. Here they are in case anyone else might benefit from the information.

RECOVERY DHARMA

INQUIRY OF THE FIRST NOBLE TRUTH

• Begin by making a list of the behaviors and actions associated with your addiction(s) that you consider harmful. Without exaggerating or minimizing, think about the things you have done that have created additional suffering for you or others.

• For each behavior listed, write how you and others have suffered because of that behavior.

• List any other costs or negative consequences you can think of such as finances, relationships, s*xual relations, or missed opportunities.

• Do you notice any patterns? What are they? What are the ways that you might avoid or reduce suffering for yourself or others if you change these patterns?

• How have your addictive behaviors been a response to trauma and pain? What are some ways you can respond to trauma and pain that nurture healing rather than avoidance?

• If you have experienced trauma from discrimination, what are ways you can experience healing and practice self care? Consider opportunities to support social justice while allowing yourself to heal and practice compassion for yourself and others.

[clairedaring]

Last time, the heaven decided your fate. So that's why you're facing all of this again. But today, you can choose it yourself. If you want to suffer and remain in this cycle, just return to the body. But if you wanna get out of this cycle, you can walk out that door.

MY STAND-IN (2024) | 1.09 // 1.11

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Solas

[rivilu]

There's something deeply enraging about dragon age giving the name Cassandra to a seeker of truth actually

[sage-nebula]

I've now finished DA:I and have a completed World State in the Keep for DA4. I will say that, out of the three games (Origins, 2, and Inquisition) I think that the Inquisition party feels the closest to me. Like they're the ones I feel would actually want to stay together after all was said and done, helped I think by the fact that so many say that's what they want (with Sera almost starting to cry if you have the Inquisitor tell her that Skyhold will always be her home if she needs it). With Origins, it really felt like everyone was there and working together purely because of the mission to stop the blight and no other reason. With 2, it felt like they were there and working together because they lived in Kirkwall and wanted to make their lives easier. But with Inquisition, everyone who was there chose to be there, and sure it was for a cause . . . but also we got bonding scenes like them playing Wicked Grace together, or eating cookies up on rooftops. Even when they fought with each other, I felt a real closeness there. Like it was them against the world (which it kind of ends up being during the Exalted Council).

Of course, this is just all my opinion, and it's possible that this had something to do with how the personalities of each character developed over my playthroughs, as well as the fact that I found it a bit hard to track people down in Kirkwall sometimes and as such didn't bond with my companions as much as I would have wanted. (RIP Fenris, I missed the opportunity to do your character quest and so you died 😔). But at the end of DA:I Trespasser, I had the Inquisition stay together not just because that's what my Trevelyan wanted (as making the world a better place / helping people is very important to her), but also because I didn't want to see the squad break up, even though they had to break up a little due to responsibilities elsewhere in the world anyway. It's just how they made me feel.

[sylhea-raemi]

Nero and makia's fountain scene is so shoujou-like that people thought nero's the second ml 😭😭😭 bros not even a love interest

[isekyaaa]

Another funny isekai idea is someone getting isekai’d but they have it set in their mind that they’re secretly a main character and they really do want to be, so they keep trying to do things to prove that they don’t have secret innate skills just in case the universe is just hiding the truth to them. Turns out they truly are ordinary in every single way, but in their desperate attempts to prove it, they become extraordinary.

[howcouldmuffin]

Beneath the Betrothal.

After the engagement was announced, and you realized that waiting was no longer the right path, you decided to start anew.

PAIRING : Jacearys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

WARNING : NSFW, Targaryen incest, Non-canon, SMUT, Sex Content

AN : This is the first fanfic l've written. I apologize if there are any mistakes. Please feel free to give me any feedback. Love.

please be kind to me English is not my first language.

Many years have passed since your father Viserys announced the betrothal to Jacaerys, who although your nephew, is older than you. No one in House Hightower was pleased with this news, except for you.

You were raised differently from your siblings—the youngest daughter born with your father’s expectations. He had you share the same wet nurse as Jacaerys and your older brother Daeron. You grew up with the Velaryon family, witnessing the differences between your eldest sister Rhaenyra and your mother Alicent.

Although you had been friends with Jacaerys since childhood, the words that everyone kept telling you “that you would marry him” filled your mind with dreams. You fell in love with him, but you knew that he didn’t love you the same way. He was a charming young man, a gentleman with honor, admired by all. Many were fond of him. The prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

When Rhaenyra ascended to the throne, everyone swore oaths of loyalty and service to her without question. Many lords came to pay their respects to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Jacaerys was appointed as the heir to the Iron Throne, and your betrothal was announced once again, but it was never mentioned again after that.

At first, you thought it was just a matter of waiting for things to settle down before the important ceremony would take place. But as time went on, you began to question it, and eventually, you found the answer. It was Jacaerys who requested that the wedding be postponed. You were shattered by this news—it hurt as though your heart had been broken into pieces.

There have been months of silence and unspoken words between you and Jacaerys. Even the gatekeepers of the Red Keep are aware of the situation. The whispers and rumors have started to grow louder—some say the prince already has someone he wishes to marry, or perhaps he dislikes his betrothed because she is a Hightower. None of the answers bring you any truth.

But it has made you realize that waiting is no longer the right course of action. It’s time to start looking for potential suitors from great houses. Soon, there will be a grand event at the Red Keep once again—the second-year anniversary of Queen Rhaenyra’s reign. Nobles and knights from all over the realm will gather here. It could be a good opportunity to find a new way forward.

“I wish to see my queen.” you said to the knight guarding your sister’s chamber door. They nodded slightly and stepped aside to let you enter.

“Your Grace.” you said as you entered the room, immediately curtseying to the queen. “If it pleases you, I have something I wish to discuss.” Rhaenyra paused her writing and looked up.

“Sister.” she said, rising and walking towards you. “What is it you wish to speak with me about?” The queen gently led you to a nearby sofa and lightly took your hand.

“I’ve come to talk about my betrothal to the prince.”

“If you’d like to discuss how you’d like the ceremony to be arranged, or if there’s anything additional you’d like to request, you can speak to me directly.”

“No, Your Grace. I… I wish to call off the engagement.”

“Oh, dear, why would you want to cancel the betrothal? Have you found someone you prefer?”

“No, Your Grace. I just think it might be better if the prince and I were free to choose someone we truly like and love.” Rhaenyra laughed softly at your words. She raised her hand to cup your face, gently turning you to look into her eyes. You lifted your hand to hold hers in return.

“Listen to me, dear. There’s no one more suited to be the next queen than you. Don’t let others’ words sway you.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I truly wish to call off the engagement. Please, I ask you to consider it.” You gently moved her hand away from your face, holding it firmly in yours.

“If that is what you desire, I will take it under consideration. But I ask that you think it over once more, my dear.” After expressing your wishes, you moved to embrace your sister, always understanding her no matter what.

Before long, the grand celebration was in full swing, with people gathering to offer their congratulations to their queen. Today, you woke up much earlier than usual. You were an integral part of organizing the feast—the floral decorations, the guest list of important attendees. You were determined to ensure that your sister’s special day would go smoothly.

The dress you wore today was long and red, with an off-the-shoulder design that revealed your neckline. It was beautifully embroidered with golden patterns around the dress. Your hair was partially braided and pinned up, with natural curls left to fall gracefully. You glanced at the necklace on your vanity table—the one Jacaerys had given you for your birthday many years ago. In the end, you chose not to wear it, opting instead for another necklace that matched your dress just as well.

“You look stunning, Princess.” your handmaiden remarked as she finished styling your hair.

“Thank you. You can leave now, I’ll take care of the rest myself.” She curtseied and left the room as instructed.

You slowly turned to the mirror, gazing at your reflection for a moment before preparing to head to the feast. By now, your mother was likely waiting for you. But as the door closed behind your handmaiden, you sensed someone else was in the room.

“What were you thinking, trying to call off the engagement?” Jacaerys spoke, his voice sharp. He was the last person you wanted to see right now. It was the first conversation in months that left a lasting impression.

“Prince.” you greeted him with a curtsey. “I just thought—” He stepped closer to you, so close that it nearly took your breath away. He looked angrier than you could ever remember seeing him.

“Is there someone else you’re in love with?”

“No, Your Highness.” you replied.

“Let’s go. The others must be waiting for us.” he said, lifting one arm. At first, you weren’t sure what he meant, but then you placed your hand on his arm.

Walking into the feast together might be normal for a married couple or an engaged pair, but it felt strange for the two of you, who hadn’t exchanged a meaningful word in so long. As you entered the great hall, you could feel the eyes of many upon you and your betrothed.

Everyone stood to pay their respects to you and their prince, creating an odd pressure on you. Jacaerys looked every bit the heir to the Iron Throne today. His attire included a cloak with a pattern matching your dress, likely arranged by Rhaenyra.

When you reached the queen’s table, you both bowed to the highest authority in the realm before going your separate ways. He sat beside his brother Lucerys, while you took a seat next to your brother Aemond.

“Beautiful dress, sister.” Aemond’s comment was more likely a tease than a compliment.

“Thank you, brother. I think it’s lovely as well.”

The feast began after Rhaenyra’s announcement, and the music started to play. People began to dance in the center of the hall. Conversations with your siblings took place, and although they didn’t think highly of your betrothed, they chose not to voice any further objections.

“Would you like to dance, sister?” Daeron, your youngest brother, asked. Why not? He was as renowned for his looks in the family as you were. Although you hadn’t grown up together much, he was the second person you consulted about your betrothed, after Helena.

With the music playing, you and your brother enjoyed the dance. As the Westerosi-style dance continued, many people joined in with you. Dancing gave you the opportunity to talk with a variety of men. Some were genuine friends, but most had other intentions beyond mere friendship.

“I think it would be the greatest mistake on your part to let her go.” Rhaenyra said to her son, who had been staring at you intently, prompting her to speak up.

“What are you talking about?” Jacaerys turned his attention to his mother, confusion evident on his face.

“You know very well what I’m talking about.” she said, meeting his gaze. “If you don’t truly care for her, then let her go. She deserves to find someone who truly loves her.” He remained silent, not responding, and merely finished his drink.

He stood up from the table and left the feast abruptly. With so many people in the hall, no one seemed to notice the prince’s departure. Now, Jacaerys was at a loss, angry with you for reasons he was struggling to address. He was searching for a way to make you pay for what you had done to him.

Once the door to your room closed behind you, you had just returned from the feast. Separating yourself from the men had left you quite exhausted, and you were eager to take a relaxing bath.

“Did you enjoy getting close to other men who aren’t your betrothed?” A familiar voice spoke up. You were startled to hear him, Jacaerys was sitting on your bed, glaring at you with a reprimanding look.

“How did you get into my room?” you asked, and moving closer to him. “When did you ever care that I’m your betrothed?”

“I’ve always cared about you, but what I know is that you haven’t shown any interest in me.”

“No interest, you say?” You stepped closer to him and leaned in. “I wouldn’t be asking to postpone the wedding if I didn’t care.”

“I care about you!” he shouted, making you jump. He had never acted this way towards you before. He stood up and approached you.

“And wanting to postpone the wedding means you don’t want to marry me, doesn’t it? What are you trying to say? If you hate me, just say it, Jacaerys Velaryon. I will not tolerate your mind games any longer.”

“You don’t understand me.” he said, stepping closer. You backed away in response. “I want you to be ready, ready to bear my children. If we marry, producing an heir will come first, and I know if you were to become pregnant too soon, it would be you who would leave me.”

With no space left to retreat, you and he were face to face. He placed one hand on the back of your neck, holding your gaze, while his other hand gently caressed your face.

“Listen to me. I have always loved you, and I will continue to love you until the day I die. You are the only one who makes me feel like myself, who I constantly long for. You will be the only one by my side.” His eyes, looking at you, were so beautiful.

“May I kiss you?” he asked.

You didn’t respond but immediately leaned in to kiss him. He kissed you back without hesitation as well. Both of you embraced each other as if you were missing warmth from one another. The taste he gave you was sweet and surprisingly addictive. He treated you with reverence and gentleness.

The physical connection between the two of you came together quickly as if drawn by opposing magnetic forces. You and he slowly walked towards the bed. Jacearys gently lifted you onto the bed and stood beside it. Both of you looked at each other for a moment before he slowly began to remove his outer shirt.

“Don’t tear my clothes.” you said, seeming to have less patience than him. You slowly removed your dress, leaving only the sheer undergarments. He chuckled softly and leaned down to kiss your neck, moving from your collarbone to your chest, your stomach, and the center of your body.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked. “If we stop now, you might not regret it.” He ran his finger along the waistband of your underwear, the small piece that was covering you at the moment. He kissed your stomach again, followed by your collarbone and neck.

“We’ve come too far to stop now.” you said. “Please, my prince.” You placed your hand on his hair, marveling at its natural waves. The prince slowly removed the sheer garment that covered you

“You are so beautiful, perfectly suited for me.” he said, kissing your chest. His other hand gently squeezed it, leaving the imprint of his fingers. He nipped at your nipple and licked it slowly. Your desire surged, and you craved even more.

He slowly used his hands to remove your small panties. Soon, heaven was revealed before him. His hands parted your legs, and he leaned down to taste the sweetness between your thighs. His nose brushed against your clit, driving you nearly insane.

You moaned, "Please, my prince, I need more." You were now very wet. Jacearys, undoubtedly aware, playfully teased your little cunt with his tongue, and the lewd sounds echoed throughout your bedroom.

“What do you want, beautiful?” he asked, using his other hand to play with your erect nipple.

“I want you, Jacearys.” you moaned again. He fuck you with his fingers in your sweet cunt. His fingers pushed deeper inside you while his mouth licked at your clit.

“Who do you belong to?” he murmured, then turned to mark your thigh instead.

"I am yours." you breathed heavily. "Yours, Jacearys." Soon, your moans rose again, your body convulsing slightly as it tightened around his fingers.

"Look at what you've done to me, how hard it is." He slowly took off his pants, showcasing his erect state. He stroked it once or twice and then slowly entered.

"Oh, fuck." he moaned. "It's so tight." He stayed inside for a while and then gradually moved his body so that you wouldn't feel pain.

“Such a sweet cunt” He kept accelerating his hip rhythm, the impact sounded all over the room, wondering how someone was guarding the door of the room today, he knew what you and our prince was doing.

The time that passes each minute is precious to you now. You feel that you are very sensitive even if it is just a little touch. But you can't deny how much you like it every time you feel him in your own body.

“I'm very close.”

“At the same time”

White drops also dripped out of him. He pushed himself deeper into you. The moans of the couple said very well. He cum inside of you, your irregular breathing and he touched each other's skin.

He leaned down to kiss you again, sweeter than ever before. His hair fell down around you, creating an incredibly seductive scene. One of your hands gently caressed his cheek. You needed nothing more when he was by your side.

“I am yours, and you are mine, Whatever may come.” He whispered

“I am yours, and you are mine, Whatever may come.”

[hkunlimited]

Buddhist Imperfection and the Crazy Wisdom of Zen 

The Buddha never said we’re all perfect, quite the opposite. He said that we are nothing but ‘heaps’ of causes and conditions that he called skandhas. He never even said that he’s perfect. And those imperfections can be the basis for positive change. He DID list change as one of the causes of our suffering, but significantly less than that of the First Noble Truth—craving. Maybe that’s not…

[spider-stark]

PRECIPICE

Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary - Forced to attend a stuffy ball, you find yourself hiding beneath a table with Aegon.

Warnings - implied targcest as always

Word Count - 4.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

The delicious aroma of roast mutton is wafting over you as you pass one of the many long serving tables lining the walls of the ballroom. Your gaze drags along the vast spread that has been prepared for tonight; a variety of artisan breads, cooked meats, and candied desserts are laid out upon silver serving dishes. 

As you reach the end of the first table, a pile of lemon cakes snag your attention. Neatly stacked atop an ornate porcelain platter, the cakes are coated in a thin glaze that shimmers in the light. Your mouth instantly begins watering at the sight, your stomach growling in a way that would be deemed improper for a Lady. 

Beside you, holding a plate that has been loaded with mashed potatoes and honeyed chicken, Jace turns his head to cock a brow at you.

“Hungry?” He asks, chuckling softly. 

You suck in a deep breath before forcefully tearing your gaze from the cakes. “Extremely.” 

It takes an enormous amount of will power to turn away from the serving table while still empty-handed, but you somehow manage to do just that. Having hardly even walked a few steps, though, Jace is abandoning his plate to rush after you, softly seizing your wrist to keep you from moving any further. 

“If you’re hungry, then you should eat.” 

His concern is obvious, not only through his tone, but his expression as well. With his furrowed brow and tight-mouthed frown, you’re fairly certain that he’s already considering the consequences of dragging you back to the table and feeding you himself if need be. 

Jace had always been that way—not only with you, but with everyone. He was kind hearted and considerate to fault. 

“I would,” you smile, shaking your head slightly to dismiss his concern, “but I’m afraid that if I do, I might very well pop right on out of this ridiculously tight corset.” 

You wave an idle hand down to your waist, unnaturally cinched by the intricate lacing and boning of the garment beneath your evergreen gown. His eyes follow the motion, tracing along the intense curve, lingering for a moment too long. 

The explanation seems to wash away much of his concern, relieved to know that discomfort was the only reason you had chosen to abstain from the treats being served. Even so, a touch of empathy remains, accompanied by the faintest hint of desire gleaming in his amber gaze. 

Amber—an unusual color for a boy of Velaryon blood. His eyes were one of the many reasons that your mother, the Queen Alicent, felt so confident in labeling Princess Rhaenyra’s boys as bastards behind closed doors. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew that there was likely truth to her claims. Your nephews probably were bastards—but you didn’t particularly care. 

Jace was nice to you, and that was all that had ever mattered to you. 

He clears his throat, realizing that he had been gawking at your body for far longer than he should. “It looks uncomfortable,” the words spill out without permission, and you nearly laugh when his eyes go wide. “That didn’t come out right, nothing about it actually looks uncomfortable—it looks stunning! I mean, you look stunning! It’s just that, I don’t know, I imagine that having something squeeze you so tightly might be-” 

“Jace, it’s okay! Truly,” you interrupt his rambling with a soft giggle. “You should know that I’m not so easily offended,” you playfully chide. “Besides, you’re right. It is quite uncomfortable!” 

Actually, quite felt like an enormous understatement. But you didn’t figure that Jace was particularly interested in hearing about how your breasts were aching from being roughly shoved up by the tight garment. 

Jace looses a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Then why bother wearing them? Many noble-women go without corsets. Even my mother hardly ever wears one—she believes they’re vile things that only aid in the objectification of ladies.” 

Your brows rise, agreeing with the claims of your half-sister. But then you let your attention shift to the dais, meeting the rough stare of the reason why you had been forced into the tortuous garb—your mother. 

She’s already watching you when you meet her eye, her lip curled as she sends you a pointed look, silently urging you away from your nephew. It takes a great deal of effort not to shrink beneath the weight of her attention, and you’re beyond grateful for the group of women who shuffle past you towards the dance floor, giving you an excuse to break the hold she has on you. 

“I wear it because my mother wishes for all of her children to look their best,” you answer, shifting your focus back onto Jace. “And who am I to disappoint the Queen?” 

He notes the sudden callousness of your tone, as well as the way you clasp your hands together at your waist, fidgeting with the golden ring on your index finger. He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay, however, knowing well enough that you were not—and already knowing why, as well. 

You imagine that Jace doesn’t much like your mother; both for her part in the rumors spread about him and his brothers and for the way she has treated his mother. 

It makes you upset in a strange way, a part of you always wishing to defend the Queen, no matter how abhorrent her actions. After all, she was your mother—whether you like it or not—and you knew very well that if someone were to try to hurt you or your siblings, then she would gladly lay her life on the line for you. 

You were thankful for her; even if her protection hurt, even if her maternal love only exists when your life is at stake.  

“Speaking of your siblings,” Jace suddenly notes, veering slightly off-subject as his own stare drifts towards the dais, “how did Aegon manage to weasel his way out of attending tonight?” 

Your brows snap together before letting your head snap back towards the dais, managing to avoid your mother’s nasty stare this time by looking to her right, taking note of each of your siblings. 

Aemond is sat directly by her side, his posture rigid as his eye scans across the room, alert and on-guard as usual. Next to him is Helaena, leisurely picking at her plate of food and mindlessly bobbing her head along to the symphony being played for court musicians. Daeron, who your mother insisted fly Tessarion here from Oldtown so that he might be present for tonight, is sat next to your empty chair, making idle chatter with those around him. 

But Aegon’s chair, sat between yours and Helaena’s, is vacant. 

A knot forms in your stomach when you look back at Aemond, his piercing violet eye catching yours, gleaming with a silent order—find our imbecile brother before he makes a fool of us all. 

You give him a curt nod before looking away, head whirling as you begin searching the crowd around you for any sign of your eldest brother. 

“Simple,” you huff, “he didn’t.” 

Jace hums his understanding as you politely excuse yourself, turning away from him to begin shoving through the throng of people filling the room. 

You decline invitations to dance and spout excuses as to why you can’t stop to chat as you push past noblemen-and-women from various Houses, trying to maintain the pleasant persona your mother favored while still moving fast enough that you might find Aegon before he finds any new ways to publicly bring shame upon the Targaryen name.  

It’s exhausting work—and by the time you have shoved yourself to the other end of the room without finding him, you nearly consider giving up. Your chest hurts and your scalp is itching from being poked and prodded by a dozen or so pins, all of which had been meticulously placed by servants to arrange plaits into a fanciful half-updo. 

In many ways, you look like your mother; with your elaborate hairstyle and green dress, the look is tied together by a pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star dangling from your neck. 

And, in many ways, you hate it. 

Much to the Queen’s dismay, you’ve never much liked the elegant styles preferred by many women at court. No, instead you spent much of your time donning mail with your hair lazily pulled back, joining Aemond for practice in the training yard. 

She hated how unrefined you were, how indelicate you were; fearful for how others at court might view you for it, for how much attention you might draw to yourself. 

You blow out a sigh, resisting the urge to pull all of the pins from your hair as you will yourself to keep walking, to keep looking for Aegon. A table overflowing with carafes of arbor wine and flagons of ale catches your attention, setting off alarm bells in your mind. 

If Aegon were going to choose anywhere to hide at this godsforsaken ball, then it would certainly be in close proximity to the alcohol. 

A cacophony of laughter and clinking goblets surrounds you as you approach, scanning over rows of bottles and skimming the faces of those nearby. Spinning your ring on your finger, you walk along the entire length of the long serving table, disappointed when you reach the end of it and find that your brother is still nowhere in sight. 

Chewing on your cheek, you fight the urge to pour yourself a drink when you notice a carafe of blackberry wine. The plum colored liquid seems to call your name, singing promises of sweet oblivion, an escape from the restless feeling clawing at your chest. 

You’re out of place here in court, and you always have been—you know that, and you worry that everyone around you knows, too. 

Sensical enough to recognize that alcohol would likely just exacerbate your current ill-feelings, you shun the carafe and turn towards the grand entrance. Lifting your chin and squaring your shoulders, you try to appear more composed than you feel as you saunter towards the large wooden doors. 

If Aegon had snuck off with one of the serving girls, then there was a good chance that he was still somewhere in the hall, either flirting or feeling up their skirts. And, if you were wrong, then at least he had provided you with an excuse to slip away from this mess of a ball. 

As you pass by the last serving table, the platters and dishes atop it already thoroughly picked over, you feel someone tug at your dress. You whirl around, a fiery retort already falling off your tongue, fully intending to rip into whoever had found the audacity to touch you without permission—only to find yourself insulting the air. 

There was no one there, at least not close enough to have touched you. 

For a heartbeat you begin to reel, wondering if you’ve started to lose your mind before feeling the sensation again. A sharp tug at the fabric, just by your knee. Your head snaps down towards your dress, covering your mouth before a gasp can slip your lips. 

An arm is peeking out from beneath one of the finely embellished tablecloths, and a well-groomed hand is clutching your skirts. You instantly recognize the hand as Aegon’s, having become intimately familiar with your brother’s touch throughout your life. 

Taking a step closer to the covered table, you try to look natural as you hunch over it slightly to get closer to his level, feigning an interest in a half-eaten roast duck. 

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing, Aegon?!” Your voice is hushed, not quite a whisper, but low enough so that no one other than him might hear. 

Releasing his hold on your skirts, Aegon lifts the tablecloth a little higher, revealing his face. “Get under here,” he tilts his head, motioning for you to join him beneath the table. 

“No!” 

He swiftly presses a finger to his lips in response to your incredulous shout, shushing you. You stiffen, nervously flicking your eyes to each side, checking to ensure that no one had heard you. Fortunately, the courtiers around you appear far too invested in their conversations and drinks to notice how you appear to have shouted at a roast duck. 

Aegon’s lilac eyes are wide, pleading as he shoves the tablecloth up higher, giving you more room to slip beneath it. “Would you just shut up and come?” 

It’s the sheer urgency of his tone that piques your interest, although you wish that it hadn’t. You huff out an annoyed sigh, taking another look around the room before gathering up your skirts and sinking to your knees, crawling underneath the table. 

Once you’ve successfully sat down beside him on the stone floor, he drops the cloth, shielding the two of you from any prying eyes. The material is thin enough that it allows some light to pass through it, very dimly illuminated Aegon’s grinning face, all urgency having suddenly vanished. 

“Welcome,” he almost sounds breathless, the word airy—and utterly unnecessary. 

You can faintly see the rosy coloring of his cheeks, a few messy silver waves tumbling across his face, and you’re immediately willing to bet that he’s extremely buzzed. “What are you doing, Aeg?” 

Your tone is firm, but there’s a certain gentleness to it that was specially reserved for your eldest brother. While you maintain that you love all three of them equally, it’s undeniable that your relationship with Aegon has always been… different. 

He reaches to his side, lifting a carafe from the ground beside him. “Having a party,” he says, raising it towards your face and playfully swirling the garnet colored liquid. 

“I’m unsure if you’re aware,” you motion towards the cloth shrouding you from the bustling ballroom, “but our mother has already planned quite the celebration for tonight—and she likely does not wish for it to be ruined by her drunkard son ducking beneath tables like an imbecile!” 

Aegon pokes his bottom lip out into a pout. “Why must you assume that I am drunk?” 

“Because you’re you,” you drone, cocking your head at him, “and you are always drunk.” 

Rolling his eyes, he sits the carafe down on the ground between you. There are only mere inches separating the two of you, both of you squeezing your limbs close to your body to avoid having a foot peek out from beneath the table. Sitting this close to him, you can smell the sweetness of the arbor red of his breath—as well as the faintest hint of sulfur, a sign that he had clearly gone riding on Sunfyre earlier and had failed at washing off the dragon’s strong scent. 

You take another breath, inhaling the smell of him into your lungs. It was familiar—comfortable, urging your taut muscles to slacken in his presence. 

“And what if I told you that I am sober right now?” 

A snort escapes you, sparing him an incredulous look. “Then I would call you a liar,” you tell him, tapping a finger against the rim of the half-empty carafe. 

His stare drops down towards it, watching as the liquid ripples when you pull your hand back. When he looks back up, he’s wearing a crooked smile that makes your heart flutter. “Mostly sober, then.” 

It’s nearly impossible to stifle your laugh, clamping a hand over your mouth so that you might muffle the sound and prevent passersby from becoming suspicious. The sound only makes his smile grow wider and more genuine, an expression that he graced very few people with. 

“I’ll ask again,” you say, speaking only when you're confident that no more laughter will tumble out. “Why are you down here? If mother finds out then she will be furious and-” 

Aegon tosses his head back, cutting you off with a groan. “Mother will be furious no matter what,” 

Disdain drips from each syllable, thickening the air around you. He didn’t like talking about her much, and you couldn’t blame him for it. Of all your siblings, Aegon had been dealt the worst hand, simply by being born first. He got the brunt of your mothers vile behavior; and you hated that, too. 

“Because,” lazily rolling his neck so that he can look at you again, he answers, “I’d rather spend my night under here,” he flicks a hand up, lazily gesturing around himself, “than be forced to sit through even one more tedious speech from some ancient Lord of gods-know-where!” 

You bite your tongue, holding back another laugh. 

“And,” he continues, nodding in your direction, “I am now saving you from the same mundane fate. You’re welcome.” 

“What makes you think that I needed your saving?” You ask, brows rising. 

Aegon purses his lips, placing a finger against his chin as he feigns contemplation, studying the intricate styling of your hair, the modest long-sleeved gown, and the Star resting against your covered breasts. “Perhaps it was that our mother has you dressed up as though you’re an aspiring Septa.” 

Thinking of the plain women, with their simple gowns and traditional head coverings, you nearly laugh again as you ask, “How many Septa’s do you know that wear corsets and jewelry, brother?” 

“None,” he admits, shoulders lifting into an indolent shrug. “Though, if they looked more like you, then I might finally have a reason to attend prayer. Beautiful women would be more than enough to turn me into a pious man.” 

A warmth creeps up your neck as blood rushes to your cheeks, unsure if his statement was meant as a compliment—was he saying that he found you beautiful? If so, it shouldn’t have been a particularly shocking revelation. After all, Aegon had complimented you before, many times. 

In all fairness, however, most of those times had been when he was thoroughly besotted. He had a habit of sneaking into your rooms and practically draping himself off of you, muttering drunken nonsense about how breathtaking you were. You had never placed much truth in the statements though, assuming that Aegon likely didn’t even recognize who he was speaking to, much less whose bed he had crawled into. 

But even if this was a genuine and mostly sober attempt at complimenting you, the flattery of it doesn’t last nearly long enough. Your own insecurity washes back over you far quicker than you like, reminding you of just how unlike yourself you currently feel. 

“I do not believe that anything would be capable of turning you into a pious man,” you joke, trying and failing to cover up the melancholy that has settled into your bones. “Not even beautiful women.” 

“You could.” 

The answer comes far too quick, spilling from his tongue with an eagerness that even seems to catch him by surprise. 

“Though, I must say, for as exquisite as this dress makes you look,” his hand reaches across the short expanse dividing you, mindlessly running his fingers along the fabric covering your shoulder, “I much prefer the way look in armor—sweaty skin, messy hair, sword in-hand—all of it.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as his touch drifts towards the center of your chest, fingers dragging along the thin chain leading to your pendant, lifting the Star into his palm. He stares at it for a moment before yanking it roughly from your neck, grinning when you yelp. “But this,” he lifts the Seven-Pointed Star slightly, “I absolutely hate.” 

With that, he tosses it from underneath the table, sending it skittering across the floor beyond the tablecloth. 

Your jaw drops open, a hand pressed against the now-sore spot along the back of your neck. Despite yourself, your lips start to curve into a playful smile. You try fighting against it, try pressing them into a firm line, but fail. “Mother will not be happy about that-” 

“She’s never happy,” Aegon interjects. His own expression shifts, the line on his forehead deepening as he says, “Do not let yourself bear her misery. Life is too short—and you deserve more than that.” 

A palpable silence is thickening the air, and your breathing seems to synchronize as you simply stare at one another. 

Slowly, nervously, you say, “I’m not sure what it is that I deserve,” 

“You deserve,” he pauses, lips still parted despite the absence of speech. Then, swallowing back the words that had been building in his throat, he says, “you deserve whatever it is that you want, sister.” 

Your hand falls from your neck into your lap, and you avert your gaze, watching your fingers as they fidget with your ring. “And what if I do not know what I want?” 

Once, you had thought that you wanted a life like Jaces. A happy life, with a mother that knew how to love you and siblings that hadn’t been raised in fear of their half-sister ascending the throne, taught that their very existence was a threat to her power. But, suddenly, you felt as though you were no longer sure. 

Aegon hesitates, watching you carefully. His lilac eyes appear as though they’re searching for something within your own—a hint of recognition, or reciprocation. If he found what he was looking for, then you were unaware. “Then you’ll figure it out,” he sighs, his smile not reaching his eyes. “You have all the time in the world to decide.” 

There is something reassuring about his statement, making it resonate with you in a way that you hadn’t expected. You look up, holding his gaze for a heartbeat, then two, and you almost swear that you can see it—the silent invitation, the plea to delve deeper into his words, to decipher exactly what it was that he was promising you. 

You have all the time in the world—all the time in the world to decide if he might ever be something you want. 

Suddenly you find yourself dancing on the edge of a precipice, chest tightening as you grapple with the idea that, maybe, something more might exist between you and Aegon. 

That, maybe, he had always known who he was complimenting and what bed he was slipping into. 

That, for him, it had always been you. 

“Aegon, I-” 

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you have a chance to say something that he fears you may regret. Then, sliding the carafe between you to the side, he scoots closer. “If you plan on staying under my table,” he teases, clearing his throat, “then we need to do something about your hair.” 

“I thought you said I looked exquisite?” You stay still as he starts toying with the strands, trying to swallow the tumult of your own emotions. 

Aegon’s plucking various pins from your hair, tossing them to the ground. “Yes, but I also said that I prefer your hair when it’s messy. It’s more…” he sucks in a breath, unable to hide the admiration swelling in his chest when he finally exhales, “you.” 

Your cheeks are burning hot, and you’re suddenly very thankful for the lack of light around you. On instinct, you almost tell him how your mother wouldn’t agree—but then you think better of it. 

“You’re… generous.” 

Something about your voice sounds foreign in your ears. You sound nervous—and you’re not used to feeling nervous around Aegon. 

His fingers are combing through the plaits forming your updo, his brow drawn taut, framing his lilac eyes, shining bright with concentration. “Generous,” he snorts softly, nails raking lightly against your scalp as he shakes the strands loose, “I don’t hear that one often.” 

“Well perhaps you’d hear it more if you weren’t such an ass,” you shoot back, slowly trying to slip back into your usual self. 

“Me? An ass?” He’s untangled the final braid, scooting away from you slightly now as he presses a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “Never.” 

Now falling in loose waves, free of those incessant pins, you brush your hair over your shoulder. “Just earlier I heard you telling Lord Grover that if wisdom were measured in wrinkles that he would be named Grand Maester.” You point out, unable to mask your amusement while recalling the old man’s shocked expression. 

“Is it not true?” Aegon smirks. “The man is nearly seventy, and his age certainly shows.” 

“Lord Grover is only two-and-fifty, brother.” 

His brows shoot up, gaping at you. “Tell me that you’re not serious!” When you nod, confirming that you are, he sucks his teeth. “Wow—how unfortunate. He looks positively dreadful for his age, then. I thought that he surely had one foot in the grave by now.” 

“Aegon!” You rebuke through your own sputtered laughter, shaking your head at his insolence. “See? This is what I was talking about! If you weren’t so crude then you might get more compliments.” 

Swinging his arm back to grab for the carafe, Aegon’s nose scrunches slightly. “Why bother?” He implores, a hint of mischief in his tone. “My crudeness is what you like most about me, is it not? Without it, dear sister, your life would be quite boring.” 

Just before he brings the carafe to his lips, he inclines his head towards the tablecloth, emphasizing his words. A reminder—that, without him, you would still be out there, sitting miserably amongst your siblings and being forced to dance with Lord’s twice your age. 

There was something more beneath the veil of humor and arrogance, however. A craving that had him tipping the carafe back, hoping that the stinging of the alcohol might numb his gnawing desire for validation—to hear you say that you yes, my life would be boring without you. 

“I suppose you’re right,” the admission has him pausing, the carafe lingering against his bottom lip. “Truth be told, I had never put much thought into it before, but you do have a way of keeping life interesting, Aeg. So, I must agree that, without you, my life would be positively dreadful.” Staring at the ground in-between you, you smile before adding, “After all, who else would be able to convince me to risk our mother’s scorn and crawl beneath a table to drink wine and fix my hair?” 

There’s a slight tremor in his voice when he speaks, trying to mask the warmth swelling in his chest, “You have yet to drink a single drop.” 

“Then I suppose that is the next thing you’ll have to fix,” you say, sticking your hand out towards him, urging him to pass you the carafe. He hands it to you while biting back a grin. 

“Careful,” he warns, “drink too much and you may end up like your drunkard brother.” 

“I don't mind,” You mirror his expression, your own lips curving as you raise the glass upwards, the strong scent of the arbor red stinging your nostrils. “I quite like my drunkard brother.” 

His gaze burns against your flesh as you tilt your head back, allowing the alcohol to slip over your tongue, and you suddenly realize that you are no longer standing on the edge of that precipice. 

You’re falling.

a/n - i was honestly just thinking about jude and cardan hiding under a table in the cruel prince and ended up with this? so yeah, definitely inspired by jurdan content (but y'know... no coup d'etat lmao).

[secretmellowblog]

On the subject of the Titanic ‘submersible’ that was lost in the deep with all its wealthy tourists— it’s so insane/eerie in hindsight to read this article from the Smithsonian that interviews the CEO Stockton Rush long before the disaster.

Despite the Smithsonian supposedly being an organization that cares about science and truth, and the fact that there were SO MANY obvious red flags from the beginning and so many people criticizing the company…..the article is a puff piece uncritically glorifying the CEO’s obviously terrible submersible project. It compares him in glowing terms to Elon Musk. It is an article about how private ventures like those of Stockton Rush and Elon Musk can and should be the future of the world.

We’ve obviously learned now that there were whistleblowers at the company who were warning for a long time that Stockton Rush’s submersible was unsafe— only to be fired and then sued. It makes sense the submersible was so unsafe, because the CEO in this interview is open about how he has no background in underwater engineering and is annoyed by quote “regulations that needlessly prioritize passenger safety.”

Soon after, the private [submersible] market died too, Rush found, for two reasons that were “understandable but illogical.” First, subs gained a reputation for danger. Working on offshore rigs in harsh locations like the North Sea, saturation divers, who breathe gas mixtures to avoid diving sicknesses, would be taken in subs to work at great depths. It was the world’s most perilous job, with frequent fatalities. (“It wasn’t the sub’s fault,” says Rush.) To save lives, the industries moved toward using underwater robots to perform the same work.

Second, tourist subs, which could once be skippered by anyone with a U.S. Coast Guard captain’s license, were regulated by the Passenger Vessel Safety Act of 1993, which imposed rigorous new manufacturing and inspection requirements and prohibited dives below 150 feet. The law was well-meaning, Rush says, but he believes it needlessly prioritized passenger safety over commercial innovation (a position a less adventurous submariner might find open to debate). “There hasn’t been an injury in the commercial sub industry in over 35 years. It’s obscenely safe, because they have all these regulations. But it also hasn’t innovated or grown—because they have all these regulations.”

The fact that Stockton Rush (who was piloting the submarine when the disaster happened) is on record complaining about the evils of regulations that prioritize people’s safety, and the Smithsonian uncritically regurgitated that rhetoric in their glowing puff piece about how rich tycoons like Elon Musk and Stockton Rush are going to save the world is just…..in hindsight of how everything ended it’s just so much horrible black comedy? It’s like a satire about the dangers of uncritically worshipping the rich.

It is mentioned in the article that Rush chose to make his submersible in a different shape, and with a different (cheaper) material than is usually used for submersibles. The article frames this as a result of daring innovation, and not of negligence/ignorance. This passage in particular, which in context is supposed to portray Rush’s critics as joyless naysayers who were proven wrong by the noble tycoon, is pretty foreboding in hindsight:

Rush planned to pilot the sub himself, which critics said was an unnecessary risk: Under pressure, the experimental carbon fiber hull might, in the jargon of the sub world, “collapse catastrophically.”

And then!!

The exact problem that happened to Titan this weekend, happened on Titan’s very first test voyage to the Titanic! The experimental carbon fiber hull had an issue and it caused communications to break down!

The dive was going according to plan until about 10,000 feet, when the descent unexpectedly halted, possibly, Rush says, because the density of the salt water added extra buoyancy to the carbon fiber hull. He now used thrusters to drive Titan deeper, which interfered with the communications system, and he lost contact with the support crew. He recalls the next hour in hallucinogenic terms. “It was like being on the Starship Enterprise,” he says. “There were these particles going by, like stars. Every so often a jellyfish would go whipping by. It was the childhood dream.”

Both Rush and the article writer treat this as a fun quirky story, instead of a serious safety failure and red flag with his experimental macgyvered regulation-flaunting submersible.

Other highlights from the article include:

Stockton rush saying that if 3/4 of the planet is water, why haven’t we monetized it?

Stockton saying we will “colonize the ocean long before we colonize space”

Lots of weird pro colonialism stuff in general??? This article loves colonialism and thinks it’s cool

Rush saying he plans for this to eventually help find more underwater resources for the US to exploit and profit from

Elon musk comparisons. The article writer does not mention that Elon Musk’s rockets explode and therefore it would be a bad idea to get in one of them, because that would imply it’s a bad idea to get into the submersible

Stockton rush seeing himself as Captain Kirk

The article writer comparing the tourists who plan to join Rush to Englishmen who went on colonialist journeys to Africa as if that’s like, a good thing. So much pro colonialism stuff in this article

So many sentences about Stockton Rush being handsome when he literally just looks like some guy

The article beginning with an editor’s note from years later disclaiming that the extraordinary submersible they’re advertising in this article is uh. It’s now uhhhh

But yeah it really does just bring home how so many organizations that supposedly care about scientific truth or journalistic integrity are willing to uncritically platform propaganda for wealthy CEOS. It’s frustrating how easily people fall for the fake myths that careless wealthy people invent for themselves, and even more frustrating that supposedly respectable institutions will platform irresponsible lies that end up getting people killed.

Rush is such an obvious and simple example of this, and his negligence is “only” killing five people including himself. But to me it feels like a cautionary tale to bear in mind when it comes to uncritical puff piece media coverage of similar “daring tycoon innovations” by people like Bezos or Musk.

[eskumii]

❝ TROPHY WIFE ❞ — yandere!uzui tengen/wives + you're his first wife

SYNOPSIS: suppose you're uzui tengen's very first wife, the one that slipped through the cracks of your unwanted arranged marriage with him. along with your disappearance went his heart, and now you must bear the consequences of a man who loves his wife far beyond her understanding—so much so that he would kill for her, die for her, and do anything to make her stay. — navi.

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

NOTES: mdni! (cw: non-con) this is an arranged/forced marriage au. it's meant to be one-sided. it took me quite literally forever to finish this lol ,,

PAIRING: yandere!uzui tengen x wife!reader

CHARACTERS: uzui tengen (19-23), reader (18-22), suma (19), makio (20), hinatsuru (21)

I. TO BE WED

imagine being uzui tengen's very first wife.

your hand in marriage was promised to him by your parents, who owned a tax-collecting business that was often the target of hostility from the impoverished people of your hometown. tengen routinely passed through your village on demon slayer business, so your parents could always rest assured knowing he would take care of the violent stragglers that sometimes loitered outside.

ironically being poor themselves, they had little to offer the hashira as payment for his noble duties; well, that "little" didn't exclude you of course, their only daughter who's failed to find a husband far past the age of when other girls were normally wed. you're still young, fertile, and moderately attractive, but your strong disinterest in potential suitors often drove any chances of a wealthy marriage away.

however, after being introduced to tengen, the man you'll be forced to marry out of obligation, you begin to regret being so stubborn after all.

admittedly, tengen found you to be pretty plain at first. you're poor so you can't exactly dress flashy, and you come from a no-name family with little legacy. your parents swore up and down on your domestic efficiency—hardworking, great cook, a tame disposition—and, well, at least you're kind of cute, too. tengen is intrigued by your potential the most.

your parents force you to do whatever you can to get close to him. the truth is, though, you don't really have to do anything with the way he seeks you out himself. he often shows up at your door asking for you, and your parents have no qualms about dragging you out of your room to make you go out with him.

he takes you to the nicer parts of town and pays for dinner or buys you flowers and little trinkets from the shop vendors that line the streets. it doesn't help that the elderly people running the stands egg you on, saying things like "what a lovely young couple" or "your children would be so beautiful!" tengen simply smiles with ease, accepting their praise as if it's second nature. you get rather embarrassed by his shameless indulgence.

there's small talk but you find it incredibly stifling. tengen does a majority of the dialoguing but most of the time your dates get interrupted by his kasugai crow, who squawks at him whenever a demon shows up nearby. he always looks annoyed and promises to make it up to you, leaning down to pat your head like you're his pet dog or something. you hate it and him too, probably.

"i'll be back before you know it, darling," his smile is charming but not to you. "you'll stay right here for me, won't you?"

regardless of your somewhat obvious hesitance to accept his advances, tengen gets attached to you like it was meant to be. the idea of having a pretty little housewife for him to come home to after his draining missions becomes increasingly attractive, and the more time he spends with you, the more he sees the appeal of your being. it must be a miracle that no man has taken you as his wife yet; surely you were saving yourself for a man like him.

unfortunately, though, you don't want to marry tengen.

an arranged marriage? it's simply not the kind of life you envision for yourself. you aren't willing to bet the rest of your days on a man whom you have a slim chance of falling in love with, all for the sake of financial security. but what else can you do? your parents already made it very clear they would disown you if you refuse, and tengen is pressuring you to your death with his sweet words and annoyingly thoughtful presents. you're stuck.

eventually, the incessant nagging from your parents and weeks of endless courting from tengen sway you so sooner. you fold like a cheap hand fan and succumb to your fate, to a future you knew from the very beginning that you would come to despise.

he's the only suitor you have at this point. it's not like you have a choice. and the one choice you do have just so happens to be him, a man who is the nearest thing to a perfect match as you're ever gonna get. you should be happy. thankful. he'll give you the world if you just give him a chance.

at least, that's what he told you.

II. THE SOUND HASHIRA

your parents are so happy to send you off.

they're completely honored that their letdown of an only daughter is finally getting married—to a well-known and wealthy shinobi at that. it's the only time they've shown any pride in you, yet it really only leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

after your brief introduction to the head of tengen's clan, everything moves so quickly. just a couple weeks later, you're already signing a marriage contract in which you and tengen become official newlyweds. and before you know it, you're packing what little belongings you have to your name and moving in with him, begrudgingly and regretfully so.

the day you arrive, he shows you around his overwhelmingly gigantic residence; the courtyard full of cherry blossoms and koi ponds, the huge kitchen, and the bedroom where he'll eventually fully claim you. there's lots of other rooms too, but they're either empty or reserved for his weapons and training gear. he tries to hide it but he's obviously so over the moon that you're his wife now. he doesn't even notice your misery through his elated delusion of love.

in hindsight, you didn't realize how difficult it can be to share a space with someone you hardly know. you find everything awkward but tengen doesn't, like always. to him, you're so obedient and polite— such a good girl. you take whatever he gives you; kisses, hugs, subtle gropes here and there, and all of his sweet compliments and gifts. you don't argue with him or raise your voice, you fret over his injuries and make his favorite foods. you're observant, collected, and mature.

he didn't have a type before he met you—you're all he can ask for in a woman, really.

tengen is unexpectedly romantic. he constantly boasts about his strength and fighting skills in order to impress you, and he never stops mouthing off about how he'll prioritize you over himself. he puts consistent effort in getting to know you: what you like, don't like, your favorite color, and any other inkling of your personality that he can manage to wrestle out of you. he seems to have gotten the impression that you're shy or something.

flowers are a constant and you're spoiled with fancy, expensive kimonos and jewelry. had you married tengen under literally any other circumstance, you'd find his advances on you endearing but, unfortunately, he just comes off as clingy and unbearable. any woman would die to be in your place yet you can't even find it in you to want to be in your own place.

what do you think of him, though? well, he's handsome, you'll give him that. you don't deny the appeal of his good looks and flashy, fitted clothing. he's strong, established, and knows what he wants. despite your obvious distaste towards his gifts and grandiose personality, it's not to say you're ungrateful that the man you're stuck with is exceedingly well-off and capable of protecting you. you can't say he's a bad guy.

however, he's a moron.

he fell for you fast. a couple months have already passed since coming to live in his residence. tengen requests to have picnics whenever you go with him to visit his siblings' graves on his off days. of course you have no reason to refuse; as much as you dislike him, you're not heartless. they're important days, so you swallow your pride and pack a bento spread you know he'll like.

tengen will confide in you about the memories of his late siblings, his parents, and his life before becoming a hashira. it's a depressing and heavy weight to shoulder, but you still play your role of the loving, supportive wife with your lingering touches and comforting words. you use these outings as opportunities to gain his trust by being vulnerable.

except, this time, the effect you seem to have on tengen is magnified to the point of no return.

he pulls you into his lap and you're suddenly flush against his rock hard chest, trapped in a suffocating hug. you don't know what prompted his sudden affection; perhaps it was the warm atmosphere you crafted or the intimacy of the moment, but the way tengen holds you so close is telling. he's about to say something you've been dreading since the day you met him.

"i love you." tengen confesses, nuzzling his face into your neck and sighing as if he'd just released the weight of the world off of his shoulders.

you knew it. it's the first time he's ever said it to you and you'll never forget the wave of nausea that hit you as you glanced up to see him staring back at you expectantly. your heart is pumping out of your chest and your face is flustered—not because you're flattered but because you're ashamed. you feel his hands squeeze your shoulders, almost like a warning, and his grip begins to feel claustrophobic after your prolonged silence.

you have no choice but to reciprocate.

"...I love you too." your voice is quiet, hesitant, and tengen gently teases you about being shy when you refuse to look at him anymore. he's not right but it's true that lying invokes shame.

he almost seems overwhelmed by your response, as if he hadn't just nonverbally threatened it out of you. you don't dare to sneak even a glance at him. he tightens his embrace around you and goes back to burying his face abashedly into your neck, mumbling sweet words against your skin. his body wraps around you like a vice, trapping you in the prison that is his dreadful existence.

you decide, in that very moment, that there was nothing in the world you wanted to do more than run away.

III. A DIRE MISTAKE

one fateful day, you catch wind of the news that tengen is being assigned on a mission quite far away, somewhere down in the southwest. 

you're so lucked out that you thought it was a trap at first—a ploy to catch you in your undying desire to leave your husband for good. but when the day of departure arrives and tengen peppers your face with last minute kisses, you know for sure that there's no chance he's caught on to your resentment towards him, nor the plan of escape you've been devising all along.

your eyes are teary when tengen releases you from the last of his spine-crushing hugs and he cooes at your cute crying face. honestly, you're tearing up out of joy because your one and only chance to escape has literally fallen into your lap in a pleated handbasket, but you'll let him believe otherwise. you at least owe him the courtesy. 

you already know you don't stand a chance against tengen, at least physically. he can overpower you like nothing and he's so tall that he towers over you, constantly caging you between those muscled arms of his. there's almost nothing you could do against a man like him—well, unless you count poisoning, but you were above murder when it came to getting what you wanted. 

as soon as tengen passes through the looming gates of the residence and disappears down the winding road, you scramble to gather a few belongings before making your way out through the back. there's a twinge of fear that grips your gut but you press on, determined to put as much space between you and that wretched place you were expected to call home. 

the moment you escaped, you flipped your identity. chopped your hair off, powdered your face in white make-up, and wore headscarves wherever you went. you fled as far as your feet would take you, only stopping to rest in a small village when your aching body could take you no further. you hardly spoke to anyone and left nothing behind that could possibly be traced back to you or be used to pursue you. 

it's obvious you can't go back to your parents; they hated you when you lived with them, and they'd hate you more if you returned. they'd sell you out to tengen in two seconds flat, then ruthlessly shame you for running away from a marriage you wanted no part in. the only option left for you is to create a new life for yourself somewhere far, far away. 

and that's exactly what you do. you find a little town on the outskirts of the red light district, where business is booming and it's easy to disguise yourself beneath the constant foot traffic. you go undercover as a seamstress, working in a homely tailor shop under the supervision of the owners, who are a kind older couple that are quick to regard of you as one of their own. 

time marches on and the jarring memories of tengen do as well. you makes friends with the regulars that come by the store often. you've learned the valuable trade of mending clothing and sewing traditional patterns. you've even developed a crush on one of the men that come by often to repair his work uniform.

your life is finally the way you've always wanted it to be. 

meanwhile, tengen copes—barely. days pass. weeks. months. you're still yet to be found, even with the help of all the hashira and the shinobi of his clan. it's as if you disappeared off the face of the planet. he's completely devastated. did you run away because he was gone for so long? were you feeling neglected? did you just want his attention? surely you wouldn't just up and leave when he'd been so loving; he truly couldn't think of anything that would prompt such an extreme reaction. 

as expected, he doesn't come up with a justification for your disappearance. how could he? you could be dead by now with the amount of demon uprisings that have been happening lately. or you could even be halfway across the world right now, laughing at how easily you had fooled him. eventually, his sadness melts into anger. you may be gone now, but it won't be for long. 

wherever you are, he'll find you. 

IV. 'TIL DEATH DO HIM PART

in the following years, tengen's next three wives are chosen specifically by the head of his clan.

and, in the head of the clan's words: "the sound hashira's decision-making must be incredibly poor if he chose a wife who would dare flee from him." the statement only fans the flames of his growing wrath for you. 

however, his new wives—suma, makio, and hinatsuru—are all beautiful and talented kunoichi who admire him to their very cores. as ungrateful as it sounds, there isn't a day where tengen wishes one of them were you. they've worked so hard to try and fill the gaping hole in his existence that was left by you, but it hasn't really been working. he needs you.

they're kind, caring, nurturing and most of all, strong. they've trained all their lives to be kunoichi. he knows he shouldn't complain but they just don't cook like you, look like you... aren't you. of course he loves them, but he could never forget the way his heart shattered the day he returned home to find you nowhere in sight. your disappearance left him in utter shambles. did you ever think about that when you left? you're so unbelievably selfish—is that the kind of woman you turned out to be? 

his wives constantly question his lovesick behavior. tengen never hides anything from them; in fact, he'll sometimes go on long, borderline maniacal rambles about "the wife who got away." to suma, makio, and hinatsuru, you're an enigma that's broken the heart of their husband, and they're not sure what it was about you that makes him act this way. jealousy sparks—if there's a way to get you back to make tengen happy, they would do it, but maybe you're better off gone after all. 

and it's not like tengen didn't search for you. oh no, he looked everywhere within reason. his duties as a hashira kept him chained to his missions near the demon slayers' headquarters, but that never stopped him from interrogating people when he got the chance. any woman that looked even remotely similar to you was sure to be stopped in the middle of the street for further investigation. 

master kagaya is exceedingly understanding of the situation, and he bears obvious concern for his beloved sound hashira. while he's sympathetic of the loss of his wife—it's no matter to be taken lightly, of course—tengen must first be loyal to his occupation as a hashira, and that means going on missions in spite of his mourning. 

and his newest missions leads him to the red light district. 

so tengen goes. he knows his place when it comes to master kagaya, so he has no reason or authority to deny orders. regardless, it's a harrowing and tedious task. drunk concubines practically throw themselves into tengen's arms as he strolls past the many underground sex clubs that line the filthy streets. he has zero interest in any of the debauchery that goes on here, and he especially feels nothing when shoving them away from him with excessive force. 

he scours the area for anyplace that looks decent enough to step foot in, as well as a place where he won't get immediately harassed by ran through harlots. turning down a quieter side street where some storefronts have been shuttered, he happens upon a small seamstress shop sandwiched between two restaurants that look as if they've closed early for the evening. 

shrugging, tengen wearily thinks it's as good of a place as any to begin his intel gathering on the upper moons' whereabouts. he saunters towards the front entrance and a young woman dressed in traditional geisha wear passes him on the sparsely populated road, her wooden sandals clacking against the ground. he can't help but think her hair looked similar to yours and his heart twists painfully in his chest. 

tengen seems to be constantly haunted by the thought of you, forming an obsession in his mind that won't go away until he has you back. until he knows your safe, with him, just like you were meant to be. until he sees you. 

no, literally, tengen sees you, right in front of him. 

through the window of the upscale seamstress shop, he sees you conversing with a man at the front counter, laughing heartily at a joke he must have made. tengen quickly crouches beneath the display window to spy on you, his heart pounding out of his chest at the events that are currently unfolding. he must be mistaken. 

he peeks above the lip of the window to catch a glance and, sure enough, it is you. you're alive and well, almost glowing beneath the low, intimate lighting inside the shop. 

he finally found you! he can't believe it. the grin that's stretching across his face is so broad. he'd recognize your face anywhere, even if it's caked in geisha makeup and your hair elaborately styled. you’re beautiful and he’s captivated by your beauty just as he was the day that he met you. 

he's so unbelievably ecstatic with the way his hands are clamming up, his feet shuffling in the dirt and... 

what?

creeping over the ledge of the display window once again, tengen's eyes immediately grow dark. there's a man there. talking to you. his wife. 

in the midst of your conversation, your eyes absently float over to the window. it's there that your gaze clashes with his, and a blood-curdling look of terror overtakes your features. is that… tengen? 

there's a shift in the air. what happens next, tengen doesn't recall, but when he comes to there's blood on his hands and your hair is bundled up in his fist as he drags you past the threshold the of the shop’s entrance. he looks over his shoulder and on the floor, spread eagle, lies the man without his head. the scene is gruesome.

he killed him. 

tengen looks down at you with a solemn gaze. for some reason, he doesn't even care. the emotions running through him are almost too much to bear. do you know how much your disappearance has destroyed him? do you know how much he's suffered because of you? do you even care? 

he doesn't understand why you're crying. it seems like you were happy enough to whore around with other men in his absence. the thought drives him to the brink of insanity. how much longer do you plan on humiliating him? 

there's too much to be said. tengen's mouth is agape and he's so upset at you that he can't find the right words to express himself. instead, he collapses to the floor beside you and embraces you in his longing arms. he smells your hair and feels how your body shrinks against his—it's all exactly how it used to be. it's exactly as he remembered, as he dreamed of. 

and now, as tengen scoops you up into his arms to take you back home, another dream of his will be fulfilled tonight. he knows exactly what kind of punishment is befit for you. 

V. A JUST PUNISHMENT — (NSFW: NON-CON)

"tengen-sama! you're ba-" 

a woman with colored bangs and a ponytail attempts to greet tengen as he enters, but she's cut off by not only the expression on his face but also the strange, disheveled woman he's hauling behind him. 

he drags you across the cold, laminated wood floors into the bedroom by your hair and peels the delicate, silken layers of your yukata back, exposing soft flesh and ample curves. tengen is so starved of your touch—of your voice, your scent, you. he'll make you pay for what you put him through. he'll make you stay this time. 

you can't even fight back. you're so afraid of what's going to happen that your body refuses to move, to speak. and even if you could, there was no way you would win against a hashira, of all people. 

tengen starts by pushing you to your knees. when his hands begin the hasty work of undoing the belt of his kimono, you already know where this is going and it makes your stomach churn in volatile sickness. he eagerly slides his under pants down and from the top of its elastic band springs his semi-hard cock, which nearly hits you in the face. you gasp at the sheer size of it; that is not gonna fit inside of you.

"don't look at me like that, [name]. clearly i was too lenient with you back then. i should've disciplined you..." he trails off as he stares into your pleading eyes. he smiles but, in it, is no mercy.

"c'mon, baby. you'll be a good girl and open your mouth for me, won't you?" 

you refuse. no, you wouldn't even dream of it. you've never done anything sexual with a man before and you certainly aren't going to wi—

tengen suddenly reaches down and grabs ahold of your now tangled hair with one of his large hands. it takes barely any pressure before your mouth is pried open by the force of his fingers alone, and his now engorged cock head is being stuffed into your warm, unyielding mouth. 

you can only let out a choked cry at the vile intrusion. 

"that's it, baby, good girl.." he praises, stroking your head with his thumb as he slowly inches his pulsing cock down your throat. 

your screams are completely muffled. tengen begins to pick up the pace, letting your drool be the lubricant that allows his giant dick to slide in and out of your tight throat. it hurts so bad that you try to bite down and free yourself from this act of vulgarity, but tengen doesn't allow it. he instead tugs your head back by the grip he has on your hair, forces his cock all the way in, and holds you there until you decide to behave yourself. 

you can hardly breath. lewd, wet noises fill the room as tengen gags you almost to the point of unconsciousness. the vibrations from your screaming must have been making him feel good, though, because it takes just a few minutes before he's shuddering in orgasm as he bottoms out and cums, which you have no choice but to swallow. 

he pulls out of your mouth and you're mortified, but even more so when you see how he's still hard. his cock is covered in a thick layer of your saliva and his cum drips onto your exposed chest in globs that make you cringe in disgust. you think you're going to throw up. 

and you almost do, if it weren't for tengen picking you up from under your arms and tossing you onto the plush bedding. your legs are forced open and tengen slides his twitching cock against your pussy, slowly and teasingly. you begin to fight against him but he easily pins you down long enough to push his fat cock head into your tight pussy. 

tengen pounds you into the plush cushion of the futon all night long. you've given up struggling and crying, only mewling in pain as the brutish man stretches your virgin pussy wide. he ruthlessly kneads your breasts with his calloused palms and overstimulates your clit with his fingers until you cream and squirt repeatedly all over his dick. you can do nothing but lay there as he roughly moves your body into various positions and fills your womb with his seed—there's no way you won't be pregnant after this. 

all the pent up rage that tengen was forced to weather after your disappearance is released in that very room. he sounds like a crazy man with the way he lapses in and out of fits of rage where he's cursing at you with his hands around your throat, then slipping into pleasure induced "i love you's" as he dumps yet another load of cum deep inside of you. 

"h-how does it feel, my love?" he groans, reaching over to caress your flushed face. "mm, you sound so cute making those noises. lemme hear you scream, darling."

and oh, you sure do scream. for him to stop, to get off of you. that you've had enough. that you hate him. over and over again you scream, you cry, and you struggle, but it does you no good. he only seems to thrust faster the more you beg. is he getting off to your desperation? he must be by the way his cock pulses at any form of physical resistance from you. 

you thought it would never end. he's almost insatiable. your tears have long dried up—for the most part, anyway—but the skin on your face feels raw from tengen "lovingly" wiping all your tears and snot away while simultaneously pounding a you-shaped hole into the futon. you feel disgusting. you don't even have the strength to make a sound when he spanks you for the hundredth time, moaning heatedly about how you've been such a bad, bad girl. 

when it seems like he's finally spent, he doesn't pull out. instead, he collapses on top of you with his cock still twitching inside your sloppy, ruined cunt while drawing you in for an unreciprocated kiss. he whispers praises in your ear and gently strokes your face, cooing at how much you're trembling against his much larger form. 

"i should've done this a long time ago. maybe you wouldn't have left if i dumped my kids into you sooner." 

eventually, his softened cock slips out of you and a gush of warmth runs down your legs; you can already feel a soreness settling in your pelvis. tengen sighs contentedly at the sopping squelch that sounds when you snap your legs shut in order to roll as far away from him as possible. he roughly wraps a muscled arm around your waist and pulls you back towards him as soon as he sees your attempt to create distance. 

"i missed you so much, darling," tengen mumbles against your skin breathily, offering a soft smile. "did you enjoy your welcome back?" 

he's making fun of you. you refuse to even look at him. it's to be expected, really, he can't imagine how bad it must feel to think you actually got away from him as you lay in his arms once again, right where you belong. you need to learn your place; no wife of his will disrespect him like you did ever again. if you have to be an example of that, then so be it—youput this on yourself, after all. 

leaving you with a final kiss, he gets up, wraps a towel around his waist, and goes to let his other wives into the room to help clean you up (they've been waiting patiently ever since you showed up, curious about the woman who supposedly "stole tengen's heart," as he put it). you're still naked and exposed with tengen's cum leaking down your thighs but you don't even have the mental capacity to care anymore. all three of the girls look shocked at the state you're in, but they don't comment and rush to get you in the bath. 

they're all very pretty, of course. when you emerge from your haze of disorientation, you're left reeling at the fact that tengen had amassed three whole wives in light of your absence. well, not that you have any right to be surprised considering your short lived emotional affair. you're still in mourning over what had happened to him. 

regardless of your fragile state, the three women swarm you with questions that prod at your past: who you are, where you're from, and how you met tengen. you don't even have half the mind to reply. you can only stare at your tear-stricken reflection in the soapy water, ready to burst into tears yet again at the horrible predicament you've found yourself in. 

what can you do now? sit around and get bred by tengen? rot away in this dreadful house for the rest of your life? the other wives seem to catch onto your unresponsiveness after a couple dozen of their questions go ignored, so they sit quietly and gently wash you clean. they look genuinely worried for you—not that their pity will undo the damage that's already been done. 

makio will scrub your back and grumble about how jealous she is while suma and hinatsuru fret over the small bruises that are now beginning to form around your hips from tengen's manhandling. suma washes your hair next, commenting on how beautiful it is, while the other two move onto rinsing the soap from your body. they wrap you up in a fluffy towel when it's over, and a shiver wracks your spine when their hands guide you to another room, down the hall, with a clean bed ready for you to rest in. 

you don't really know who they are but since they're dressed like kunoichi, it's obvious that they don't share the same mindset you do, or were forced to be wed to tengen like you were. you can't ask them to help you escape from this hell, not a chance. 

even as you lay in the criminally comfortable futon with new silken pajamas, a cup of cold water at your side, and a warm blanket, sleep doesn't find you. 

and with tengen around, you're certain it never will. 

VI. A HAPPY EVER AFTER (EXTRA)

a few months later, your pregnancy symptoms are in full swing.

tengen is as protective as ever and the other wives have already grown attached to you despite your bitter and unforgiving attitude towards them. you learn quickly that they're all very... obsessive, constantly hovering over you and going to overbearing extremes to make sure you don't do anything that would physically strain yourself in any way.

hinatsuru and makio follow at your heels like guard dogs while suma takes charge of most of the cooking and cleaning. she keeps the peace most of the time and holds makio back when she's attempting to murder hinatsuru over something childish. you're never in the mood to talk to them, however, and they often try to bribe you with your favorite sweets (which is intel that they've gathered from tengen) in order to get you to participate in their activities.

unluckily for you, tengen had decided to completely retire from being a hashira following a particularily harrowing encounter with an upper moon demon (even after you tried to subtly guilt trip him into not doing so). he insisted that you and the baby were "more important." you know that it'd be difficult to escape with the other wives around but to add tengen on top of that makes it surely impossible. 

every morning, the dreadful man himself meets the four of you in the kitchen and will beam proudly at the sight of his adorable little harem. he goes down the line and gives affection to each of his wives individually, in the way they prefer, and saves you for last as you're his "greatest prize," or whatever he said. you're just completely exhausted and you resent them all from the deepest depths of your heart. the least you can do is make it obvious. 

tengen finds your rebellion adorable. everything about you is and even moreso now than when you left him all those years ago. he'll grab you by the jaw and force you into a quick one-sided kiss, pulling away with that fond smile of his. his fingers ghost over your swelling tummy but his very touch makes you feel so awfully sick. you'll roughly push him away and he's so out of his mind that he attributes your justified anger and moodiness to your "pregnancy hormones." regardless, he's happy. it's you who's going to bear his child. it's you who first said you loved him too. as long as you live, you're bound to him as his wife. nothing can come between a man and the woman he loves; uzui tengen certainly made sure of that, didn't he?

[myladysapphire]

The Dragon and the Wolf

Prologue

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 2,115

CW: angst, death and more death. not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | next part

disclamer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my Original characters

a/n prolouge, more of an info dump about dance of dragons and readers relationship with cregan during the war.

As snow blazed outside the castle your mind took you back to the days before your life was consumed with grief, the days when you have just arrived in Winterfell, sent by your mother to win over Cregan stark to support her cause.

You had been surprised your mother had sent you here and not the Vale, as she had done with your twin Jacearys. But you soon saw why.

It had been easy to convince Stark to join you’re the blacks, as they were now referred too, he was the noble and honourable lord stark, he kept his father’s oath with no complaints, and he allowed you to stay in Winterfell for as long as she wished. And you did stay, you liked the north, it gave you such a warm feeling, a feeling you had always felt you missed in the red keep and Dragonstone. You loved the north, you loved the snow, as did your dragon, Silverwing. You spent your whole life either in hot son or rainy storms, and yet, despite Cregan saying you were so warm it was if you your self was a dragon, you had always preferred the cold. And now when you felt the drops of snow fall onto your face you wished for the snow to never stop.

You remember Cregan showing you around Winterfell for the first time, taking you to the gods woods, he himself, as most in the north were, prayed to the old gods, and you who never once felt a calling to the gods, you felt it the second you entered the woods, the way the winds sang to you as you entered, the hot springs warming you instantly, and the gods tree. Despite having one in kings landing this sight was spectacular, it was so…peculiar and yet beautiful. With faces carved so naturally the faces seemed to move with he wordless song the wind sang you, and from the look on Cregan’s face he knew the exact feeling you were experiencing.

He was so welcoming to you, sending you smiles at every glance, looking for you in every room. You spent nearly every second together, whether it was talking politics and the facts of the alliance or hunting or walking the grounds. You seemed to do it together.

But you knew it was to good to be true, the second you heard Silverwing calling out, sensing another dragons presence, you knew only bad news would follow.

“Sister” you heard Jacearys greet as he dismounted Vermax, “Lord Stark” he bowed his head.

“Brother” you greeted back, “what brings you to the north?”

His face dropped, eyes filling with sadness. “I’m so sorry, I should have come sooner”

“what-“you didn’t understand what he was saying, but you knew it was bad, and it seemed so did the gods as the wind was growing hasher, wind aggressively hitting your face.

“Luke-“ Jace croaked, and your face started to drop “Aemond he…Luke’s dead”

You dropped, eyes filling with tears. You couldn’t believe it.

Aemond. He had once been your Aemond, your dearest companion, your betrothed. But then word had reached about his new betrothal to Floris Baratheon. Your marriage was supposed to unit the realm, prevent the war that would now be inevitable. You had felt some sadness over the news of his new betrothal, but in truth you hadn’t been close to him in years, you loved the idea of marrying him, but now…now the thought made you sick.

Jace had explained fully what had happened, the raging storm, the chase and the fall.

Killed riding a dragon, like a Targaryen, and buried at sea like a Veleryon, had it not been so tragic, it would be almost poetic.

Grief filled you, body and soul, and you hated that you didn’t know, for two weeks you lived in bliss, practically courting a man. As your brother, your sweet Luke lied dead and alone.

Your mother had searched the sea for those two weeks for the body, for hope that he lived, before biding Jace to retrieve you. You all needed each other, more than ever, consumed with grief and the rage.  The grieving came first like all deaths, with the funeral taking place, though with no body you and Jace had burnt his clothes, saying teary prays, before having Lukes favourite food and sharing his favourite memories.

And then rage. You all wanted revenge, and Daemon had taken it upon himself to do just that, and before you knew it war raged.

You and Jace had returned to Winterfell, and though both deep in your grief, you found comfort once more in the snowy planes of Winterfell, and most of all the people within them.

It was funny, you and Cregan had fit so well together and then Jace came along and suddenly you felt replaced.

All the time you had once spent with Cregan, sword fighting, politicking, hunting and walking, was now done with Jace.

You supposed it was natural, he the future king and Cregan the warden of the north. But it was more than that, they were brothers. But you were his future wife, your mother having sent a raven to lord stark upon your return proposing the marriage, he had accepted instantly and you, you had accepted. Cregan was everything you wanted, a friend, handsome, ruggish and tall. But now you felt like you were begin ignored.

You weren’t jealous, it was what always happened.

You were shy and calm, Jace was loud and chaotic. They were opposites and he easily took the spotlight, not that she wanted it. They were twins, with him being born first, with black hair and brown eyes, and you with silver hair and Arryn blue eyes. You were the image of their mother and he, the image of their father, not that they would ever admit it.  It was like he was the moon, and you were the sun. You were always there and nothing special, but people always took notice of the moon, every aspect of it was studied and praised, but the sun was only ever important when eclipsed by the moon. You were always by Jace’s side, and despite being a princess of the realm, he was a prince, the future king, who wouldn’t take notice of him first.

So, you stood on the sidelines, sometimes following the pair as they talked and talked, but most of her time was spent with Sara.

You and her too had a lot in common, having both understood what it was to be a bastard, to be left out. Though you didn’t admit it right out, she knew what you meant, from the way you understood her as she ranted and from how you related through your own experiences. Though they were different you were still outcasted and felt as if you lacked the natural respect others were given.

Though she had earnt that respect. she was respected throughout Winterfell, being the unofficial lady of Winterfell after the death of his wife, Arra Norrey, who died birthing their son, who was quick to follow his mother. The people of the north respected her but with you, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen you always felt as if you owed something, something that you had to make up for. And instead of seeing the respect you did command you only saw the respect your brother was given

That respect for Jace only grew as the first battles were fought. As Jace grew into his position as heir and Cregan became a key advisor in the war.

It was a weird and terrorfying time, with you and Cregan betrothed but knew it would either end in death or a quick marriage. Neither of you knew how to act,, the days of your endless conversations changing to shy smiles and even shyer words.

And then he left, leading his own battle in your mother’s name.

Then Jacearys died alongside Viserys, them both joining Luke in their burial at sea.

And moons later her mother took Kings Landing. Her younger brother Joffrey now heir, but not even a moon into her mothers new reign as an uprising began, the dragon pit raided, dragons killed, and her brother tortured a killed.

you were beside herself in grief, guilt coursing through you as you had left, you had gone, leading your mother’s forces to lead your second battle of Tumbleton, and though you had won, and caused the death of your uncle Daeron and a large number of the green forces, you returned to even more chaos.

you were surrounded by death, and slowly became more and more alone.

As Aegon retook Kings Landing, his men holding you and your only surviving sibling Aegon as her mother was burnt alive before them.

Then the death if both Aemond and Daemon above the gods eye.

You were all alone, separated from your brother, Cregan thousands of miles away. And she locked in a keep waiting for Aegon to decide whether to kill you or marry you.

you prayed for the former, wishing to join them, your sweet brothers.

Jace, your sweet twin, you had always thought they would leave the world together, they came in it together it only seemed right. you had felt so empty, as if you were missing the other half of yourself. you regretted that so many of your memories of him were clouded in envy, and regretted not cherishing every moment you could with him.

Luke, sweet Luke, so kind and nervous and though not innocent, he deserved so much better. you missed him so much, and hated how he was taken so young, so horrifyingly.

And Joffrey, he was just a babe, wanting to be as brave and strong as his sister and brothers, killed by the mob, alongside their mother’s dear dragon who was doing everything to protect him.

And Viserys, a part of you hoped he lived and would one day return to her, but you didn’t want to hope, you didn’t have it in you anymore.

you had nothing, not really, you barely had it in you, the anger, the need for revenge.

But when Aegon announced his plans to marry you, the rage came, the angry. He had taken everything from you and now he was taking away your freedom.

It was easy to find those who wished to plot against him, your grandsire Corlys begin the first to approach you. Mad over the death of his beloved wife Rhaenys, he had long awaited this moment.

He and a few over men gave you a wine laced with poison, and small doss of poison to drink yourself to build immunity. It was a long prosses, taking three months before you acted. It was easy to enter his chambers, he too lonely and racked with guilt, he seemed pleased at your company, and even happier at the wine you brought him.

You had drank the laced wine and then some, both drinking your sorrows away and making your way down to the iron throne, you had laughed as he sat upon it, your mothers rightful seat, and laughed even more when he started chocking, he couldn’t breath, he was dying. You should of felt glad but as you watched him take his final breath, all you felt was grief. Another family member dead, and another step closer to being alone.

Cregan took kings landing the next day, he found you weeping in the throne room at the sight of Aegon. He had swept you in his arms, holding him to you as you cried, screaming it was your fault, confessing your sins, but he didn’t see it as your fault, m your kill. He saw it as Corlys and Larys Strongs, executing them and all those who betrayed Aegon and manipulated you.

He crowned Aegon king, married him to Aegon’s only surviving child, Jaehrea, uniting the two branches and ending the blasted war.

And he took you home, to Winterfell.

You were so consumed in your grief you hadn’t even noticed, the carriage traveling the whole thousand leagues had passed so quickly.

You didn’t even remember saying goodbye, promising to write, and promising to love them.

You didn’t remember crying as you watched them, two children making oaths they didn’t understand, lead by men they did not know.

You finally came back to reality as you reached Winterfell, Silverwing roar alerting you of your arrival. She one of the last dragons left, too consumed in grief at the death of her mate Vermithor.

“princess” you heard Cregan say softly as he opened the carriage door, “were home”

next part

Taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog@apollonshootafar@zillahvathek@flrboyd @targaryenmoony @theanxietyqueen17@leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99 @deeeeexx

to be added to taglist

[skyrigel]

“The Great War Part-3”

Part 1 || Part 2 || Benjicot masterlist

Pairing: Benjicot “Davos” blackwood x Bracken!reader

~ When mist of past finally clears up and you are faced with an ineffable truth of life, you reach for your darling husband's hand, surviving the great war [ wc : 4.7k]

๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠ 18 + nsfw, p in v ( rough ), missionary position, breeding kink, blood kink, size kink, fingering, c- word used in sexual context, orgasm denial, first time, love confessions, jealousy, confused feelings, poetic subtexts, bad writing?! Proofread

I might write an epilogue someday but this is it, thankyou everyone for reading and following along, also this is for @ihateitheretaylor for our three years of surviving the great war by reaching for each other, love you to the moon and saturn.

Benji's whole face glittered under the weirwood tree, his hand inevitably touching his heart as he saw you.

Your maiden cloak adored in golden and silver embroidery, house's sigil glistening, a red stallion in golden fields, like the strands of your future husband's hair that were blazing against the sun.

His grin absolutely splited his whole face, lines stretching wide as he gazed at you walking towards him with your brother.

“ Who comes ? ” His smile true to his words,

“ Who comes before the gods ? ”

Aeron paused for a moment before he looked at you, his arms brushing your shoulder as he nodded, a tight smile but a smile indeed.

“ Y/n of House Bracken, comes here to wed. A woman trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of gods. Who comes to claim her ? ”

Benji raised his chin, instantly looking back at you like he couldn't get enough and for a fact—he really couldn't

“ Me, Benjicot Davos blackwood of House blackwood, lord of Raventree halls, I claim her.” He winked at you, “ Who gives her ? ”

Aeron took your hand, his smile genuine when he glanced back at you.

“ Aeron Bracken of House Bracken, Brother of lady y/n, son of Lord Amos Bracken.” He turned to you, blinking back the watery haze, you gulped down the lump in your throat.

“ Lady y/n, Do you take this man ? ”

Your face grew warm, and there were many realisations in life, some slow and crashing as waves, some quick and bold as lightning, when you looked back at the man who was going to be your husband, the man you remembered from a long time ago, a distant memory and sometimes as though it was taken from yet another lifetime— his youthful face, bright eyes, chortling laughter that echoed through your soul. So many years gone in punishing him for something he never did, cursing him as you sleep talked.

So when you saw him, it struck you soft as a breeze, hard as a blow; you would love him so much, perhaps you already love him or perhaps there was still time but it will eventually come your way, and you will love him so deeply, so, so much that the oceans would be jealous, you will love him so blazely that the sun would burn in agony, so luminous that the stars would be envious.

That's the way you would love him, and it wouldn't be faith that will tie your hearts and bind your souls today, it will be a choice, his and yours to not be parted, not even death could do so. You smiled, no longer fighting your blush and letting it crimson your cheeks.

“ I take this man.” You said for the all the gods to know, him, who stands here with his goofy smile, too big for his face, him, who calls you darling while you roll your eyes, he's is the one, you would have him.

Benji reached for your hand, joining your souls together through the tips of his fingers, Aeron backed away as you and Benji kneeled against the old gods, head leaned together.

“ I vow to protect you, to honour and love you, to respect and support you, my darling wife.” no yet, He had chosen you already, a very long time ago.

His thumb smeared across your knuckles, voice dripping with sincerest affection.

“ I vow to stand with you, in life and death and what follows after, to be with you in bad nights and good days.”

Your heart was beating too fast, grasping this moment to be forever your reality, it scared you how you had no control, you chose him because there was nothing else you could do—there was going to be no you without him.

A day ago you hated how much he tormented you, hated how much he ached your heart with his sweet honey like words.

And now you hate him how truly alive he could make you feel, like he has set your soul on fire, his laugh booming across the bloodshed while you're reaching for his hand.

“ I will always love you, my lady. In days when I would forget life, breath and myself— i would remember you like an oath.”

Benji pressed his forehead against yours, taking half your misery—half your pain.

“ From this day...” You said along with him, smile tugging at the corner of your lips,

“ till forever falls apart.” Benji smiled, side glancing Aeron and his glea only rippled more.

“ Can I kiss my bride ? ” He asked you, soft as a whisper and you blinked, hands sweaty in his, entwined for lifetimes to come.

“ You may.” You said, closing your eyes and even then you could feel his giddiness that rushed into you, the press of his lips against yours, it wasn't feral, it wasn't bloody, it was as sweet and as gentle, like the poets would say.

Perhaps it was Aeron's throat that cleared itself so loudly that blinked open your eyes, feeling your knees ache in the tendons.

“ You look so beautiful darling.” Benji winked, helping you get up—his tongue caught between his teeths— removing the husk from your gown.

And just like that, he was your man now.

~~~

The wedding was small but the feast that followed was wild, everyone was drunk and happy, it was truly a blackwood and Bracken wedding, one should have seen the smirk that passed between Bracken's when blackwood's pretty girls started serving wine, pouring up to brims with their sweet sly smiles and curvy beautiful bodies.

And ofcourse it wasn't missed how prideful blackwood's were being with their extraordinary arrangements, nose red and tongue loose with alcohol.

“ Bout' time laddie, bout' time—” One of the blackwood knight's chortled, patting his company with enough force to make his food come back on surface, “—should've seen his face...saw him in between bloody battle and oh lordie— should've seen the little Rat, squeezing between,” He made little vague gestures from his greasy hands, “ like a cunty little —”

“ Oh shut up, will you ! ” the said little rat of his tales snapped back at him, his Bracken mates laughing while he fumed with a red face.

“ Amusing, isn't it ? ” Benji leaned to your ear, making you shiver when his mouth grazed your ear shall, “ My heart, my shine, my darling beloved wife.”

“ Very amusing...” You said, turning to him and his beautiful face, pink on his tips, hair sticking to his forehead and a grin only fools in love had, but their on the corner of his mouth sticked a crumb, you shouldn't, really, but then you saw how Raventree hall's ladies saw him, their lusty gazes and seductive smiles, even now, they would bloom like a flower if his drunk sloppy gaze merely sprinkled by, like many realisations that followed today, this was also one of them, the one that wanted to tear away those prying eyes and keep him all to yourself, to burn those heart that desired for him, to ruin those dreams that they staged, he was yours, your husband, your lord, and you were his, his wife, his lady, and when the great war comes, it will be his hand that you will reach for, only his.

“ Here—” You blushed, “ let me.” You smeared away the crumb with the soles of your fingers, smiling a small, you don't remember watching the sun rise in the long time but if anything, it would be the way Benji smiled in that moment, forever mesmerizing.

As if on cue, your golden moment was ruined when Martha came over, she was daughter of lord in court, it was evident with the silk on her body, and her sweet calculated smile, something only courts knew.

“ It is so gracious to meet you, Lady y/n Bracken—”

“ It's lady Blackwood.” Your fork penetrated deeper into meat, “ Now.” you added with a smile, Martha nodded, her jaw hardening.

“ Ofcourse, Lady blackwood.” she tilted her head, fiddling with the chain on her neck, Benji was watching your sloppily, leaning on your shoulder and despite he was quite heavy, you weren't going to tell him that.

“ Congratulations, It is really credible what you did...to tie the two house together, a duty not anyone could do.” She bit her lower lip, shifting her sharp eyes to Benji who was putting more crumbs on his mouth, looking back at you with his chin raised.

You knew where she was getting at, duty and honour, to rub it on your face that this marriage is loveless, that it's just a duty that would end with two or three babes and forever isolation in chambers, but she didn't knew what you did, she didn't know the love that was swirling, had been, for the longest time, since one of these feasts with slurred laughters and nonsensical conservations where you saw each other.

“ Ben...” You pouted, ignoring her forced flashing of teeths, doing away the crumbs on his mouth while he fancied leaning in to kiss your tips, “ I am tired...can we—”

“ Darlin’ me too, shall we ? ”

It took a lot of nerves to not to burst in laughter the way Benji hurriedly got up, almost knocking his elbow in Aeron's face who sighed, but also smiled when he saw you watching your beloved husband.

You wondered where the wine was gone when he hooked your elbows together, all the while Martha hissed under her breath, haughty faced.

“ I wasn't expecting that...” You huffed, glancing at Benji, he was buzzing in excitement, practically floating mid air.

“ I...Martha was actually my first.” He shaked his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose, all colours drained out of your face, your knuckles clenched to bloodless flesh.

“ You know what I mean ? ” He asked, staggering behind you while you increased your pace, blinking back rapidly.

“ Ofcourse I do.” You snapped, not bothering to keep low in the dark of the tower, footsteps echoing through the night.

“ Okay, right...I wanted you to know—”

“ That you slept with another woman ? ” you turned around to him, his body knocked against you and in some other time, it wouldn't matter much, a forehead bump but he was drunk, you were angry, and times were changing, as both of your bodies tumbled down, he caught you by the waist, shifting you on top of him, a loud thud and soft ‘oof’ and a whimpered groan that was your own.

“ Are you okay, darling wife ? ” You pushed back the hair that crept out of your braid before you looked at him, propped on his elbows rested back, you shifted aside, letting your body fall next to him on the hard cold floor.

“ Yeah...you ? ”

Instead of answering you, Benji snorted first and then an absolute wave enveloped him, he was crackling with laughter, chest shaking as he glanced at you, turning away to clutch at his chest.

“ What's so funny ? ” You raised your brow, he shaked his head, taking the gods name in vain.

“ Oh Darling...” He flipped to your side, face to face as his eyes crinkled, watering at the sides, face flushed with rosiness and devil taking over his mouth. Soft and warm and pink.

“ You,” He whispered to you, taking your chin between your fingers and raising it towards him, “ are all the more breathtaking when you're jealous.” and here it was, the word, the feeling that roared like a monster on loose to destroy anyone who as so looked at Benji, a very feral twisting of heart.

“ No.” You lied, He shaked his head, leaning in, breath sweet and warm, you knew what that mouth was capable of, to kiss him was confetti bursting in your mind.

“ Liar.” He declared, gazing into your eyes and an ineffable pull broke lose, your lashes fluttered and the next moment he was kissing you and you were kissing him back.

The feral beast inside you said, devour him, make him yours, let him forget all the ones that came and gone, let it be you, only you.

You never knew how something could be more precious than air, a stiffled whine escaped your throat as he pulled away, catching a breath, grin dancing around his mouth, teasing you to catch — you weren't the one to turn down mockery, grabbing the side of his face and pulling him to you.

“ Oh my love...” He hummed inside your mouth, battling you for domination, tongue swiping across your lower lip.

He slided his hand in under your thigh, pulling you to his lap, he was dazed and drunk but in that moment, nothing could be sober more, when he picked you up from the floor without breaking a sweat and only sticking his tongue out when you watched him wide eyed.

“ I hate you.” You said, the feeling that clenched inside you was same as that unsettling tug in your navel when you spent your nights dreaming about him, when you touched his bloodied face, when you tasted his blood on your finger tips, it left it's mark, your thighs weak at the sensation that pulled inside your spine.

“ I can drop you.” He swayed your body in his arms, taking the stairs one at a time.

“ You won't.”

He smiled, “ No, I won't.”

Your face grew warm when two servants giggled softly, opening the door of his chambers or now—yours too.

It felt natural to be in his arms and to kiss him, like you had known him and this intimacy from ages ago and it baffled you how you had lived so far without starving to death without him.

“ Are you comfortable or is it just because we are married ? ” He asked, face illuminated by the moonish glow.

“ I..does it matter ? ”

“ Yes darling, it does...I want you to be happy, to be safe with me...I want you to know that we want this together.”

“ I want this.” You told him, not blinking as Benji's smile reached his eyes.

“ I love you.” He kissed your nose tip, pulling back expectantly but you only stared back, your heart heavy in your ribs.

You do, you know it, or well you will, it's going to happen and no matter what, it won't change, but deep inside, you didn't know how to form it in words, to say it and not feel sorry, to say it and erase back the years you gaslighted yourself into hating him.

“ I...” You breathed, and he understood, knew you like he was half your soul, his smile was small but he showed no sadness.

“ You don't have to say it back darling.”

And how could you not say it, the way you knew how much your heart would bleed from his love, flowing down your chambers to dripping through your veins, how much you love him, he was summer to your bleaking heart.

“ If I don't say it back, would you still love me ? ”

“ Darling.” He sat down gently in front of you, stroking your cheek as his gaze dropped to your lips, pulling it back to worship your eyes.

“ If you don't say it back then I will say it again, then we'll be even.” and the smile that tugged on both of your faces was worth every great war.

“ You are my first.” you told him shyly, hoping he understood or you were about to die out of shame.

But Benji just about died, his eyes flickered and raked you in, he had bowed, biting his lower lip while nodding.

“ Okay..okay..right.” He smiled, “ Fuck, I will be gentle baby.” His mouth twitched in a grin.

“ you must've had lot's of experiences.” you laughed, it came little bitter but Benji shaked his head, taking your hands and guiding them to his face, he looked cute, face cupped by your hands, your wedding band shinning.

“ I've slept with women but I never made love to them, it's my first time too.”

“oh.”

You lowered your gaze, Benji's touch was like fire, a wild feral flame erupting around you and you craved him, craved to get burnt by him, He softly raised your chin, and his eyes raised in a question.

“ I am not tired...if you're not.” You added quickly, feeling your nerves snap, were you too desperate, would it be bad if you were ?

Because this was your first time and so was his, making love, yes, to make love with your bloody feral husband, to touch him, to feel him, to have him, to keep him.

The way Benji's brow knitted together had you gasping for breath, you would take his refusal if it were that but you waited for so long, that the possibility of tommorow doesn't amuse you, to wait seemed torment.

“ Is that dress too heavy Darling wife ? ” and damn, you could die like that.

~~~

Those treacherous fingers weaved through the back of your dress, knots opening and with each moment he was closer.

You watched his reflection, he would occasionally glance, his blush breezing on his face as he wouldduck down to place a sloppy kiss wherever he liked, but when he looked up with that blazing look in his eyes, you knew it was done, you gave him a tilt of your head, face mere inches apart.

“ I want you....”

And so it goes, his heavy lidded eyes drank you in, his fingers moving your dress down until it fell down in a puddle of pastry around your ankles.

Benji grabbed your waist, he was going senseless in his brain, he couldn't think anything, his brain was short circuiting at all the things he would do to you.

Your back pressed against the soft silks as he climbed over you, his guard discarded somewhere, his chest bare and gleaming.

You breathed but Benji was breathless, mouth agape at your beauty, slowly his hands roamed around your shoulder, kissing every inch and praying to old gods and new because he didn't deserve you, you were all pretty things, bright and shine and him ?

Blood, chaos and thunder.

“ Oh my...oh darling—” His hands trembled, the need to mark you down like a blood stain and the urge to protect you like a dog.

To carve your pretty body and to bruise you blue and claim you all, it was confusing. And romantic. And very much turning him on.

“ Fuck ! ” He growled, your nipples were hard under his thumb and the pleading look you had in your eyes, he wanted to tease you, to make you beg on your knees and get it what you wanted but he was just a man, wild or lunatic, just a man who loved his wife so much, how could he refuse you anything even if it were the moon, he would steal a dragon and fly so high to give you what you wanted, to make true every wish, every dream you had, to fulfil you completely.

All breath was knocked out of you when Benji lowered his mouth, licking the skin of your breast and looking up for approval.

You whimpered at the sensation that practically had you shivering, your knees weakened as his tongue teased your hardened bud, wet and drooling mouth, placing hot kisses.

“ Please, please...Ben—” you tugged at his hair, he was sucking at plump flesh, his other hand rubbing your thigh, heating your whole body up.

“ What ? ” He said, strangled and needy despite trying to be the one to be incharge.

“ Ben... Please—” you heaved, pulling him to you but he pulled away, looking into you eyes and you saw how bloody bastard he could be sometimes when he wanted to be.

“ Darling...” You pouted, and he was just a man, gone before the words even made it out, his fingers teasing your entrance before he placed a kiss on your heart and took your tits in his mouth, humming like a starved man.

Heaven was an utopia concept that Septa talked about, but really, Septa never had made love because this is what it truly felt like, in his arms, in his bed.

Your moans filled the night as his teeth digged in your flesh, Benji was trying his best, the way he tried to stop kneading your breast too fast but ended up fisting it roughly between his palm, softening the pain with the sweet nothings he whispered.

“ How pretty...how soft..mmmm.” He nuzzled closer, you liked him that way, his hands rough, his words soft.

Your hands inevitably reached down between your legs and you just about felt the slickyness before he grabbed your wrist, pulling it back with a devilish grin.

“ Darling, no.” He kissed your finger tips and smiled, poking his tongue out to lick away the white thick juice that calloused your tip.

Whatever he did was enough to untie the knot in your stomach, your pit lurched like sea waves and wanted to crash the shore so badly that you would die begging him.

“Oh darling, how feral you are ? ” He teased, pinning your wrists above your head, his whole body pressing you down, placing a hard kiss on your mouth, squeezing your lips and sucking them dry.

All the while his knee socket digged between your thighs and like you were born to do it, you started moving along as the pressure built up, sparks flying.

“ c'mon, c'mon...do you want a kiss ? ” His jaw slackened as you grew your pace, hips buckling at the intensity and he was kind of very impressed, enough to smile down at your blue and purple bruising bod, releasing your torment.

His fingers only waited a moment before he was knuckles deep, your breath hitched and moans ribbed apart your throat.

“ Benji, oh lord..ah..mm” you hoped he heard the ‘ I love you's ’ you were chanting for him.

“ You're so wet for me...so wet baby.” His mouth dropped to kiss a mole on your tummy, all the while penetrate his finger deeper and then one became two, immediately having your back arch, hips buckling as two turned to three, digging inside you, huffing when he angled them in a way that had you closing your eyes and lose yourself to him.

“So tight for me darling.” You opened your eyes to find his lips on your ear shell, whispering it down to you and his fist inside you, just basking in your warm tight cunt.

“ Benji... darling...” Your face crumbled as tears rolled down, and a greater woman wouldn't beg but you would do anything to have him take you, anything.

You looked just in time as Benji climbed on top of you, his arm on top your head that propped him up so he didn't crush you down.

His fingers glided back from your folds before something thicker than his finger touched your clit.

“Oh.... dear lord.” your chest raised at the heavy intake of air, but He was massive and hard for you, his shaft angry at the unattention.

“Just the tip darling.” He pecked your swollen lips, a droplet of blood sat atop, curtsy by him that he gladly tasted, “sweet.”

You remembered thinking Benji wasn't a liar but in that fucking moment, he was the biggest liar to ever lie, his length pushing down and getting lost in your folds.

You glanced between you and him and shuddered at the thought of being split open by his cock, half his length shining and struggling to wrap inside you.

“ Fuck—” He cursed, “ Your tight pussy I-isn't letting em' in.”

Your thighs ached as he pried them apart for more access, his face red and breaking sweat. He managed to go ball-deep inside you, proud tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“ Benji...” You whimpered, face blotchy with tears that spilled while he kept telling you, it was just the tip and if anything, saying darling wife after every word.

The feeling of freefall, that comes after flying high and higher and not bothering friction and gravitation that pulls, it was just like that, when Ben looked into your eyes before his first thrust inside you, you were flying in the sky with him.

One thrust — and you were falling, your body wasn't your own and it was shearing, it was gleaful, it was infinite.

Your insides clenched as he pushed more, then more and each time his nerves popped harder on his neck, his eyes clenched closer to heaven but he would open them again, using his free hand that wasn't opening your legs to wipe away the tears that streamed down your face, relishing in your soft moaning that screamed his name.

Four thrust down and his restraints broke the chains, he was no longer in control, pounding inside you and all he could do was keep telling you how good you were.

He was bloody, the way he grabbed your arse cheeks to slam his entire length in, spiralling your whole world, bruising you blue.

“ Darling, so good...so good for me.” just when he pulled out only to thrust back in your swollen cunt again, balls deep in your sweet cunt and liar said just the tip.

“ Just like that...mmm..yeah.” just when you thought you were about to split open, with stars in your eyes.

“ Baby love...I love you...I love you.” and his feral took a peak when he leaned to pin your shoulders down, you were fighting for realease but he kept telling you not yet, not now.

“ Benny please...” You cried, but you can take that, you were being so good, such a nice doll to him.

“ I love you...oh my darling, love you so much...let me fill you with my babes..” He moaned out. “ Darling—” he croaked, thrusting harder inside you, the bed shook with his pounding, his face another blissful sight but even through the daze, he wouldn't stop gawking at you, watching you moan on his cock, all your sweet nothings just for him.

“ please... darling, let me see you carry our baby...”

And you had no say before your insides were filled with his juices, warmness spreading inside and out and everything melted in a slow daze and perhaps that's chaos.

The way you came on his cock, silvery misty substance mixing with his own and he dropped his face next to you, sniffing your sweet sweaty hair and placing a soft kiss.

“ That was...” He trailed, shifting his weight next to you and you felt breath rushing in your chest, “....so good baby.”

“ hmmm...” You closed your eyes letting the moment sink, when his arm came and wrapped around your waist then spooning your whole body.

“ My sweet love.” He said, out of nowhere and time passed, your naked bodies tangled in each other, drifting in a peaceful sleep.

~~~

It was one of those dreams, his face dripping with blood, yours or his, you didn't know but the urge to touch him was forevermore.

But then the reality struck you and with more convincing you opened your eyes to moonlight lighting his whole face.

His nose was nuzzled in the crook of your neck and his innocence brighter in the sky full of stars.

His sweet warm mouth drooling over your chest, a bead of his drool cooling your skin.

And the urge was sudden, like lightening when you smiled at your beloved husband.

“ Benji...” you whispered and he didn't move, sleeping and snoring softly.

“ Ben....” you tried again, ofcourse there was tommorow awaiting, but your heart said speak now.

“ huh.” He sleepily hummed, smearing his cheek on your warm body, smiling dopily like it was a very sweet dream.

You smiled, forever remembering the memory when you reached for his hand, entwinng your fingers together.

“ I love you.” You said, “ I love you so much darling.”

And just like that, you survived the great war.

[anqelbean]

SHIZUN LBH AND DISCIPLE SY??? PLEASE TELL US MORE I'M FERAL

I, too, am feral over these two nonnie, so I shall continue cause you asked so nicely <3

So, the PIDW of this universe follows the immortal lord Luo Binghe, Peak Lord of Qing Jing Peak, Demon Emperor on the side (shhhhh, that part's a secret).

Binghe is (seemingly) righteous and noble, but in truth he's always 1 step away from destroying Cang Qiong Mountain. His thread of hope for humanity is about to snap, which is not at all helped by Xin Mo, who has almost taken his mind over completely.

Enter Shen Yuan, transmigrator extraordinaire, disciple of Qing Jing Peak. The person that's supposed to expose Luo Binghe's demonic heritage to the world and kickstart the conquering of the Human Realm by the Demon Emperor, leading to Shen Yuan's eventually becoming a human stick.

Well, he doesn't want to die like that! Who would! So thigh hugging it is!

Thankfully the System in this world isn't as strict as in canon, so he does have one way of saving himself: if Shen Jiu had become Head Disciple, he would not have wanted to expose Luo Binghe.

He tries his darned best to get close to Luo Binghe, although clumsily. He always ends up walking into things when he's around 'cause he was gawking at him. Which, he reasons, is a perfectly normal thing for a disciple to do! To admire his Shizun! Especially since his Shizun was THE protagonist!

Luo Binghe doesn't know what to think of him at first. Clumsy, starry-eyed, always with his nose in the books like he's trying to memorise all the characters, not just its contents, talented enough, but lacking in experience, perfect recipe for disaster. He needs to keep an eye on him if he doesn't want to deal with a dead disciple.

But. It's strange. No one's ever looked at him like that. He knows his disciples admire him, but all of them are so terrified of him they don't dare to get close, lest they end up doing more chores as punishment. But, this Shen Yuan. It's like. Like he's not scared? Like Luo Binghe is...someone worthy of hero-worship. He can't even admit it to himself, but he cannot help but preen under his clumsy disciple's adoring gaze.

Then, a candle accidentally falls in Shen Yuan's dorm, and there's no room for him left. All his roommates went to their friends' rooms, but Shen Yuan didn't have any close friends on the peak! Where should he go???

Luo Binghe…feels he needs to play the good Shizun. It's just an act, of course. He doesn't actually care for the boy. He needs to play the cool, distant immortal, kind enough to take in a stray. He has Shen Yuan move into his side room, BUT only temporarily.

And so it begins.

Luo Binghe finds himself enjoying having someone to cook for again. He himself doesn't need to eat, so he only really does it when trying to woo a demoness into his bed. But with Shen Yuan, it's different. He hasn't cooked for someone just for them to satiate their hunger since his mother. It almost feels…intimate. Seeing Shen Yuan not eat his food so much as inhale it, hearing the sincere praise from the child's mouth… It's all too much.

It doesn't help that the boy is actually quite shameless. Taking off all his layers except one the moment he's home, even his pants! He is just prancing around with all his skin for the world to see! It makes him want to scold him, to take his layers and dress him back up himself just so he doesn't have the image of those long, long legs of Shen Yuan's stuck in his mind. So he does, “Disciple Shen should be more mindful of his appearance,” he says, desperately trying to ignore Shen Yuan's pretty red face as he stammers 'shizun' while Luo Binghe ties his robes, “Anyone could walk in, it's indecent.” And incredibly distracting, he doesn't say.

Few months pass, Luo Binghe realises one thing: this boy is the only person worthy of respect on his entire peak. If something were to happen to him, he would raze the entire mountain to the ground, himself included.

He tries everything just to touch the boy. He fixes his robes, put his hands on his shoulders, picks him up during nighthunts when things get intense, and if he touches him a little more than necessary while correcting his sword forms, well, no one notices.

For once, something has moved his cold, dead heart and Luo Binghe is a hungry soul, bleeding for more, unwilling to let go of this new tiny light he's found, wishing to devour and devour, till no one else can steal it from him, like everything else good in his miserable, lonely life.

Visual representation of this au